A few weeks ago I had the distinct pleasure of spending five days floating about sixty miles on central Montana's
Smith River. The Smith is a tributary of the Missouri River, and runs through the appropriately named Castle Mountains, carving through miles of steep limestone cliffs which cast shadows like stone walls.
Like any respectable river trip the journey involved constant fishing, campfires every night, the consumption of untold quantities of cheap beer (sometimes for breakfast), water, water everywhere, night bacon, eagles, flocks of cliff swallows, epic squatters, rattlesnake paranoia, the loss of a wedding ring, the finding of a wedding ring, frisbee dives, cliff jumps, swimming, sunburns, sore arms, and a lot of burritos.
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| My sweet ride |
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| Flotilla |
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| Unfortunately the bidet was not working |
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| Apparently they let Canadians on the river, too |
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| Lougin' |
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| Cliffs of insanity |
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| Beautiful, glorious, blah blah blah |
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| Old friend |
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| Empties |
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| They do things a little differently down here |
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| Swallow condominiums |
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| Cave break |
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| View from petroglyphs |
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| Say wha?! |
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| Yes, that is fire roasted night bacon |
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| Shotgun |
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| Success |
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| Water beefalo |
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| Purdy |
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| Blinded by the light |
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| Hoss is so free right now |
remember that time in Canada when we rowed out to the middle of the lake and then i refused to row back? you should thank me for that experience as it clearly prepared you for your current life is a breakfast beer guzzlin' hooligan.
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