Along the Great Divide

Along the
Great Divide
L L A M A-TREKKING MONTANA'S CONTINENTAL DIVIDE TRAIL

Story by Cindy Ross as it appeared in the
May/June 1997 "MONTANA Magazine," photos by Bob Riley.
Reprinted with the permission of Cindy Ross and Montana Magazine.

Part II....This is the second of a two-part series chronicling the experiences of a couple who trekked the Continental Divide Trail through Montana, accompanied by their two very young children, a good friend, and six stalwart llamas.

AROUND THE OUTSKIRTS OF BUTTE, WHERE THE CONTINENTAL

DIVIDE National Scenic Trail (CDT) is yet to be built and there is an abundance of private property, trekkers are forced onto roads. Walking on a road is rarely much fun after you've been on a footpath high in the mountains. It's often in the hot sun, and dust and dried salty sweat stiffen your face. Gas fumes linger behind passing vehicles while conversations revolve around how much you'd be willing to pay for ice in your water bottle.

Road walking was a wonderful experience for us, however, mainly because the presence of our llamas always causes quite a stir whenever we come in contact with people. The llamas look so inquisitive, so calm and at home traveling with a pack on their backs. Add the sight of our half-pints riding on them and it pulls people to us like magnets.

We were hiking another 500-mile chunk of the CDT, from Butte south to Yellowstone National Park. Every year or so, we have selected a segment to trek so that eventually we'll have hiked every mile between the Canadian border on the north, to Mexico on the south.

Llamas prefer the cold over heat. Some mountain mornings we awoke to thick frost on their insulating coats, but slipping our hands inside the five inches of fiber proved they were warm as toast. On hot road walks, however, we have to watch their fluid intake, for even though they are cousins to camels and only require one good drink a day, that drink is very important to their health and our progress.

We got our ice-wish granted by a man who came out of his home to photograph us. Later, at a roadside picnic area, a family offered to make a run to the store for cold juice and Popsicle's. A big bag of hand-picked red raspberries was delivered by someone else. And then we were called over by some rough-looking but friendly folks camping at a pull-off on national forest land. They had a bet going among themselves that we had sold all our belongings and were walking across the country. "No," I said. "A two-month hike on the Continental Divide Trail from Butte to Yellowstone. I write about hiking." Beers were offered (and accepted), and our children were encouraged to play with the baby's toys that were lying in the dirt.

The grandfather was skinny as a toothpick, wearing tight jeans and a belt buckle so large it looked like it could injure him if he bent over too far. A big black miner's hat sat on his head. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like someone?" he asked my husband, Todd Gladfelter.

"Yes," I chimed in. "He's been told he looks like Jesus Christ, Abraham Lincoln, and, when he has a rough day, Charles Manson."

"He don't look like Charlie," he responded immediately. "Charlie's face is much fuller. I done time with Charlie."

We almost choked on our beers.

WILDERNESS WALKING

Once a llama is well-trained and in shape, it is easy to forget there is a string following you. Even our four-year-old can safely lead them. The entire world is a salad bar to a llama, and they like to sample tasty morsels. It's usually only when the children lead, however, for the llamas are smart and know whom they can take advantage of.

West of Butte, the CDT climbs high into the beautiful Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness. Craggy granite peaks rise abruptly from the forested floor with several beautiful trout-filled lakes right on the route. In this section, the well-marked trail was a joy to follow.

The western end of the Pintler Range deposits you directly on the Montana-Idaho border at Chief Joseph Pass, named after the Nez Perce chief who was attacked by General John Gibbon in the nearby Big Hole. From there, our trail led south along the Bitterroot Range. Between Big Hole Pass and Goldstone Pass, a stretch of sixty-two miles, we encountered some of the best scenery on the entire 3,100-mile Continental Divide National Scenic Trail. The mark of glaciers was very evident here: rugged peaks, crystal-clear lakes, terminal moraines, and long-lasting snowfields. The increase in moisture made it possible to see thirty different species of wildflowers in a five-mile stretch near hulking Homer Young's Peak. Our kids were astounded to see bones still lying in Cowbone Lake, where ninety cattle had drowned in the 1920s when they were driven across the divide in a snowstorm and crashed through the thin ice.

A sense of the past is everywhere in these mountains. On Lemhi Pass, Lewis and Clark first climbed atop the Continental Divide. At that exact spot you can look out over the beautiful and expansive land and can imagine their feelings of joy and accomplishment as you read their words displayed on the signs posted with excerpts from their journals. Then you can descend to Sacajawea Spring, named after their female Shoshone Indian guide, and taste the sweet headwaters of the Missouri River, just as they did long, long ago.

We followed 1920s survey markers right along the divide. It was easy to think of earlier adventurers who scouted and surveyed and mapped this wild land. It felt almost as if their spirits still roamed those windy heights.

South from Lemhi Pass, we headed around steep-sided Goat Mountain with its eroded, avalanche-streaked slopes. The mountain goats were there, but difficult to see because of the white rock scattered about. Then we topped 10,000 feet, on the summit of Elk Mountain. The kids played in the lingering snow patch while the llamas tested it warily with their padded feet. The cumulus clouds were building so we didn't tarry long. There are miles of exposed trail along this spectacular route and lightning is a concern for every mountaineer.

Garfield Mountain, at 10,961 feet, and the sheer-faced Red Conglomerate Peaks, at 10,250 feet, gave our days one gorgeous view after another. We never got tired of walking right atop the divide, characteristic of the trail through the Beaverhead Range in the southern Bitterroots. The wind always blew. The heavens seemed so close with the sky so big. This Pennsylvanian had wanted to know in her soul what made Montana "Big Sky Country," and these mountains showed us.

When I saw my kids walk hand in hand along the Great Divide, singing songs and laughing, I felt certain this beautiful earth, this wild land, was their home too. One of our reasons for coming out here as a family is to instill a love of the natural world in our children. They won't be able to take care of, and fight to save something that they fear, and you can't fear the wilderness if it is in your heart and part of your soul.

THE CENTENNIALS
The barely-surviving town of Monida was once one of the busiest spots in the state for shipping cattle on the railroad. Its name is a combination of the two states it straddles: Montana and Idaho. Along the eight-mile road walk heading toward Monida, paralleling the interstate, my children pumped their arms to the passing truckers, hoping they would pull their air horns and help them pass the time. A mare grazed in a front yard, untethered, and came over to sniff noses with our llamas. Faded, dilapidated store fronts advertised "Garage" and "Ice Cream" but no services other than a pay phone are available now. Monida marked the end of a twelve-day stretch of hiking for us, and its one "service" enabled us to call our friends and re-supply.

Jeep tracks were constant in the western Centennials, up and over every knoll on the divide. The tracks sometimes ran right along the fences that keep each state's cattle contained. Trails were usually dry up on the "rooftop of America," because everything runs down from there. We often had to get our water from stock tanks, and we shared small ponds just off the divide with multiple forms of life.

It's always interesting to watch how the llamas' behavior changes when the scent of wildlife is fresh and abundant. They sniff and snort loudly and look around nervously, as

though creatures were just here and were hiding in the periphery. The llamas enable us to see much more game (even with laughing, singing, bickering kids), because their eyesight is extremely keen. We just watched the llamas, and when they all stared, eyes peeled, we knew there was something out there. It was not unusual to spot herds of a hundred elk running in the draws and over the hills. This was coyote land too, and we heard them yipping at dusk and dawn-that lovely wild sound that reminds you that you are a privileged guest in this wild land. The stars were absolutely brilliant and the Milky Way clearly visible. Some of our children's best memories are watching the sun set high on the divide, with the first stars peeking out and a bright orange moon rising.

As the route heads east, we entered the Centennial Range. Its very steep knolls test your endurance and your knees and the trail has the potential to kick your butt if you're not a strong hiker. Even our experienced llama Berrick stalled frequently and looked at us with his expression that says, "I'll do this, but I'm not excited about it anymore."

Berrick, now fourteen years old, retired after this trip. He has carried Sierra 1,500 miles. Interestingly, Sierra hiked more miles per day as a three-year-old than now at age six. She just loves to ride, whereas four-year-old Bryce adores walking and keeps a 2-1/2 mile-per-hour pace by choice. He often gets cranky and bored if we make him ride too much. But Sierra's increasing weight will necessitate using a larger llama for our next CDT hikes, and after that, she's already talking horse. We went easy on Berrick in the Centennial Mountains, and added long switchbacks to the steep jeep tracks.

Some long distance hikers skip these mountains because they are difficult and route-finding can be a challenge, but there is a profound beauty to be enjoyed and a great sense of accomplishment after getting through them. Some sections of the CDT in Montana are well-marked and easy to follow. Other sections forced Todd to walk with a guidebook in one hand and an altimeter in the other while our friend Bob Riley walked with a global positioning system in one hand and a map in the other. Compasses were constant "jewelry pendants" around our necks.

In the last two years we have hiked nearly 1,000 miles on Montana's Continental Divide Trail. It took a total of about four and a half months. These mountains and this land seeped into our souls and influenced our lives. When I hear someone mention "the Bob," "the Beaverhead," or "Glacier," I get a rush of feelings, smells, and images moving through my body.

These places feel like friends to me. This is the best kind of ownership, and the most permanent. It feels good to say "I know the Bitterroots," but of course I don't. What I know is myself, and the Bitterroots have helped me know myself better. It's an extraordinary opportunity.

LOGISTICS

On any long hike, support people are essential to your success. We came out of the mountains every ten to fourteen days, bought supplies and food, picked up provisions that we had previously mailed to ourselves there, washed our bodies, and just relaxed.

Before we leave on any extended hike, we contact llama organizations such as the Northern Rockies Chapter of the International Llama Association, and individual llama owners near the trail. We ask if anyone is will to help us fulfill our dream. Our young children want a break as much as we do, and the llamas need to spend a few days eating grain to put some pounds back on.

Dick and Linda Reichle, of Ollie Llamas in Dillon, Montana, were strategically located in the center of the arch that the CDT makes in southern Montana, so in this two-month, 500-mile stretch we visited them four times. Fulfilling dreams is right up Dick Reichle’s alley- he says he owes his own success to the love and support that other llama folks have showered on him. Dick was severely injured when a three-locomotive train hit his dump truck and forced him to change his occupation. He now designs and sews llama pack gear and runs a guide service. He passed on lots of support to us, and we came away with not only technical assistance, but a loving extended family.