Southwest Montana Field Notes
Short Profiles of Places and History
Beaverhead Rock State Park
Rick and Susie Graetz
The University of Montana Office of Research and Creative Scholarship
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“the evening again proved cloudy much to my mortification and prevented my making any lunar observations. the Indian woman recognized the point of a high plain to our right which she informed us was not very distant from the summer retreat of her nation on a river beyond the mountains which runs to the west. this hill she says her nation calls the beaver's head from a conceived remblance of it's figure to the head of that animal. she assures us that we shall either find her people on this river or on the river immediately west of it's source; which from it's present size cannot be very distant.”
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…Meriwether Lewis August 8, 1805
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The “Indian woman,” Sacagawea, was a 16-year-old Lemhi Shoshone native who had been kidnapped by the Hidatsa tribe at today’s Three Forks in southwest Montana and was living in the Mandan villages, near present-day Bismarck when she joined the Corps of Discovery and became a valuable addition.
Her recognition of the landmark from her childhood was most encouraging to the captains who, knowing their water route was about to end, had been searching for the Shoshone in order to buy the horses they desperately needed.
Beaverhead Rock, also called Point-of Rocks, is located 14 miles north of Dillon, Montana on Hwy 41. This mass of Madison Limestone, appearing to be a beaver swimming with only its head above the water, is now a Montana State Park.
Five days later, on August 13, 1805, on the west side of Lemhi Pass, Lewis encountered the Shoshone people. Sacagawea’s prediction was right!
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Big Hole National Battlefield
Patrick Shea | This is Montana
Descending from the Continental Divide at Chief Joseph Pass, Montana Hwy 43 weaves through a forest of Douglas Fir and cuts through walls of sedimentary and metamorphic rock before following Trail Creek in a narrow canyon. A bend in the road reveals a lush, green valley where the nickname “Big Sky Country” is manifested overhead. Here, the creek twists and turns its way through the vast plain, its banks lined with the bright, vibrant yellow of young willow stems. It is a remarkably peaceful place—the soft sounds of the trickling creek and the grass rustling in the wind could lull a visitor to sleep, and that’s exactly what Chief Joseph’s band of Nez Perce were doing one early morning when they awoke to the sound of gunfire.
The Nez Perce war of 1877 is a story inseparably woven into the rugged landscape between the Cascade Range and Rocky Mountains—the historic homeland of the people who call themselves the Niimiipu. The Big Hole National Battlefield in modern-day Beaverhead County, Montana, serves as a remembrance of the lives lost here at a major turning point in the war, and the broken promises that led up to it.
For at least 11,500 years the Nez Perce occupied a plateau of ancient volcanic rock where Idaho, Oregon, and Washington meet. In this territory and beyond they hunted, fished, traded, fought, and governed for millennia before the arrival of the first White explorers in the early 19th century.
In the fall of 1805, the Nez Perce provided supplies, nourishment, and navigational guidance to the expedition party of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. On their way back from the coast in the spring of 1806, the explorers again stopped in Nez Perce country and received crucial aid from the tribe in especially trying times.
The Nez Perce had maintained these friendly relations with white newcomers for decades, even as Americans began to gradually establish settlements in the region. In 1855, the Natives agreed to a treaty with Washington Territorial Governor Isaac Stevens that set aside 7.5 million acres of their 17.3 million-acre historic homeland as an established Nez Perce Reservation.
With the discovery of gold in Nez Perce country in 1863, everything changed. A new treaty slashed the 7.5 million-acre reservation to about 750,000 acres in modern-day Idaho—a tenfold reduction to accommodate the influx of miners and fortune seekers that would soon pour into the region. Those who lived within its proposed boundaries agreed to the deal, and the Nez Perce who refused to sign (labeled non-treaty Indians) lost most or all of their homeland to the government. Claiming it was a fraudulent act or a "thief' treaty made by Chief Lawyer and the Indian commissioners, the non-treaty natives returned to their homes.
Among the dissenters was a band of Nez Perce inhabiting Oregon’s Wallowa valley. Included in this group was the renowned warrior and military strategist Looking Glass as well as the influential leaders Chief Joseph and his son, who was given the same name and authority after his father’s passing in 1871. Despite their refusal to relocate to the Idaho reservation, they continued to live in relative peace with the encroaching American settlers.
In 1873, President Ulysses S. Grant signed an executive order designating about half the Wallowa Valley as a “reservation for the roaming Nez Perce Indians.”
Then in the summer of 1875, under pressure from settlers, President Grant reversed his previous decision and gave the valley back to the white interlopers. This edict outraged the non-treaty Nez Perce, who had already been experiencing periodic violence from incomers that had gone unpunished as more and more Americans moved west.
After failed negotiations, in May 1877, General Otis Howard issued an ultimatum, giving all Nez Perce bands 30 days to move with their herds to the Idaho reservation. Considering he had no choice but to accept the terms Joseph stated, “I did not want my people killed. … I said in my heart that, rather than have war, I would give up my country. I would give up my father’s grave.”
In frustration and anger, some young warriors in Chief Joseph’s band attacked settlers as the Nez Perce were forced to evacuate the Wallowa Valley.
This retribution marked the beginning of the war; the first full-on battle took place at White Bird Canyon on June 17th, 1877. The following four months saw Chief Joseph’s band handily outpacing Colonel Oliver Otis Howard and his troops as they fled through familiar terrain toward what is now the Montana border. There, they hoped to secure military support from their allies in buffalo country.
After finding their way through the Bitterroot Mountains, the Nez Perce fled south through the adjacent valley to avoid more densely populated settlements like Missoula. Just after crossing the Continental Divide, however, the Nez Perce camp was caught by surprise. While the Nez Perce successfully left their pursuers from the west in the dust, they were unaware that on July 28 Colonel John Gibbon and the 7th Infantry had embarked on a campaign from Fort Shaw.
The 7th Infantry ambushed the sleeping Nez Perce in the early morning of August 9th. The camp scattered in all directions as not only warriors but unarmed women and children were slaughtered in the valley. The Nez Perce death count after the Battle of Big Hole was between 80 and 90.
Once the Nez Perce warriors armed themselves and regrouped, they were able to lead Gibbon’s men away from the camp and into a dense stand of conifers at the base of a hill just south of Trail Creek. This proved tactically advantageous for the Nez Perce; the 7th Infantry retreated after 31 soldiers had fallen and 39 were wounded.
Following Colonel Gibbon’s retreat, the Nez Perce fled on. With their numbers and morale already reduced, Chief Joseph, Looking Glass, and all of the non-treaty Nez Perce experienced further frustration when the Crow refused to fight by their side due to pressure from the U.S. Army and from federal Indian Agents. In desperation, Chief Joseph’s band fled north towards the Canadian border as the deadly cold of winter creeped slowly but surely towards them.
On September 30th, 1877, just short of the Canadian border at the base of the Bear Paw Mountains, the US Army intercepted the fleeing Nez Perce, inciting another armed conflict. The battle was followed by a six-day siege which ended in Chief Joseph’s conditional surrender, contingent upon his people being allowed to return to the now-reduced reservation near Lapwai, Idaho, where the other Nez Perce resided. In meeting with the generals Miles and Howard on October 4, Chief Joseph gave his famous speech… “Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever."
Again, promises were broken—the non-treaty Nez Perce were transported by military force down the Missouri River to Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas, and later exiled to the Indian Territory in present-day Oklahoma. It wasn’t until eight years later in 1885 that the exile ended; of the 500 Nez Perce that were relocated to Oklahoma, only 300 survived and made it back to the Northwest.
The view, from Big Hole National Battlefield Visitor Center, is both stunning and sobering. The valley is surrounded by awe-inspiring peaks; with the Anaconda Range, the Beaverheads, and the Bitterroots all within view, one can see why the Big Hole Valley seemed a perfect place for much needed rest before the Nez Perce continued on their strenuous journey.
Where the Nez Perce camp was ambushed, bare tipi poles stand and plaques display some names of the brave and resilient members of Chief Joseph’s band. Walking through the battlefield reminds visitors of the ambush experienced by the Nez Perce on that fateful August morning in 1877 and serves as a memorial to the lives lost on both sides.
The Nez Perce still exercise their sovereignty in the United States, and many tribal members live on their reservation in north central Idaho. They have remained strong and dedicated to the preservation of their language, their way of life, and their homeland.
From Pilipsburg – Biking the Rock Creel Route
By Patrick Shea
Winter 2020 melted into a stir-crazy spring. Homebound and remotely engaged at best, I had never been more eager for warm weather and long bike rides. The forecast of a balmy June weekend in the Sapphire Mountains was a grounding reminder of how fortunate I am to be in Montana.
After a long evening shift at work, I drove east from Missoula for a much-needed solo bike/camping trip along Rock Creek in Granite County. planned to ride 55 miles from south to north and reach the confluence with the Clark Fork River, spending the night at one of many National Forest campgrounds along the way.
I pitched my tent at the Pintler Peaks RV park near downtown Phillipsburg. Awakening to a bright blue morning, I quickly broke camp and rode to a coffee shop, where I met my caffeine quota before loading my bike, locking the car and hitting the road.
Pedaling north on Pintler Veteran's Memorial Scenic Highway, I turned left on Route 348 and crossed Flint Creek. Winding my way through sun-soaked pastures, I gained about 1,000 feet in elevation along the southern edge of the John Long Mountains. After eight mellow miles, a panorama appeared that demanded my dismounted attention.
The Anaconda Range was strung out like a banner across the cloudless southeast sky, and to the west, the Sapphire Mountains seemed a stone's throw away. The hills between the ranges were alive with rustling grasses and speckled with tufts of conifer green and angus black. I sat and watched a bluebird emerge timidly from a wooden box on a fencepost before taking flight and disappearing, perfectly camouflaged against the azure ceiling.
Eager to descend toward Rock Creek, I once again “saddled up.” The prospect of covering six miles with hardly a turn of the pedals is indescribably delightful to the flatlander I am. Fifteen blissful minutes brought me to the junction of Granite County Route 348 and Lolo National Forest Road 102.
After crossing Rock Creek, the road turned to dirt, but the first few miles were unexpectedly smooth. Private grazing land along the creek transitioned abruptly to pine forest where a sheer wall of bedrock stood tall on either side of the road, like a gateway into the Sapphires.
From this point on, nearly everyone I saw was knee-deep in this blue-ribbon trout stream. The backdrop to the scene was spectacular. Huge outcrops of fine-grained sedimentary rock towered over the creek, grey in color with streaks of dead-pine-needle orange. Groves of dark green ponderosa pines clung precariously to the steep hillside, and in between, stone-strewn landslides crumbled their way to the water below.
This tributary of the Clark Fork River has long been visited by the Salish and Pend d'Oreille tribes, whose name for Rock Creek translates to “logs in the water.” The Hellgate Treaty of 1855 protected their right to hunt, fish, and gather throughout their ceded territory. For thousands of years, well-worn trails were used by tribes throughout the greater region. These trails led from the Bitterroot Valley across the Sapphires, the Blackfoot Valley to the north, and from beyond the Continental Divide to the east, following the Clark Fork to the mouth of Rock Creek.
By the late 19th century, talk of gold deposits rippling through the region brought droves of treasure seekers from the east. President Grover Cleveland and other prominent investors threw 1.5 million dollars into developing the area. Despite their efforts, it all turned out to be little more than a rumor, and the promised railroad never arrived.
Miners weren’t the only early American settlers in the region; 11 miles after turning onto Road 102, I arrived at the Morgan-Case Homestead. Agnes “Annie" Morgan was born in Baltimore in 1833 when over 100,000 African-Americans in Maryland lived in slavery. It is unclear whether Morgan was a slave herself. Still, it could explain her eventual relocation (or perhaps flight) to Granite County, Montana.
Annie had a knack for healing and caretaking. A renowned cook, her local claim to fame was having prepared meals for General George Armstrong Custer. Arriving at the now-restored cabin in the early 1890s, she was given the task of caring for the severely alcoholic uncle of David Durfey, a Philipsburg Attorney. After being nurtured back to health and sobriety, the elderly uncle departed the cabin while Annie remained, and eventually filed a homestead claim.
The "Case" in the cabin's name comes from Joseph "Fisher Jack" Case. On a hike in the nearby rugged, backcountry, Annie found Jack barely conscious and deathly ill with Typhoid fever. She helped him to her place, where over the next several weeks, she again proved her therapeutic abilities. Once he felt better, Case built a fence around Annie's property as thanks and payment for her care. According to local lore, Case and Morgan took a shine to one another and lived in the cabin until Annie died in 1914.
Immediately downstream, the road veered away from the creek and made a short, steep climb. The gravel became increasingly loose and picking a line through the potholes required my undivided attention. This was easier said than done, as I was often distracted by the views beyond the road before being brought back to front and center by a series of bone-jarring ruts. On the coasting side of the hill, I found the Hogback Homestead, where Charles F. Gernhard, in 1913, built an extensive wood flume irrigation system to sustain his crop fields. The Hogback and Morgan-Case Homesteads are available to rent through the US Forest Service—a thought to keep in mind for making this trip with friends.
A few more miles downstream, I came across the Rock Creek Microburst site, which proved the early namesake "logs in the water," to be fitting. Here, an entire forest seemed to have grown in the wrong direction, as long barren trunks stretched down toward the creek bed. On June 15, 1989, a severe thunderstorm created a violent downdraft with wind speeds of 150 mph. It is difficult to imagine a steep-sloped forest thrown to the ground in one fell swoop. The phenomenon is explained and drawn out in detail on an informational roadside sign.
The next stretch of the road followed the creek's eastern bank so intimately that it felt like I was riding on top of the water; so close, I could have reached out and high-fived the paddlers to my left. The steady hum of my tires mingled with the stream's gurgle created a meditative white noise that rendered all estimations of time and distance moot. The ride was so pleasant, I wanted to delay its end. When a hiking trailhead and a swinging bridge came into sight, I accepted the chance to take a break.
I crossed the bridge and entered the Welcome Creek Wilderness, a 28,135-acre landscape full of steep, rocky ridges. There are no roads, no homes, and practically no flat surfaces to speak of. I scrambled to the top of the first ridge, weaving between boulders until I found a spot to sit and enjoy the quiet. Below to my right, I could still see Rock Creek tumbling through the woods, and to my left, I spied the shape of its tributary, Welcome Creek. Viewing both made me curious to see where they met, so off I went to find it. My tired legs shook as I clambered through the unexpectedly treacherous and steep terrain; despite its beauty and peace, “welcoming” is not exactly how I would describe this place. I stood at the confluence for a while and watched the stark change as one current fed into the other. This reminded me of where I was headed— Rock Creek's terminus at the Clark Fork River. With that in mind, I turned back to the trailhead.
Back on my bike, I rounded a corner to find a herd of bighorn sheep picking their way down a severe pitch to my right. They traversed their narrow trail with such confidence and
certainty that my maneuvering through ruts and rocks seemed like child's play in comparison.
When I passed Norton Campground, where I had planned to stay, it was only five pm and the creek was still luring me around each bend. The road had just turned to pavement, too, which was an absolute joy to ride since my pothole troubles had increased exponentially. I kept on pedaling.
The next landmark was the town of Quigley, a place that has changed considerably since the mining days. In 1896, J.C. McLeod of Philipsburg told a reporter with the Daily Missoulian that Quigley was a town “running over with life and prosperity." One hundred and twenty-three years later, it took me 30 seconds to ride through town, and there was no bustle to speak of. Today, Quigley is no more than a bait shop and a couple of houses. Still, its location near a wide swath of wilderness, a blue-ribbon trout stream, and copious campsites makes it an ideal destination for outdoor enthusiasts.
Each turn in the road revealed yet another picturesque view of the creek glistening in the hot afternoon sun. Before I realized it, I was in Clinton, the end of the line for me. I pulled off at the Fisherman's Mercantile, where an inviting porch made for a perfect place to rest. As the welcoming committee of local dogs greeted me, I chatted with employees and customers who confirmed my suspicion that Norton was the closest place to camp.
I usually avoid backtracking, but I didn't mind giving this captivating corridor a second look. Back into the national forest, back through Quigley, back along the murmuring waters to the Norton campsite, this put my total mileage for the day up to 65. By the time my tent was pitched, I was pretty much asleep already.
In the morning, the forecasted rain was splendidly absent. I biked into Clinton, where a friend would pick me up and return me to my car in exchange for a pint at the Philipsburg Brewery and a taco from the cart outside.
All along my Rock Creek trek, I found places I knew I could—and would—return to. The Sapphire Mountains have so much to offer and lie just a few hills away from Missoula. This route is one of many getaways in Southwestern Montana, and in my admittedly biased opinion, a bicycle's seat offers the ideal vantage point for taking it all in.
Patrick Shea is a University of Montana Journalism graduate student for UM’s This is Montana Community Vitality Project.
Photo Captions:
The southeastern foothills of the John Long Mountains – Rick & Susie Graetz
Rock Creek at the Junction of the Rock Creek Road and Hwy 348 –