Buffalo Trace on The Chinook Prairie

I have always enjoyed trekking the prairie of eastern Montana. On on particular trip I drove north of Chinook, Montana, towards the Canadian border. The medicine line. I had a map showing federal lands and I was searching for undisturbed prairie. A chunk of bunch grass wilderness.

The road bed was gravel and my car kicked up a plume of chalky colored dust. I found a wide spot in the road to park and headed out on foot across the flat prairie, on no particular path, intent on exploring and wandering. To the south, about 30 miles away, I could see the high peaks of the Bears Paw Mountains at 5,000 to 6,000 feet. The summits are scarfed with black patches of timber; douglas fir, subalpine fir and ponderosa pine and the creek bottoms are lined with wild rose, chokecherry, service berry and willow.

The prairie I was hiking was about 2,600 feet in elevation, on a level plain, with an occasional shallow drainage, most of them dry, and a few stock ponds and small lakes, that shelter ducks and shorebirds. The prairie looks flat but it's quite deceiving because there are hidden arroyos which you can't see until you get out and start hiking. I continued my trek, wandering towards the east and my truck was soon out of sight. The sky was a dark indigo blue color and cloudless, and it was a fine day to be out.

The prairie seems trackless but there are a many over grown trails of buffalo and elk, Indians, cowboys and whiskery runners. The prairie is dominated by grasses, typically, buffalo grass, grama, wheatgrass, and needlegrass and the home of mule deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, prairie dogs, coyotes, fox, 13-lined ground squirrel, badgers, sage grouse, sharp-tailed grouse, and greater prairie chickens. Long gone are the buffalo, wolves and grizzlies.

It's so quiet on the high plains you can almost hear yourself think. The limitless horizon is daunting, and it seems to swallows you alive. Some find it lonely on the prairie but I find it exhilarating. Often the only noise is the rustling of wind across the dry stalks of bunch grass, and the occasional screeching of a Red-Tailed Hawk, "keeeeer keeeer". Or the whistling sound made by the wings of a brace of teal, flying low headed for scarce water.

A Horned Lark landed on a nearby perch, and stared at me, as if I am disturbing his peace or invading forbidden territory. The lark, in his bandido like outfit (minus the sombrero) looked directly into my eyes, warning me to flee his prairie empire. The Horned Lark has very unique coloration with black like horns, a dark mask and a conspicuous black breast band under the throat like a bandanna. The Lark lingered for a few minutes, giving me the evil eye, and I decided to move on, and end my intrusion on it's nesting territory.

At night the vast prairie of eastern Montana is wall to wall stars, planets and meteors. The Milky Way dominates the sky from horizon to horizon and northern lights often dance the sky shimmering, shaking, waning and waxing. The Indians have a belief that the northern lights are our ancestors, coming back to visit.

I walked slowly through the short grass and kept one eye to the ground, looking for interesting rocks or other objects. Much of northern Montana was glaciated by continental glaciers, leaving a wide diversity of rocks and minerals, in its wake.

I spotted something on the ground, out of the corner of my eye that looked odd. The object had a curved shape and it was a horn. I thought perhaps it was from a domestic cow but it was a horn from a buffalo. A trace of the ancient herds. The outside surface of the horn was badly eroded and flaked but it retained its shape and heft. I decided to keep the buffalo horn put it in my pack.

13 million buffalo, once roamed Montana. By 1883 buffalo had been exterminated by hide hunters with one of the last massacres occurring in northern Montana in the Sweetgrass Hills. A few remnant herds were protected in Yellowstone Park and on the Flathead Reservation and exist to this day.

I crossed a shallow ravine, crawling through thick brush, and a few hours later turned and headed back to the west, towards my truck. I hesitated because the terrain looked very unfamiliar with no distinguishing landmarks, except for the Bears Paw Mountains, way off to the south. I knew I had to hike in a westerly direction but I wasn't sure where my vehicle was. It was a warm summer day and I had plenty of time to find my way, and to scout new territory. Ahhh, the life of the high plains drifter.