Homeward Bound
22/10/13 04:42
The tamaracks were in full color as we drove over the pass yesterday. I know that the Western larch is not a true tamarack, but tamarack is the name that locals have used for the trees for as long as I can remember. They turn a beautiful bright yellow in the late fall and the hillsides burst with color from the yellow aspens and larch trees. The contrast with the dark green pines and firs of the mountains gives a beautiful variation to the scenery. Western larch is harvested for turpentine and it is a favorite firewood of locals. The trees can grow to over 100 feet in height. Over by Seeley Lake there are a few that are bigger than 150 feet. That rivals the cedars, hemlock and Douglas fir of the temperate rainforests of the cascades and coastal regions. They are magnificent trees.
We don’t have anything like them in the hills. Of course the hills are mostly forested with ponderosa pines. There are some great groves of Black Hills spruce and if you know where to look you can find birch and oak throughout the hills as well. We can get some beautiful fall color. But there is nothing that I have ever seen that matches the explosion of color provided by the tamaracks in the high country. It makes the mountains of Western Montana and northern Idaho a treat every time I am able to make the drive in October.
After saying goodbye to family in Hood River yesterday morning we made good time, stopping for the night at St. Regis in Western Montana. That gives us a day and a half for the remaining 725 miles back home – a relatively easy bit of travel for us. The forecast is for dry roads all of the way.
Having been raised in the mountains, I love driving on the winding mountain roads and over the passes. It is interesting to observe other drivers and I often point out drivers that I call “flatlanders” to others riding with me. They tend to avoid the edge of the road when there are steep drop offs. They ride their brakes on downhill slopes. The have trouble maintaining their lane on winding roads. They often slow far more than is necessary for curves. Most of them make a safe trip through the passes, but I suspect that they tell their stories of the adventure with a bit more drama than we experience. Interstate 90 is a very good road all the way across the northern Rockies. There are a few places where the surface is a bit rough. There is a lot of road to maintain in places where the ground underneath is not very stable. There are a few sections with some sharp curves necessitated by narrow canyons. But for the most part the road is a place where you can set your cruise control and go with a car. The truckers don’t have too much of a work out as long as they slow it down for the curves and use appropriate gears for the downslopes.
We didn’t have any huckleberry ice cream last night and even didn’t give into the temptation of huckleberry pie at the restaurant where we ate dinner last night. But I did have as fine a rainbow trout dinner as I have ever had in a restaurant last night. They served me two whole trout, expertly filleted, and pan fried to perfection. I don’t think the fish would have tasted any better had I cooked them myself. And they would only have tasted a very small amount better if I had caught them myself. One of the treats of driving roads that are familiar is the knowledge of the good places to stop. Jasper’s in St. Regis is a great café for basic home-cooked meals. Their pork chops and pot roast are far closer to what you’d have at home than a typical restaurant meal. They do a great job with Montana beef and serve excellent steaks. But the trout last night were a really special treat. I’m not sure how they get their hands on enough trout to serve all of their customers with tight limits set by the Fish and Game people, but they probably have some connection to a private fish pond somewhere. At any rate the meal was excellent and we headed to bed with full bellies and smiles on our faces last night.
Yesterday was our time zone change day as well, so today we rise at the same time as we would at home. That doesn’t make much difference in our travel since we pretty much are driving daylight hours on this trip, but it helps us adjust to the transition that we need to make to be geared up for returning to work for Wednesday evening programs and the usual rush of end-of-the-week duties at church.
Today we pass the town where I grew up and some of the country that is most familiar to me. Actually I have lived in the Black Hills more years than I lived in Montana, so it is hard to know which place deserves the name “home” for me. I certainly haven’t kept up with all of the changes in the community of my birth as the working ranches have been sold to very wealthy out of state folks and the economy has changed from small town ranch supply to supporting the people who fly in and out with their Lear jets to play cowboy on the weekends. I’m pretty sure that I could walk down Main Street in my hometown and not know any of the folks that I meet. I probably don’t know any of the merchants in the stores and I certainly can’t get my mind wrapped around the names of the new businesses. “The Thirsty Turtle,” is not what one would have expected from the Moose Bar and our town wasn’t much for galleries and decorators when I was a kid. The Grand Hotel, restaurant and bar is still in operation, but the Court is long gone.
The years go by. Times change. We change too. Home is a different place for me now, though I treasure the memories and opportunities to visit my old haunts. Today we’re homeward bound as we turn our sights toward South Dakota.