So we decided to venture off the Hi-Line and stair step our way southeast across Montana, which meant we started with a no-water availability 55-mile ride to Fort Benton.
I got out early and had a good ride, but it gets hot after noon and it stays that way. There is almost nothing for shade so I ended up stopping for a snack and a rest in the shade of a telephone pole!
Fort Benton is a curious and interesting place. It went through several heydays in the late 1800s. Basically, the town was as far upriver on the Missouri that reconfigured steamships could go – complete with a no-keel design, a front lever system called a grasshopper that pushed pilings down into the river deep enough to raise the bow so the steam paddle could propel the boat across the sandbar and something called a deadman, which was a winch system that cranked the boats up against the current that was flowing down to the Mississippi north of St. Louis.
So, yeah, this was what people’s ingenuity came up with in order to get as far upriver as they could; things seemed to be mellow with the whole beaver pelt and then buffalo robe trade until — GOLD!!!
The brief gold rush – 1862-69 (?) completely transformed the town. People flooded in off the steamboats, bars and brothels opened in profusion and there was no law and order. It was one of the wildest towns in the west.
After the gold panned out (ha!), the unscrupulous denizens, keen on keeping the good times rolling, established an infamous whiskey trade with Native Americans up in Canada. For five years, they ran whiskey north, watering it down some 20 to 1 and adding gunpowder for a bit of a spark and trading the Native Americans a cup of “whiskey” for a buffalo robe.
The Mounties finally put a stop to this practice after five years, and with the establishment of actual trade with Canada and an influx of new settlers following the Homestead Act(s), Fort Benton experienced a new burst of growth that resulted in some fine brick buildings along the Missouri River.
The one that is showing the best is the Grand Union Hotel, so named as a nod to the conclusion to the Civil War:
But at some later date, the town crapped on its own architectural heritage; herein a chamber of horrors worsened by a weary photographer in the wilting heat:
But there is still a lovely old bridge across the Missouri:
Born in Baltimore and raised in Cincinnati, I have lived on both coasts and driven back and forth across the country a number of times. I now have the "midlife opportunity" to do so on two wheels.
Those poor buildings!! I may have to send this one to JHK…
Great little history lesson about the wild wild (and tacky) west! Thanks, bob!
Thanks for that wonderful slice of local history — and the great photos.
Rachael sent it soon. JHK is having some health issues associated with his hip replacement materials leaching into his blood stream.
You know things are dire when one seeks the narrow, but merciful shade of a telephone post
Those remind me of virtually EVERY downtown in Indiana. I learn to avert your eyes.