Howdy.
Rolled in from Montana last night, lugging the most unusual piece of carry-on baggage I’ve handled: The leg bone of a dinosaur (probably a Duckbill, I was told, which was smaller than T. Rex) that is thought to be a mere 25 million years old.
That, and a mason jar of pickled green beans, put up by the incredibly warm and generous folks on the ranch where my group, mostly staff and friends of the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, had gone for three days of wing shooting.
Turns out that the ranch, near the Alberta border northeast of Great Falls, harbors one of Montana's great remaining undisturbed sites for paleontology (and no, I didn’t run out there with a pick and shovel to dig up and rob the nation of archaeological treasures; the leg bone was a gift, and unearthed long ago).
The property is also part of a highly significant area for various Indian tribes. Often, during our hunt for pheasant, sharptail grouse and Hungarian partridge, we came across Indian burial mounds, and tepee rings that are hundreds of years old.
We also saw great numbers of antelope, coyotes, and mule and whitetail deer. It was an inspiring, bracing trip to the western prairie, a very special place. I’ll be writing an Outdoors column for the New York Times about it soon.
So I’m back, and looking forward to a few great meals of grouse and pheasant. I’ve been catching up on e-mail and news for most of the day, and will go at the blog full bore again starting on Monday.
Right now, though, I’m still trying to come to grips with culture shock.