EMERGENCY RISK REDUCTION

Honestly, I hoped to begin this Canada road trip in September. But it was October. But now I was off. North by Northwest. I won’t belabor you, but here are some highlights of the trip west.

Night one was in a parking area on the Blue Ridge Parkway at the crossing of the Appalachian Trail. Beautiful sunrise. Day 2: Thru Maggie Valley and Gatlinburg, TN, both which were too touristy for me…past Knoxville and north to Kentucky.  Night 2 at ‘Land Between the Lakes’ in western Kentucky, which is a depopulated 50 mile long sliver of a recreational area between Lake Cumberland and Lake Kentucky. Before camping for $5 in an almost empty camping area, I visited Fort Donaldson, a Civil War site important because it was the first victory of a ‘river battle’ by Gen. Ulysses Grant who won more river battles to the west, culminating in Vicksburg, after which he was called by President Lincoln to command the Union forces. The rest is history.

The 3^rd day highlight was wandering along a back road toward a bridge across the Ohio River. Except that there was no bridge! Only a small ferry. Three vehicles crossed in the fog this early morning, to a little village on the Illinois side. It was magical. The Ohio was such an important ‘water highway’ for the settling of America.  I headed west, traveling thru St. Louis, past the Arch that symbolizes the west. I then headed north, somewhat paralleling the Missouri River.

I found myself loosely tracing the route of Lewis and Clark in their epic exhibition in the early 1800s. Stopping past ruins of a fort where they tried to recruit others for the trip; stopping into a Nebraska tour information center, rich with information on the Expedition; north to Souix City, South Dakota. West and through a loop road in the Badlands; a stop at Three Forks State Park – tributaries that became the greater Missouri River. Historically, the birthplace of Sacagawea, the indispensable 17 year old Indian guide for the expedition. She was later kidnapped, sold to an eastern tribe, and married to a French trader – before she volunteered to assist Lewis and Clark.  Her entire story is fascinating, and worth a read.

I continued further west into the Black Hills – some lovely formations and my first dusting of snow. Of course, an obligatory visit to nearby Mount Rushmore – too built up and touristy for my taste. I much preferred a northern detour to Devil’s Tower — down a rural road.

Off the interstate again and westward crossing into Wyoming, I stopped in the town of Sheridan. What a thrill to walk into King Saddlery! A western theme, with a gallery and some leatherwork…and a chat with an elderly man, who happened to be the son of the founder. A great conversation, and he directed me to their ‘museum’ across the back alley. I was gobsmacked when opening the door — scores of saddles on one side, and even more ropes on the other side.

One of the workers said a basic, untooled saddle started at $4,000. She also said that their main business now was rope making, after the owner realized that local cowboys didn’t have ropes and lariats. King Ropes are sent worldwide. One of the workers, getting off of a coffee break, took me downstairs and showed me their ‘homemade’ method of braiding ropes. I was so impressed, that I bought a used, grass lariat.  It is now hanging in my cabin.

I headed west toward the East Gate of Yellowstone, sleeping in the pickup in the shadow of the park. As lovely as is Yellowstone, I loved the canyons heading into the park. Especially after seeing the slowly-healing scars inside the park from wildfires three years ago.  I made the ‘loop’ along the cauldrons, hot springs, and geysers – stopping at the obligatory ‘Old Faithful”….also too touristy for me.  I preferred seeing the lodges – Yellow Lodge and Old Faithful Lodge – though, sadly, both were closed due to the WuFlu. My second encounter with snow as I headed north toward Mamouth Hot Springs – a quaint village.  The genesis of and home to the US Park Service.  Scores of elk were lounging around, as if they owned the place. Which they might.

I then headed north into beautiful Montana. The state has always had a soft spot for me. It was my mother’s beloved home. I was born in Great Falls, although I never remember living there, because that year of 1953, the Crisp family move to my father’s home state of South Carolina. 

I will trek thru Montana and westward to Canada in the next blog. Thanks for reading.