Of course fishing in this state is the national pastime (near to religion, as some have written), and I think it is fair to say that you haven't experienced Montana fully if you haven't waded out into one of the broad streams and cast out a fly. I was told by a local today that he thinks that the fishing has gotten more difficult, because of the policy of catch and release. His theory is that the numbers are not declining; the fish are getting smarter and they don't like that hook in their lip. My take on the issue is that whether you catch a fish is largely dependant on BOTH how wary the fish is and how savvy the fisher is.
I am told that there are more than twenty commercial river rafting companies on the Bitterroot River alone. I did not spot a single one as I pedaled through the valley, but it was a rather cool Friday, with the promise of warmer days over the weekend.
My hosts in Missoula insisted that the hiking in the Bitterroot valley is incomparable, with 10,000 foot peaks rising on both sides. But he also mentioned that the trails were virtually empty.
I can directly attest to the fine cycling I have encountered here, but like all of the above activities, I found myself almost entirely alone on the backroads. This is puzzling because there are quite a number of fine cycle shops in Missoula and it is the home of Adventure Cycling, formerly Bikecentennial, a long established touring company, which should draw tourists through the area, but again I saw none.
The only conclusion I can arrive at as to why no one seems to be visibly doing any outdoor activity is that the outdoors is so huge, and the population so sparse that there is plenty of space for everyone. This is not an easy concept to grasp, coming from Seattle. A.C. publishes several series of very detailed maps crossing the country and I find myself on one such piece for the next few days. For the most part my intended route does not coincide with their preferred routes, but while it does I am happy to use these maps. Sticking to the A.C. route offers the comfort of a well known, frequently used itinerary, but I have always feared that the towns along all the routes are overwhelmed with long distance cyclists and might be somewhat unenthusiastic about seeing yet another one. So far the numbers of bicycles has not been overwhelming.
On my way from Missoula to Darby, I stopped at the Marcus Daly Mansion to have a look around. This fellow was an Irish immigrant who became a copper baron, starting the Anaconda Copper Mine in Butte. His summer house in Hamilton had some 46 rooms and a grand stable for many hundred racehorses. The tour was of some interest to me because it was built in the 1890's and it had a feeling of the period, even if it was the life of an aristocrat.
The rest of the day was easy going, a gently grade up the Bitterroot river. Tomorrow I will begin the mountain stages and the going will be rough.
Babcock and Turner headed east from Missoula toward Butte and Livingston, so after briefly making contact with them, our paths diverge again. We shall meet again in Yellowstone.
In Missoula Babcock wrote in a letter to his brother Chas:
...
I was rather thin when I left the Sound, but I have not lost in flesh.
...
I have about worked my cold out, and feel better than any night since our start.
...
My ears have begun to get a new skin, also my hands and nose, I think the old one will be all pealed off by the time we reach Ohio.
So they were badly sunburned and Will's cold persisted for more than two weeks. Not surprising. I have been sniffling ever since leaving Seattle and only now do I seem to be kicking it. And despite my best efforts with sunscreen, my nose is also putting on new layers of skin.
The articles continue:
At Missoula we stayed half a day, and were visited by a large number of the local wheelmen, who gave us urgent invitation to remain a few days in town, but after writing a few letters, reading the Sound papers, and developing our camera plates, we were ready to move on.
At 3 o'clock, accompanied by a representative of the Anaconda Standard, by Mr. Beckwith, captain of the wheel club, and several other wheelmen, we started eastward for Drummond, fifty-six miles away. Ten miles out our escort turned back, and we pushed on over fair roads. We did not hurry, and moonlight came before we reached our destination. A moonlight ride over Montana hills is a pleasant experience. Now and then the cattle along the road would arouse with a snort of surprise and flee from our vicinity, and the coyotes in the hills made the night noisy. In the evening we made a slight mistake, and passed Drummond entirely, bringing up at New Chicago -- heaven save the name. It has one so-called hotel - - where people sleep three to a room for $1 each. For breakfast you have a choice of coffee or water from an irrigation ditch, both equally muddy.
From this place we started on toward Helena, and at Garrison we were misdirected, and followed the wrong line of telephone poles and reached Deer Lodge on the direct road to Butte, instead of Helena. Notwithstanding that our arrival was expected at the former place, we chose to go on to Butte, partly because it would be in the direct line of our route, and partly because the wind was strong and in the right direction for an easy run to Butte. Our advice to wheelmen is that if you have but little preference as to route, go with the wind and thereby save buying liniment and bandages at the end of the day.
We left Deer Lodge at 4:30 and by 8:30 we were in Butte, the "greatest mining camp on earth," having had one hard grade to surmount.
Although we have tried to avoid making our wheels or costumes conspicuous, we have not always succeeded. The small caps which we wore in crossing Washington, permitted the sun to burn our faces and necks severely, and at Spokane we secured some helmets which are far more comfortable, though rather large. As we wheeled into Butte, one urchin yelled to his comrades, "Hi, kids; see de Afurcan explorers." and at another place we were greeted with "Ketch onto der Englishmen," all of which serves to keep us amused.
So they missed Helena entirely. I'm happy to hear that routefinding was not always easy for them. Even with good maps it is often challenging.
76 easy miles today, and my friend Mr. Tailwind returned today.
About to do some heavy breathing, on the road to Yellowstone,
Dennis