There wasn’t a sound save for a piece of metal on the roof of one of the buildings.  It swayed and squeaked reluctantly and ever so slowly in retaliation to the blowing wind.

I arrive in Red Lodge tired but somewhat amped after a long day of driving (the box of Milk Duds I ate had nothing to do with it at all). My first thought after checking in was to get the camera out and start taking pics.  I didn’t want to drive around aimlessly though because after an already full day of driving it was going to be a quick shoot (and seriously how much driving can a girl do in a day?).

I needed focus.

I wanted my pictures to reflect my reason for being there.  I especially wanted to capture images I felt Grandma Lou might have enjoyed looking at in a reflective way. Before I could do that though I needed to understand the town as well as the surrounding areas a little better.

Once again, I pull out my trusty map (this time with highlighter in hand) and decide to consult with the inn’s manager, Joanne. Joanne was exceptionally kind and possessed the patience needed to assist a tired yet amped tourist chart a couple of scenic routes.

I now had focus.

But as I am walking out the door Joanne decides to give me yet one more option, a last minute suggestion about a place she had just thought of.  It was kind of like a small “token idea” in the event I decided after all not hit the other places she helped me map out.  She tells me there’s a really cool mine not too far away where all of the old buildings were actually still standing.  She gave me the route and that was it.  No more information other than “there’s an old mine”.

At first I didn’t think anything of it because there are several mines in that area just as there are in Colorado.  I didn’t need any more information.  I did think it rather odd though that all of the buildings were still still standing because typically they aren’t.  That’s a rare find.  For sure I was going to that mine to take pictures because old mines are just cool.

Quick change in plans, I still have focus just a new direction.

212 to 309 into Bear Creek I drove, camera in tow looking forward to taking pictures of an old mine.  There was plenty to see on the way there but when I came around the curve where the mine was my heart cam to an almost screeching halt. There it was!  barely standing but standing nonetheless with will and determination to survive.  All of the buildings were still standing just as Joanne had promised they would be.  It was something to see, like a ghost town patiently waiting for people to come back and take residence there once more.

The buildings seemed alive.

I pull off to the side of the road and start taking pictures. It was erie standing alone in the dead silence with that mine up on the hill. There wasn’t a sound save for a piece of metal on the roof of one of the buildings.  It swayed and squeaked reluctantly and ever so slowly in retaliation to the blowing wind.

It was dead silent but trust me, those old buildings were talking.  Yes, those buildings were alive.

Dilapidated yet formidable was this old mine but I wasn’t quite sure why…yet.  I couldn’t get close enough because the entire perimeter was intensely barbed off but as I was scoping out a way to sneak in I noticed a sign at the entrance just down the road.

I had to read the sign.

“Walter & Johnny.  Good-bye wives and daughters.  We died an easy death.  Love from us both.  Be good”

It was the oddest emotional moment I think I’ve ever experienced.  A mixed bag of; revelation, sadness and an unexpected connection and purpose for being where I was at the time.  All in a fraction of a second everything about this mine was clear to me.  As soon as I saw the sign it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Why I didn’t put two and two together and make the connection when Joanne told me about this mine I’ll never know.  Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so much emotion about it at the moment if I was prepared for what I saw.  That I’ll never know either.  Regardless, I wasn’t prepared for it but was standing there nonetheless to take it in all alone.

Unstoppable tears swelled up and ran down my face before I could compile a single thought, they swell now as I type this.

It was the Smith Mine.

For those not familiar, the Smith Mine disaster of 1943, is reported to be Montana’s worst coal mining disaster and according the the National Institute for occupational Safety and Health it was the 43rd worst mining disasters in the United States.  The buildings were left to stand as a memorial to all of those who lost their lives in the disaster.

My Great Uncle Pete died in the Smith Mine disaster.

One might ask how so much emotion can be evoked by a distant relative whom one has never met.  Uncle Pete was different.  Growing up we always heard about Uncle Pete in snippets and about how he died in a mining accident.  Grandma Lou never talked about it in detail but the twinkle in her eyes always seemed to fade when she mentioned it.  In fact, I didn’t even know it was the Smith Mine until years after Grandma Lou passed away. We just knew that her brother died in a mining accident.

We (siblings and cousins) always wondered about Uncle Pete and what he was like.  And of course in the back of our minds we wanted more details about the accident.  I always felt a sense of connection to him though through Grandma Lou.

Great Uncle Pete died February 27, 1943 at the age of 39 in the Smith Mine disaster along with 74 other men (and from what I understand he was covering a shift that day as a favor for a new worker).  Survived by his wife and their four children, their lives changed dramatically in a flash as all the other surviving families’ lives did.

With no harbinger as to what I was about to really find around that curve that day when Joanne threw out her last minute suggestion, I found myself standing before the legendary Smith Mine.  Standing there engulfed in emotion, excitement and a new dimension to the connection I’ve always had with Grandma Lou.

I took more pictures.

The following day I met Uncle Pete’s son, Sam (my cousin) for the very first time.  We went back to the mine site and talked about the disaster and how it turned a thriving community into a ghost town.  Sam was 10 at the time it happened and his memory of the event and the days that followed are quite vivid.  Out of all he shared with me that afternoon about that fateful morning one thing in particular struck my heart the hardest (and will probably never leave my mind).  It was when he pointed to one of the buildings and said “Do you see that building right over there?  That’s the one I sat at for two solid days waiting for my dad to come out”  I asked him if they ever did find Uncle Pete. After a short pause “yes” was all he said and lingered a little while longer in a silent gaze that told me he was reliving that moment.

I wanted to know my Great Uncle Pete.

I was ever so grateful to have met Sam.

~ The Urban Mountaineer