Friday, June 22, 2007

Intergalactic, Planetary
Planetary, Intergalactic.

The Lewis and Clark Caverns state park is about 45 minutes from my house.

Late this afternoon, Stanette and I met the Bells clan in Three Forks and drove to the caverns.

None of us had been there.

Yesterday, I was shooting shotguns, dodging rattlesnakes and listening to classified naval info from Iraq, Lybia, Cuba and Viet Nam.

Today, I was 900 feet below the ground.

A rare species of long-eared bat lives there, and they were flitting around like oversize moth-birds.

Aden kept asking if there were monsters in the beginning, and I said, "No monsters, only Dodely-Doe."

He repeated that throughout our 2 hour underground excursion.

He wouldn't say "spelunking," though.

As you can see, it was an absolute trip.

Some rancher found this cave complex and started exploring it and taking people inside. Eventually, Teddy Rooseveldt declared it a National Park, under the umbrella of Yellowstone National Park. Yellowstone was the first National Park.

Nobody had time to tend to it initially, so the Yellowstone rangers would come and put a new lock on the gate every 6 months. The rancher would be right behind them, cutting the lock, putting his own on, and taking people in the cave.

Words don't do it justice.

I love Montana. People thought I was crazy for moving here. I think everybody who doesn't want to live here is crazy.

Tomorrow, Bells and I are kayaking Bear Trap Canyon on the Madison River.

There is a big rapid called the Kitchen Sink.

We'll see.

We'll see.

Hey Joe
Where you going with that gun in your hand

I drove about forty five minutes north of Bozeman to a private gun club.

It was nestled in a canyon, several hundred acres. They had these golf carts that you get on with your guns.

There were stations laid out around the ridge. We shot from wood stands. There were two remote control things, attached to thick cords. Each had one button, denoted "A" and the other was "B."

Yell, "PULL!"

Dude hits button "A."

A clay pigeon shoots out from behind some trees, or on top of a ridge.

Track it with your eyes, bring the shotgun to your cheek and fire.

Upon report, the dude hits button "B" and another clay pigeon launches, from a different angle, differently colored and moving faster or slower than the last.

When you hit one square, it explodes.

Very satisfying.

Once we got into the groove, they would launch both at once. Track one, blast, then try to find the other and rain shards upon the rattlesnakes on the hillside.

Once we really got into the groove, we didn't even yell "pull."

Normally, you only have two shots, then you crack open the shotgun, the shells eject, you pop two more in, snap it shut and yell "PULL!"

This time, though, one dude was on the remote, one dude was shooting, and the third was over his shoulder, reloading, for ten, twelve straight shots.

After the second shot, the shooter cracks the gun and the guy behind him puts two shells in.

As soon as the shooter cracks the gun shut, the guy on the remote launches the clay pigeon ("the bird"), upon report, he launches the second, and the guy shooting justs blasts away.

My shoulder is killing me.

It was awesome.

There was a bunch of dudes out there, some ex-military.

Or current militia.

One guy was a former high ranking naval officer, and he was talking about the firepower of the New Jersey "War Wagons." He talked about sneaking in Qaddafi's back door, taking over their radar, grounding their air force and raining some unbelievable ordnance down.

All I know is that if the commies try to invade Montana, they're pretty much fucked.