The weather
has been unseasonably warm, if you haven’t noticed, and I’ve whiled away a few
days getting reacquainted with the prairies and island ranges of central
Montana. Day before yesterday, I drove from Chinook through the Bears Paw
Mountains, crossed Missouri on the Sanford-McClellan Ferry and found a camp in
the Upper Missouri Breaks National Monument. Last night, I stayed at Half Moon
Campground on Big Timber Creek in the Crazy Mountains.
At the north edge of the Bears Paw, I visited the site where 143 years
ago this week Joseph of the Nez Perce surrendered to Nelson Miles and O. O.
Howard with assurances from both that he and his people would be sent to Lapwai
in Idaho. They were sent to Oklahoma, instead. But that’s another story.
In spite of trying to get away from it all, I was reminded through the
wonders of technology that this is my week to rant . . . uh, I mean write . . .
something that might be construed to be social commentary.
So, I first want to remind my readers — both of them — to vote by
November 3. I won’t get another chance to harangue you about that, and I urge
you to vote sensibly.
I won’t tell you who to vote for, but I will say that some political
signs and flags I’ve seen lately seem very oxymoronic — not to mention just plain
moronic. Those urging “No More B*** S***” seems insanely contradictory, though it’s
still a good idea; particularly no more from the guy whose name is on the flag.
If he had cut the B.S. in March and started wearing a mask then, we probably wouldn’t have 200,000-plus folks dead of
Covid by now, and might have a clear
path nationally through the end game of the pandemic. At least, maybe he
recently realized that Covid doesn’t care who you are. Maybe.
Speaking of ruthless billionaire developers, there are some daunting
public land questions out here in the semi-wild West. In the Breaks, where there
are very few Bureau of Land Management signs (BLM manages the Monument), it’s
difficult to tell where public land ends and begins, discouraging public use. I
know how to read a map, so I figured out a camp, but I was serenaded by cows —
in stereo — and surrounded by No Trespassing signs.
When I started into the Crazy Mountains, Forest Service signs led me
to believe that after 11 miles of fences and No Trespassing signs, I would
drive onto public land. The truth is that after 11 miles, I drove onto USFS-maintained
Road #197 that runs through private land, the Lazy K Bar Ranch. The 8500-acre Lazy
K Bar was at one time Montana’s largest working dude ranch. It was sold in 2012
to Switchback Ranch LLC, a development company owned by David Leuschen, cofounder of private equity firm Riverstone
Holdings.
Switchback also owns inholdings in the Crazies resulting from the
every-other-section land deal that Northern Pacific Railroad got from the
government in the late 1800s. Switchback has begun developing some of that
property around alpine lakes in the Crazies, including flying in excavators and
cement mixers. There goes the neighborhood; in which Leuschen doesn’t live. He lives in New York City. Prior to
founding Riverstone, he was a partner and managing director at Goldman Sachs.
He can’t see Switchback projects from his house.
It’s all very legal, as is the fence being built on both sides of Road
#197 from the Lazy K Bar gate to the campground. My guess is eight miles of
fence costs about $10,000 a mile, but it’s only money. Gotta keep the rabble
out somehow.
Meanwhile, “Save The Cowboy” is a movement trying to stop the American
Prairie Reserve, an effort to establish a sustainable habitat for bison — and
myriad other species —on lands including the Charles M. Russel National
Wildlife Refuge, the aforementioned National Monument and 400,000 acres of
private land acquired for the purpose. A writer representing the cattle industry
notes that central Montana communities have said, “No, no, no” to
reintroduction of bison, but the bottom line appears to be that big ranches
adjoining these spaces don’t want to give up grazing lands that are basically
free or ridiculously inexpensive.
My bottom line here is that a larger threat than the American Prairie
Reserve to the cowboy — and other everyday Joes and Jills with favorite public
spaces — is developers who build third home hideaways for the very wealthy in
places like the Crazy Mountains high country. Traditional access to public
lands is being blocked in the name of personal profit.
To the current resident of the White House and bigtime developers,
“having it all” means having yours, too. Which, in my opinion, is pure-d B***
S***.
Remember to vote before November 3.
Sandy Compton is
owner and publisher at Blue Creek Press, on the web at bluecreekpress.com and facebook.com/BlueCreekPress
My last column brought interesting letters to the editor, some of which weren’t printed because the writers didn’t wish to be in the public eye. One that did get published suggested the editor ban me because my views didn’t agree with theirs. They may wish to brush up on the
Long ago, I saw (by accident) an episode of “The Apprentice,” and learned that Donald Trump is a bully. I never ventured there again. Trump is still a bully. He likes to pick on people. He likes to see others squirm and suffer. He loves to make others angry. He
Winter has finally arrived, though the frosting on my small forest looks more like December than January. Thankfully, the frosting is much thicker on our mountains. I’ve not had to use the snowblower or shovel down here — at least not yet. Up there is plenty to ski on. Those
When I was young, I had a book, I Have Five Pennies, in which a young boy is sent to the store by his mom for groceries. She gives him five pennies for himself, and as he goes, he sings, “I have five pennies to spend on candy; all for
This was written some time ago, but it still applies, I believe. Thanks for reading. Dear friends, On my drive home tonight, at the small city of Hope, Idaho, I watched a meteor inscribe the black heavens with a golden signature. It blew across the southern sky, as if launched
A few thoughts on pure-d B*** S***
The weather has been unseasonably warm, if you haven’t noticed, and I’ve whiled away a few days getting reacquainted with the prairies and island ranges of central Montana. Day before yesterday, I drove from Chinook through the Bears Paw Mountains, crossed Missouri on the Sanford-McClellan Ferry and found a camp in the Upper Missouri Breaks National Monument. Last night, I stayed at Half Moon Campground on Big Timber Creek in the Crazy Mountains.
At the north edge of the Bears Paw, I visited the site where 143 years ago this week Joseph of the Nez Perce surrendered to Nelson Miles and O. O. Howard with assurances from both that he and his people would be sent to Lapwai in Idaho. They were sent to Oklahoma, instead. But that’s another story.
In spite of trying to get away from it all, I was reminded through the wonders of technology that this is my week to rant . . . uh, I mean write . . . something that might be construed to be social commentary.
So, I first want to remind my readers — both of them — to vote by November 3. I won’t get another chance to harangue you about that, and I urge you to vote sensibly.
I won’t tell you who to vote for, but I will say that some political signs and flags I’ve seen lately seem very oxymoronic — not to mention just plain moronic. Those urging “No More B*** S***” seems insanely contradictory, though it’s still a good idea; particularly no more from the guy whose name is on the flag. If he had cut the B.S. in March and started wearing a mask then, we probably wouldn’t have 200,000-plus folks dead of Covid by now, and might have a clear path nationally through the end game of the pandemic. At least, maybe he recently realized that Covid doesn’t care who you are. Maybe.
Speaking of ruthless billionaire developers, there are some daunting public land questions out here in the semi-wild West. In the Breaks, where there are very few Bureau of Land Management signs (BLM manages the Monument), it’s difficult to tell where public land ends and begins, discouraging public use. I know how to read a map, so I figured out a camp, but I was serenaded by cows — in stereo — and surrounded by No Trespassing signs.
When I started into the Crazy Mountains, Forest Service signs led me to believe that after 11 miles of fences and No Trespassing signs, I would drive onto public land. The truth is that after 11 miles, I drove onto USFS-maintained Road #197 that runs through private land, the Lazy K Bar Ranch. The 8500-acre Lazy K Bar was at one time Montana’s largest working dude ranch. It was sold in 2012 to Switchback Ranch LLC, a development company owned by David Leuschen, cofounder of private equity firm Riverstone Holdings.
Switchback also owns inholdings in the Crazies resulting from the every-other-section land deal that Northern Pacific Railroad got from the government in the late 1800s. Switchback has begun developing some of that property around alpine lakes in the Crazies, including flying in excavators and cement mixers. There goes the neighborhood; in which Leuschen doesn’t live. He lives in New York City. Prior to founding Riverstone, he was a partner and managing director at Goldman Sachs. He can’t see Switchback projects from his house.
It’s all very legal, as is the fence being built on both sides of Road #197 from the Lazy K Bar gate to the campground. My guess is eight miles of fence costs about $10,000 a mile, but it’s only money. Gotta keep the rabble out somehow.
Meanwhile, “Save The Cowboy” is a movement trying to stop the American Prairie Reserve, an effort to establish a sustainable habitat for bison — and myriad other species —on lands including the Charles M. Russel National Wildlife Refuge, the aforementioned National Monument and 400,000 acres of private land acquired for the purpose. A writer representing the cattle industry notes that central Montana communities have said, “No, no, no” to reintroduction of bison, but the bottom line appears to be that big ranches adjoining these spaces don’t want to give up grazing lands that are basically free or ridiculously inexpensive.
My bottom line here is that a larger threat than the American Prairie Reserve to the cowboy — and other everyday Joes and Jills with favorite public spaces — is developers who build third home hideaways for the very wealthy in places like the Crazy Mountains high country. Traditional access to public lands is being blocked in the name of personal profit.
To the current resident of the White House and bigtime developers, “having it all” means having yours, too. Which, in my opinion, is pure-d B*** S***.
Remember to vote before November 3.
Sandy Compton is owner and publisher at Blue Creek Press, on the web at bluecreekpress.com and facebook.com/BlueCreekPress
A Few Thoughts on What We Have Now
My last column brought interesting letters to the editor, some of which weren’t printed because the writers didn’t wish to be in the public eye. One that did get published suggested the editor ban me because my views didn’t agree with theirs. They may wish to brush up on the
A Few Thoughts on Bullies and Bravery
Long ago, I saw (by accident) an episode of “The Apprentice,” and learned that Donald Trump is a bully. I never ventured there again. Trump is still a bully. He likes to pick on people. He likes to see others squirm and suffer. He loves to make others angry. He
A Few Thoughts on Learning to Ski
Winter has finally arrived, though the frosting on my small forest looks more like December than January. Thankfully, the frosting is much thicker on our mountains. I’ve not had to use the snowblower or shovel down here — at least not yet. Up there is plenty to ski on. Those
A few thoughts (or more) on November 6 at 8:30 a.m.
When I was young, I had a book, I Have Five Pennies, in which a young boy is sent to the store by his mom for groceries. She gives him five pennies for himself, and as he goes, he sings, “I have five pennies to spend on candy; all for
Happy Holidays from the Scenic Route
This was written some time ago, but it still applies, I believe. Thanks for reading. Dear friends, On my drive home tonight, at the small city of Hope, Idaho, I watched a meteor inscribe the black heavens with a golden signature. It blew across the southern sky, as if launched