I followed a river in Montana the other day. Rivers are no small miracle to an old desert rat who has trouble visualizing moving water. After an hour of trying I gave up on finding any good campsites along the river. This experience confirmed my first decision about camping, learned many years ago: avoid lakes and rivers. It sounds weird but I enjoyed feeling lost and frustrated.
It was late enough in the day to feel a twinge of desperation. Finally I saw a humble, brown sign for a dirt road that headed perpendicularly to the river, towards high sagebrush hills. It looked like the kind of area that scenery tourists -- including van nomads -- would not be interested in. Therefore I was. The road wasn't too rough and steep, and it is usually possible for a van + trailer to get turned around in places like this.
Sagebrush hills always grab my imagination. The hills are like giant, lethal waves sloshing over the "sagebrush sea." That is how waves on a stormy lake can seem to a small boat such as a kayak or canoe. It is how the waves at Cape Horn seemed to seamen in the Age of Sail.
Oddly, I found a flat, grassy campsite with a good ATT signal. No neighbors. The land seemed neglected to the point of being forlorn, and yet, it was private and cozy. I could peek at a lake off in the distance. Over the campsite loomed a nicely forested, rocky ridge. Better yet another high ridge, covered with only grass and sagebrush, appeared to have a soft ascent for good mountain biking the next day. It was so high and grand. Would it also be chilly and windswept? I couldn't help but flutter my eyelashes at it.
The more I looked around, the more perfect this land seemed. How strange that it had first seemed austere and uninteresting. Perhaps the slow and discouraging start and an accidental glance at a brown sign, had paid off. It is worth re-quoting Norman Maclean in "A River Runs Through It," page 43. (This is one of those fly fishing-cum-philosophy books I am a sucker for:)
"Ten or fifteen feet before the fly lights, you can tell whether a cast like this is going to be perfect, and, if necessary, still make slight corrections. The cast is so soft and slow that it can be followed like an ash settling from a fireplace chimney. One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful, even if it is only floating ash." |
| I don't remember liking the movie, but the book was worth it, if just for that one quote. |
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