Soon I Will Fall

Fall of 2003,

One of the reasons I love fall. It is a time to shed the old and make room for the new. Mother Natures house cleaning if you will.

Lovick's Line

Lovick’s Line



Fire season approaches and every year as it does, my mind is filled with the smells, sounds, and visions of the summer of 2000. Fire season opens doors of opportunity for those who are looking for a little adventure and some extra cash. For me, I needed a little of both during that year. I had moved my family from the Seattle area and turned in my badge after 18 years in Law Enforcement. It was a huge gamble and one that I was not really prepared for. Moving back to the little town where I had been born and raised, into the house my dad had built after WWII. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Making a living in Northwest Montana is just not that easy. I was not popular in high school while growing up and most certainly never displayed any ability scholastically. I will be damned if those that used to snub me in high school feel it necessary to continue down that road almost thirty years later, amazing. Life was tough and it was difficult making the money needed to feed my family. Over a period of time I was able to work for a couple, that I consider to be two of my closest friends and the subjects of a future blog that will make you say “holy shit,” more than once.
The summer of 2000 brought to the northwest, record dryness. Wildfires ripped into the state of Montana, like Texas Chile rips into the bowels of an 80 year old Minnesotan. The skies turned orange and grey, depending on the angle of the sun. The fires were out of control and I decided to sign up with the Forest Service as a support member. My 98 Ford Expedition was enlisted into the ranks of the transportation group and I was hired as the driver.
A rugged area known as the Yaak, west of the city of Troy was my assigned area. The Yaak is known for its independent thinkers and has some of the most beautiful forest land in the country, filled with Elk, Black Bear, Grizzly, Moose, to name a few. The staging area for our battle against Mother Nature was established at an old Forest Service facility off of the main Yaak road. Men and women wearing bright yellow FRC’s, (fire resistant clothing,) could be seen throughout the large camp. Small tents in the meadow provided shelter for the fire crews. A large light colored tent served as the dining area set up next to Semi and trailer which housed the mobile kitchen. I was fortunate enough to be able to bring my 32ft. motor home on site which provided me with everything I needed to be comfortable including, a hot shower every night. Not exactly roughing it, but what the hell.
Fires burned out of control all over the west. Men and women had come out of the wood work to help fight the fires and the Forest Service found itself with a shortage of experienced people to plan and direct the attacks on the fires. Help came from Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. A large group of these fire suppression experts were assigned to the Yaak.
My SUV was one of the larger trucks in the small transportation fleet which was lined up waiting to be called into service. I stood next to my truck like a used car salesman waiting for a sale. A tall slender man with glasses approached and asked if I was the driver for the blue Ford. Indeed I was and I found myself transporting a man who introduced himself as Tony Lovick, from Australia. A very soft spoken man with a great sense of humor and as I found out throughout the next three weeks, a very knowledgeable man.
Tony’s expertise and interest was in controlling noxious weeds for Australia’s land management. He of course also had vast experience in battling the fast burning fires in Australia which sometimes feed off of the explosive eucalyptus trees.
Three or four days into the routine of driving Mr. Lovick into areas that at times felt like remote trails designed more for tracked vehicles than the family SUV, I realized that I was on a true adventure with a guy that possessed outstanding knowledge of fire suppression and a true admiration of the Montana wilderness. This guy would have me drive to the top of a mountain. Upon reaching the top he would point to a spot on the road below and say I will meet you right there in about 45 minutes. I was skeptical at first but then after a few days of this I realized that he was very accurate not only in his ability to pinpoint a spot where he would emerge from the woods, but the amount of time it would take to do so.
I was approached by one of Tony’s fellow countrymen who asked if Tony had told me that he is considered a celebrity in Australia.
He asked if I was familiar with the movie, “Man from Snowy River?” Of course I had seen it in a theater when it had been released, and later, on VHS. A very entertaining movie and one of the first from Australia to become a hit in the U.S. The gentleman I was speaking to said, “Well mate, Tony is the one responsible for the idea of turning that story into a film.” He also told me that Tony was well known for his abilities on a horse and was referred to as, “the Mountain Horseman of Australia.” Tony downplayed the information I had been given by his pal. For the next few weeks we talked a lot about it and I learned that Tony was a relative by marriage to the man that actually made the movie at Tony’s suggestion. Tony was also in the sequel as one of the Crack Riders. We refer to them as stunt riders in the U.S. I learned a great deal from Tony, not only about Australia, but fire suppression and being a good human being as well. Tony left me with his Australian hard hat with an autograph across the front.
I keep in touch by e-mail with Tony as do a number of people he met in the Northwest corner of Montana on that dry summer of 2000. He sits high on my list of most interesting people I have met.

Update: June 2nd E-mail from Tony Lovick.

Hi Randy
I was overwhelmed and very flattered with this but very pleased that you thought enough of me to write it . A little too flattering I think but it was good to reflect on our experience together as it was one of the good things I really enjoyed - you and your mob were very good to us Aussie's.

You have real ability as a writer and photographer.

cheers mate

Tony Lovick
Program Manager - Victoria East & Pest Plants
Farm Services Victoria
Department of Primary Industries
89 Sydney Rd
BENALLA 3672

Whispers of Our Fathers

I was born in 1955. I grew up in a time of this country when Americans made great strides and suffered numerous setbacks: from comic book space flight to landing astronauts on the moon, the civil rights movement, the birth and death of great leaders. Three channels on a black and white television was a blessing. Everyone stood and knew what to do with their hats and right hand when the National Anthem was played. As we stood and stared at the American flag, we would at times get goose bumps as it was gently “aroused” by the wind. It always amazed me that sometimes at just the right moment, this beautiful symbol was guided into its inspiring ballet by unseen hands and the breath of a thousand unheard voices.
My father, Wilbur, passed away on a sunny, cool day in September of 1998. Like most young men of his generation, he served his country in a war that had definition, support, and an understanding of the American people. They knew of the high cost should the war be lost. Our symbol, our heart of the nation, our flag would never enjoy the freedom to fly above its own soil without retribution.
My father loved the flag. Year after year he would march in our small town Memorial Day parade, proudly carrying the red, white and blue. He looked sharp and determined wearing the World War II uniform of an Army Staff Sergeant. He was a proper choice as bearer of the flag.
The day of my father’s burial was a busy day. Details, preparations, laughter and tears. I found myself at the funeral home asking to inspect the hearse my father would be carried in. It seemed silly even then but you would have had to have known my father to understand. I also made a request on behalf of our family. I requested that the funeral procession take a slightly different route to the cemetery than normal. A route that would take my dad past the house that he built with his own two hands after the war. A house that gave his family the protection, warmth and a place we could all call home.
The American flag had been hung on its support over the front door. The yard had been prepared for one final inspection. The air was still but clear. The hearse slowly approached my family home and the thoughtful driver paused for a few moments. The flag, which had hung motionless all day suddenly and respectfully, began to beckon my father to join the thousands of his generation who had gone before. Could it have been just a sudden breeze that unfurled the flag or was it the unseen hands, breath and whispers of our fathers?
For those of you who are of my generation, it should be easy to look at that flag and see the faces that surround it as well as hear the whispers. They are from our fathers and they are asking us all to help younger generations to hear, see and understand them as well.

Randy Cole

This story was originally published in the Western News in 2005.

Ross Creek

If you are ever in the northwest corner of Montana, one place you should take the time to see is the Ross Creek, big ceders. A short distance from Libby and Troy. It is a nice pleasant walk that everyone can enjoy.

Animal Moments

Animal Moments

By Randy J. Cole



Ah, our furry friends who entertain us and keep us company on days when no one else likes us. My children often take refuge with our little dog, Peter Parker, when sent to their rooms. He could care less if they just did something wrong. Unconditional love is what you will receive if you treat them with respect and surprisingly, even if you don’t. I am compelled to write this short story, I suppose, because of the attention that has been given to the animals displaced by Mother Nature’s furry in the south. I am also compelled to write this story because I am fifty three and may soon start to forget the moments I shared with the members of the animal kingdom, who sometimes show their unappreciated sense of humor.
In 1975, while I was stationed in South Dakota with the Air Force, I met and married a young lady who owned several horses. Now being from Montana, you would think that I would have experienced the thrill of riding off into the sunset on a trusty stead. Unfortunately, I was from a logging town in the northwest corner of the state and lived in town where there were no horses, sheep or cows. I did own a dirt bike, however, but that’s another story. I did watch Gunsmoke and Bonanza which, as I found out, did not qualify me as a cowboy.
When my wife offered me the chance to ride a big, white horse named Powder, it would have been unthinkable for me to say no. I managed to get myself up and onto the horse, which had no saddle and no mercy. With a tap of the heels, we were off to a nice trot which turned into a not so nice gallop and without instruction from me, a terrifying run at what felt like the speed of sound. We were headed directly towards the barbed wire fence that only days before I had repaired. In all fairness, I really didn’t get thrown off, it was more like a leap of faith, which was a mistake. I should never have put my faith into the idea that I could land gracefully onto the hard pasture ground that Powder knew so well.I really can’t describe the landing because I am not sure I was there at the time. Perhaps I decided to take leave of my earthly body and travel to a safe place, like under my childhood bed, curled into the fetal position. Or maybe I just lost conciseness for a moment after striking the ground with the force of a bunker buster projectile. When I was once again aware of my surroundings, I heard the distinct sound of my wife laughing. As my eyes opened one at a time, I realized that I had come to rest in an area not ten feet from the fence line. This fence ran parallel to the main highway which took visitors to Mt. Rushmore Monument. Oh joy! Concerned tourists from around the world stopped to point, laugh and even take pictures before I was able to move. I am sure they would have asked if I needed medical attention if they hadn’t been distracted by my wife’s infectious little laugh.
As feeling returned to my limbs and life-giving breath could once again flow freely into my lungs, I slowly turned my head away from the tourists. My friend Powder had returned to the scene of the crime, but was unable to look me in the eye, standing, instead, five feet away with her big, white backside facing me.
Thirty some years later, I wonder if there isn’t a grandson asking his Grandpa about the photo he found with the words, “On way to Mt. Rushmore 1975” scribbled on the back. “Who’s the horse’s ass grandpa?” A clever grandpa would answer, “I don’t know Billy, just some guy who thought he could ride a horse!”

A Simple Lesson

A Simple Lesson


A few years ago I took three of my kids for a hike to the Kootenai Falls, outside of Libby Montana, our home. The hike is an easy one and only takes about ten to fifteen minutes to reach the falls and swinging bridge that stretches across the Kootenai. To any movie buff, this is a key location for the movie “River Wild.” It is downhill most of the way so the return trip is not as easy but still doable. My daughter decided that collecting a keepsake on this trip was a good idea. The rock she holds in this photo is the one she selected. Granted it was a pretty colored rock but as you can see it was also a little large. As we progressed up the trail I noticed that she would stop and set the rock down replacing it with one bit smaller. This exchange of keepsakes continued all the way up the trail until we reached the top. In the end she had a small pebble in her hand that could easily be carried in her pocket. There is a lesson here to be learned. In order to reach our goals in life, we must learn to shed our burdens!

I hope everyone had a great Easter.

Randy