Its was Time to Travel Back those 70 years

I recall clearly, my Grandparent’s farm on the rattlesnake butte near Bonesteel, South Dakota near the Missouri river. Grandfather, a lawyer practiced law in Bonesteel South Dakota and represented the Lakota tribal members in front of Congress. Patrick Joseph, PJ, was a 9 times delegate to the Democratic National Convention and when he died in 1943, FDR sent grandmother a personal note of condolence and the Sioux nation gave him a tribal burial after the local catholic Priest said the last prayers. He was the only white man ever to be given title as chief by the Dakota Sioux.

PJ and the family lived in town with a hired man and his family to live out on the farm. He'd drive his Ford everyday during the cropping season to watch the cattle grow and the corn and alfalfa mature. He loved the farm and it kept his five daughters and 2 sons, all college educated, in food during the deep depression when cash was scarce.

Visiting the dry prairies of South Dakota as a child was completely foreign than the lush green river hill of my northern Illinois upbringing. For one, people were few far in between in Bonesteel and the continual silence of the grandparents’ big pririre house scared me at night. You always seemed alone and on your own with nothing to do unless you went swimming or watched my grandmother, aunts and mom play bridge. Even walking to Mass on Sunday was an outing I looked forward toward.

This cycle repeat itself every year until I was 14. We took the Hiawathia from Milwakee to Siouz City each summer visiting for 2 month the Aunts and Uncles in Nebraska and South Dakota. My father stayed in Illinois and wouldn’t invade this space unless he was willing to comitt to playing bridge or being the dummy.

I have 34 first cousin and all our aunts behaved like Mom. There was little I could get away with and I used to tell the Dominican Nuns at St. Anne’s in Barrinton that another of my mums was pregnant somewhere out in Nebraska or South Dakota.TheNuns understood these closeknit Irish families of the upper Midwest and approved.

The heat of those Dakota days eased somewhat at night and then the locust would begin their incessant buzz. Sleeping without covers was the only way to fall asleep on hot the upper screened porch that often housed 6 to 10 cousins who where visting the Praire house. I never got accustomed to the Locust noise or the lightning and thunder at night. To this day, those sounds have never abated and so before sleep even in the dead of winter I listen to the TV or radio to fall asleep.

And the day light stayed forever. Falling asleep at 8 with the sun still out was trying at best. We were all well feed with fresh corn, snap beans and tomatoes from the farm. It seemed we had steak or pork ribs most night and so hot dogs and chips with cold orange Kool Aid was special. My mother was home here at theis three story praire home with her four sisters sometimes a brother or two playing bridge 24/7 talking and gossiping and visiting like small town folks can master. I was happy because Mom was very happy.

The short grass vastness and silence and the small town talk infected me like a polio virus. I never knew how bad it was until years later I ventured to the Canadian Prairies with my own family seeking a peace I had lost during my intense graduate work and research projects. I felt comfortable in Saskatchewan with prairie farmers and town folks. These town support the farmers and were the size of my grandparents’ town and farm back in the 1950’s. I found Indiana like my northern Illinois roots but the great vistas of the Dakota could only be satisfied with the compelling landscape of the West. I tried but couldn’t find or feel that sense of place in America as small towns and sense of community had vanished under the weight of modern Agriculture and the corporate tax structure. Crossing to Saskatchewan was revisiting my youth and I have been traveling there 6 weeks each fall for the past 20 years.

Up to the Yellowstone down to Cody on the way to Canada

Cody Wyoming onto the Saskatchewan

It was years ago, as a Purdue grad student yearning for the clear waters of Yellowstone, that I often drove through Cody on my way to fly fish the Madison River. I remembered Cody as a dusty and windy town at the base of the eastern or leeward side of the Yellowstone Plateau. Nothing had changed in Cody except for the expansion of the Buffalo Bill Museum. As I climb eastward up the ancient crater Yellowstone Lake past our trailhead to Clear Creek, past memories of wonderful trout fishing days swelled and I was back to those earlier days when nothing could go wrong. My son, Nick now 24, was baptized in Clear Creek. My wife Ellen with our fathers hiked into the stream after Ellen gave birth 3 weeks before. She was a new mother but fly fishing was a passion and she would not be denies but she had forgotten diapers for Nicholas. My father in law, a wonderful man a fly fishing nut, Ph.D. educated and out of West Point whom I continual sought his approval for marrying his eldest daughter accepted me after I guided him there to witness thousand of 18” cutthroats willing to grab and dry fly especially huge yellow humpies. It as the golden era of trout fishing before lightweight module rods created a multitude of choice. When Helen Shaw and Dale Clemens and Charlie Brooks were the gurus of fly tying, rod building and western stream fly fishing respectively. But that was then and I was heading up to Canada to participate in another golden time.

The new highway carries me up to the east entrance with towering peaks that transport me back to the Southern Alp Fjorlands of New Zealand for the briefest of moments. I like it when I transport in geography from my global travels.

I needed a provenance letter for my Duck Model Winchester Model 21. The Model 21 Duck is an exceptional handling weapon during the waterfowl season. There is a feel to the gun that exudes confidence to its handler and it is difficult to explain how well it feels in the hand. It swings like there is not weight to the weapon yet can handle heavy load without a care. This Winchester was commissioned by to General Omar Bradley in 1947 who supplied the timber from root stocks taken from French Walnuts near Normandy after the D-day invasion. I wanted the info about date of order and delivery.

I parked on a back alley in Cody. I am an expert on urban camping and by 7:30 I was falling asleep to the “Tom Clancy’s “The Hunt for the Red October” starring Sean Connery. “The Hunt,” a movie I must have watched over a 1,000 times puts me to sleep. And within minutes of playing, I and my dogs are asleep. I am awakening around 3 am with the howling of the winds and the Lance is rocking back and forth like a schooner tacking around the Horn. I turn on the “The Hunt” and within minute I am asleep.

Morning comes quickly again with the winds and I located an espresso shop where I’m informed the Rockies might make it to the playoff. How could this be and the Latte triple shot latte was just right and life is good very good. Cruised over to the Sierra Trading Post and nothing of interest as it has morph into a REI without gear. Across the street is the Buffalo Museum and within minute after asking for the gun records I was escorted down to the basement where a woman with an earphone was busy handling a request scrolling through microfiche on her computer. She repeats the information for a model 1897, and with in minute she has my information. There is no charge and I learn that indeed the “duck” was made as a bespoke gun for Omar Bradley in 1947 who supplied the wood in 1946 that Winchester air dried. It had Fleur de leys pattering with grade B checkering. It was ordered in June of 1946 and delivered in March of 1947

The rest of the Museum was a combination of 4 themes. There were many Winchester models 21 and almost all makes of weapons. I did notice that I was the only person without too many gray hairs. It was comforting to see many couple enjoying the Cody museum many in their 70’s drinking soda pop, high carb foods and even s desert of two. I thought the Museum was way to simplistic esp. about the natives, but enjoyed the tribute to Buffalo Bill but I needed fresh air and was on the road heading to Billing and up to Malta and Saskatchewan. I had to move on and get up to the pure lands of Saskatchewan where I would work with the Canadian Nature Conservancy and witness the fall migration truly an event of epic portions

Yellowstone Plateau to Cody Wyoming

September 2007

My drive across Utah from Great Basin National Park and up through thru Salt Lake City is uneventful even the traffic was not too bad. I call Lorin my friend who has housed Tom and me as we toured the Temple one year and had meant us in Saskatchewan for a goose hunt. Big mistake as he and his friends returned to that location and affected the hunting. Lorin is a paradox, an intellectual who is a Bishop with in the LDS congregation. Lorin was a an attorney who did his mission in Peru but couldn’t handle the combativeness of lawyering so he morphed into a mellow innkeeper and above all a devoted Father and Husband who passed on his love for the outdoors to his children.

As I pass eastward over the summit toward Wyoming, the rains quickly change to snow the last I would see for awhile I hoped. The big Ford 350 crew cab with tandem wheel housing the famous International built Navistar 7.3 Diesel climbs steadily and handles the large Lance camper with ease. I am in love with this machine and am at ease knowing she’ll handling the many miles ahead to Arizona and Mexico in the winter. I will checkout the Teton and hope to get a glimpse of the fall colors of the cottonwoods lining the Teton River and I will pass up through Lake Lodge onto Cody.

The fall colors are a peak and best of all the traffic is almost non-existence. The Teton are shrouded again in clouds and I recall Alan Ladd in Shane riding to town with the Tetons as a back drop to square off against Wilson played by Jack Palance. There are many antelope alongside the roadway. This Wind River highway is well designed and I assume Chaney was able to help steer funds back home. Also oil monies help Wyoming thrive but I am disappointed with the price of diesel at $2.78.

I climb up the Yellowstone plateau pass Old Faithful; I stop in to check out the restoration and it still well done. The crowds are all grey hair retired couple enjoying their time together like young honey mooners. I do checkout my room where I honeymoon and remember what a grand time we had fishing and having the lodge prepare our catch. Those days are way past. I pass lower biscuit basin and I watched an old man hook a nice rainbow. He was using a BWO and each time a cloud blocked the suns rays the trout came to the surface to feast on emerging mayflies.

I have the roads to my self as I travel to the Northeast entrance. Hayden Valley is vacant from animals. Conspicuously absent from the valley the Gibbons canyon and around Lake are the Elk and the numerous Bison. Reminds me of the Madison in 1996 when the rainbow disappeared and they blamed whirling disease for the collapse. Between not having the bears anymore, I wonder how much more regulating the biologist will do up here to restore the Park to its natural state; I fear there will be little to talk about in the coming years regarding animals probably a combination of hard winter and wolves.

The drive forth from Reno on highway 50, the loneliest road in America lulls me toward sleep. I had to slap myself hard just to keep between the lines. I was mean to myself and it stung. I guess it must be the pent up stoic anger. I know a few folk that would gladly have held my right hand swinging away. It stung only for the briest of time and I had to pull off on a pass where the winds howled. We had a week of low pressure off the coast and it was swinging through the Great Basin again bringing snow to the peaks. The moon was waxing and in a few days it would be full. Bull elk would begin their roar and the necks of many a man who drew the coveted Nevada bull tag would also begin to swell.

My friends were already up in the mountains looking at road conditions for the upcoming winter hunt. The herds would migrate here and poor Dave, a kindly barrister would have to outwit these magnificent creatures. Dave was not a trophy hunter, just a guy who had been putting in for 18 years and finally got enough bonus points to draw. He had no idea what was lay ahead but somehow he’d manage.

Kelly another swollen neck hunter had drawn an elk tag for the Table Mountain area. He was determined to make this hunt a lifetime adventure and with the help of several friends and pilots, Kelly would siege the mountain early November when the roar was finished and the bull elk became solitary again.

I left the group and head west on 50 through the Great Basin National Park. Just awesome but I decided I would do it with ELLEN.

Onwards through some of the finest valleys out west. Breathe taking I transformed my rig into the STAR SHIP ENTERPRISE put on Lorena McKinnett and I was sailing across virgin space with almost no traffic except for a traveling couple. This land is still remote and I feel light years away from the Sierra’s

FALL CAMPAIGN IS UNDERWAY

The hound dogs, Belle and Fe can tell the days are getting shorter. Belle, the sleek youthful black labrador or Lady Whippyshaw as my daughter has named her, is quickly putting on her undercoat. She'll need it for breaking ice and swiming cold water to retrive fat greenheads and canvasbacks over the next six weeks as we roam across Saskatchewan for our 23th consective years. Fe Rey or Fe, our six year old German wirehair is a funny animal. She is all instinct and a hunting machine imprinted on the lab. God help those who approach her when she is chained. Fe will launch into a terrifing rabid attack like a junk yard dog. Take her off the chain and she is a docile affectionate beast. She goes along to get along without an ambition in the world until she scents grouse or Dakota pheasants.

The Reno Air Race are finished. There were three piots killed this year and Steve Fossey the famous balloner is missing while flying Nevada's outback to locate a salt flat for speed records. The Harley crusiers are in town this week dressed in black tryin gto look tough but really having the classic "gorilla-marshmellow complex." I see few vintage machine so I loose intrest and hop on my burnt Orange 1300 cc Honda crusier with a drive thanking the heaven for Honda..

Snow dusted Donner summit and many choose to trailer their bikes rather than risk ice. The die hards flood the down town with over 5,000 bikes, mainly middle aged professional having a fling at fast bikes. It's cood with snow dusting on the mountain and I'm wondering why I 'm heading North but I know there'll be time for the Baja this winter.

I'll leave suddenly after parting with Ellen who is anxious to have time to her self. I head over to the backside of Wells in Clover Vally and hunt the Ruby's with my friend for Snowcock, a large Chuckar. We've found their leers and can get on top of them through a dense stand of Aspen. Fun birds and great to roast

This year I think I 'll cross over by Sweetgrass Montana and head up to Drumheller before Saskatchewan. I am to help open a new lodge up north that is suppose to have terrific grouse and duck hunting. Hopes are high

What Gets me Going

Some of the Horses in my Stable