Montana - Day 2...

After a good night's sleep, I did some photo editing and then went down to my buddy's restaurant for some lunch. The guy's a crazy good cook, and he made me a bacon cheeseburger from the dark side. We shot some pool, had a beer, and then I asked where some good photo ops might be. He recommended Kootenai Creek (pronounced, if you believe the locals, "Koot-knee Krick").

I hopped in the truck and drove about six miles south, to the turn-off for Kootenai Creek.

There were other cars in the lot, but I didn't see anyone. Two of the cars had kayak racks on top, although I never did say them, either. I grabbed my gear and headed up the trail.

As you approach the trail head, there are a number of signs which alert you to the various things to keep in mind when hiking in environments like this. There was one, in particular, which grabbed my attention:

I'm pretty sure that meeting up with either one would represent
a dramatic change in how your day was progressing...

But they weren't all so serious, either. Folks up here love their dogs, and they're plentiful on the back country trails. I guess, then, that this is only fitting:

Humans pay no mind...

Basically, the idea is to stay safe. This isn't a bad idea. After all, out here, you can get seriously hurt. I'm not talkin' "I think I sprained a knuckle" hurt, I'm talking "medivac" hurt. So, it's good to keep the basics of safety and sanity in mind. As I'd be carrying gear with me, I decided to take it slow and easy.

The Kootenai is, to me, anyway, a lot more than a creek. Or even a krick for that matter. It was flowing strong, and I heard it as soon as I got out of the truck. I was eager to head up and get some shooting done. I grabbed the 5D and my tripod and hit the trail.

If this is a "creek", I'm Julius Caesar. Creeks are shallow, slow moving waterways that guys like Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer would go fishing in. I don't know what this would be called, but it sure didn't strike me as being very creek-like:

 

Kootenai Creek in Florence, Montana...

 

This was moving a little too fast to be a "creek"...

 

Kayakers love this stuff...

 

Standing on a rock outcropping over the creek, about 60 feet up...

 

I would've liked to have continued up the trail but, after about a mile or so, it started to train. I didn't have rain gear for me or the camera, so I thought it best to head back to the truck. I made a right onto Highway 93, down to the town of Stevensville. There wasn't a lot there, but I recall someone mentioning the Bitterroot River, so I thought I'd check it out:

 

The Bitterroot River...

 

Not far from where the picture above was taken was this pristine little lake. I was diggin' how the trees reflected:

 

As far as I could tell, this lake actually has no name... But it probably does...

 

After walking around for a while, I walked back to the truck and drove back to my buddy Chris' restaurant. We shot pool for a bit and had a couple beers, and then I decided to head back to the house. I was tired, and I wanted to get a jump on editing photos. So, I climbed back in the truck again, started it up, put it in "REVERSE" and...

 

Nothing.

 

The truck didn't move.

 

I put it back into "PARK" and then back into "REVERSE". It did nothing at first and then, with a loud clunking sound, it started to back up. I shifted it into "DRIVE", and heard a sound that I normally don't associate with a transmission which is in good repair. It sounded horrible. Once it would shift out of 1st gear, though, it was smooth sailing. When I got back to the house, I backed into the parking spot and, when I stopped the truck, all I could hear was the sound of metal scraping on whatever metal scrapes on to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

 

Thankfully, Chris knows a guy here in town who's a great mechanic. Even though he's giving me a nice deal on the work, the reality is that I hadn't exactly budgeted for a new transmission. But it is what it is, and no amount of worrying is going to change the reality that I'm going to be in Florence until Saturday morning, instead of Kansas City, Missouri, which was the original plan.

 

Now, with all that said, I'm actually pretty fortunate. I'm fortunate in that I made it to Florence. I'm fortunate that it happened here, and not, say, 150 miles east of Rapid City, South Dakota. I'm not shelling out eighty bucks a night for a hotel room. This is where friends come through.

 

I'm not yet sure just how much this is going to impact the "photo op" aspect of this trip. Yes, I still have a good amount of time to get to Pennsylvania. But I'd hoped to spend that time; those three weeks, shooting my way across America instead of worrying about when I'll stop and for how long. I'll adjust my itinerary as needed, though. There are things which, frankly, I have no intention of missing. Some places can be set aside for another time.

 

The bottom line is that, when my transmission went, I was deflated. Big time. But the important thing, I believe, is to not quit. I had a goal when I left Portland, and I need to do what I can to try to stick to the plan which will, hopefully, get me to that goal.

 

So I just won't quit...