Witnesses

Where do they come from?
A flash of white as I speed past.
Or a sprinkling of three or four in the tall grass beyond the guard rail.
Some with faded wreaths or ragged flags.
A note attached, now rain-washed, words running away forever.
I never stop to look for names,
Or asked who had loved them.
Instead, they pass, like someone walking on my grave,
Bringing images of the aftermath,
Of smoking heaps of twisted steel,
Blood and oil flowing on the asphalt.
A gasp of mortal pain.
A final breath.
But now, all's quiet again.
The wind moves the grass as the road bends gracefully.
Only the white crosses remember who was suddenly torn from life,
And watch patiently as you hurtle toward your death.

Saying Good Bye to Our Friends

Phil here.

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, we drove into the park to the edge of Lake McDonald for the last time. The gate to the park was unmanned (usually there is a person that greets you by saying "Welcome back!") and no one was at the lake shore. It wasn't windy for the first time since we had been there. In the distance, the mountains had a new dusting of snow and, although clouds pressed down, the sun was shining on white rock faces. I had told Vivian we should refer to the mountains as "our friends" and so we were here to say good bye to them.

It was still, very quiet, there were no crowds, I could hear the water lapping on the rocks. The feeling of cold was coming out of the trees. And I felt a wonderful sense of peace. It was like getting something unexpected and extra -- a bonus for our visit.

Of course I had to take lots of photographs hoping somehow the photo could not only show what I saw but convey what I felt at this moment.


Back in our cabin I took a late afternoon walk down the hill, across the highway and down the slope to the railroad tracks. While I stood there I heard a train coming and took this picture. It was frightening standing beside the rails as this train approached at 60 mph, the diesel engines roaring. As the cars passed they created a windy that nearly froze me.


This morning we woke up at 6 a.m. and hit the road early. It was 19 degrees and it took 10 miles for our windshield to completely clear. As we drove down a narrow wooded road we saw two black shapes run across the road: bears! At last! We also saw a pheasant and a field full of wild turkeys.


I'm in the Missoula Airport now, waiting for our jet to Denver which is delayed. I'm sad to leave but looking forward to returning to the warm land, our busy and noisy home.

A Bend in the Road

Vivian here.

We woke up to a gentle snow shower. Phil had the stove fired up and the coffee brewed before I got dressed, reminding me of so long ago in Denver when he was called the "Breakfast King." He outdid himself for the last big breakfast with bacon, eggs, and gargantuan pancakes with trail mix and bananas for topping plus orange juice and coffee. I'm happy to say we're finishing up things in our larder pretty well.

I had an encounter with Phil's Blackberry trying to email my friend Ruth about the Dudamel concert at Disney Hall that she has tickets too. Downtown L.A. seems more than a million miles from here. Anyway, after many false starts and interrupting Phil from his writing once or twice, I finally managed to get the message to her that I couldn't make it. The manager of the place stopped by to say he had to "clear the sprinklers" and we went down to general store while he did his work. Turns out he had to plow through our pile of dirty clothes to get to the crawl space. Oops!

We did a circuit of the towns on the outskirts of Glacier National Park under a gray sky that occasionally sputtered out a little snow. At last, we glimpsed the much touted Flathead Lake and it is every bit as big as everyone promised us it would be. Bigfork is very self consciously prettified and clustered around a bay. We also happened by Eagle Rest, the premiere golf destination of Montana. Coincidence? You be the judge.

We cruised through Kalispell again and got a better sense of the layout. The old downtown has its charms but it's surrounded by a sprawl of franchises. Then we headed up to Whitefish and had a slice of pizza at Downtown Pizzeria and some coffee at Montana Coffee Traders. Whitefish is certainly not as developed at Kalispell, but it has enough business not to seem depressed.

I can feel myself pulling away from this place, wondering if I'll ever pass this way again. Its beauty is compelling but also remote and well sad. It makes our little human plans and schemes seem so petty.

Montana = Coffee + Booze

Phil here.

We're down to one computer and we both want to post today. So this will be short.

I'm really liking Montana and it's fun to see what the state's identity is. Whereas Texas is so proud of itself, and shouts about who it is, and how great it is, Montana is kind of understated. Let me revise that; there just aren't all that many people here, so they don't waste a lot of time telling you what's so great about this place. But it is clear that Montanans spend a lot of time in two places: coffee houses and bars. So they spend the first part of the day getting jacked up on joe, the second half mellowing out on local brews.

We're in a coffee shop now in Whitefish sipping some local roasted java that is quite good. Vivian patiently reads as I type.

We have made a tour of the cities in the Flathead Valley near Glacier Natnl Park. Kalispell is the biggest but it hasn't grown gracefully. Many chain stores line wide streets outside the city and the downtown looks like it's seen better times. Thift stores and pawn shops. Big Fork, on the Flathead Lake, is touristy and overrun. Columbia Falls is, as noted in an earlier post, depressing. But Whitefish is my pick. It has a nice downtown area, not too precious, and kind of rustic too. It's always fun to think, "Where would I live?" My secret desire is to be one of those writers whose biography on the bookflap reads "he divides his time between…" and then name two exotic places. Mine would be "he divides his time between Long Beach, California, and Whitefish, Montana." How does that sound?

Today is our last full day here and we're both savoring every moment of our time together and our time here in the north woods. We woke up to snow which has tapered off. But a gray sky hangs low. We've had a great trip, so I have no regrets, but I will feel a pang of sadness as the wheels of our plane lift off the tarmac of Montana.

Sorry, I'm Experiencing Technical Difficulties

Vivian here. After a perfectly serene day traveling along good old Highway 2 to East Glacier and then into new territory -- the town of Browning on the Blackfeet Nation and mesmerizing Highway 464, then back into the park at St. Mary Lake -- and low and behold my computer went kablooie. So Phil is giving me a little time on his laptop to do a post. The real problem is that my computer has an internal card reader for the camera we've been using, so the photos may be few and far between until we get back to Long Beach.
Ah, Long Beach! It's only two days until we'll be walking through the door at 723 Terraine and getting ready for a weekend visit from Cousin Steve. Back in the land of washer/dryers and computer repair shops within walking distance.
Anyway, the tip of the day for anyone who stays on West Glacier and visits sites on the other side of the park is to drive up Highway 464 on a clear day. It runs parallel to the park but about 25 miles away from the park boundaries. The distance allows you to take in the scope and breadth of the mountains and also gives you an idea of why the Plains Indians consider the place hallowed ground. Looking west from the plains, these soaring jagged peaks rise up out of nowhere scraping the clouds and sometimes hiding the sun.
We stopped at the Visitor Center at St. Mary Lake and studied the three dimensional map to find out the names of the mountains we'd been oohing and awing over for the last 45 minutes in the car. A ranger had lots to say about encountering wildlife in the park. The more I hear about bears the scareder I get. She mentioned that in a week, she would climb a mountain and count bald eagles as they flew by on their annual migration. Talk about an all-American assignment.
The wind was blowing like a hurricane, but we drove up the Going to the Sun Road as far as they allowed, which was the Jackson Glacier Overlook. On the way back down, we ate our sandwiches in the car parked with a million dollar view and did a mile and a half walk in a sheltered canyon to see St. Mary Falls. A bridge crossed the 15 foot cascade of water into a very deep emerald pool. On the way back up to the car, several people passed us, which of course brightened my spirits. Phil stopped several times to take pictures and scan the horizon with binoculars, but so far no woodland creatures.

Stalked by a Mountain Lion

By Phil (So you don't have to read to the end)

We're getting to know Montana State Highway 2 which goes from our front door to East Glacier. It is 56 miles and goes from our current altitude (about 3,000 ft) over Marias Pass (about 5,600 ft)and down into East Glacier. It is 56 miles of gently winding road on which you can go 60-80 mph. Each curve reveals another mountain slope, another view of the river, another distant peak, another stand of golden aspen. And the railroad is beside you the whole way. It is subtle, but I've grown to love it. Today I even thought I'd like to write a poem called "Getting to Know a Road." What I've done is come to know a very small corner of Montana.

We wound up in East Glacier for the second time. This time, we more closely investigated a sign we saw yesterday which loudly proclaimed, "Grizzly Attack Machine!" It flew by me yesterday but lodged somewhere in my mind where I subconsciously asked, What the hell was that all about? Today I read the sign more closely and saw that the machine simulated a grizzly attack and asked "Grizzlies attack at 25 mph. Could you survive? Fun for the whole family." Yes, seeing if you could escape from being mauled to death by a grizzly is wholesome fun for most families.

Speaking of grizzly attacks, I've been embarrassing Vivian by asking everyone I meet if they have seen bears. Today, we sought shelter in a Parks Headquarters at St. Mary Lake entrance to the park. There we met a ranger who Vivian said reminded her of Kristin. She was extremely knowledgeable but very humble about her own accomplishments including the fact that next week she would hike into an observation town to count migrating eagles. Anyway, she said that when she hikes the park she has seen grizzlies many times but has never had an encounter with one. Once, when hiking in the snow with her husband, they dropped something and backtracked for a half mile. She was chilled to see that a mountain lion had been stalking them by reading its paw prints in the snow. The only grizzly attack in this park this year, she said, was a man who was jogging alone early in the morning. The bear charged, bit his legs and he claimed -- the ranger rolled her eyes at this -- that he fought off the grizzly with a stick. "When a grizzly attacks we always lose," she said.

We drove up the Going to the Sun Road to the closure and then ate our sandwiches in the car because the wind was so strong. We took a short hike to St. Mary Falls and then drove back home. After I got home I took a short walk down the hill and across the road where I took a picture of these railroad tracks. As Vivian mentioned in her post we are having computer problems so the sterling photos that have distinguished this blog are temporarily unavailable.

Vivian and I have agreed that we need to come again, during the summer, so we can see all the sights we missed. Still, I've loved being here in the off season and having the roads and the views to ourselves. But, come on, can't we see one darned grizzly from the car?

Big (Beautiful Blue) Sky Country

Locals have been telling us since we landed in Missoula that we just missed Indian summer, that it was 85 degrees only a few days ago. The weather has been less than perfect and I was beginning to despair that I’d never get a clear view of any of the magnificent peaks in Glacier.

Monday morning started out cloudbound and we decided to hibernate a little. Phil fixed pancakes and I patiently waited for local reports on the Weather Channel. Guess what, folks, as far as the Weather Channel is concerned Glacier National Park doesn’t have weather. Phil and I did a little writing and then headed down to the ranger station at Apgar Village to see about road conditions and such.

The ranger at the Visitor Center was such a loveable old coot he could have been made in a lab. He dished out advice and warnings with a heaping helping of quaint phrases that charmed the pants off of all us out-of-towners. He listened patiently as a woman reported she had seen mountain sheep (“The rollover kind?” the ranger asked, making “C” shapes around his temples to indicate horns. “They must be about ready to bump heads this time of year.”), elk, moose, and five bears. “I’ve been here many a summer and I’ve never seen elk around Two Medicine,” the ranger said, tarnishing the woman’s report just a smidge. “They say they’re there, but I’ve never seen them.”

Phil and I joined the convoy of wildlife peepers and headed over to Two Medicine. The difference between Route 2 yesterday with blustering snow and rain and today was as big as the Montana sky. No wind and white clouds dreamily drifting across the rocky peaks, revealing tantalizing glimpses now and then. I read some poems by Richard Hugo to Phil as we retraced yesterday’s route, passing a controlled brush fire on the way.

East Glacier is pretty hardscrabble and like West Glacier, everything is closed for the season. I insisted on stopping by Glacier Lodge, because I’d seen the lobby on a PBS show and wanted to see the huge atrium with gigantic lodgepole pines used as pillars. I never did get a good look at the inside, but the outside was impressive enough to make me want to take the train trip just to stay there. There was an inch or two of snow on the ground but things were warming up and icicles kept making ominous thumps as they slid from the green tin roof.

The parking lot at Two Medicine Lake had a few cars in it, which reassured me a little. If I’m going to get attacked by a bear, I at least want to have some witnesses. (Just joking, in case any bears are reading this.) A few patches of blue were showing through as we set off for Paradise Point, an easy half-mile walk. Seeing people tracks instead of animal tracks gave me the confidence to keep going even though we crossed a few meadows that had “bear habitat” written all over them.

The bite of winter in the air, the crunch of snow under my feet, and the smell of evergreens made a perfect buildup to the view from shore of Two Medicine Lake. Sinopah Mountain, a behemoth pyramid whose granite face was made more rugged with a dusting of snow, looked like a mystical wizard’s castle surrounded by a ring of other jagged peaks. We talked to two young women from Michigan on a cross country trip who had heard a mountain lion (“like a blood curdling scream”) on a nearby trail just the day before.

Once I was back in the car, I was as eager as Phil to see anything animate on four legs, but no luck. There were some lovely views of Lower Two Medicine Lake on the way out. When we stopped for some photos, we could see that the clouds were moving away.

We stopped at a café (East Glacier Café?) for pie and coffee, and talked to the two young men behind the counter. The matchmaker in me thought they would make perfect double date material for the women we’d met earlier. One young man said we’d seen black bears and grizzly bears, elk, moose, mountain sheep and even a wolverine, but never close up.

By the time we started back to West Glacier, there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Vista after vista of jagged rocky peaks would come into view, and finally I got a feel for why some people are so crazy about Glacier National Park. The peaks seem to align themselves like a three-dimensional fan creating a variety of breath-taking arrangements depending on what angle you’re viewing them from. Right now, I’m going to have another look out of the front window of the cabin to take in the awesome panorama one more time before the sun goes down, and then a ham omelette for supper.

A Dream of the West Fulfilled

We stopped in at the park headquarters this morning to find out what road conditions lay to the east. The ranger, a dapper older gentleman who held court for all the tourists, said, "You're in Montana. You're on your own up here." I was looking for something a bit more reassuring than that, so when we stopped for gas I saw a bakery goods delivery man and asked him if he had come from the East. He said no, but he said that travelling in that direction, "you might run into a squiff but the county's been out so it should be all right." I kept wondering what a "squiff" was but since it didn't sound serious we headed East again. There was snow on the road but the sky was clear so we sailed through to East Glacier about 56 miles away.

We had talked with a woman back in West Glacier who claimed she had been in East Glacier and had seen five bears and some long horn rams. Vivian was chaffing about this and said she seen one bear five times, or had seen a picture of five bears. Still, as we stepped out of the car in East Glacier the old fear of grizzlies set in. We were amazed by the view at the Two Medicine Lake where a spire of stone stood in front of us, across the lake, cloaked in clouds. When the view cleared the mountain looked draped in frost like some huge chocolate cake with white icing. Vivian said it looked surreal, like something from the Lord of the Rings movies.

We took a short hike to Paradise Point (through grizzly country) and stood on the shore admiring the view. We met two young women from Michigan who were on a cross country trip. They said that while hiking the previous day they had heard an ear-piercing scream which they were later told was a mountain lion. We hiked back and felt frozen in the 30-degree temperature. Since we had skipped lunch we had pie and coffee in a small diner in West Glacier which was run by two young guys who seemed like they didn't have enough to do. One was quite talkative and told me he had dropped out of University of Montana at Missoula (Go Grizz!) after discovering hiking and climbing. He said he had climbed 60-70 peaks in Glacier National Park and had seen all the wildlife that people like to talk about including a wolverine. Mostly, though, he spent most of his time, "trying not to fall on my head."

On the drive home we stopped by a stream to photograph the mountains which kept appearing unexpectedly above closer ridges. It was a sunny afternoon, very still, and I scrambled down to a riverbed of smooth stones. The river wandered away toward the mountains and a type of duck I didn't recognize was bathing in a pool of water. Across the river was a stand of golden aspen and a sunlit meadow. The scene in the still afternoon fit my childhood dream of the north woods which I had pictured so long ago, lying in my bed on Everett Street, staring up at a map of the United States on my bedroom wall.

Going to the Sun on Foot

After being turned back by the snowstorm, we stopped for coffee at Glacier Highlands Restaurant and turned in at the West Glacier entrance. There were blue skies overhead so we stopped at McDonald Lake again for another look. The lake was bluer but the wind was relentless, stirring up waves that Long Beach would be proud of. There was a guy sitting cross-legged on the rocky beach completely at one with the beauty of the lake. I know he must have been pretty blissed out because he was wearing shorts in 40 degree weather in a stiff wind.

We drove up the Going to the Sun Road to Avalanche where the road was closed to car traffic. We pulled into the same parking area that we used yesterday for the hike to Avalanche Lake. There were only about 10 cars when yesterday it had been packed. A few miles into the park and the storm clouds were forming. Did everyone else hear the weather report except us?

Phil had his thick sweater and gloves and I had my wool hat, alpaca gloves (thanks, Katherine) and winter coat, so we felt pretty equipped. The wind rose and fell in icy gusts, and snowflakes began to drift down shortly after we left the car and headed up the Going to the Sun Road. I had a sweatshirt on under the coat so the weather didn’t concern me much, although the clouds did cover the peaks more often than not.

Unfortunately, bears were very much on my mind. The farther away we got from the parking lot, the harder it was for me to ignore the fact that we were the only people there, i.e., the only likely grizzly food. After we passed an exhibit that noted that bears often ranged in avalanche chutes hunting for berries in close proximity to the bloody carcass of a large-ish bird, which might have been a hawk and might have been a crow, I began to feel my sphincter tighten with admittedly baseless fears. Phil finally took pity on me and we turned back after an hour of walking.

There were moments when the views of the majestic peaks were all the more special because they were all our own, but I just couldn’t shake the stomach churning fear that we saw no one coming down the trail and the only people we saw going up were a couple who quickly passed us. I think I really could have made it up the 14 mile round trip to the Loop if only there had been a little more human presence.

We got back to the car and drove to a turnoff by Lake McDonald to eat our sandwiches. The ham and Swiss plus some carrots and an apple helped bolster my pride a little. Only after I got back in the warmth of the car did I realize how cold my hands and feet were.

We left the park around 2 in the afternoon and drove over to Kalispell. It’s one of the largest towns in the area with a Walmart and various other chains. We drove by an anti-abortion demonstration with about 20 to 30 people grouped on all four corners of an intersection with large pre-printed posters. It wasn’t clear whether this was a local protest or something to do with health care reform.

Phil fired up his Blackberry and navigated us to an Internet café, Colter Roasting Company, along Main Street in what must have been the old downtown. We had some good strong joe and a walnut caramel thingy that was very good and worked on our blogs for a while. Most of the people there were in there 20s and could easily have held their own at most Santa Monica coffee shops with their tattoos and dreadlocks. A couple of young women got to be a little annoying with their non-stop man-bashing, but fortunately they didn’t stay long.

We came home and I read up on Flathead Lake and the Jewel Basin as possible destinations for tomorrow while Phil took a long walk in the woods around the cabin. We had a little yoga session before supper. Phil grilled up some chicken breasts to perfection and I got all the vegetables together. It’s so relaxing not have to get in a car and drive and park and study a menu before driving back to a hotel again. Did I mention I love this cabin?

East Glacier--Denied

After some yummy granola on Sunday morning, we packed ham sandwiches and parked near the Glacier Outdoor Center office to get an internet fix. Then we headed east to the far side of the park, intending to drive ninety miles to St. Mary entrance and drive up the Going to the Sun Road to Logan Pass. Highway 2 is a beauty, winding but not too steep, and runs beside a river and the railroad track between quintessential Montana foothills. We passed Belton Chalet and Isaak Walton Inn, one Amtrak train and a couple of freight trains.

It was sunny when we drove by the entrance to West Glacier, but within a mile raindrops began to tap on the windshield. Soon snowflakes mixed in with the rain, but we were still stoked with anticipation of going to the high country (elevations in the 8,000s) and discussing which trail to follow. We passed an unnamed residential area with a wide assortment of log cabins and satellite dishes, one with an eye-catching silhouette of an elk in the sunset, and began to notice that the snow was beginning to accumulate on the trees and the side of the road.

A few miles further, the road began to climb more steeply and got progressively slushier. We tried the radio to see if we could get some weather information but only found sermons, sports and country music—no FM at all. The sky got darker and the road got more slippery and we finally turned around. We still have 3 more days to make it to an eastern portal. Let’s hope there are some clear skies ahead.

Into Bear Country

We were so excited to see the East side of Glacier Park so we set off early on the 90-mile drive. After 30 miles it started raining. After 50 miles it started snowing. And then after 60 miles there was about two inches of snow on the road. We turned around.

We went back to the West side of the park and decided to hike in on the Going to the Sun Road which was closed to vehicles. As soon as we started walking I realized that Vivian was afraid of bears leaping out and attacking us. I was a little apprehensive about this too but I had it figured this way. There are 200 grizzly bears in the park. The park is humungus. The chances of even seeing a grizz are slim to none. The chances of getting attacked are much less.

But still, the human mind dwells on these things since we always see ourselves as the center of the universe. But Vivian was a very good sport about walk on, deeper into bear country. Our destination was 7 miles down the road where we thought we could get a better view of the park. However, it was about 43 degrees with a 25 mph wind and gusty snow.

After about 3 miles we came around a corner and an amazing view opened up. The clouds were still too low to let us see the mountaintops but this increased the effect. Our eyes searched for the tops of the mountains while our imaginations thought it might reach to the sky. While clouds swirled around the peaks the flanks of the mountains were scored with horizontal lines, presumably from glaciers. An "exhibit" (parks department jargon for a sign) told us that grizzlies were often spotted on the slopes eating huckleberries. This didn't help Vivian's mood. Neither did a dead crow in the road which had been ripped open and partially eaten by something with big teeth.

So here we were walking on a road but there was no traffic and no one else anywhere near us. It was pleasant in a way but Vivian really was nervous. Two bicyclists passed us and that helped her mood for a few minutes. But because of the snow and wind we turned around after about three miles and headed down.

We ate our lunch in the car overlooking Lake MacDonalds' whitecaps. Then we drove to Kalispell where we found this internet cafe, the Colter Coffee Roasting Company, with free wireless. The coffee is soooo gooooood.

As Falls Columbia, So Falls Columbia Falls

After some Saturday afternoon pie (razzleberry—raspberry/huckleberry—for Phil and blackberry/cherry for me) and a cup of coffee at Glacier Heights Restaurant, we headed over to Columbia Falls to do some grocery shopping. I forgot how depressing small towns dependent on tourists can be. There’s the House of Mystery, which purports to show all kinds of wondrous anomalies due to being located in a geological vortex. Half a mile a way was Great Bear Adventure. For a mere $8, you could drive through the stockade-like enclosure and view a unique ursine habitat from the safety of your car. The signage was truly memorable in spelling (“weekens” for “weekends”) and verbiage (“Where your car is your cage, weather and bears permitting”). I won’t even attempt to describe the Amazing Fun Park.

The town of Columbia Falls was even drearier than the tourist traps. Surrounded by massive, densely wooded mountains, the fast food franchises and local dives seemed especially soulless. Walking around the Super 1 Grocery, I felt like an extra in a zombie movie with all the other people wandering through the florescent-lit warehouse snatching Cheese Puffs and Wing Dings from the shelves. Most oppressive of all was this gargantuan lumber mill on the edge of town with eerie tubes snaking all over the place and piles of scrap lumber littering most of the open space around it.

Going and coming, we encountered LeeHorseLogger.com, a stocky, stone-faced man driving an ungainly wooden contraption drawn by 3 downtrodden plow horses. He took no notice at all of the traffic jam he was causing on a busy highway. What grim and fruitless war was he fighting and why did I want to know about it? These unexpected incidents often bug me when I travel but later when I return home, the questions they bring up in me bring answers that enrich my life.

Phil talked me down from my funk and volunteered to cook the steak on the outdoor grill (in 40 degree weather). I baked potatoes and made a salad. With wine and a dollop of peas, it made a very reviving meal. That and a little meditation session helped me get back in a good frame of mind.

Trail of the Cedars and the March to Avalanche Lake

I liked the sound of the Trail of the Cedars the first time I read about it in the guidebook and I was not disappointed. Despite the Bear Country scare tactics exploited on all the posters, we proceeded along the boardwalk under the towering cedars and hemlocks. Some trees even have lacy lichen hanging down from the branches like Spanish moss. The bridge across the creek was closed as were one set of toilets so we headed up the trail toward Avalanche Creek. Neither Phil nor I were very confident that I could make the 4-mile round trip, but luckily the elevation gain was minimal.

At first the trail follows the creek (Avalanche Creek, coincidentally enough) closely. The gurgling water and moss-covered boulders brighten up dense woods somewhat. There’s a solid rock shute where the rushing water has scooped out circular crevices in a cascade down the red tinted rock kind of like a Calder sculpture. Of course, Phil went right to the edge to get a better look while I played it safe.

We saw a couple with two preschool kids. The girl in Pippy Longstocking leggings in two shades of pink waited patiently to be carried from the trail to the creek bank while her brother made a beeline for the biggest rock he could lift and hurled it into the water. I was just about to make a comment on the difference between boys and girls when the poor little fellow slipped got soaking wet. We saw them later in the parking lot and he’d completely recovered.

The second half of the trail veers away from the creek and is not nearly as scenic, at least not on an overcast day. Now and then, we’d get glimpses of high rocky peaks, but mostly it was trees, boys, and lots of them. But once we reached Avalanche Lake, I was glad I’d stuck it out. The lake is an icy aquamarine oval framed by evergreens and backed by this breathtaking wall of rock. A few waterfalls descend the walls even in late autumn and the variety of color in the rock from water and wind is spectacular. Speaking of wind, it was pretty unforgiving after the shelter of the forest, but the awesome view helped us brave the cold as we munched on trail mix and a chocolate bar. The jagged peaks were often hidden in clouds, which made the brief glimpses of them all the more tantalizing.

Positively Glacier

We were off to a slow start Saturday morning, not quite glacial but close to it. It’s so tempting to scuff around in our PJs and stocking feet in our cozy little cabin all day. Phil made eggs and bacon for breakfast and used the complimentary coffee which had an odd vanilla aftertaste. I worked on the blog and wavered between wearing my thermal tee shirt under my turtleneck or not. I finally decided not to and am happy to report it was the right decision.

We checked in at the Glacier Raft Company Store and met Carston, the manager, who showed us the lay of the land on a framed topo map and welcomed us into the back room to use the wireless internet access. It took me forever to upload photos onto Blogger, (What’s up with that?) so Phil browsed around the shop while I cursed all things technological. They have great WPA style prints of Glacier National Park and 50% off summer clothes.

Finally, we headed off for our first view of the park itself. At the west gate, we drove under the tracks while a freight train lumbered along the railroad bridge on top of us and then pulled into the lot of an elegant glass and steel structure which turned out to be a visitor center for Alberta Canada. After we finished scratching our heads over that, we took an essential two mille round trip detour to check out the golf course and some of us were happy to find out that it’s still open even though the gas station, restaurant and grocery store have been closed for weeks.

Finally, we got to the entrance and paid $25 for a 7 day pass. They let us know that the Going to the Sun Road was partially closed but there was still access to Logan Pass from the east side. We continued on to the visitor center at Apgar Village and got some nifty brochures about hikes in the park and studied the 3-D map including white patches indicating all the glaciers.

We liked the look of the Village Inn, a funky 50’s bi-level which overlooks Lake McDonald but agreed that the lake itself was both awe-inspiring and ominous. The bone-chilling wind whipped up whitecaps on this big honking lake and on the far shore gray tree trunks swathed the steep slopes. We wondered if the pine beetles that have done so much damage in the California forests were destroying the trees here too, but later we learned there was a devastating fire in 2003.

We soldiered on to Lake McDonald Lodge, built in 1914 in a charming mixture of Swiss chalet and craftsman woodsiness. The place was completely shut down, but we peeked in the windows at the rustic lobby. All the stuffed animal heads were draped in dustcovers, making it a perfect setting for a haunted Halloween party or filming Jack Torrance going berserk again in The Shining Part 2.

Hiking in Glacier Ntnl Park

Back at home I had looked at the town of West Glacier on Google Earth but it looks so much different, and so much more remote from ground level. Tall spruce trees line the roads keeping any cabins or houses around us hidden. We drove into West Glacier after a big breakfast and found it to be a row of restaurants and shops all of which had "Closed for the Season" signs in the window. (I did find that the Glacier View Golf Course is open but I haven't played there…yet!) There was a wonderful deserted feeling to everything as we stood on the sidewalk and watched the wind blow golden aspen leaves across the road.

We drove into the park and found that the famed Going to the Sun Road was closed 16 miles ahead. A ranger told us that we can drive around the park and enter from the East, which is what we're planning to do tomorrow. We then walked down to MacDonald Lake and got our first look at Glacier National Park. It's difficult to describe but it was quite spectacular.

MacDonald Lake is about five miles wide and 30 miles long. It runs north-south and we were standing on the south shore looking north. I know from photographs that at the north end is a range of snowy mountains. Today they were partially hidden by dark clouds that swirled around the summits. And yet the view was still stunning. It seems as if we were looking through the crack in a gigantic door into a heavenly world of splendor. That's fancy language for me but it does capture a little of what the view did to me.

The wind coming off the lake was frigid so we eventually retreated to the car and we drove up along the lake. The way was lined with golden aspens and maples which were shedding their leaves that were blowing across the road. We stopped at MacDonald Lodge, on the Lake, which was constructed in the 1920s even before the road was built. The guests had to arrive by boat. It was shuttered and deserted now and when I looked through the window all the furniture was covered by ghostly sheets, making me think of "The Shining" by Stephen King.

We parked where the road was barricaded and hiked on a trail to Avalanche Lake. Signs everywhere warned of grizzly bears and they were daunting to Vivian and me. But then we saw a sign for a missing hiker who had disappeared. The sign asked us to look for scattered pieces of the missing hiker's backpack or any of his clothing or equipment, indicating they thought he had been torn apart by bears. However, the trail was packed with hikers so I felt if a bear came along he would have a wide variety to choose from so I concluded our odds for survival were pretty good. I did feel proud of Vivian for not being too scared to make the hike.
We climbed about 500 feet in elevation and two miles along a stream under a roof of thick spruce trees. Then, suddenly, we came to the lake and got an amazing view. It was as if we were at the base of an amphitheatre of mountains. Snowy walls of rock rose all around the shores of the lake. A faint white line ran down the wall at the far end of the lake indicating a waterfall that fell in stages from the ridge 2,000 feet above. It was one of the most stunning sights I have ever seen and we admired it as long as we could in the cold and windy afternoon.

Back at the car we were in desperate need of coffee and found a rustic gift shop and restaurant with a pine table in the front window. I got a piece of "rassleberry" pie (raspberry and huckleberry) and a big mug of coffee. Through the front window I could see across the road to the Amtrak Station and beyond to the mountains of Glacier National Park. I said to Vivian, "I can't tell you how happy I feel right now." I felt this way because of the combination of being out of the cold, having pie and coffee, and still having four days left to explore.

We drove down to Columbia Falls to get groceries and found a huge lumber mill looming above everything with a mountain of saw dust beside it. We located a huge supermarket with some strange name outside town and the biggest American flag flapping overhead I've ever seen. As we left the store and threaded our cart between rusted pickups and dirty beatmobiles, Vivian said, "Well, I could never live here." I asked why. "Because it's depressing as hell." It's always startling when someone as nice as Vivian is so blunt. But she was right. There was something dreary about the place. Montana towns tend to have an over abundance of casinos and bars. That must tell you how much there is to do during the long winters.

On our way back to our cabin I had to stop and take a picture of a closed attraction where a sign loudly proclaimed that you could drive your car among bears. The sign trumpeted, "Your car is your cage!" As if that was a good thing. The sign said the attraction was only available, "Weather and bears permitting." Who says bears don't wield a lot of power.


Back at our cabin we shook off the feeling of Columbia Falls and cooked a steak dinner. We're going over our maps and guide books and planning a big day exploring the east side of the park. Better set aside an extra hour to read that episode.

Welcome to the Woods

The map has dots all along Highway 83 indicating a scenic route, and this road deserves every last dot. To the right, the Rocky Mountain range rises, big slabs of granite dusted with snow. To the left, farther in the distance is the Mission range, forested but still rugged. Along the road are broad flat meadows dotted with cattle and horses and we saw a few mountain sheep and deer too. The real grabbers though are the stunning series of lakes peeking between the evergreens and then suddenly spreading out before you in broad, sparkling wilderness vistas. There’s something vaguely different about these woods than the Colorado Rockies. A deeper green, a bluer blue.

For me the biggest surprise was Swan Lake. Because of the ballet, I associate the name with a trim, contained pond on some aristocrat’s estate. This Swan Lake is gigantic with wooded slopes towering above it. It's a cliche to say the water is so clear, but the water is so clear and you can see these huge boulders sunk deep in the lake bed. Logically, I know this is due to glaciation, but it reminds me of some fairy tale castle imprisoned by a witch's spell. We stopped at Swan Lake Cafe for coffee and a slice of peach/huckleberry pie ($5, what a deal). The chef was from Paris by way of Tahiti but the owner (who served us) was Montana born and bred. People like to talk here, not like us cagey city folks.

We started to see rainclouds in the distance and by the time we reached the outskirts of Bigfork, drops were beginning to fall. After a little cell phone blackout or two, I got through to the Glacier Raft Company and the manager assured me he leave a light on for us. The cabin is just as cute as a bug with lots of rustic trimmings like deer antlers over the porch and a gas-fed cast iron stove by the dining table. So far, so good. Now let's hope the clouds roll away. Oh here's a view from the bedroom window (sorry about the flash).

We'll miss you, Missoula

On the second day in Missoula, I began searching for glimpses of the snowy mountains as we strolled through downtown again on our way to the University of Montana campus. Lots of people on bicycles, mainly students, passed us. Missoula has lots of bike lanes and bike rakes, surprising in a wintry climate. We stopped by the Adventure Bicycling Association—looks like a group of people seriously interesting in biking who haven’t lost their sense of fun. They have bicycle handlebars for door handles and one of the members” vintage 60s Huffy girl’s bike on display. It’s “secret” compartment in the frame and well-dented metal basket brought back memories.


As bike friendly as they are, Missoulians are somewhat erratic interacting with pedestrians. They tend to creep out into intersections so you don’t know whether to wait or run. In general, people turning left into intersections seem to think they have the right of way, but if there’s a zebra crossing and a person on foot, the whole world stops. One poor guy stalled his car slamming on his brakes to let us pass. The U of M campus is a nice mixture of old and new. The clock tower was prickly with scaffolding and we could see people zigzagging up the switchback path to visit the hallowed “M” up on the side of the mountain.

We took the Mountain Line back to town and transferred to another bus to get to the car rental place. It cost $1 which seemed sort of steep for a town that size, but we got special service. The driver stopped right in the middle of the block on a busy highway to let us off never the rental office and we scampered over. After picking up our bags, we stopped at the Uptown Diner for melts (tuna and burger) and a chocolate shake. Good food, lots of kitschy decorations and a squad of sassy waitresses set it apart from your average burger place. We took a wrong turn on the way to I-90 and saw a little more of this pretty and prosperous little burg. A nice jumping off place into the wilderness.

Heading North to Glacier

We took a long walk to the U of M (Go Grizz!) and while we were waiting at a street corner the driver of an old Volvo beeped and waved us across. Then he stalled his car and couldn't get it started again. We kept looking back hoping he would have coaxed it back to life again. Finally, he disappeared.

We caught the Mountain Line bus to the car rental place and the driver dropped us off right at the door. The rental rate was $165 cheaper than renting at the airport and we got a black Nissan Sentra with "light hail damage" all over it, little dimples here and there from a hail storm.


We grabbed a burger at a local diner and then began the drive north. I got really drowsy and Vivian had to take the wheel. When I woke up I needed my afternoon coffee so we stopped in a café where there was a middle aged waitress and a cook from Paris by way of Tahiti. The pie was delicious. The waitress told us all about her two sons and wistfully speculated on what she would have done had she not gotten married right out of high school.
The road went right between two snowy mountain ranges with lakes along the way. We came out into a broad valley with flat fields of grazing cattle and then mountains in the distance climbing to remote peaks. It began to rain.

We stopped for provisions (not groceries, mind you) at a local market and finally pulled into our cabin late in the day. It was overcast to the north, with low clouds pressing down on the peaks of Glacier National Park, so we'll have to explore there tomorrow. The cabin has a small gas fireplace to give the feeling of having a fire, and a neat little kitchen. It is so quiet here, only the caw of a crow now and then. Also, the Amtrak rail line goes just along the property so we get the occasional whistle of the train. We had a dinner of macaroni, cheese and ham and a cup of green tea.

Cozy, North Woods Stopover

We started the trip off right with a stay at the Red Lion in Missoula. It's between the airport and downtown on Broadway right across the street from the (Clark?) River. The room are comfortable and quiet and decorated like an upscale north woods cabin with check bedspreads and maple furniture. Double sinks are a nice touch when you make as many hot beverages as we do. The tub's a peach with an extra tall showerhead. Breakfast is included with lots of extras like make-your-own waffles and breakfast burritos. One downside was that the access to PBS is for the children's version only, so we missed an episode of Ken Burns's National Parks series.

Missoula is a pleasant surprise. A prosperous looking town nestled in a pretty valley, it's hugged by gentle rolling hills all around. The airport is easy to navigate, but there was a little wait for our luggage. We got a free cab ride to the hotel, only a 10 minute ride. No traffic, even though the cabbie tried to convince us the town's been on the upswing for the last 15 years.

We had dinner at Ciao Mambo, a family Italian restaurant near the University of Montana campus. The crowd ranged from locals to college kids to couples on a special night out. Oddly enough, a couple at the table next to us were celebrating their anniversary too -- their 4th to our 30th. Later, we saw them on the bridge when we walked back to our hotel. Talk about small town life! We happened by Max Baucus's office and checked out Missoula P.L. An excellent facility--it has a twitter account and also stocks Phil's books.

Now, on to more exploring downtown and a ride on the Mountain Line (like lion, get it?) bus. We pick up the car around noon and head on up to Glacier.

Day One - Traveling to Missoula

Day 1 October 1, 2009

The first day of our 30th wedding anniversary trip to Glacier started at 5:30 a.m. We ate breakfast, then Drew and Tony drove us to LAX. The drive is my normal route to work only I wasn't going to the office! I was going to somewhere far more exotic: Glacier National Park.

At the airport the line for security was so long they had to pull us out of it to make our flight. Once onboard the captain announced that they got a "status message" that had to be checked out. We returned to the gate and the mechanics came back to install some part. It was funny because I seemed to be in vacation mode and not worrying much about anything. Vivian was worried that I worried though. That's the way things go in a good marriage.

Finally, the captain announced that everything was fine and we were ready for "push back" (I love pilot jargon and use it whenever I feel confident). We flew to Denver and had plenty of time to make the connection. We gave Kevin a quick call from the airport even though we can call him from anywhere at anytime anyway (a lot of "anys"). He was in Boulder for a meeting and a lunch. It made me feel closer to him just being in "his" airport.

We took a small jet to Missoula and flew over miles of snowy mountains. It looked so remote as I caught glimpses through the clouds. At one point I thought I saw the Grand Tetons in the distance. We began to descend and started banking and flew down a long valley into Missoula. As we stepped off the jet, rays of sunlight were slanting through the clouds and it looked idyllic.

We took a cab to our hotel (we'll get the car tomorrow) and the cabbie said he was originally from Dallas but hadn't been back there since he had "so many memories I cherish" and he didn't want to disturb them.

The hotel was great but we wanted to get out and explore so we walked into the downtown area. It was cold. But the walking was invigorating. We walked across a long bridge to the U of M area (Go Grizz!) and on an impulse stepped into an Italian restaurant for dinner. Halfway through dinner the man at the next table turned to Vivian and said, "Excuse me, but are your meatballs as good as they look?" This unfortunately broke the ice and he began telling us that they, too, were celebrating their anniversary, although it was only their 4th. We had trouble returning to our private conversation and even saw them again later on the streets!

We walked back through downtown which was pretty sleepy by this time. We saw the headquarters for Sen. Max Baucus who is a big health care critic. We later found that a smoking ban in bars had just begun so some patrons were on the sidewalks puffing away (one resourceful company is planning to build "butt huts" to keep smokers from freezing). Back in the hotel, I konked out and slept for eight hours without waking up once. I guess I really needed this vacation.