Recently, while researching for an article about our Gallatin Valley Montana State Parks (Missouri Headwaters and Madison Buffalo Jump), I discovered that we have a brand new State Park located in Central Montana. Surely this called for an on the ground exploration—in short, a spring road trip.

I could go up into the Bridgers, take some microspikes, maybe even some skis. But I gave the skis away when I molted into a snowbird and my old blood seems thin. So, a drive to the Missouri Breaks had to do. I had been looking for a reason to do this for quite a while.

Judith Landing State Park was acquired and proclaimed this year as the 56th Montana State Park. It is located at the confluence of the Missouri with the Judith River, north of Lewistown. I have spent a decent amount of time in Lewistown in the last ten years—trips for a baseball tournament, some family research, and to explore the Moccasin Mountains, which intrigued me simply for the name. The town has a busy Main Street, a beautiful old courthouse, and a new Town and Country grocery, a familiar place to pick up supplies.

Lewistown is also the headquarters of American Prairie, the organization that donated the land for the new Park to the State of Montana. After driving the 160 miles from Bozeman, I had thought to stop there to inquire about the land donation, but they were closed that day, so I drove on north to the Breaks. North on Highway 236 to Hilger, then Winifred, where the pavement ends.

The gravel road I encountered was not gravel. It was not even familiar dirt, but reddish yellow clay-looking stuff. Gumbo. I had heard of this substance for years, and here it was. Thankfully, it was dry; someone had even bladed the track, but it was different. The surface looked slick, though it was not wet. My first thought was that if the forecast predicted any rain, there would be no return this way. That did not happen, so I was spared the complete gumbo experience. No regrets for that.

The town of Winifred was papered with Save the Cowboy signs, which represent ranchers who are against the American Prairie concept. This conflict is perplexing. Also wearying. It should be possible to go back of beyond and be free of political conflict. I have my opinions, but at this point have not done enough research to consider the issue fairly.

The road improved and soon enough encountered the Breaks. I was not prepared for the dramatic change. Suddenly, innumerable long, sloping ridges fell off toward the river. The road switchbacked down hundreds of feet. The same type of country was visible to the north—wild and broken (hence the name), an invitation to find a way to the blue ribbon of water below.

The Judith Landing State Park is located on the south side of the Missouri River at the confluence with the Judith River. There was a turnout with a fenced in parking lot and a large sign. The sign, which looked brand new, gave a history of the area and displayed a map describing the proposed development of the Park. It was obvious that none of the improvements had yet begun. That, plus the fences and a closed gate, gave me the impression that there was no access to the Park. Disappointed, I crossed the river to the northern shore and a Forest Service campground.

As I drove across the bridge I realized that my understanding was that there were no bridges between Fort Benton and The Fred Robinson bridge on Hwy 191 a hundred miles downstream. Just a couple of old fashioned ferries. Yet here I was, merrily driving across a modern concrete bridge—thankfully, since the campground was on the north bank. Research. Turns out my idea was true, just 43 years out of date. The PN Bridge was built in 1982 to connect Winifred and Big Sandy. My brain had simply not updated; nothing new there.

The campground, 30 miles from anywhere, looked full. Then I noticed that most of the trailers and campers were unoccupied. They were parked seasonally for weekend fishermen and floaters. There were only a few of us present that evening. Among the grassy sites and tall cottonwoods, I was able to find a beautiful spot right on the river; paid my five bucks… there are still bargains!

As I arrived in the camp, the sun pushed through, so I sat on the bank and gazed at the Missouri. A couple of very pleasant hours in the chair, then the sun retreated into trees and cloud, and a stiff wind blew upstream. It had never quite reached 50 degrees anyway, but that wind pushed me into the truck.

Up at 6AM. Boiled some coffee. I had decided to go stealth into the park; across the river at the kiosk, I realized that the park was open, just without amenities. The gate was latched, not locked. There was no trail, the grass was a foot high and wet with dew. I was soaked to the knees in five minutes. There are buildings on the property, remnants from a trading post and, later, a ranch. I was more interested in the river confluence. I reached the Judith in less than a mile and followed it to the Missouri. Startled a huge white pelican; there are lots of birds here. The Judith is about 100 feet wide, the Missouri about 200 yards. PN island is not now an island, though the dry ditch that made it one remains.

I had the place to myself to wander. To wonder. The history began to run through my head. This place and many others in the west are important in the legacy of the original Native American inhabitants. Yet, their history is oral and generational. You cannot Google it. Their thousands of years in a place earns a sentence or two, then descriptions move on to written accounts of explorers and settlers. These cover a couple of hundred years. Our society is based upon the written word, so it takes precedence. That is fine, as long as that does not mean dominance. Usually it does. Deep thoughts for an early morning stroll.

That written history begins with Lewis and Clark. They camped near here, and Clark named the river that entered the Missouri from the south The Judith, after the woman who later became his wife. Less than two weeks later, in June 1805, Lewis named the Marias River after his sweetheart. Both rivers retain those respective names. Subsequently, the area became known as Judith Landing and at various times was a trading post, an Army fort, a ranch, and a Missouri River ferry crossing. The remnant buildings of these ventures still occupy the park.

The Breaks form a barrier to north and south travel, but the river is a perfect conduit to the vital east and west commerce that helped form Montana. Walking past the buildings after the mandatory peek inside, I ventured toward the river junction, away from that busy frontier history and back into an old, unwritten saga. The pelican I spooked had been there for 30 million years (at least, his cousins had been). I did not know that on that day; I just looked it up. But a pelican looks ancient.

Even the Indian history that stretches back thousands of years is recent, given these birds. Incidentally, the first dinosaur fossils discovered in the western hemisphere were uncovered at Judith Landing in 1855. Those creatures predate the pelicans by tens of millions of years. All of this did not occur to me on my walk. Yet, it felt different to pass the buildings and slip through high grass to the riverbanks. Back into years… centuries? Possibly, but more a feeling of wildness, of a natural scene flowing along with the rivers. A river is a living thing of solidity and movement. Another stream merging with it adds to the feeling of this liquid mass.

Pausing for photos, I made my way back from those depths of years to the gate, and the sign. The diagram shows the future of the park: a road, picnic spots, a small campground. Hopefully, there will also be trails that lead back in space and time. That is the importance of our State Parks and of all of our parks and monuments. They preserve the objects of human history, the flora and fauna of the place, and even the ancient records of stone and fossil.