Our visit to the banks of the White River at Buffalo City begged comparisons to Buffalo Point, and I said as much in yesterday’s post. The high dolostone bluffs, the wide and placid water, the feeling of having found a place few discover — all drew the two together for us.
I remarked to Deb this morning that Buffalo City put me in mind of a place we’d been in 2021, a short walk from our campsite at the Billings KOA.
That memory opened the door to recalling other rivers we crossed in our travels, and even more since. Like the Wabash in Indiana; the great Missouri all over the damned place (five times in two days, if memory serves); the Red, the Colorado and the Canadian in Texas; the White in South Dakota; the Belle Fourche in Wyoming; the Little Big Horn, the Clark Fork, the Musselshell and the Two Medicine in Montana; the Hocking in Ohio and the wide Ohio River at the Kentucky border.
The most significant crossing we’ve ever made happened on Sunday, May 2nd, 2021 — the Mississippi River, via I-270, from Illinois into Missouri at St. Louis. It was like entering a whole ‘nother country.
We never looked back.
No survey of rivers would be complete without nodding to our favorite — the Flathead in Montana. That one river is four, actually, accounting for the North, Middle and South Forks. And we crossed ’em all, in mid-September three years ago.
Though the Buffalo River has won me over now in many ways, the North Fork of the Flathead — considered the wildest river in the lower 48 — always will have my heart. There’s no place like it.
This trip down Memory Lane has been brought to you by my utter lack of motivation and energy.
I dunno, maybe it’s the heat. It could be my aching knees and shoulders, or just general fatigue. Whatever the reason, today I’m just goin’ with it.
I’m Home on The Mountain, and I’m at peace, and that’s what matters to me.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB