The Big Muddy

Mile 53. Randy and I have found a smooth paddling rhythm. We quickly glide with the current, moving faster than either of us expected, nearly five miles per hour. We have been paddling through low rolling hills and ranch land, but up loom ahead the famous White Cliffs of the Missouri. The White Cliffs area is supposedly one of the most beautiful sections on the upper river and has been described by many throughout history, including Lewis and Clark: The hills and river cliffs which we passed today exhibit a most romantic appearance. The bluffs of the river rise to the height from 2 to 300 feet, and in most places nearly perpendicular. They are formed of remarkable white sandstone which is sufficiently soft to give way readily to the impression of water: two or three thin horizontal stratas of white freestone, on which the rains or water make no impression, lie imbedded in the cliffs or soft stone near the upper part of them.

Near the white cliffs, paddlers are likely to see Peregrine Falcons and Golden Eagles.

The White Cliffs are truly spectacular. At one point we paddle directly below a 100-foot vertical white sandstone wall, no doubt little changed from when Lewis and Clark came through. Farther along, the cliffs are dotted with limber pines (a new species identified by Lewis and Clark), providing ideal perches for prairie falcons that soar nearby as we pass. Across from the White Cliffs is Eagle Creek, a spot where Lewis and Clark camped on their upstream journey. While the camp looks inviting, we have miles to make so we continue downstream.

Practically every mile of the river is loaded with history. We have a guidebook that describes historical events mile by mile. Numerous old homesteads, some only a pile of rubble, line the river. Many settlers tried to grow crops or raise livestock in the early 1900s along the upper Missouri, but few succeeded. Other pioneers were woodhawks, who settled on the river to supply steamboats with fuel wood.

Randy and I have a hard time imagining steamboats carrying 300 tons of freight up such a shallow river. In 1866, the steamboat Marion went aground near mile 73, and evidently the bartender kept serving the passengers and crew while they waited to be evacuated by another steamer. When the Luella arrived to help, the crew and passengers were all intoxicated. We camp above the Marion grounding site at Hole-in-the-Wall, a nice spot located below a huge cliff with a small arch.

Getting There Getting There: Fort Benton is located in northern Montana about 80 miles south of Canada. The closest major town is Great Falls, Montana, located on Interstate 15 if you are driving. Delta (www.delta.com; 800-221-1212), Northwest (www.nwa.com; 800-225-2525), Horizon (www.horizonair.com; 800-547-9308), and Big Sky Airlines (www.bigskyair.com; 800-237-7788) all fly into Great Falls. There are numerous car-rental agencies at the airport. It’s about an hour’s drive to Fort Benton from Great Falls. A good source of information on the area is the Great Falls Web site at www.ci.great-falls.mt.us/.

Mile 63. The Missouri is showing her teeth today. Last nigh, violent thunderstorms rocked the tent for hours, pelting the walls with rain and hail for most of the night. This morning we awoke to 25-knot winds howling down the river, tumbling our canoe until we tie it off. There are numerous established canoe campsites on the river, including some with cook shelters. We cower out of the wind in a BLM shelter that permits us to start our stove and make pancakes. Luckily for us, the wind is moving in our direction, so our paddling is going to be turbo-charged today.

“Ready to go?” I holler to Randy over the blasting wind. “This is going to be a fast ride. Hang on to your hat!” We push off, and instantly the wind and current propel us rapidly downriver. Landmarks whiz past, and for the most part Randy and I sit back and let the wind-and-current combination push us along. We quickly chew up miles, watching the tawny hills roll past. It’s quite a contrast to Lewis and Clark, who plodded upstream in their 35-foot pirogues, poling and lining their boats mile after mile.

The obstructions of rocky points and riffles still continue as yesterday; at those places the men are compelled to be in the water even to their armpits, and the water is yet very cold, and so frequent are those points that they are one fourth of their time in the water, added to this the banks and bluffs along which they are obliged to pass are so slippery and the mud so tenacious that they are unable to wear their mockersons, and in that situation dragging the heavy burthen of a canoe and walking occasionally for several hundred yards over the sharp fragments of rocks which tumble from the cliffs and garnish the borders of the river; in short their labor is incredibly painful and great, yet those faithful fellows bear it without a murmur.