We drove in silence for a bit.
“D’you know what a big horn sheep looks like?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither.”
A bit more driving, both of us stunned by the scenery.
“D’you have cell service?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. I suppose we’ll recognize one when we see one.”
“I wonder how big they are…”
“Not too big I hope.”
Montana the mysterious. In the 19th century they found a ton of gold and silver under those big skies and they gave it its formal nickname. That’s all pretty obvious but the “Flathead Indian Reservation.” That sounded like an insult to us. Flathead? Weird.
As usual it’s a term given by the new arrivals. The European fur traders called the Salish Indians “flatheads” because unlike other tribes they didn’t squish their babies heads to get pointy skulls. I kid you not; look it up. Nowadays the Salish and Kootenai are confederated tribes on the Flathead Reservation. I could only look this up later when we got Internet access. For the time being we drove in puzzled silence reading the bi-lingual signs.
“Jocko?” Really? Who the hell was that? He was a fur trader, half white and half Indian according to Google who lived in the area. His dates are 1768 to 1828 and his full name was Jacques Raphael Findlay. And guess what? Originally the Flathead Reservation was called the Jocko Reservation. Life is a giant circle, isn’t that the cliché?
Highway 200 to Thompson Falls was a long winding valley road running alongside the Clark Flat River. My photos won’t do the place justice but it was utterly jaw dropping gorgeous. Take me at my word.
We dawdled horribly at our morning anchorage in Idaho. It is fabulous not having deadlines or places we have to be. So we got up and I walked Rusty and then we had tea, hot for me and cold for Layne and a chicken strip for Rusty.
Then we exercised a bit and then Rusty the smartest dog in world saw Layne reaching for his ear medicine and he bolted into the tall grass. We laughed and he reappeared looking sheepish and ready to be treated for his ear infection. It was over in an instant. Then we sat around and read for a bit. Layne played Nerdle and I did my crossword and before we knew it the clock said noon. Oh well.
We drove ten minutes into Clark Fork where iOverlander promised a one dollar shower attached to a laundry. It was all true and we returned to town refreshed and ready to raid the local deli. Six dollar salami sandwiches for lunch, piled high with lettuce tomato and pepper jack cheese. We drove a few more minutes toward the state line, parked in the shade by the Clark Fork river and ate those delicious sandwiches. It was a lovely farewell to Idaho.
Layne spotted a sign and we turned off the highway shortly after we entered Montana. It was a delightful village market. We got local lettuce, sourdough, cherries and advice. Swimming in the rivers is great and winters suck. They laughed as they sweated. It was 90 degrees but not humid. They were dying in the heat but we found it quite pleasant. Oh Florida! Good training for hot travel days.
The towns along the way don’t look so brilliantly prosperous with casinos and gas stations predominating next to some empty storefronts. We drove many miles by ourselves on the smooth road with long straights and tiling scenery. I’m still slightly surprised there weren’t more RVs and car tourists on this remarkable road.
It was time to find a camp for the night. My intrepid navigator found us a spot in the woods overlooking Frenchtown, a village on Interstate 90. Our late start and our splendid shower deterred us from spending time taking a river dip which was a disappointment but we got to stop and enjoy the road.
We started climbing out of the valley. All day we hadn’t hit 3,000 feet but our camp ended up around 3600 feet which was still pretty warm as the sun set. We saw deer and wild turkey as we rumbled up the dirt road.
It was a lovely spot in a slightly logged pine forest. We found one parking space on a massive slope. Layne struggled to get off the toilet so steep was the angle! That wasn’t going to work. We moved. My poor guinea pig pronounced the second choice satisfactory.
We could have used a view but the forest was ours. A couple of trucks drove through and a Razr all terrain vehicle followed. Then darkness and silence.
I had my home made Whoopie Pie from the Idaho deli. It was delicious following Laynes salad and smoked barbecue chicken. We drank cider and watched the sun go down over the pines.
Rusty crunched his dinner and passed out. It was a good evening.
And we still have no idea what a big horn sheep looks like. Maybe tomorrow.
