As we pulled into Libby, the sign welcoming us to town was fantastic. Unlike the other small towns we'd been through in northwestern Montana, there was no WordArt here. Surely a sign doesn't say much about the people in a place - Lincoln, Seeley Lake and Thompson Falls had all been quite nice - but it was cool to see something a little more permanent as we transitioned onto the eighth stage of the Montana Backcountry Discovery Route.
We weren't planning to spend any time in Libby - we had plenty of fuel to take us through the final stage - but an eagle soaring above the road caught our eye. Then another.
Still, we had 125 miles to cover before we reached the Canadian border, so after enjoying the art for a few minutes, we were back onto dirt as we followed the Kootenai River as it flowed north out of town toward British Columbia. I didn't realize at the time, but we'd be back the next morning, following the same river - from British Columbia - south into town.
That is because - interestingly - the Kootenai flows south from the Canadian Rockies through Lake Koocanusa, west through Montana and Idaho, and then turns north again, returning to British Columbia and Kootenay Lake. Which raised an important logistical question - if one were to raft its entirety, how many times would one need to clear customs? These are the things we found ourselves pondering as tree tunnels rose around us once again.
There was - however - something a little different on this stage of the route. Butterflies! Hundreds, no, thousands of butterflies! Sunning themselves in the road, and clustered around puddles for a refreshing sip of water, they fluttered continuously in front of the Tacoma. Up and over the windshield, tumbling through a vortex of air, only to land again along the edge of the same puddle once we'd gone.
Having left town right around noon, we worked our way through the woods for an hour before the grumbling from our stomachs became unbearable and mandated a stop for lunch. Not that lunch was any sort of burden. For the entire trip, we'd enjoyed what may now be my favorite on-trip sandwich - an important category whose rankings are maintained with all the rigor one would expect from a lunch assembled on a tailgate. Caprese sandwiches - with silky fresh mozzarella, juicy red tomatoes, and plenty of pesto mayo - are a tasty, fresh treat that is hard to beat.
As we ate, a couple adventure bikes - coming from the opposite direction - were likely just getting underway on the route we'd nearly completed. They'd be in for a nice surprise as they headed south, the terrain getting more and more interesting over time.
Our sandwiches consumed, we dove in dutifully to a new bag of Doritos. Covered in their addictive orange dust, they are one of our favorite ways to consume corn, and we wondered if anyone had ever limited themselves to the suggested serving size.
And then, we were back into the trees. This time though, there was hope. @mrs.turbodb - as she'd researched the route from the comforts of our couch - had determined that the final stage of the BDR was a land of lookouts. With half a dozen decorating the mountaintops, we hoped that we'd finally get the chance to see one in person.
First up, Quartz Peak Lookout. Located in the Kootenai National Forest, it was originally constructed as a cabin in 1934, with the 60' steel tower built a year later. As with so many lookouts, fire - this one in 1954 - was the demise of the cabin, though the tower continued operation until the late 1960s.
Unfortunately, the road to the Quartz Peak Lookout is gone, replaced by a 5-mile foot trail with 800 feet of elevation gain. Luckily, our little buddy can skip all that, and soon we were once again underway.
Of course, with so many lookouts, it wasn't long before we were stopped again. Our hopes had been high for reaching Big Creek Baldy Lookout - one that can be rented for the night, should one so desire - but as seemed to be common here in Montana, the road to the summit was gated for privacy. Still, our little buddy was itching to stretch its propellers again, and who were we to keep it grounded?
Sitting atop its namesake mountain at an elevation of 5,780 feet in the Kootenai National Forest, the 52-foot-tall Big Creek Baldy Lookout has been in operation since 1966, though it was retired from fire service in the 1980s. Today, it can be yours for $65 per night - if you can get it - and offers spectacular views of Lake Koocanusa and the Yaak River valley.
A little bummed that we still hadn't made it up to the viewing platform since we'd reached Granite Butte Lookout on Stage 3, we bundled our buddy back into its cubby and continued on through the forest.
We didn't hit the next lookout until a smidge after 4:00pm. This one - Lost Horse Lookout - was first used in 1921 as a camp lookout, with the current 10' tower and L-4 cab added in 1934. However, due to its remote location, it was later abandoned and has remained unused since. It was threatened by the Yaak-Red Dragon Complex during the 1994 fire season, when the fire burned to within 100 yards of the tower.
It'd been reasonably obvious that we wouldn't make it to Lost Horse Lookout ourselves, but we were once again disappointed when we found the road to Webb Mountain Lookout gated and locked. We were batting a resounding .000 in our effort to reach these magnificent overlooks, which we'd hoped would be our salvation over the length of this stage.
At an elevation of 5988 feet, the lookout was used as an observation point for fighting forest fires for over 40 years. Constructed in 1959, the 196-square-foot R-6 cabin rests on a concrete block basement. Interestingly - should one feel the desire to climb a tree - the nightly price also includes a 35-foot tree platform about a half mile west of the lookout - ideal for guests who find that renting an isolated fire lookout has not provided quite enough elevation or separation from their climbing kiddos.
At this point, there wasn't much dirt between us and the end of our 900-mile route from the bottom of Montana to the top. And of course, this - mere miles from the border - is where the views would open up. As we descended a nicely graded road through the Purcell Mountains, the shores of Lake Koocanusa wove their way through our entire field of view. More than 90 miles long, this lake holds 13% of the water in the entire Columbia River complex and sports the same turquoise hue as so many of the glacial bodies we've encountered north of the border.
This was @mrs.turbodb's first visit to this beautiful body of water, and I got a good chuckle as I heard her struggle with the pronunciation as she quoted from Roadside Geology of Montana. The deviant that I am, I suggested that the obvious name was Koo-Can-U-S-A, a tribute to the Koots, Canada, and of course, the red-white-and-blue. It stuck - for a while - until she remembered I was a goof.
I still think it's better than the official pronunciation.
We'd hit highway in the middle of our naming conversation, and we'd each thrown out our guesses on the likelihood that the final 25 miles of the route would be paved. I ended up losing that bet, though just barely.
The highway was moved to its present location as part of the construction of the Libby Dam which created the 93 mile long Lake Koocanusa. The Koocanusa Bridge provides the only crossing on the northern end of the reservoir.
The bridge was constructed before the dam was completed and the valley flooded so transportation would not be disturbed. The bridge - at 215 feet above the river - is not only the tallest and longest bridge in Montana, it also holds the honor of being named as the world’s most beautiful long span bridge in 1972.
Following the lake north, we soon found ourselves in the outskirts of Eureka, a small town on the US-Canada border where we'd ultimately spend the night. For now though - clear that we'd easily make it before sunset - we were on a mission: to reach the most remote border crossing we'd ever encountered on a BDR.
And it was the remoteness of this crossing that won the pavement-or-dirt debate for my co-pilot.
It was 7:38pm when I shut off the Tacoma and announced our arrival. We'd transitioned to dirt as we climbed a remote forest road into the hills behind town. Eventually, the road ended - or rather, got gated, because of course it did - at a switchback marked by exactly one hitching post. No sign, no fanfare, just a post in the ground saying, "Yep, this is it, congrats."
We had just one more thing to do - get to the border itself. We'd cover the last few hundred yards on foot, under the watchful eye of Uncle Sam.
The Canadians - it seemed - did not share the same concern for photographic evidence of their citizens visiting the border, nor did they threaten any action on their half of the thousand-mile-long clearing of trees. With such a nonchalant attitude, it's hard to believe their country isn't overrun with hoodlums like us.
We finally find a lookout...
The route now technically in our rear-view mirror, we needed a place to stay for the night. Luckily, after a quick visit to the gas station, and a few minutes at a car wash - to remove the worst of the Stage 1 mud from the sliders - we had one last lookout in our back pocket.
The Black Butte Lookout sat a few hundred feet above Eureka, and as we followed the circuitous road towards the top, we crossed our fingers that this one would be accessible. It was - @mrs.turbodb had determined - still active, an indication that there was less of a chance that it'd be gated well shy of the summit.
As we pulled into the parking area, a mixture of sadness and joy: we wouldn't be able to share our patriotic peanut butter cups with an observer - no one was staffing the place - but we were able to climb the steps all the way to the top!
Next to the 60-foot lookout, a picnic table and Tacoma-sized concrete slab were the perfect place for us to set up camp. Within minutes the tailgate was down, taco-rittoes warming on the grill. It'd been a long few days and we'd covered a ton of ground. Tomorrow, we were going home.
The Whole Story
