I have seen so much spectacular scenery these past few months that it’s almost becoming commonplace; oh, look, it’s just another run-of-the-mill extremely gorgeous view over there. One of the best things about being here is getting to explore all that Montana has to offer, although I wouldn’t even come close if I had a lifetime. I have come to appreciate the plains of central Montana, but on the weekends I like to seek out the enchantment of trees and this past weekend that prompted a visit to the “Bob”. The “Bob” is the nickname for the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex, the second largest wilderness complex in the lower 48 that has been protected for about the past 75 years. It was named after a fascinating wilderness pioneer, Robert Marshall, a forester by trade and adventurer at heart who believed that it should be the right of all people to have access to wilderness and the adventure that comes with it.

Bob Marshall Wilderness, not sure of the mountain’s name

“Adventure, whether physical or mental, implies breaking into unpenetrated ground, venturing beyond the boundary of normal aptitude, extending oneself to the limit of capacity, courageously facing peril. Life without the chance for such exertions would be for many persons a dreary game, scarcely bearable in its horrible banality.” -from, “The Problem of the Wilderness”
Bob is pretty dramatic here, but I did get a taste for the adventure that he’s talking about last weekend and yeah, it was pretty exhilarating. I hiked past blue-green waters of Holland Lake and watched it retreat as I gained elevation and distance from civilization. The trail we took was well traveled and we passed many fellow hikers and mules carrying supplies, so for the most part I didn’t feel as though we were in true wilderness (most of all I felt I didn’t have to worry too much about encountering a grizzly). I also heard a few jets fly overhead, which also took away from the wilderness characteristics of the place.
I finally crossed the border into the wilderness so nicely labeled by a dilapidated sign and immediately the number of people we encountered dropped to zero. Other species of animal were a bit more abundant, though. A few grouse made appearances on the side of the trail and we were visited by a large hoofed creature in the night just inches from the tent who remains unknown because I was too scared to take a look. Rain was the biggest hardship on this trip since most of the other backpacking trips I took this year luckily had been dry. Although I spent several steep, cold miles hiking in water-logged shoes, which was a bit miserable at first, the weather made for some dramatic scenery and the wet shoes became normal. Hidden lakes popped up in rocky canyons, yellow buckwheat and white beargrass added bright contrast to the dark grays and greens, and every summit provided a new view of craggy peaks as clouds constantly veiled and unveiled them. I finally felt truly in the wilderness with the solitude and immense vastness that comes with it.
Back at work that thought reoccurred to me; the feeling of solitude and vastness still imminent. As I worked with a range tech on the hunt to check range improvement projects, we wandered the landscape without catching the glimpse of a single human being, although knowing that they weren’t too far off. I have come to understand the importance of the range specialists’ job here with the BLM, which in essence is finding harmony between humans and the natural world because both are vitally dependent on each other. Because of that most people here work closely with plants even though their official title is not botanist. When we asses rangeland health, the majority of what we monitor is the species of plants because they tell us the story of the land. Finding the harmony between humans and nature is such a difficult yet noble task, although one can argue whether we really are that separate from nature. I have been thinking about whether or not we have an equivalent to the range specialists back east. Possibly forester, but I can’t really compare apples and oranges; I am simply enjoying the fact that I am learning so much about a previously unknown part of my country.

Sapphire Lake in the Bob

Spruce grouse possibly?

Swainson’s Hawk juveniles hanging out