BIG SKY COUNTRY AND THE BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIGHORN

Big Sky Country--Montana

(photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

Day four of our tour takes us into Big Sky Country also known as Montana. The crossing from Wyoming into Montana is seamless; same endless grassy plains and infinite blue skies. It becomes more and more apparent as the miles pass that this is also Indian country. They may not claim most of this land any longer, but their presence is felt everywhere. Small herds of buffalo remind us that once millions of buffalo grazed these plains and hundreds of thousands of native Indians pitched their tipis among them.

Battle of The Little Big Horn

The Indian’s continuing fight to keep land they’d called home for as long as they could remember culminated in the ultimate stand against the US Government at The Little Big Horn River on June 25, 1876. Today, we are visiting the site where the combined tribes of Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho and the United States 7^th Cavalry headed by Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer battled for the rights to this land. Thousands against hundreds, it was a slaughter. Custer and 41 of his men, isolated on a ridge overlooking the Little Bighorn River below, shot their horses in a desperate and failed attempt to shield themselves against the Indian’s attack. The battle,  often called “Custer’s Last Stand”,  is really the last big stand for the brave Indian tribes for their own land. In the end, United States forces eventually overwhelmed them and claimed the land for themselves. More importantly, they finally got what they really wanted--the land’s gold.

Video of the site of The Battle of the Little Big Horn

Painting in the Visitor's Center showing what it must have looked like

moments after the battle. 

(Double click on any photo for a full screen view.)

What it looks like now with grave markers of Col. Custer and his men where they fell.

Custer's grave marker, painted black, is in the middle.

The day is wet, cold and blustery which matches the mood of this somber place. Standing on the top of the ridge with The Little Bighorn River below, I’m in the exact spot where Custer and his men died in battle. As I look outward to the beautiful, fertile valley below, it is hard to fathom the unimaginable carnage that took place here. The grave stones dotted around and down into the valley remind me of the immense sadness of this place where 262 of Custer’s men died that day. Many of the enlisted men are buried in a mass grave now marked by a memorial monument on the ridge. Custer’s remains were reburied at West Point; however there is a marker where he fell.

The Officer's bodies were reburied back east, but the others were buried in a nearby

cemetery. Some were buried where they died. (bottom left). 

Dayton, Wyoming

Our moods brighten as we cross back into Wyoming for a date with big slice of homemade pie. We’ve been promised that the pie is awesome and coffee hot at our next stop at the Elk ViewLodge, in Dayton. We weren’t disappointed. I went for a slice of pecan pie, but I could have had the lemon meringue, or apple, or peach, or blueberry or….. Well, you get the picture. I could have had a slice of each and not felt a bit guilty!

Ain't much there in Dayton, but the pie's good and the scenery ain't bad either!

(photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

Shell Falls, Big Horn National Forest

Shell Falls, Big Horn National Forest

(I may look relaxed, but it was cold!)

The Sweetest Cowboy in the West

Heading on down the mountains, we stop briefly to admire Shell Falls in Big Horn National Park before stopping at Dirty Annie’s for buffalo burgers and meet the sweetest cowboy anywhere in the west. I guess you could say I’m “sweet” on old Irv and his horse, Speedy. Grizzled, gregarious and just plain kind, he is instantly likable. Enthusiastically posing for pictures and spinning yarns for our amusement, he also let it be known that he’s in the market for a wife. When asked what kind of wife he’s looking for, he scratched his stubbled chin and replied, “Well, I’ll tell ya. I’d take just about any pretty little thing as long as she don’t mind me bringing in a lamb to warm in the kitchen sink on a cold night.” Ladies, if that sounds good to you, you can contact Irv at Dirty Annie’s in Shell, Wyoming! (By the way, Irv says he’s a rancher, not a cowboy, but he can sure pass for one!)

Dirty Annie's in Shell, Wyoming. This is where Irv has his ranch, Gals!

(photos courtesy of Larry Miner)

Next time: Buffalo Bill Cody and his town

DEVIL'S TOWER, WYOMING

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE WILD WEST KIND!

Hitting the trail early on our second day, we watched Rapid City fade into the distance and soon crossed the border into Wyoming. We would be on the road most of the day, but there was plenty to see along the way. The first was Devil's Tower.

Devils Tower, America’s First National Monument

“I know this sounds crazy, but ever since yesterday on the road, I’ve been seeing this shape. Shaving cream, pillows…. Dammit! I know this. I know what this is! This means something. This is important.” (Roy, as played by Richard Dreyfuss in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, written and directed by Steven Spielberg)

It’s easy to see why Devil’s Tower inspires legend, wonder and awe as well as a blockbuster movie. Shooting out of the earth 867 feet straight into the air, its eerie shape seems sculpted by out-of-this-world forces. Surely, the gods must live here, or so thought the twenty-some Indian tribes who believed the place to be sacred. In fact, it just might be that Spielberg’s movie was inspired by a Cheyenne legend. It tells of a great hero called Sweet Medicine who had a vision before he died and was buried beside the Tower. He foretold of “…the coming of white men, strangers called Earth Men who could fly above the earth, (and) take thunder from the light…”

So, how did this amazing natural wonder get the ominous name of Devils Tower? Bad translating, apparently. The Arapaho called it “Bear’s Tipi” and the Cheyenne called it “Bear’s Lodge” or Mato Tipila.When the Tower was discovered by a white explorer, Col. Dodge, on a discovery expedition in 1875, his interpreter translated “Mato Tipila” as “Bad God’s Tower” instead of “Bear’s Lodge”. Eventually, the unfortunate translation was shortened to Devils Tower.

Devils Tower was created by molten lava being forced upward into sedimentary rock about 50 million years ago. As it cooled, the mass contracted and fractured into giant columns. Erosion exposed the formation over the millennia leaving something mystical and magical for some, and just plain amazing for others.

Man scaling one of the gigantic columns.

View of the valley from the base of Devils Tower.

(Photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

A very nice trail circles the Tower with a terrific view of the countryside below. We saw a lot of critters too. I know I saw a chipmunk and I think I saw a roadrunner!

(Photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

On the backside of Devils Tower, a huge chunk of the side has fallen off. The

picture on the bottom right shows just how huge the columns are.

Vore Buffalo Jump

(Photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

Leaving the Bear Lodge Mountains, we head out into the Wyoming plains, passing the Vore Buffalo Jump. The plains Indians herded buffalo into the pit where they could be easily killed. Nothing from the buffalo was ever wasted. They had over 50 uses for the hide, meat, bones, bladder, muscle tendons, blood, tail, beard, teeth, fat, skull, hooves and all the organs.

  

(Photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

The rest of the day we spent watching miles of Wyoming landscape pass by our bus windows while we head for Sheridon for the night. Mostly flat and green and capped with endless blue skies, the scenery is mesmerizingly beautiful.  

We stop to watch a family of Prairie Dogs turn watchful eyes toward us. The young ones soon forgot about us and went back to frolicking in the grass while the adults stood like sentries, ready to sound the alarm.

(Photo courtesy of Larry Miner)

Next Time: Battle of Little Big Horn

AMERICA’S CROWN JEWELS, THE WESTERN NATIONAL PARKS

Mount Rushmore

America The Beautiful

Fast and furious, exhilarating and unforgettable best describes my recent trek through America’s Western National Parks! It was a trip for the senses: from river rafting against a backdrop of the soaring snow-clad peaks of the Grand Tetons, to gushing waterfalls throwing rainbows, to the verdant plains of Wyoming and its grazing herds of buffalo, I was overwhelmed by the sheer rugged beauty of it all.

I’ve lived in the west all my life and still hadn’t seen many of its national parks. I’d always wanted to see places like Yellowstone, Bryce, Zion, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde, but somehow never had the chance. The time was right, I decided, when I received a brochure from Grand Circle Tours offering just these sights on their itinerary.  I couldn’t give them my money fast enough! The brochure described how in 18 days I would travel 3,000 miles and see 6 major western parks. It told me that along the way I would experience a “thrilling river rafting excursion on the Snake River”, and take a ride on a 127 year old steam train that huffed and puffed along the raging Animas River in Colorado. What it DIDN’T say was that the ancient engine would cover me in coal dust and leave me with a charcoal grin that went from ear to ear or that I might see buffalo, sometimes close enough to touch. Or, maybe I’d catch a glimpse of a bear, a moose or wolf. However, it did say to take my camera and pack plenty of batteries.

So I did. Prepared for a variety of weather and sometimes over 9,000 feet of altitude, my suitcase was loaded down with stuff for every contingency: long johns and rain coat for those rainy, cold days and suntan lotion, hats and short sleeves for the heat. Oh yeah, and bear and mosquito spray just in case. I felt like Pioneer Woman! Then the day finally came when I met up with 40 other eager souls, plus our tour director Timothy and our driver Ken, in Rapid City, South Dakota to begin the tour.

Map of our Western National Parks Tour

(courtesy of Grand Circle Tours)

Rapid City, South Dakota, an Oasis in the Plains

I instantly liked the place. Our tiny commuter jet set down next to the equally tiny Rapid City terminal reminding me of how nice flying used to be. We landed, picked up our luggage and were on our way to our hotel in less than 10 minutes.

Located on gently rolling plains with the Black Hills in the distance, the air is pure and the atmosphere relaxed and welcoming.  Named after the turbulent water of Rapid Creek that runs through its middle, Rapid City is a laid back ranching community. The Creek is edged by a large expanse of grass and trees, creating an oasis of tranquility in the middle of town. I overheard one of our group commenting, “I could live here!” I silently agreed with her. The peace and community pride were evident everywhere.

Downtown is just plain fun. The City Fathers created an avenue of Presidents (capitalizing on nearby Mt. Rushmore) with bronze statues of our past leaders on every street corner. The best is Calvin Coolidge captured for all times waving a 10 gallon hat and clutching a western saddle! The story goes that this buttoned down President’s support was needed to secure national funding to build Mt. Rushmore. So, the South Dakotans invited him to the Black Hills for some hunting and fishing and made sure he effortlessly caught a boatload of fish and bagged plenty of game. And, by gum, it worked! He went back to Washington feeling like a real South Dakota outdoors-man instead of the city slicker he really was. He persuaded Congress to appropriate $200,000 for the project and the rest is history.

Rapid City's Presidents

(photo courtesy of Google Images)

Downtown scenes: statues of John F. Kennedy, John Adams, and Rapid Creek

(photos courtesy of Larry Miner)

Crazy Horse Monument

Driving into the heart of the Black Hills (so-called because the thick forest of Ponderosa Pines look black from a distance), we visit the Crazy Horse Memorial first. Filling the sky, the mountain sized face looms into view miles before we pull up to the Visitor Center. After decades of blasting and chiseling, only the massive, imposing face of Chief Crazy Horse is all that’s discernible and even that isn’t finished. Started in 1948, the sculpture of Crazy Horse was commissioned by Standing Bear, Chief of the Lakota Sioux to be built on Indian land. Sculptor Korczak Kiolkowski (jewel-CUFF-ski), not content to sculpt a modest monument like Rushmore, chose an entire mountain to depict not only the Chief but his horse as well. With raised arm and scowling face, the Chief points to the burial places of his people. The pointing finger also may well be a gesture of indictment against the white man who gave then took away his people’s land, an issue not fully resolved to this day.
(Map courtesy of Rapid City Convention and Visitor Bureau)

The unfinished monument makes Mount Rushmore look like a postage stamp. There is no telling when it will be finished, but the work goes on, thanks to the dedication of Kiolkowski’s ten children. (The memorial is not a part of the National Park system or any private concern, and all proceeds from the memorial go to benefit the Lakota Sioux Indians.)

Model of the finished sculpture with the work in progress in the background.

Mount Rushmore

Mt. Rushmore has to be seen to be believed. The fact that anyone would take on such a daunting project is mind-blowing. The sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, had just the ego and artistry to make it happen, and as a result, he gave the nation a permanent symbol of pride and accomplishment. Started in 1929, the monument is basically unfinished according to Borglum’s original design. The sculpture was to be carved showing the Presidents down to their waists, but WWII came along and congressional funding for the project was forever stopped. However, it is finished enough. There is a beauty and sense of rightness that the faces emerge partially completed out of the rugged granite. To many it is a symbol of our nation--unfinished and imperfect, yet grounded in the bedrock of democracy.

 I climbed up an exhausting 256 steps to get up close and personal
with the sculpture. At this angle, I could almost count the hairs
 in Jefferson's 20 foot long nose!

Larry Miner, a member of our tour, graciously allowed me to use many of the pictures you will see on my account of this great trip. The man is a marvel with a camera and he made my job so much easier. Thanks a million, Larry!

Next Time: Devil's Tower

TIPTOEING THROUGH TEWKESBURY

“I can’t find it!”

“What?”

“Tewkesbury. I can’t find any reference to Tewkesbury in Rick Steves’ guidebook on England. He doesn’t even give it an honorable mention!”

Well, I’m sorry to say that if you haven’t visited Tewkesbury, Rick, you've really missed out. Talk about a pleasant surprise! My friends and I anchored our canal boat on the River Avon right in the heart of Tewkesbury for a couple of days while we explored this unheralded, but very charming town.

"Captain" Tom skillfully piloted our longboat through the lock that links the Severn
to the Avon River and the town of Tewkesbury.
Mother Swan and her ducklings came every morning for a handout. 

They seemed to know that Kay was the easy touch on the boat!

After settling in, our stomachs led us on a search for food, which we found just a short walk down the path along the river. Going over the Avon at an ancient crossing point that’s existed before the Romans, we ran into a equally ancient pub called the Black Bear Inn. Built in 1308, the Inn got its name from the arms of the Beauchamp family, the Earls of Warwick, who essentially owned the township.

Our waitress seated us at a long trestle table, gnarled and black with age. It stood in what had been a stable, so like obedient old nags, we happily put our feedbags on and enjoyed the good pub food!

The next day, we got going early and trundled downtown to explore. The streets, quiet at that time of day, looked much like so many other English villages with quaint, timbered buildings, sagging roof lines and cockeyed windows. And, of course, there were flowers everywhere.

  

We eventually made our way to the centerpiece of town, Tewkesbury Abbey. Surprisingly big, it begins to impress the visitor at once. Placed on several acres of land planted with rare and exotic trees and shrubs, it is hard not to do anything else but admire the grounds.

Tewkesbury Abbey

The tree on the left is a gigantic Sequoia! I had no idea they grew in England,

then I began to notice them all over. Fancy that! Redwoods in England!

Finally, we entered into the Abbey and frankly were shocked. Spectacularly grand in scale and beauty, we knew instantly we had discovered a gem. How had this lovely cathedral sized Abbey fallen under the guidebooks' radar?

Built in 1121, the Benedictine Abbey is one of the largest parish churches in the country. It fortunately survived Henry the VIII’s monastic ravages thanks to the townspeople who bought it from the King for 453 pounds (the cost of the lead in the bells).

 

The chapel of Edward, Earl of Warwick, Duke of Cornwall and Lord of Tewkesbury.

 Son of a king himself, he is famous for being second in command to the Black Prince.
His effigy faces the alter in eternal prayer. It's worth visiting this Abbey
just to see if you can find the Earl. Hint--he's hidden in the rafters!

We were just in time for a special organ recital. 

Joining with these dear townspeople, we felt right at home.

For the rest of the day, we wandered around the peaceful downtown. Kay bought a pot of local mustard and we loaded up on a variety of mouth watering pasties for our dinner. A perfect way to end a very pleasant day!

Next Time: The Cotswolds!

YANKS CANAL BOATING IN BRITAIN

A few years ago, a book came out entitled, 1000 Things To See Before You Die. I’d like to add another section to that book and call it, 1000 Things to DO Before You Die. And, right smack on top of that list I’d put: Rent a Narrowboat and Cruise the Canals and Rivers of England. Kay, her husband Tom and I did just that this past summer and I have to say, it’s something to brag about. It takes an adventurous spirit (and skill!) to pilot those long, narrow canal boats (they generally measure 6’across by 35’ to 60’ long) through dozens of ancient locks that are barely wide enough to squeeze through. 

I can’t take any credit for that much courage—that belongs to my friends, Kay and Tom. About a dozen years ago, they set out for an extended tour of England on their own. They are the only people I know of who get full use of their time shares (they have two), and used one for a week on a canal boat. Just the two of them! Tom, a former pilot, is fearless when it comes to handling mechanical things and without really knowing what they were getting into, decided “Why not?” It would certainly be something to talk about after they got home. Well, the fact is, they couldn't stop raving about it. It was an experience of a lifetime, they said, and they would do it again in a heartbeat.

Finally, they decided that time had come to relive that experience, prompted I’m sure, from my constant harassment to “Take me! I want to go!” Another good reason for going would also fulfill a promise to their granddaughter, Sutherland, who would soon turn 18 and graduate from high school. And, so the planning began.

(Left to Right) Captain Tom, and his 1st Mate, Kay, 

Scullery maids and Swabbies, Sutherland and Barbara (me).

The Plan

Initially, our plans included sailing from Worcester, located in the heart of England on the Severn River, down to the Avon River. Once on the Avon, we would continue up to Stratford-upon-Avon, then turn around and head back to Worcester. Our plans changed when we realized that it was too far to go in a week and wouldn't allow us time to see many of the places we had on our list to visit. We decided a better plan would be to take the boat as far as Tewksbury where the Severn and Avon meet. We’d stay there for a couple of days, then return to Worcester and dock for the rest of week using the car to tour the Cotswolds, Oxford, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Warwick Castle.

So, with maps and guide books in hand, our trunk full of luggage and Tom at the wheel, we left London. Our adventure had begun!

Our Home Base in Worcester

After checking in at the rental office, Richard was enlisted to orient us landlubbers. He escorted us down to our boat for the week, The Lindal Iron Ore, and gave us a quick tutorial on how to operate it. With classic dry British wit, he first held up a long, deadly looking tool, "If you need to push off from the sides of the canal, use the pointy end, and the hooky end is good for retrieving your line, or each other out of the water. Now, this moppy thing. Right. I think you all know how to use that!" After several more minutes of explanation to us obvious novices, I'm sure he just hoped we wouldn't pull out and have a wreck immediately. 

Camping on the Canal: featuring Sutherland, the Scullery Maid,

and our mascot, Paddington Bear.

No Frills Camping

Our fine vessel, the Lindal Iron Ore, looked to be about 50 years old, however it was clean and well maintained. It proved to be no frills camping for sure, but we had everything we needed. After all, this was all about the adventure! We had a stove, apartment sized fridge, and a microwave but no oven, and it came fully stocked with pots, pans and dishes. We couldn't get the TV to work, but no one missed it. We'd brought cards, games and books to keep us occupied. Besides, most of the time, we hit the sack soon after dinner anyway, worn out after the long days of sightseeing.

Sleeping arrangements vary depending on the size of the boat, and ours could accommodate up to six people, four comfortably. Sutherland and I had a small but private area with two bunk beds, and Kay and Tom shared the "master en-suite" which consisted of a full bed and a compact, camper sized bathroom and shower.

We cooked at least one or two meals a day, which meant lots of dish washing. And, and water was a bit of an issue. We were warned to conserve it by taking navy showers and above all, not to drink it. We bought bottled water everyday for drinking, and we boiled the boat's water for 5 minutes to kill any germs to wash our dishes. In order to get hot water, Tom had to start up the the engine for at least a half an hour, but after that, we had plenty for four people waiting in line to shower. Bottom line, it's true RVing, British style!

“There Be Locks!”

“And, locks is women’s work!” jeered Captain Tom in his best Jack Sparrow impression from the “Pirates of the Caribbean”. Locks are what we got too--in spades--dozens of them in every size and shape! And, it was  up to Kay, Sutherland and me to operate them all, by good old muscle power

"Ewwww, look! This crank thingy made my fingers dirty!Who has the Purell?"

For all you landlubbers, the "crank thingy" is called a windlass, a detachable crank that operates the winding gear (the other greasy thing beside me). The winding gear allows the locks to either fill or empty with water. The water level then allows boats to either be raised or lowered in order to connect it to the canal in which it's headed.

After the water has reached the proper level, the gigantic paddles, or gates must be hand operated on the smaller locks in the canals.


(Kay and Sutherland are waiting to open the paddles here to allow our boat to sail on.) We learned the hard way to wait until the water is completely filled or drained before putting our backs to them. If you wait, they move surprisingly easy!

Five locks in a row! Oh, joy!

At a lock along the way, I met one of the many volunteers who help manage the waterways and locks for the Canal and River Trust. She asked where I was from and then asked why we chose to rent a canal boat. When I told her our story, she beamed, "How brilliant! I think it's just wonderful you Americans have chosen to do something so traditionally British! I'm proud of you! How absolutely wonderful!"

Everyone we met along the canals was extremely nice and helpful. Even the "gongoozlers", people who make a pastime of watching us hopeless landlubbers trying to cope with the locks, sometimes jumped in to help us move those enormous paddles.

On the Canal

I really didn't know what to expect. I dreamed of a relaxing ride through gorgeous scenery and quaint villages, and yes, a few locks. I, indeed, got all of that and more! Even the canal leading out from Worcester to the Severn River is beautiful; the ancient locks are tiny and the scenery spectacular!

The canals of Worcester.
Captain Tom had no trouble maneuvering these tiny locks
 with inches to spare on either side.

Originally, the canals were constructed to transport goods across the country.  The narrow boat, built in the 18^th, 19^th and 20^th century, was designed to fit the confines of the canals and bridge holes, which had to be at least 7’ wide. Pulled by horses along a towpath, it was a slow and laborious process, but languid at the same time, allowing plenty of opportunity to stop at a pub along the way for a brew or two.

The canals now are primarily for recreational use, with more and more people living in their narrowboats. We met several of these folks; many are retired older couples and their pets. And they, like our RV counterparts, form a community and support group for each other. All I can say is, it’s a nice way to live!

Who says you have to leave your
garden or your pets behind?

Entering the Severn River

This huge lock at Diglis Basin, gateway to the Severn River, is thankfully manned
 so we girls didn't have to open this one!

Sights Along the Severn River

Does it get any better than this??

On our journey down the Severn River, we docked our boat for lunch

at The Swan Hotel. I think I had a steaming bowl of homemade soup
 and crusty bread. Good pub food!

Captain Tom and his First Mate, Kay

***A special thanks to Kay and Tom for many of the photos shown in this blog! 

Next time: The Many surprises of the Town of Tewksbury!