The final leg of the Svalbard journey was from Montana, where Big Cat was staying with a friend, to Oregon. Big Cat and I set up for a road trip. I planned to stay in Boise, halfway between Bozeman and Ashland, but nine hours out of Bozeman, I hit Boise and thought, hell, Ashland is only eight more hours. And, so I drove on. The following is a road trip poem and the final Svalbard installment. I’m sure there will be more about Svalbard to come to these pages but this is technically the end of the trip.
Itinerary
Longyearbyen – Oslo
Oslo – Copenhagen
Copenhagen – Newark
Newark – Denver
Denver – Bozeman
One day rest
Bozeman – Ashland
Road trip
Bozeman 0900
Autumn light in golden cottonwoods and aspens
Mind’s eye sees Arctic blue light
Elk herd #1
“Caution! Animals on roadway. 12 bison killed by vehicles in 2018”
West Yellowstone
Coffee
Henry’s Lake
Rigby
“When you gotta habit 
get banged $2”
Gas
Idaho National Laboratory
Craters of the Moon
Sagebrush desert and lava fields
Glacier mirages
Sardine juice for Big Cat
Lunch for me
Identified roadkill:
1 Badger
1 elk
1 cat
Uncounted deer and skunks
1 jackrabbit
1 raccoon
Elk herd #2
Gas
Boise rush hour
NPR first time in 71 days
Trump still an idiot
Coffee
Keep going
Sunset
Not polar night
Oregon
White Settlement Road offers glimpse of past
Says more about present
Sardine juice sloshed on truck seats while attempting to catch throwing up cat
Nap
Harney County
Pacific Time Zone
Gas
Starvation Ridge
Thirty miles; one car
Wagontire. Population: zero
Coyote crossing road
Wait. Motion entirely wrong
Two bounds; gone
Straight tail; big body
Revision: wolf crossing road
Midnight pit stop
Moonlight on sagebrush
Too cold for rattlesnakes
Coyote chorus
Coyotes for sure
Just past full moon
Nap
Orion rising; Mars setting
North Star oddly to north
Christmas Valley
Silver Lake
Cattle guard
Open range
Black angus; black night
Juniper scent
Crater Lake
Great horned owl nearly road-killed
Golden moonlight on aspens
Lake of the Woods
Into the trees
Quiet stars
Ashland 0445
Good night, Moon
My first novel was based on 16 hours of tape recordings made while driving between Portland and Green River. Most people just drive: the lucky and observant few, like you, SEE …
I love how you so casually drop “my first novel.” Seeing lots of things…
Big owls and ravens occasionally give in to random chicken games with fast vehicles. I’ve heard humans say it’s from boredom. I think it’s more akin to the human urge to drive all night without sleep. I love that you made it home safely, albeit with smelly seats and without having to evaluate just how cheap that bang really was!
Boredom seems an impossibility to a creature that can fly wherever it chooses.