No bear, no bear ...

That's what I said, every few steps, as I hiked up to Sawtooth Lake alone today. I'd heard there were some black bear incidents in the area, so I said it, in between talking to myself and yelling at Marvin for disturbing the wildlife. The Lake was lovely, and there was a mysterious crashed plane there:



There was fireweed all over the first mile, where there's been a burn, and Marvin practically disappeared into the purple of it all. There was no bear, anywhere. We returned to the trailhead just as Sarah and Amie pulled up from their hotsprings sojourn, then we all went to Bannack, a well-preserved ghost town that was the first capital of the Montana Territory.



I like the Masons; I like power and secrecy and organizations that may or may not rule the world covertly. So I decided that I'd take the Masonic Lodge, and Amie decided she'd take the church:



Now we're waiting for a storm that's been brewing, all gray and silver and white clouds ominous above our heads. And we'll drink home brew and eat tacos with homemade shells.