Aerial view of Crazy Mountains inspires
responsibility, compromise
By Jessianne Castle EBS ENVIRONMENTAL & OUTDOORS EDITOR
LIVINGSTON – From a bird’s-eye view of
the Crazy Mountains, jagged, tall and full of snow, it’s remarkable to reflect
upon those brave and tenacious souls who climbed the peaks before backpacks,
Gore-Tex and ultralight shoes.
Shane Doyle, a Crow Tribal member who
lives in Bozeman and works as the program coordinator at the American Indian
Institute, knows the stories of his ancestors and continues to eternalize their
reverence for the Crazy Mountains northeast of Bozeman.
“You can see this is very rugged terrain
… The Crow people don’t come up here to recreate. My uncles were intimidated;
they considered it very serious,” he said during a 20-minute flight around the
island mountain range on June 27, courtesy of Colorado-based EcoFlight and the
Montana Wilderness Association. Instead, Doyle likens the Crazies to a
cathedral, a place where his ancestors turned for guidance and support.
Isolated thanks to the wide Yellowstone
and Shields river drainages, the Crazies serve as sentinels on the horizon.
Spanning roughly 30 miles in length, the still-snowcapped pinnacles soar up
more than 11,000 feet. They are known to the Crow as Awaxaawippiia, translated roughly as the Snowcapped, Ominous, or
Amazing Mountains.
Seated in the front of a six-seat Cessna
210, Doyle gestured to sites across the landscape that still hold a special
place for his people: Fort Parker located up the road near Mission Creek where
the Crow Indian Agency was established in 1868; the Elk and Yellow rivers—known
on the map as the Yellowstone and Shields rivers, respectively; The Hide Scraper,
or Sheep Mountain, which historically served as an important rendezvous site;
and Crazy Peak, where many Crow Tribal members say the fate of their people’s
survival was sealed.
During the summer of 1860, renowned Crow
Chief Plenty Coups, then only 11 years old, followed in the footsteps of his
predecessors and ascended the Crazy Mountains in search of knowledge and
blessings. Doyle recounts the journey, which began on the east side of the
mountains where he tied up his horse, took a purification bath, discarded his
clothing and, with nothing but moccasins, made his way up Crazy Peak.
On the third day of fasting and praying,
Plenty Coups cut off his index finger as an offering. After this, he received a
medicine dream in which bison disappeared into the earth and were replaced by
cattle and white men. Considered a prophetic vision, this occurred just a few
short years before the Bannack gold rush would bring wagons teeming with people
into the area. The Crow interpreted this dream as instructing them to negotiate
and be peaceful among the settlers.
“When we say sacred, [and] we don’t use
that word a lot, we only use it to describe certain areas,” said Adrian Bird,
Jr., of the Crow Tribal Historic Preservation Office. “The Crazies you can see
just about anywhere. They’re a refuge … We ran to these areas when we were in
trouble and when we needed help. And I’d prefer that we keep it that way.”
The flight and conversations come at a
time when the U.S. Forest Service is reconsidering their guiding management
plans for the Custer Gallatin National Forest, which includes decisions about
motorized and non-motorized travel, and special interest groups recently filed
a lawsuit to assert their claims to public access within the Crazies.
According to Doyle and Bird, the Crow
want the public and Forest Service to uphold treaty obligations that stretch
back to the 1860s and mandate that the government recognize Crow interests in
their sacred lands, even if those lands are no longer on the reservation.
“We think it’s fine the way it is,” Doyle
said. “Not necessarily with access—there’s a balance that needs to be found. I
think it’s real important that we’re able to access these areas, but that
doesn’t necessarily mean we need to go in and pave roads or even make trails.
“It’s going to be hard and difficult for
people to traverse that territory and that’s the way it should be,” he added.
“They’ve never been an easy range to navigate through.”
Bird’s wife, Roberta Bird, who works for
the Crow Agency’s Department of Education, compared the Crazies to a church or
cemetery.
“You wouldn’t want trash and ATVs and
things running in the middle of your church. It’s more about just preserving
that sacredness,” she said. “There’s definitely room for talks and compromise.”
Ned and Cindy Zimmerman, landowners in
the Shields Valley on the west side of the Crazies, attended the flyover event
in order to represent their interest in the issue and learn about ways to work
together with the tribes. Recently, the couple made arrangements with the
Forest Service to donate easements for a trail that will connect the Porcupine and
Ibex ranger stations.
“We’re trying to come up with a solution
that allows the public a reasonable amount of access to their land, as well as
making it possible for us to continue running livestock,” said Ned, whose
family has owned the property in question since 1933.
Following the interview with EBS, the
Zimmermans spoke privately with Bird about gaps in understanding and shared
responsibility.
“I respect the farmlands,” Bird told me
following the conversation, adding that he felt a relief when Zimmerman asked
what their role was in keeping the mountains sacred. “I said let’s just work
together. Let’s just be truthful. Just let us know our mountain is going to be
OK.”
