Absarokee Euphoria

Stanford at Absarokee

Another beautiful autumn day in Montana and another superb example of small town high school football—this time in Absarokee.

I queried the people at the gate about how I would go about getting up on top of the foothills nearby that overlooked the gridiron. One of the Absarokee coaches informed me about the property owners that I would have to speak with first. Right there on the sidelines, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called someone who knew the landowner's home number—Chris. Then, he called Chris directly for me. "Absolutely," came the answer from the other end of the connection.

I walked up the long driveway from the highway. Chris' 83-year-old father, Grant, was waiting for me near the house and offered me a ride on the ATV to the bottom of the foothills where the bridge crossed the Rosebud River.

With a least four cameras in my possession, I never thought to photograph Grant sitting on the ATV or standing on the bridge that passed over the river—a true Homer Simpson moment on my part. Nevertheless, we chatted all the way to the bridge as I held on, my legs dangling over the side of the ATV. Four deer grazing in the meadow gawked as we slowly rumbled down the path. We could have gone on for miles and I wouldn't have objected.

The game lived up to my expectations. An eight-man football nail-biter. Stanford roared out to a 22-6 lead. The margin was reduced to 22-12 at the half. And with momentum building early in the third quarter, Absarokee took the lead for the first time. Shortly after Stanford regrouped to take back the lead. And as the final minutes ticked off the clock, the Huskies of Absarokee marched down the field destined to tie the game it seemed and possibly win if they made the conversion. But it wasn't to be. A deflected pass, resulting in an interception that went unchallenged for a touchdown.

Unforgettable perhaps.

Overlooking Absarokee gridiron.

But what I'll never forget were the few, but pristine moments of solitude I experienced while walking down from the foothills. It was like a dream. I passed along the tree-line path that followed the Rosebud River and its cold water from springs and run-offs in the nearby Beartooth Mountains. And up ahead... was it possible… the sound of high school football just out of my sight? I considered those out of body experiences that we hear about when the world becomes rather surreal. Could I have died?

Again, it was like a dream.