Beyond the Setting Sun

Buffalo-Mousse

Freezing fog covered the road and hid the approaching traffic until it was almost upon me.  I was on Jackrabbit Lane, headed towards the Galatin Valley... and there wasn't a jackrabbit in sight.  The road was icy, and snowdrifts were piled to either side of the narrow strip of white-patched grey.  The entrance to Galatin Valley was just ahead and fortunately the fog started to break up.

'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here' were the words that were going through my head.  Highway 191 leading to Big Sky was dangerous.  The road was narrow, barely two lanes wide, icy and frequented by snow ploughs and logging trucks.

The entrance to the valley lay over a small bridge.  Standing on the bridge, I watched the river, lined at its sides with ice and banks of snow, babbling playfully over dark rocks.  Taking a deep breath of the crisp, sharp air, I crossed the bridge to the west bank of the river and walked on into the valley.

Woods filled with snow lay to either side of the river and, as I walked on, rocky crags appeared beyond the woods.  The rock faces grew in height and came closer together the further I went, throwing shadows across me.  The road surface was slick, and to the left a metal guardrail was all that stood between the road and the icy river twelve feet below.

Adrenalin fired within me as I heard the rumble and scrape of a snow plough.  It came from ahead.  I had to get to the far side of the road... and quick.  Scooting across the glass surface of ice, trying not to slip, I leapt for the right side of the road and ended up knee-deep in snow.  A snowplough, all bright orange and blue, thundered down the highway, flinging snow and chunks of ice over the spot where I had been seconds before.  As the plough passed, the metal guardrail clanged with the impact of gritty ice.

As if on cue I heard a rumble from ahead.  In a moment I saw a huge truck loaded with massive logs fill the road.  The truck passed and the road was clear.  I crossed back over to the left side and carried on.  Again, it was just in time.  A rumble came from behind: a snowplough going in the opposite direction.  I climbed over the guardrail and clung to it, with my feet buried in snow on the steep bank that dropped away to the river.  With seventy pounds of backpack on my shoulders the guardrail cut into my gloved hands, but it was no time to let go.  The plough roared by.  I climbed back over the guardrail, my arms aching from holding on so tight.

I was playing Russian roulette with the traffic.  The road had tight bends.  I wondered what would happen if I had to cross the road and a truck appeared in the opposite lane.  I listened intently with my ears and was thankful that it was warm enough to just wear one balaclava and no goggles.  On my chest I wore a bright orange vest over my parka.  The vest made me more visible to traffic and also warned gun-toting elk hunters that I wasn't prey.  After my close call with the truck outside of Bozeman I was even more wary of approaching vehicles.

Across the valley I saw a train of mule deer, knee deep in snow and trooping along in single file.  A skittering movement on a boulder to my left caught my eye.  I spotted a pika, a small rodent.  It saw me, too, and kept dead still.  I pulled out my camera and moved slowly closer to the sandstone boulder.  The pika didn't move until I was just a few feet away, but then darted into a crack in the rock.  I held my camera against the crack and clicked, capturing the startled-looking creature on film.

So far I had seen few elk.  It was open season on them, as there were a lot about this year and not all would make it through the winter.  The wooded sides of the valley were thick with trees and the heavy drifts of snow would make it difficult for hunters to move, which probably meant the elk were there somewhere and probably quite safe from the hunters.  With little food available, though, the winter would probably claim many animals.

On and on down the valley I walked, crossing and re-crossing the road and avoiding cars, trucks, and more snowploughs.  The day was nerve-wracking.