McClelland-Stafford Ferry Journey
A Poem By: Troy McGillivray
Driving fast down the Lloyd road,
hold onto your hats, here we go.
Everyone watching for critters as we rode,
a boy in the back getting ready to shoot and reload.
Safely hugging the right side of the road,
avoiding travelers with a truckload.
We waved to the farmer as we drove,
harvest season was a go go go.
Our pace was eventually slowed,
a cattle guard was just ahead in the road.
Read the open range sign a reflective glow,
watch out for livestock on the go.
The last part of the journey cannot be forgoed,
the road is going to be steep and narrow.
The bighorn sheep began their show,
we were content to watch and take a photo.
Time to shift gears into low,
now is the moment to take it slow.
The shadowed winding road was full of gumbo,
the mud started flying as we rode.
We looked out our windows,
welcome to the dirt clump rodeo.
The slope of the road leveled to zero,
the Missouri River tributary is visible and at low flow.
On the left, log cabin remnants remain from long ago,
history from pioneers who found another scenario.
The excitement was building as we rode,
waiting to be ferried like precious cargo.
We are almost to the end of the road,
we can see the ferry stop and go.
While we waited for the ferry to unload,
we listened to the ferry engine's solo.
The ferry operator waited for us to load,
we parked and were greeted with a warm hello.
We made it across the Missouri River flow,
thank you, McClelland-Stafford Ferry, for the show.
A Poem By: Troy McGillivray
Driving fast down the Lloyd road,
hold onto your hats, here we go.
Everyone watching for critters as we rode,
a boy in the back getting ready to shoot and reload.
Safely hugging the right side of the road,
avoiding travelers with a truckload.
We waved to the farmer as we drove,
harvest season was a go go go.
Our pace was eventually slowed,
a cattle guard was just ahead in the road.
Read the open range sign a reflective glow,
watch out for livestock on the go.
The last part of the journey cannot be forgoed,
the road is going to be steep and narrow.
The bighorn sheep began their show,
we were content to watch and take a photo.
Time to shift gears into low,
now is the moment to take it slow.
The shadowed winding road was full of gumbo,
the mud started flying as we rode.
We looked out our windows,
welcome to the dirt clump rodeo.
The slope of the road leveled to zero,
the Missouri River tributary is visible and at low flow.
On the left, log cabin remnants remain from long ago,
history from pioneers who found another scenario.
The excitement was building as we rode,
waiting to be ferried like precious cargo.
We are almost to the end of the road,
we can see the ferry stop and go.
While we waited for the ferry to unload,
we listened to the ferry engine's solo.
The ferry operator waited for us to load,
we parked and were greeted with a warm hello.
We made it across the Missouri River flow,
thank you, McClelland-Stafford Ferry, for the show.
A couple of things...
- This poem does not describe one trip down to the McCelland-Stafford Ferry, but a combination of numerous trips throughout my past.
- Any good telling of the Missouri River Breaks country has to talk about "gumbo". Gumbo is a mud condition that makes all roads in the area nearly impassible and adds about 15 extra pounds to the bottom of your boots. Unless absolutely necessary a person should avoid going down to the ferry when the road is wet.
- These trips down to the ferry have always been a highlight for me. I am lucky to have my dad to take my on these trips and introduce me to the beauty of this country.
Photo Credits: Ralph McGillivray
Troy this is wonderful It made me feel as if I was there, when I was living at the Gas wells South Of Chinook, I use to ride up south, but never made it that far . But I could ride for Hours, love ya cous
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