MONDAY - AUGUST 12 (20 miles)

Half Moon Park to Black Tail Creek: Today we passed through country that can only be described as land of grandeur. A spectacular sunrise lite the mountain in a pink glow. Much of the morning we were under the shadow of Scapegoat Mountain passing first over green hillsides sprinkled with wildflowers and dotted with clusters of stark white tree skeletons. Weather and fire (late 1980s) has carved the trees into weird and beautiful shapes. Believe that we got some great pictures of the trees and the mule train silhouetted against green hills, blue sky and ghost trees. In the afternoon we headed down the Continental along the Dearborn River. Saw two bears at separate times, the first may have been a grizzly. Both on hillsides and both bears scidaddled away as soon as they saw or smelled us. Camped in a meadow at a designated hunting camp at a junction of the Dearborn and Black Tail Creek. After setting up camp went down to the river by myself and took a very cold dip. Just a tad chilly but felt much better after. Dinner a treat of steak and of course a “Jack” fire. We knew about Indian fires (small) and whiteman fires (large), and now we know about Jack fires (huge). Although every fire we built was totally cleaned up and naturalized before we left each morning. Others had not been so responsible. Throughout the Bob and Scapegoat we saw numerous small and large fire rings - some at least clean others not.

One of the best experiences of traveling with Jack was his family stories and of his dad’s love of the Bob. This evening Jack gifted us with one of his father’s poem

“Oh, Lord, no manmade portals show your realm to me.
I see it in my life and spaces wide -
Where towering mountains rear their heads in tribute beyond the quiet peaceful countryside.
It’s where I see the wonders of creation from bud to leaf, from twig to stately tree.
The growth of things from humblest beginning can only help instill humility.
The balance of the powers you created -
The tumbling stream contained by quiet lake,
The gently breeze that’s all there is remaining of high wild winds the mountains turn and break.
Please help me find the trails that wear your blazes.
And guide me till the clouds of trouble pass.
Make me as big as the mountains above me,
Yet humble as the smallest blade of grass.
Just let me be as honest as my pony,
And lead a string from camps along the way.
To help out those who may not have an outfit,
So all who can may reach the pass some day.

CB Rich - 1960’s
(recited by Jack Rich 8/12/02