Most years, our family goes to Butte on July 3 for fireworks and to experience the American lawlessness that only Butte and her people can provide. Late into the night when the show is over, we point our car north and climb the Continental Divide. There comes a point when we are slightly above most of the city and on contour with hundreds of exploding fireworks that create a ceiling of fire over Butte. Atop the pass we enter Elk Park, and the world outside the car window instantly changes to something darker, silent and more mysterious.
In the western United States, the word “park” is often used to describe a high treeless plain. Elk Park is just that, and is a stretch for daydreaming, consistently providing views of a herd or two of its namesake. The valley is home to around 450 residents, an interstate and a defunct railroad. Geologically it is out of place in the Boulder Mountains, and like all things geological, it’s not the same as it once was.
For a place of its elevation, Elk Park is strangely flat. From its southern end at the Woodville exit to where it enters Bison Creek Canyon at its north end is a difference of 107 vertical feet over a distance greater than 47,000 horizontal feet. That’s a grade of .2% over 9 miles. For Elk Park to get this uniform, it took geology, water and the ticking of the clock.
