Field Program

Clark Fork. We didn’t see the fork or the individual named Clark, but what we did see was the untamed, raw, and outstanding beauty of the border of Montana and Idaho.

A rather kind and down-to-earth gentleman who goes by the name Jeremy bestowed unforeseen tasks upon us. In the scorching, unforgiving heat radiating from the sun above us, we tended to the land below it, and in return, it gave beautiful streams of light reflecting off the reservoir we labored for, oh, maybe a few peanuts if we were really good that day.

Despite the trials and tribulations we endured, such as falling blunder to the vicious dogs of the saw, or falling victim to the bear spray’s apathetic and perhaps malicious, blood-thirsty intent to put someone into a stranglehold, it was the fruits of our labor that made these long days harmonious.

A railroad, which one would assume to be obsolete, accompanied this reservoir. The railroad was vivacious with trains that seemed to never sleep. The series of trains brought haunting echoes throughout the surrounding mountains and trees.

Ancient trees lay lifeless on the cold forest floor. These Resting Giants have not felt the warm kisses of the sun in many moons. They have waited years for their wood to decay and become one with the soil from which they sprouted. But unfortunately, we mercilessly cold-sawed through all of them.

We barked and made monkey noises occasionally to express our evolutionary and "god-given" right to be able to move big sticks around. As creatures of the commune, doing such labor for the greater good of the marvelous Noxon Reservoir has brought everlasting experiences that otherwise could not have been attained alone.