Sunday, July 23 (continued)
A few miles past our moose sighting on the Yaak River Road, the crew and I arrive at Yaak Falls.
The falls are more notable for their distance than their height.
With a great and constant roaring and crashing, the river churns itself white as it cascades over several rock terraces.
The falls are so long that one can’t see it all while standing in one spot.
Reggie and Roger react differently to the falls, in ways that match their temperaments.
Roger seems oblivious, distracted by a critter that scurries to the safety of its home in the rocks.
Reggie couldn’t care less about chasing ground squirrels right now. Nervously he looks around, flattening his ears against the noise.
Another vehicle is in the parking lot.
I see a fifty-ish couple down below. The man is standing while the woman sits on a flat slab of rock. When they return to the parking lot, the man engages me in conversation and the woman joins in.
(No, these aren’t the rocks she sat on! Ha!)
I learn that they live not far from the falls.
“About three miles from here,” the woman explains while pointing at the steep slope behind us, west toward Idaho. “On the other side of those mountains. We haven’t been over to the falls in a long time.”
They are interested in my lifestyle of which I’m happy to extol.
Then the woman breaks in, apologizing.
“We’re on our way to a breakfast and need to get going.”
I imagine it’s a church breakfast and, quite possibly, the man might be the pastor . . . something about his manner. I wish them well as they leave. The man’s gaze is direct in my eyes as he says with sincerity and warmth, “God bless you.”
Good people . . .
A reader recently asked why the crew and I aren’t boondocking.
It’s true our Montana summer so far has been a series of national forest campgrounds with a few RV parks here and there.
One of the reasons for this is . . .
This heavy forest country is difficult to boondock when one is moving a lot, which the crew and I are doing to grab internet signal.
I could venture up a forest road and find it is a logging road with no place suitable for a camp. The forest is dense and pretty uniform.
Northwest Montana campgrounds are in more desirable, scenic places, usually next to a lake, creek, or river.
If I were so fortunate to find a place to camp alongside water, it probably would be a site known by local people.
I’ve noticed that in forest districts that have a 16-day limit, the locals drop their travel trailers in a site to have it available for their enjoyment on three consecutive weekends. This practice makes boondocking difficult for the traveler.
Besides . . .
Why go to all that trouble when one can camp in a campground for five or six dollars a night? You have bear-proof trash containers, a welcome amenity in these parts. If the camp doesn’t suit you, there’s another inexpensive campground further along.
I love to boondock, but I don’t need to prove anything!
The crew and I continue on the Yaak River Road.
“Beautiful country, eh, guys?”.
We drive through Yaak Falls Campground. It’s very small with only seven campsites. I’m not ready to stop for the day.
My plan is to loop all the way around to where the road will take us back to Libby (and internet). On the way we cruise through two more, small, woodsy, inexpensive campgrounds.
At the “top” of the loop, we drive into the tiny village of Yaak.
On our left the Dirty Shame Saloon. In a remote area such as this, I imagine the Dirty Shame is a special place for residents to gather, along with visitors. Or, more bluntly, to get drunk with friends.
Across the road, on our right . . .
“OH MY HEAVENS! REGGIE! ROGER! IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?!!!”
To be continued . . .
rvsue
NOTE IN REAL TIME: Thank you for the many kind comments. After two long driving days, Reg, Rog and I are out of the smoke. I hope you are breathing well. — Sue
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