The towns in Montana are small compared to Richmond. They seem to be about the size of Petersburg, and like Charlottesville, without the obvious millionaires. Bozeman is the home of Montana State and Missoula is the home of the University of Montana. Bozeman seems sharp and ready. Missoula seems to be where all the all the liberals or old hippies decided to go, or where you'd make a good living as a tattoo artist. You should see both towns, however.
Clarke looks at home, fishin' on the Blackfoot River in Montana.
Headed up to Paws Upjust north of Missoula, to watch Jones do a little river flogging. He calls it fly-fishing. Despite his constant river slapping, he has managed to catch some rainbows and cutthroats. For those back home, those are trout and not something in the sky or a Richmond divorce lawyer.
Luke and Clarke, along with their guide, hunt for pheasant in the hills of western Montana.
Jones, Sacamagawopoo, and I went pheasant hunting the other day.
Sacamagawopoo had never been bird hunting before with a shotgun. She has always used rocks. It has been one of the hottest summers on record in Montana. Everyone is still wearing shorts (I think that's why ol' Jones tries to stay in college towns.) Anyway, the hot, dry air made scenting conditions awful, and I'm running around with my tongue hanging out trying to find Jones a bird so he can show Sacamagawopoo what a marksman he is. I finally flush the dang thing about 60 yards out and Jones takes a couple of desperate shots 'cause he is in no great shape, is tired of walking up and down these Montana hills, and is thinking about how good a Moose Drool (local beer) would taste right now. If you've seen Jones shoot you know 60 yds is out of range for him and I can just hear him murmuring about my heritage etc. as the pheasant waves goodbye and heads to Canada.
About that time, another pheasant gets up practically under Sacamagwopoo's feet. She turns and nails it. Got her first bird!
Luke takes a break to fetch in the Blackfoot River.