Madison River Valley (Kid Stuff)

“And take it in the canyon down”

The waters of the Firehole River join those of the Madison near Madison Junction within Yellowstone National Park.  Only occasionally is the pace swift.  More often than not the waters meander and linger within the pools of cobalt.  Fishermen lay the fly on the gentle swirls and wildlife finds a sanctuary.

The pace is leisurely through the meadows and stands of pine.    And the mind slows as well – drawn and reluctant to move forward.  Content to ponder simpler times and events of bygone eras.    

Nevertheless, forth we must go.  The canyon insists.  So, we leave the park along with the gentle riffles.  Onward to where lines of cottonwood assemble along the banks – sentries guarding over the procession below.

Slow and steady is the way.  But soon the terrain becomes less gentle and the river becomes enclosed by steep hills that rise majestically above either side.  It is here that the course is impeded.  First by man at Hebgen Dam.  And then again not much further down at Quake Lake which was formed in 1959 when an earthquake triggered a landslide of massive proportions.  Steep escarpments were jolted from their grip on the southern wall.  Mere seconds, and the natural flow was blocked.  Immovable standing in defiance of the inexorable - although a short time later the earthen hodgepodge was reinforced by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to prevent a breech.  The lake quickly filled and remains to this day.  As does the scar on the southerly slope.   While on the northern face we find huge boulders, some the size of large houses, which had resided peacefully at the top of the southern mountain, slid down the void, and then back up the opposite side.  Here they remain, a good distance above the lake surface.  All three give testament to the magnitude of the event. 

Here the waters rest.  Along with 28 souls that died that fateful night.

But the canyon calls.  The waters will not be denied - they find escape.  Up and over.  And then for some three miles the waters rush.  Free and white.  As if impatient to make up for lost time.   

  

And it is along this stretch of whitewater that a number of our “clues” suddenly converge - “Water high”, “below the home of Brown”, “warm waters halt”, “no place for the meek”, and “heavy loads”.  And yes, “the blaze” is in full view as well.

The search intensifies while on foot.  And more “clues” fall into place as the din of the rushing water forces one to “listen well” and the accompanying mist in the cool mountain breeze prompts the hope that our “effort will be worth the cold”.  Nonetheless, the debris field is vast and rubble strewn.  Each step demands our undivided attention.  The proverbial needle in a haystack comes to mind.  The uneventful breed’s monotony.  Together they conspire to muddle the mind.

Wait.  What was that?  Something from the corner of the eye and a few steps back calls after to look again.  With a moment’s afterthought, an object unknown seems distinctly out of place.  And so it is.

To this day the true meaning of that solitary memorial is unclear.  In all likelihood, a family’s final homage to a beloved husband or brother.  The last home for one who found his greatest joy when a prized Brown broke the surface and the Elk Hair Caddis was set.  But the trinkets left in tribute remain somewhat curious and together they would seem to point to another canyon, in a different location of grandeur.  Nothing certain.  All circumstantial.  Yet, as a whole they suggest a destination both compelling and irresistible.   

So it is here that we part ways with these beautiful waters.  The canyons of the Madison will soon merge into those of the great Missouri and move east.  While our journey, our adventure takes us west towards the Pacific.

To a place “not far, but too far to walk”.