Helmut, Draht of the Beartooths, guards the camp at Stockade Lake.

Tribune photo by Chuck Hassler

Chuck Hassler

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Standing amidst the ruins and listening to the breeze coursing through trees, I tried to imagine mini balls whistling through the air and chonking into the log bulwarks. Arrows flying through the air, guns discharging, the smell of black powder, people yelling and screaming.

A desperate battle was reportedly fought here some 150 years ago, just the other side of Tollman Mountain from Powell, high in the Beartooths at what is now known as Stockade Lake.   My understanding is the stockade was constructed by white trappers and some Crow women who were trapping the Beartooths, to fend off Crow or Shoshone warriors on whose land they were trespassing.

Although it is quickly decaying and some of the walls are completely crumbled away, the remaining portions indicate a lot of work went into its construction, most of it reportedly conducted by the Crow women. The log bulwarks are big enough they had to have required horses to move them into place.

On this warm summer afternoon, it is an incredibly serene and peaceful place. The lake glistens in the sun, stunted brookies ripple the surface and occasionally breach, and wildflowers dot the meadows. Sally is taking a midafternoon nap in her tent, pitched in the deep shade, while Helmut, Draht of the Beartooths, guards camp, looks for squirrels, and stays hydrated with frequent trips to the creek and lake.

When I close my eyes in an effort to relive what transpired here, my reverie is interrupted by a wet snout. And he’s right. It’s all said and done. Nothing to be seen here now that will tell us who they were and how they came to this wild and lonely place. One can only imagine but they had to be adventurous.

One thing I do know is that it’s pretty much the same now as it was the day of the battle. The same giant snow cornice on a nearby peak was surely there 150 years ago, refreshed every winter and shrunk every summer since. The countless array of flowers is no different. The fir trees, the towering pines. The mosquitoes. They’re all pretty much the same.

And that’s how I want it to stay. Not monetized. Not commodified. Not commercialized. Wild and remote but accessible to anybody who’s willing to get out of the car and take a walk because it belongs to every single one of us.

Let’s be sure we don’t let some sneaky guy with a lot of money take it all away from us.