On the outskirts of Havre, Montana are these two old, rotting cars that look like they have been parked there for many yeas. After admiring them for weeks from a distance I finally had the courage to photograph them.
There are a lot of old, rusting cars like this scattered all over Montana. I do like photographing them. These in particular had a spirit about them.
A morning view on St. Mary's Lake at Glacier National Park in Montana.
In any man’s life there are times when he loses control and feels raw, unfettered emotion. Some experience it more than others. The loss of a loved one, the birth of a child, and the joy of love are a few examples. And for better or for worse, I think my emotions have pretty much always been kept in check. Like everyone else, I have had a few peaks and valleys in my life, but my soul has remained relatively tame.
That all changed for me yesterday.
Call it a religious, call it spiritual, call it mystical…call it whatever you want. But for one of the few times in my life my heart leapt. For a moment, I lost control. And I could not have been any more overcome with emotion than I was at that very moment.
I woke up at 4 AM, which is now a common occurrence for me. I didn’t have specific plans, but I didn’t waste any time grabbing my camera and hopping onto Highway 2. I was headed west…toward the mountains.
The first glimmer of light began to paint the dark sky at about 6 AM when I was somewhere near Ethridge, Montana. A spent the morning tucked between the rolling hills and coulees just south of Ethridge photographing a gigantic field of windmills I found along the way. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise higher over the horizon that I too came out of the valley to see the rest of the world around me. Until then I did not realize how close to the Rocky Mountains I really was.
When the rich, amber glow of the sun fades I usually stop photographing. The higher the sun climbs, the worse photographs become; colors are washed out and subjects loose their definition. But when the sunlight is horizontal and diffused behind all of the crap floating around in our atmosphere right over the horizon, natural light is at its best. That’s one of the reasons I get up so early. The other reason is I often suffer from insomnia. And when I do manage to find the power to sleep, Steve (the cat) usually begins sliding things off of my nightstand in a devious attempt to wake me up. It usually works. Steve is also an early riser.
On this morning the mountains called me. I packed up my gear and continued driving toward the looming mountains to the west.
It didn’t take long to reach the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Somewhere outside of Browning I made a right-hand turn north toward St. Mary. Several times I caught myself gazing at the snow capped peaks as my truck drifted back and forth between both lanes of traffic. Luckily for me I did meet another vehicle at all while I was driving. I am equally lucky I didn’t stray off the shoulder and down a steep embankment. Like in the movies, my truck would have tumbled in some places for a thousand feet before stopping.
I wanted to purchase an annual pass for all the national parks, which is only $80, but no one was working at the large, sprawling visitor center when I arrived. Nobody was on the streets of St. Mary, either. My only option was to stuff $25 into an envelope for a 7-day pass (which didn’t seem like much of a bargain) or cautiously drive through the park and play dumb if a park ranger stopped me along the way.
Only 1-1/2 miles of the Going to the Sun Road at Glacier National Park was open. Workers just began plowing the road, which can have up to 80 feet of snow in some parts. And according to the local newspaper, it won’t be clear until the middle of June. So I figured I would donate 71 cents the next time I return with my annual pass; a pro rated amount given I only traveled 1-1/2 miles into the park.
I parked on the roadside and looked into the valley at St. Mary Lake below and huge jagged peaks flanking it on all sides. It was such a magnificent site. My eyes almost teared up at the sight. Yes, the lighting was horrible, and I was only supposed to scout the park, but I had an uncontrollable urge to do my best and try to make a good photo with the scene God handed me on this day.
I wasn’t dressed to do this at all. I scolded myself for not being better prepared. I was only wearing some jeans, a T-shirt, sweatshirt, and sneakers. The temperature outside was 28 degrees and the winds were howling at well over 40 mph. I was also thought twice about going venturing too far from my vehicle because I saw a sign at the entrance warning everyone that grizzly bears might be lurking in the area. Surely they were still hibernating, no? But if they weren’t they were probably very hungry.
“To hell with it,” I said. “If you want to be an adventure photographer, you better not be worried about something as simple as this.” So I grabbed my gear, pulled the hood over my head, and began a one mile hike through the mostly damp and uneven ground toward the edge of St. Mary Lake and my first real adventure as a photographer…albeit a minor one.
Simple.
TO BE CONTINUED: A Religious Experience (Part 2)
12: A person from Havre. The license plate number for everyone in Hill County begins with the digits 1 and 2. If you are from Blaine County your license plate number would begin with 24, in Chouteau County it would be 19, Meagher County 47, Cascade County 8, and so on.
A Buck Ninety Eight: Montana slang for “expensive.”
Absaroka: In 1939 a group of business and political leaders tried to break of parts of Montana, Wyoming, and North Dakota to form a new state, which would have been called Absaroka. Also the name of a mountain range that runs between Montana and Wyoming.
Bear Paw Mountains: Also known as the Bears Paw and Bear Paw’s; the Bear Paw Mountains are a small mountain range surrounded by the grassy plains. They are only 10 miles south of Havre and its tallest mountain is Baldy Mountain, which rises almost 7,000 ft. above sea level.
Better-Than-Sex Cake: A favorite home-made dessert recipe in Montana, which largely consists of chocolate, toffee, hot fudge, condensed milk, and whipped cream. And trust me, it is not better than sex. Clearly a woman came up with the recipe and the name.
Barrow Pit: A long, narrow excavation made in the ground by digging; known everywhere else as a ‘ditch’.
Breaks: An area flanking the Missouri River characterized by badlands, rock outcroppings, and steep bluffs. Many locals will warn you not to get “caught in the Breaks” during a July rain storm. I have yet to understand why, but have heeded their advice nonetheless.
Butte: A hill that rises abruptly from the surrounding area and has sloping sides and a flat top. It is also the name of a city in southwest Montana.
Cady: A hat.
Caesar: A cocktail created (and primarily consumed) in Canada. It is also popular along the northern rim of Montana. It contains vodka, clamato juice, Worcestershire sauce, and Tabasco sauce. It is commonly served with ice in a large, celery salt-rimmed glass, and typically garnished with a stalk of celery and wedge of lime.
Cadywompus: Screwed up, out or line, off kilter, and/or twisted beyond recognition.
Chinook: Havre’s neighboring town to the east. Also the name given to a wind or weather system where warm winds from the southwest meet the Rocky mountains and then blow across the plains. A strong Chinook is said to cause a foot or more of snow to vanish in a day. Loosely translated, the word means “snow eater.”
Coulee: A deep ravine or gulch, which is usually dry, bus was formed by running water. Oh the irony.
Crick: The Montanan word for a small stream, or creek.
Crow Bait: A horse in very bad condition.
Ditch: The word “ditch” is used when ordering a drink with water. It means “with water.” When you order “Jack Daniel’s ditch” you will receive a glass of Jack Daniel’s with water.” This is not a joke. All you have to do is order a “Jack ditch.”
Dogie: A motherless, or wild, calf.
Eight Throttle: To go very fast.
Electric City: Great Falls is called The Electric City because of its many hydroelectric power plants on the banks of the Missouri River.
End of the Oil: The end of paved road where the gravel road begins. And there are many more miles of gravel road here in Montana than paved road.
Family Reunion: A town meeting.
Frybread: Also known as bannock or fried bread, frybread is a Native American flat dough that is deep-fried in oil, shortening, or lard. It is commonly served at festivals and special occasions.
Goat: A pronghorn antelope, which is technically neither a goat or an antelope. It is also called a “speed goat.”
Going to the Sun Road: The name of the 53-mile long road that crosses Glacier National Park and travels over the Continental Divide at Logan Pass. It is also considered one of the most difficult roads to snowplow in the country with drifts up to 80-feet deep in some places.
Good Bucker: A rodeo term for a bucking bull or horse admired by the contestants and fans. One must be especially careful when uttering these words in public, however, so they are not confused with a more vulgar term.
Gopher: A small, burrowing animal native to the short grass prairies of Montana. They are disliked by most ranchers and farmers who try in vain to poison and shoot as many as they can. The Montana gopher is really a Richardson ground squirrel, but no one has the heart to tell the locals.
Havre: A city located in north central Montana. It is said to be named after the city of Le Havre in France. According to the latest census Havre has a population of approximately 9,600 people. It is also the location of my base camp. Havre is pronounced “havv-er” (rhymes with cadaver). It is not pronounced “harve,” as in Brett Favre.
Hi-Line: A geographical term referring to the portion of northern Montana just south of the Canadian border along which runs the main line of the BNSF Railway (originally the Great Northern Railway) and U.S. Highway 2. Havre is considered by many to be the center of the Hi-Line.
High Centered: To be drunk.
Highway 2: U.S. Highway 2; an east–west route, which spans 2,579 miles across the northern United States. In Montana Highway 2 is a vital northern corridor. The road spans 664 miles through Montana, including some of the most beautiful land in the state.
Hooker: A rodeo term for a bucking bull who throws his rider forward so he can hook him with his horns. The adjective “hooky” also applies.
Hooter: A nickname given to a member of a Hutterite Colony. Hutterites, like Amish and Mennonites, believe in communal living and absolute pacifism. It is common to see Hutterites selling vegetables and bread at a Montana farmers market.
Jerky: A wagon without springs.
Jockey Box: A glove compartment box.
Last Best Hiding Place: Locals in Montana call it “the last best hiding place.” The phrase originated when Ted Kaczynski, otherwise known as the Unabomber, was captured in a remote cabin outside of Lincoln, Montana. Other convicts and escapees have also fled to hide in Montana, too.
Mint: Arguably the most common name for a tavern in Montana. Almost every town has a Mint. Other popular names include VFW, Stockman’s, and Horseshoe.
Montana Shoeshine: What you get when you step in a pile of cow shit.
Montanabahn: Interstate 94 in Montana. In daylight the speed limit is 75 mph, but reportedly drivers will reach insane speeds all of the time. Drivers are urged to use “prudent” judgment, but many drive as fast as they want.
Montanada: The miles and miles of desolate landscape along the northern Montana and southern Canadian border.
Moose Drool: A locally brewed beer made by Big Sky Brewery in Missoula, Montana. It is to Montana what Spotted Cow is to Wisconsin.
Neckerchief: A triangular or rectangular piece of cloth folded into a triangle and worn around the neck by ranchers and cowboys in Montana. Not to be confused with an ascot.
Old Baldy: Another name for Baldy Mountain, which rises 6,916 ft. above sea level and is the highest peak in the Bear Paw Mountain range.
Outfit: A pick-up truck.
Pronto Pup: A corn dog made with a bright red Rocky Mountain hot dog served at the Hill County Fair. Do not call them a corn dog in front some locals, though. Many believe Pronto Pups hold a secret power…despite the fact they taste like any other generic corn dog.
Prune Picker: Someone from California.
Radar Range: A microwave oven.
Rattler: A rattlesnake.
Sagebrush Men: Cowboys who work in arid regions of Montana and Wyoming.
Sixty-Niner: A Montana gold rusher.
Slow Elk: A cow.
Snooce: Montana slang for chewing tobacco.
Spud Muncher: Someone from Idaho.
Spendy: The Montanan word for “expensive” or “pricey.”
Sweet Grass Hills: A formation of three distinct buttes that rise up out of the grassy plains just east of Havre and just south of the Canadian border. Despite its name, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, marijuana is not grown there.
That’ll Ride’em: It literally means, “That will work.”
Two Bits: A quarter of a dollar (25 cents)–or $25 dollars.
V8 Sneak: To hunt with a pick-up truck; sneaking up on pronghorn or deer while inside your pick-up truck.
Weasels: Another word for M&M candies. Such as, “Please put some weasels on my ice cream.”
Wranglers: Something you wear to prom.
You Betcha: A phrase commonly heard in Montana, which can mean (1) yes, (2) I agree, (3) you’re wrong, but I won’t embarrass you by telling you’re wrong, and (4) I didn’t hear what you were saying but I will respond nonetheless.
This little guy came up to me as I was photographing in Chester, MT and followed me around for 20 minutes.
The decision to call this area the “Great Plains” is an interesting one.
As a noun, the word “plain” describes any area of land not significantly higher than its adjacent land. And it’s true; the landscape here in northern Montana is rather flat and unassuming. But as an adjective the word “plain” also means “ordinary, simple, and undistinguished. I’m sorry, but I see it as anything but plain.
Sure, a drive down Highway 2 can be long. So far I have driven 300 miles of Highway 2 from Wolf Point to Shelby–several times. I am still unfamiliar with Montana, so I find myself playing Connect the Dots in my mind as I drive through the small, sleepy towns along the way. Oswego, Nashua, Glasgow, Vandalia, Saco, Malta, Savoy, Harlem, Chinook, Kremlin, Gildford, Hingham, Inverness, Joplin, Chester, Galata, and Dunkirk. Few have a population of more than a couple hundred, but every town has an interesting story (or two) and interesting sites to photograph.
I assume it was called the Great Plains by Lewis & Clark when they first explored the territory along the Missouri River. I’m sure they also saw magnificent mountains, bottomless canyons, and raging rivers along the way, so I suppose it is fitting to call this rather nondescript landscape “plain.” But it stretches across the northern United States for thousands of miles, so the attribute “great” also seems appropriate.
The western Great Plains, which abuts the Rocky Mountains to its east, is quite simply our version of the African Serengeti. There aren’t any elephants, lions, and giraffes roaming the plains, but it is abundant with wildlife. Especially in the spring. As the snows melt and the land thaws, wildlife is in motion all along the Hi-Line. Mule deer, pronghorn antelope, white-tailed jack rabbits, geese, owls, pheasants, and many, many other animals are easily seen from the comfort of your vehicle as you drive along Highway 2. My head is constantly sweeping from left-to-right as I scan the road in front of me for potential hazards (and photo opportunities).
Everyone here says you should not to swerve to avoid hitting an animal in the middle of the road. They say it is safer to take your foot off of the gas, plow through, and hope for the best. It seems to be good advice, but it kills me inside any time I hit an animal when driving. I’m here to photograph natural beauty; not kill it.
One of the most common animals around here is the northern pocket gopher ground squirrel. I first saw them this week while driving back from Shelby. After a particularly harsh winter in these parts the northern pocket gopher ground squirrel is just now starting to emerge from its den underground . At first I only saw a few of them. Now, it seems,they are everywhere.
They are cute, little, fuzzy animals, which remind me of the dramatic chipmunk on YouTube. When you fly past one on the side of the road, I swear, they shoot you the same look.
They aren’t very bright, either. From Shelby to Havre I swear a hundred or more darted across the road in front of me. One of the first gophers ground squirrels I met on Highway 2 ran right in front of my truck. I had no time to react so I just closed my eyes and tried to straddle him with my truck. I opened my eyes, and looked in the rear view mirror, only to see him tumbling down the road after getting hit with the backwash of air from the back of my truck. A few seconds later he picked himself up and ran away. Lucky guy.
For the most part I have been able to avoid hitting the gophers ground squirrels who try to play chicken with me and my 5000 lbs. truck. But I have hit two or three. And every time it happens I feel badly.
Steve (the cat) probably wouldn’t be happy with me either. If he ever gets loose I and is stupid enough to stand in the middle of the road I hope someone else will have the decency to swerve and not hit him.
I guess the northern pocket gopher’s ground squirrel’s behavior is a bit analogous to my life at the moment. At times I feel like I too am darting across a busy highway (though Highway 2 isn’t really all that busy) hoping to avoid the next large, dark mass trying to plow through me.
Then again, I never found the middle of the road a good place to be.
An early morning photograph of the Bear Paw Mountains in north central Montana.
The early morning sun was very fleeting this morning. I had about 20 minutes of good sunlight. This is the only image I was able to capture with this colorful sky.
Sun drenched cattails on the edge of a very frozen Freezeout Lake near Fairfield, Montana.
I rolled out of bed at 4:00 a.m. Yes, it was early, but part of me is still on Wisconsin time, so it wasn’t as bad as it seems.
I five hours of sleep in total; two too few. Under the night’s black sky and and Havre’s relative quiet I made my out of the door and headed on down the highway to Freezeout Lake…much to the displeasure of Steve (the cat). I told him I would spend much of the following day with him, though it didn’t seem to matter.
The highway between Havre and Great Falls was eerily quiet–even more than I would have expected on an early Saturday morning in north central Montana. I only passed 3 or 4 cars on the way, I swear. It was a lonely drive, but I’m used to it by now. The good news is that I was able to pick up an 80s radio station out of Great Falls, which made the time pass more quickly.
I arrived at Freezeout Lake rjust as the sun was lifting its head over the horizon. I didn’t really know where I was going, but spotted a photographer on the opposite end of the lake. He had a very big lens, so I assumed he knew what he was doing. But that’s not always the case. I hiked to his location nonetheless and began to unpack my gear. I still hadn’t seen any of the thousands of snow geese every was talking about, but thought they would likely make their presence known was the sun had risen.
A avian enthusiast happened upon our location with a good set of binoculars and pointed toward the horizon and said, “Look.”
What appeared to be a this haze of fog was thousands and thousands of snow geese…yet well below the numbers expected to arrive in the next couple of weeks. I spoke to him for a little bit and learned much. He said the snow geese had yet to arrive in large numbers because there was still too much ice on the lake. He also told me that the opportunity to photograph would be much better then because what geese already arrived were nesting and feeding in the fields…not the place I want to photograph them. My goal was to capture a swarm as it rose above the lake with the beautiful Rocky Mountains in the background.
It was very cold, but I dressed for the occasion. All of me was warm, except my fingertips. I did my best to keep the warm, but I think I got a mild case of frost bite.
Opportunities to photograph snow geese this morning were not good, so I decided to pack-up and leave after three hours of watching and waiting. I will return in two weeks.
I drove north on U.S. Highway 89 for about 100 miles. The scenery was breathtaking. I must have jumped out of my car a dozen or more times. I was truly experiencing sensory overload. And as such I wasn’t totally pleased with my work. My mind races when there are too many things to photograph and I end up not photographing any of them particularly well.
They say here in Montana that the state’s three main cash crops are wheat, cattle, and missiles. I saw a lot of each on my drive.
I saw my first missile silo north of Fairfield. I had seen one before a dozen or more years ago and forgot that the Montana countryside was littered with them. This time, however, their presence was laced with irony. On my last trip through Montana I was in a rush to get back home so I didn’t really think about them. This time, however, I was searching for beautiful and interesting subjects along the way. On the left of me was evidence of God’s grace–tall, majestic mountains rising from the earth that would make the most cynical human being feel small and insignificant. And then on the right of me every 10 miles or so were man-made nuclear missile silos hugging the ground.
Each silo contained a single Minuteman III missile, which is capable of delivering three warheads onto its target with a yield of 1.2 megatons each. That means each missile I passed (6 or 7 in total) was 240 times more destructive than the bomb we dropped on Hiroshima. The thought of it kind of creeped me out.
I drove a hundred or more miles back to Havre, thinking about the beautiful Rocky Mountains that flanked me on the west and the nuclear missiles that flanked me on the east. All in all, it was a confusing end to the day.
The side of an old, decaying garage with peeling paint in Hingham, Montana.
Today marked the first time since October 2008 I took photographs every day for a week and posted them to Flickr. It is good to be back.
The sunrise in the east silhouettes these power lines near rural Fairfield, Montana.
The sunrises are glorious here in Montana. When you know the sunrise will be magnificent it is often hard to find something to silhouette against the colorful sky. Luckily these power lines came into view just as the sky came to life.
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