by Chris Scranton, Stevensville
Roadless areas are what Montana is all about. Let’s protect them.
Magical, memorable experiences happen in Montana’s backcountry: A hike to a majestic vantage point just as the sun sets. A fish caught in a remote mountain lake. A deer harvested after a long hunt, far from any road.
These are first-hand experiences that can’t be planned out or bought with a ticket. They are special because they happen off the beaten track, not on it.
The idea that the federal Roadless Area Conservation Rule, which protects such areas from machinery, development and overcrowding, could be undone bothers me, and it should bother you, too.
I’m now 70 years old. I love to hunt by myself and I especially like to get away from roads. I have a lot of “backcountry” stories. One in particular comes to mind:
I’d been out since before daylight in a foot of snow when I came across the tracks of several bull elk. They were wandering up towards the Continental Divide. I slowly followed them for the rest of the day. I could sometimes hear them but never got a glimpse.
Finally, just before it got too dark to shoot, the tracks headed over the Divide and dropped into a hellhole of downed lodgepole on a very steep slope. It would’ve been crazy to follow them with dark on the way. I resigned myself to heading back to camp, and as I turned I noticed movement about 70 yards away through some thick vegetation. I realized it was an elk and, with only minutes of light left, it stepped into view and looked my way. I fired a quick shot.
I followed the blood trail and about 10 minutes later I found the dead elk. There’d been reports of hunters encountering grizzlies in this area and a lone bow hunter had been attacked and killed, so I was now hyper alert.
I built a fire and got down to quartering the elk. It was now pitch dark. After moving the meat about 100 yards from the carcass, I hiked uphill looking for a place to spend the night. It was about 10 degrees.
I found a relatively flat spot with a few trees for protection. I built a fire and returned to where I’d left the meat and made about four trips to bring it to the campsite. I piled snow over the meat and then, wearing my headlamp, went on a massive wood-gathering mission. I spent the night by the fire holding my rifle, not wanting to fall asleep.
After a long night of feeding the fire, the pale light of morning finally arrived. I’d managed to text my son who lived several hours away. He met me the next morning on the Divide Trail and we sledded the meat three miles back to the trailhead.
I’ll never forget that night out, listening to every little sound and hoping that a grizzly wouldn’t show up. A few days later, I returned to my campsite to find fresh grizzly tracks scuffing around where I’d piled the meat.
This kind of adventure would not be possible in an area with roads. Roadless areas are where I hunt. These wild places are my church. Once we put in roads, the chance for such an experience will be gone forever.
Let’s speak out together to oppose this effort to bulldoze Montana’s sporting traditions. Let’s make sure our politicians and bureaucrats in Washington, D.C., understand how much we value these places and tell them to leave the Roadless Area Conservation Rule in place.
Hunters and anglers understand the irreplaceable value and opportunities these backcountry areas provide. We know the backcountry doesn’t need more roads. Let’s make sure they hear that message.