Sixfoot6.com - Putting Stuff Away.

Excellent drive down towards Montana’s southeastern edge; route 90 bisecting a broad grassy valley flanked by fir-encrusted mountains. I always thought of cowboys as belonging to Texas, but it seems they’d be much more comfortable on the Montana hillside, with infinite grass and long sunsets. I suppose the winter here kills you, but otherwise I think I’d really like to live here. I suppose it can’t be any worse than the February we’re likely to face in New England. I wonder if land is cheap?

The little town of West Yellowstone keeps up a tourist facade and I kept expecting to see Paul Bunyan or the OK Corral. I liked the painted signs. We loaded up on a few camping supplies and food, then backtracked a few miles here to the Campfire Lodge Resort, where we’d already picked out a nice campsite. The Madison river runs just below our tent, and everything sounds and smells fresh. With showers nearby, we’re not exactly roughing it. We cooked up salmon, potatoes, corn and veggies over the open wood and charcoal fire, cracked open a bottle of Two Buck Chuck, and slept against the hard ground under Big Sky stars.

Breakfast was raspberry pancakes and coffee at the campground café, and now it’s time to break camp. With our Element and the Powerbook around, we really perfect this “yuppies go camping” Honda advert look. While driving up 191 through pine trees yesterday, Jenny observed, “This land is too good for us, our people don’t belong here. You can feel it.” And she’s right; this countryside is too purple, too mountainous, too majestic, and absent are the natives and the creatures we took it from. After only 150 years, the Great White footprint already weighs too heavy. Roads, fences, trash.

This morning, after pancakes, Jenny shaved my head. Always leave the campsite cleaner than you found it, my scoutmaster would say. Then Jenny reminded me that I left the shaved hair behind.