Just Around the Bend Episode IX Big Sky

JUST AROUND THE BEND

Episode IX
Ann’s Homestead:

The barn had so much character I tried drawing it. And on
the way back up to the house I walked past the original
homestead. It was a timber building, with logs, and
straw/mud tucked between as mortar. It still had a glass
window in tact and a brick chimney, but the addition on the
side had collapsed.


















Although it was overgrown by the trees and bushes it looked
in better shape than the barn. Maybe the forest protected it
from the sun and weather.
We spent several hours before packing up other belongings
and heading back to Sandpoint. We stopped along the way for
a bite to eat. Arlene and Ann pose for the picture. It was a
nice day.





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Canada?:

We were packed and ready to leave for Canada the next day.
It had been a pleasant visit with Ann and we wished her the
best in clearing her house and ranch and getting ready to live a
different life.

Early the next morning we said goodbye and left Sandpoint
driving up US 2 / US 95 toward the Eastport Border. Our
first stop was for gas.
There we met a most interesting lady. She pumped our gas,
washed our windshield, and dusted off our van. We can’t
remember when anyone, outside of New York City had that
kind of service. Maybe, in the early years after World War II.
Today only two states pump your gas any longer, New Jersey
and Oregon. In New York they clean your windshield, at any



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Canada?:

stop light for a few bucks. If you don’t pay them, they’ll
break your window.
The duster, called a California Duster, cost us $9.95. We’ve
kept it forever to clean off our dash.

We thought we’d be back on the road, but near-by some
teenagers were washing cars for their high school wrestling
team. Despite the dusting we figured we could still use a wash.
These kids jumped on the car, set up ladders on each side of
the trailer and even washed the top of it. When they were
through our Honda and Casita sparkled.

We were back on the road, shiny and with plenty of gas to get
to Banff. In Canada it’s sold by the liter and much more
expensive. But, before we got to Bonners Ferry we
remembered our visit to Mexico earlier, and the contraband
we’d brought across the border.

About a month earlier we had visited Doug and Irene, Arlene’s
brother and sister-in-law. That’s always a fun visit, and often
includes us driving back and forth across the border several
times. We left our trailer and van with Irene’s son in San
Diego, so each time we crossed we stashed our allotment of
booze in our trailer. That’s a fifth each of, Cuban Rum, and
pure 100% Tequila. We never cross with any Cuban Cigars.
The last visit was a couple of weeks long. Meaning we crossed
time and time again. To the tune of a case of this fine booze.
We had stored it under our bed in the Casita. There it was
safe until we reached home and put it away with our other
bottled whisky, and wine.





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This created a real problem. Crossing the border into Canada
might not cost us anything and we wouldn’t have to give it up,
like the apple we had to leave behind once. No but, when we
returned to the US we would surely be pinched for all the
contraband, and have to pay the import taxes.
There didn’t seem to be any good solutions. If we took it to
Canada we would have to drink it before returning. We
thought we could rent a locker at the bus depot; leave it, and
pick it up when we returned. That was a pretty good idea
except we would be 800 miles further east when we returned
to the U.S., like in Devil Lake, North Dakota.

So it wasn’t easy to solve our problem. Of course we could
always surrender the loot. But, we were so proud of ourselves
collecting it that we couldn’t bring ourselves to do that.
Our solution was grim, we pulled over to the side of the road
and called Banff. Sorry we said, we’ll not be able to make it
this year. Please cancel our reservations.

With that decision we turned east along route 2 toward
Montana, the Yaak River, and National Forest Service
Campground.












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CHAPTER 5

Northern Montanna::

Idaho is so narrow at the panhandle that as soon as we turned
east from Bonners Ferry we were in Montana. We’ll follow
the famous U.S. Route 2 as far as we can.
Yaak River:

We stopped at the Forest Service Campground with our
Golden Age Pass. These camps are often really nice and
inexpensive, $5.00, a night.
It’s worth describing our site and the camp. We’re in site 10,
it’s a nice updated Forest Service Camp. Our site is among the
120 ft. Lodgepole Pines, 1 ½ feet in diameter with needles all
the way to the top. They are much smaller than the
Washington trees which were 250 feet tall.

We have a paved pull through with a few of trees between us
and the camp road. It’s flat, and although it’s not especially
designed for the handicapped it has a paved circle that leads
around the picnic table and fire pit. Surrounding the pavement
is this grand 3 foot perimeter of small stones, covered with
pine needles. So thick that in my childhood dreams the
nosiest Indian would be silent upon them. It path leads
toward the river and drops down to a shallow shore.
Across the river are several camp sites, each like ours separated
by 150 feet and among trees. The river runs clear over a rocky
bed, and would be easy to wade across without getting our
knees wet.







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Yaak River:

















Rounding out the camp there was a pay cylinder near the
garbage drop at the entrance, multiple pit and vaulted toilets
around the 40 sites. As there was so much space between the
sites, there were trails through the woods for them. This was a
real nice set up.

















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Yaak River:

Our hosts were full of stories, some scary others just
interesting. They told us that a week ago a couple of tourists
were mauled and killed by a grizzly in Glacier Park. That’s
unsettling as we are on our way there in a week.
They told another story where the hostess and a lady friend
were snowmobiling in Yellowstone when a Moose attacked the
snowmobile. It hooked its antlers and threw it into the air,
continuing to butt it until it stopped running. After the Moose
left they came out of the woods, turned the machine back over
and pulled the starter. It started and they limped back to the
lodge. Their husbands didn’t believe them until they returned
to the scene and saw the mess.

Most of the stories we hear from fellow campers are pretty
interesting, and sometimes help us decide where and what
we’d like to do. Our hosts also told us about the Yaak River
Falls where we would go the next day.
It was late and the sun was setting on a rainy evening. We
rolled up in our sleeping bags and tucked ourselves in for the
night.

The next morning we were awakened by a gun shot. A man
and young boy with their loose dog were walking along the
camp road, and the boy shot his rifle before getting into their
Dodge pick-up. That really disturbed us and we took down
their California license SW1404.
Gun laws are different in every state and in every region. It
probably is against the law to discharge a loaded gun in a
Forest Service Campground. It was unnerving and if there
was any alternative I would have had their necks rung.
Unfortunately, because of the remote area and the lack of


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Yaak River:

officials it’s more like ‘No Rules’ each of us are led by our own
morals and instincts.
We got over the incident, had a little breakfast, unhitched the
trailer and headed up the road toward the Yaak Falls.

The camp at the falls was on the hillside, had only 4 sites, and
no campers. We parked and started hiking toward the falls
with the roar in the distance. After passing some pretty steep
trails, I chose one and followed it to an overhanging slab.
Below me 50 or 60 feet was the Yaak River churning and
bubbling, all white froth, pushing through narrow boulders.
Higher up the stream was even more even more intense white
water,.


















From my slab I didn’t have a clear view above. I’d have to go
back to the main trail and climb up further. I did and could
see the major falls better.


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Yaak River:

















I descended yelling backward to Arlene that I’d be right back;
and she should wait for me. She did. As I reached the
slanting shelf rock, I laid my walking stick down and pocketed
my camera to have both hands free to balance and steady my
outward climb.
At the end of the slab the drop was into furiously churning
white water. Up ahead of me the front edge of the grand falls
bellowed down. Three separated spillways fell with so much
force it caused a deep trough with some waves 4 and 5 feet
high. It was suspended there until plunging further through a
narrow gap.

I didn’t take any pictures, but did collect my walking stick
before returning to Arlene and the main path.
Back at the car we reminded ourselves of the morning and
looked over the car and all our gear. Everything was in place.




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Yaak River:

We drove back to camp, and spent the rest of the day walking
around the camp and visiting with our neighbors.
Beside us was a woman, with two children. She had set up
their tent and laid out the picnic table. The children each put
on a life preserver before going near the water. The lady came
over to visit. She had forgotten her can opener and wanted to
borrow ours. We had at least two and gave her one.

She had said her husband would arrive on Saturday and he
might want to move the camp site. Arlene had watched her
set up camp and take care with the children. She took to her
right away. but in addition something really ticked her off
about her husband.

Arlene had a few words for this dear lady. First she told her to
tell him to kiss off. ‘If he didn’t like the site he could leave
work early and pick out his own. Oh! And of course he
should pack the food, and can opener, and put up the damn
tent, collect the diapers, and wipe the babies butt himself.’
What got into her? Who knows!

Well this has been an eventful couple of days.
We plan to break camp early and head for Logan State Park.
Do you suppose our adventures will continue?

Libby:

Logan State Park was about 50 miles away. We zipped along a
quiet Route 2 down through valleys an occasional lake until we
came to the small town of Libby. Our supplies were low after
visiting with Cousin Ann, and we needed to replenish them.
We stopped at Rousers Grocery. Not every food store is as
big as Rousers, nor are they as expensive. But, we seem to


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Libby:

have a knack for finding them. This one like so many we’ve
shopped in was one of those tourist food stores. The fresh
vegetables were stacked high; colorful fruit jumped out at you,
apples, peaches, nectarines, bananas, and cantaloupes of pale
green and cream. Red and black berries, Bing and Queen-Ann
Cherries. It was so appealing.
That was just the beginning, the appetizer’s in the Deli, and
Bakery were the to-die-for. The Deli had many kinds of
Potato, Marconi, and Egg Salads, Cole Slaw, and Puddings.
There was a Chinese section, with Orange Chicken, Sweet and
Sour Pork, Broccoli and Beef and Mongolian Chicken. While
the grand aroma of the bakery floated above us.

We can never resist these stores, and once inside we spend
enough for two weeks. Today we splurged on Chinese
takeout.
Just down the road we passed a sign that said ‘Golf Course’.
Now we were in high spirits, our booze safe from US
Customs, and our lunch treat steaming beside us. We turned
around and followed the sign up a steep hill to a mountain
retreat and golf course.

It cost too much, but we were being reckless and bought two 9
hole tickets with a cart. Then settled down for some hot
Broccoli and Beef and my favorite Sweet & Sour Pork, each
with Chinese chips and hot tea. It was really good despite
being millions of miles from San Francisco or Mandarin
China.
A little rest and our wonderful meal behind us we turned to
the golf course. Years ago we were playing golf with Dan in
Hawaii, with some borrowed clubs. We played our ordinary


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Libby:

game around 50 strokes for nine holes. One club stood out
that day. It was a number 1 Wood whose head was so big you
couldn’t see around it. Arlene loved it so much that we later
bought one. It goes everywhere with her.
This golf course was made for Seniors, it had wide open
fairways, few places for our balls to get lost, and best of all, we
were the only ones on the front nine. Of course that means
we were not holding anyone up, as we usually play a slow
game, and often take time out to search for misguided balls.

Here Arlene’s about to clobber her pretty little Orange Ball.
Look at the size of that club head. It’s a Taylor Made R5 duel
9.5 adjustable monster. She will unload on that poor little ball
and smack it twice as far as usual, maybe 80 yards.






















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Libby:

The course is beautiful, trees line the fairways, the greens are in
good shape and the homes were set back so we felt like playing
in the woods.
The last hole had a creek just off the tea. Arlene, had been in
good form and today had no fear. She twisted her Taylor
Made number 1 Wood around over her head and in a great ark
swung down and around swiping the ball a little high. It flew
in a straight line toward the creek. At the last moment it hit a
boulder and skipped high into the air; 100 feet later it struck
the far fairway and rolled down a small hill. Her next shot, a 7
iron dropped the ball onto the green. This was her day to
crow.

We really enjoyed our outing, the tall pines, and fir trees, the
open manicured fairways and greens and snow capped
mountains in the background. It was so beautiful, and so
much fun.
Kootenai Falls:

We’ve mentioned the Kootenai River while traveling across
Idaho, near Cousin Ann’s, ranch. After leaving Libby we
passed another sign, this for the river’s falls.







We’d been following the river for some time. It had a lot of
water and a strong current. By the looks of the hills, on both




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Kootenai Falls:

sides we’d have guessed it was pretty deep. We turned around
again and drove back to the fall’s turn-off.
There was a ¾ mile hike through the firs, down to the roaring
falls. We crossed a swaying railroad bridge and along a dark
path under the heavy canopy of trees. The path, covered with
needles should have been easy walking except underneath the
pines were sharp and rugged slate shards. We were lucky to be
wearing our stiff sole Merrill hiking boots. They made it
easier to walk.

When the canopy opened and we could see; there was a
tremendous amount of water. We thought because of the
steep walls it caused the river to be so deep and ‘V’ shaped,
rather it was much shallower and fast moving.
















Instead of falls in one great drop, like the Yellowstone, or
Niagara it was much more like the Potomac‘s Great Falls.




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Kootenai Falls:

There were ledges and islands where it cascaded down from
tier to tier swirling around jagged rock shelves and cliffs,
pooling before descending another 30 feet, eddying in a rush
of backward waves and foam.
Arlene sat quietly watching the falls and others climbing over
the rocks. She observed that there were no fences to protect
visitors from the falls.

This was a typical situation that we have seen over the years at
many parks. When the parks are overused and overrun by
tourists Park Management usually gets around to protecting
the environment and the visitors with board walks, fences,
railings and other attempts at protection. The latest
improvement has been at crowed and overrun Parks limiting
the access, by using busses to move tourists.
I turned to try to find a path for our kayaks. That’s always fun
to follow between rocks and around eddies, but, it also became
futile. My white water days are long past. Today, small kayaks,
5 feet long, and courageous paddlers can cross almost
anything. Their ability to read rapids and falls is amazing.
They clearly are not bound, like I was, to a rough water
grading system of type I to the roughest type VI.

After a nice afternoon relaxing around the falls we hiked back
up the trail to the parking lot, changed our shoes, and left for
our destination the Logan State Park.
Now if the last few days had been full of excitement you can
imagine how we felt when arriving at the State Park. We’ve
never been crazy about these parks, state after state, but maybe
our attitude toward them will change.




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Logan State Park:

Montana has had as many nice State Parks as we have visited
in the West. So here’s what happened as we pulled in. At the
entrance we were met by the host. A friendly fellow who
upon a quick inspection told us that we were old enough to
comply. Comply with what we wondered? We qualified as
Senior Citizens and the nightly cost would be $7.50.
Whoo! This never happens. We never win or qualify for any
neat things. Often, States will offer deals to seniors, but only if
they are residents. How could it have happened to us? Less
said, we’ll take it. Is there a certain site? Is it on the back of
the loop, far from the toilets and lake? He had little to say,
other than, ‘Welcome, please let us know which site you’ll be
staying in.’

Wow! We circled, diagnosing each site, and chose one; a short
way from the electric wash and toilet facilities, and along the
shore. It was flat and had electricity. This would be grand,
especially, as we’d gotten cold last night around 4 in the
morning. Beyond us was a small boat dock and loading
platform. It didn’t look like motorboats were allowed on the
lake.
We unhitched and set up camp. The afternoon was really
warm and we were in the sun, unlike at Yaak, where we were
cool under the canopy.

We drew down our awning. While Arlene held it I unrolled it.
We set it low enough for the shade to cover part of the ground
and all of the trailer. Hoping that it would keep it cooler. It
did, but it was so low that each time either of us walked out
beyond it we hit our head. After awhile we raised it a little
higher.


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Logan State Park:

There are always interesting people in nearby camps. Across
from us a couple of ladies had a fire burning pretty well, not
too much smoke, even though it was in the high 80’s. They
had built a 4 foot tripod above it. Now we weren’t being
deceived, but hanging from the tripod was a Deer’s Leg. Yes,
hoof and all.
We were dumb founded, and sat whispering to each other
about it. Was it really a deer? Why? There’s not enough
meat. It’s like a chicken’s neck, or a single BBQ rib. These
people must be doing something else. Maybe it’s a ritual, or
spiritual thing. We’d have to keep our eyes on them. And, so
on and off during the morning we kept looking over and
taking notes about what they were doing and what was
happening to that leg.






















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Logan State Park:

We weren’t enthusiastic about the flat hiking areas around the
park, but the lake was calling. In the afternoon we backed the
van over to the dock and started unloading the kayaks.
We were still working on a good way to lower the kayaks using
our new ‘Hitch Hiker’ bar. It was a bar that slid into the front
bar on the roof of the van. When released, it would slide out
beyond the roof. We would then slide each kayak out on to
the Hitch Hiker and lower the back onto the ground. I would
do the heavy lifting, while Arlene steadied the kayak with a
bow line on the far side of the van. It was working pretty well
for us, and we would probably stick to this procedure.


















From the looks of all the reeds and things we could have
expected lots of bugs. It was surprising, with Red Wing Black
Birds, and lots of Dragon Flies, but not many bugs.




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Logan State Park:








































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We pushed off, Arlene first, well seated, dressed in her solar
hat, vest and gloves. Her type IV summer preserver, was so
light we had long since been happy about paying the high price
for it.

We had also spent a lot on our kayak’s paddles that were as
expensive, and covers for them. It’s probably been worth it as
it all works for us.
I pushed my gray kayak out into the water wading, in my latest
Keen water sandals. Jumped in settled down with a strong
stroke from my light-as-a-feather Epic carbon fiber paddle and
set out.



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Logan State Park:

We were cutting through the reeds heading for the open water.
Each stroke moved us along, and by kepting the paddles inside
the kayak when we retrieved them they didn’t really get tangled
in the reeds.
Breaking free we paddled along Lake Thomson through a
narrow passage into the middle lake and had we continued we
could have gone on to Kalispell 75 miles further. The wind
was right for a journey like that.






















At the end of Middle Thomson Arlene wanted to rest. I left
her in the reeds, asking her to wait for me as I moved along
through another passage to the lower lake.




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Logan State Park:

I paddled into the lake and further east. The weather was
perfect for this paddle. There was a slight breeze, but the lakes
were calm. A single stroke would move the boat along 25 to
30 feet.
I turned around and returned to Arlene who was ready to head
back to camp. We took our time going back. As we
approached the reeds near camp and the boat ramp the
afternoon wind was just beginning to pick up a little. It was a
gorgeous afternoon for us.




















We decided yesterday and again today to move on. Even so
the heat hasn’t been the horrendous 100 degrees of the last
several days because of the cloud cover. This evening we’ve
had a couple of showers, the temp has dropped and we’re



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Logan State Park:

expecting more during the night. From time to time there’s
thunder over the hills, but no cloud burst.
This weather is welcome. It would be terrific if it held for 5
more weeks; across Montana, The Dakotas, Nebraska, and all
the other states we’ll cross on our way home.

After returning from the paddle the Deer Leg people had left.
We were curious, but will never know what happened.

There was a lot going on. A family with two pick-ups moved
in. Each truck was piled high with chopped fire wood. There
was enough to burn 24 hours a day for at least two weeks.
They began unloading as soon as they arrived, even before
they pitched their tent.
A single lady drove into camp set up her tent, put an oil cloth
over the picnic table, started a fire, sat down and began
reading. Nothing strange about that, until, and before dark,
she packed up and left.
Near 6 o’clock the Camp Manager gathered the trash barrels
and took them down the road to Happy’s Inn before dark. He
must have been a stand-in for the State trash people.

A threesome arrived, Mother, Father, and teenage daughter.
Each passed us, separately, on the way to the bath house.
Nothing special until the daughter ran by. She ran past, tall
and lanky, with long strides. She ran so nicely, that we called
her ‘The Antelope Girl’. She passed us again on the way back
to their site.

We’ve enjoyed ourselves here at Logan. The triple lakes were
great fun, the weather was good, and we really enjoyed
watching the campers.


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Kalispell:

Coming in from the west along Route 2 we saw many 5 acre
lots with homes on the hillsides and flat meadows. There
were farms with rich heavy hay. The area looked prosperous
for the middle of the summer.
The location maybe the attraction. It’s on a plain and very
pretty. To the west were the three Thomson Lakes, Whitefish
Lake to the north, Flathead Lake to the south and Glacier
National Park to the east. There’s lots of seasonal hunting
and fishing, camping and hiking, agriculture, a hospital , and a
small college.

Those signs make us think it’s a pretty nice place. We’re
obviously not alone, as north of the city the big box stores Wal
Mart, Cost co, Lowes, and Home Depoe have moved in, with
their counter parts, residential developers.
We were not in a hurry to get to Glacier and therefore spent a
long day in Kalispell, from mid morning to afternoon. It’s the
gateway to Glacier National Park, and a busy town far in
northern Montana.

Down town had interesting shops that you wouldn’t find in
many small towns. We saw jewelry, dress & men’s shops, and
above all a Baldwin Piano store. Not many of them outside
of New York or west of the Hudson River.
The streets were lined with hardwood trees, mostly maple
whose cover was cool and shaded. Town Hall an old
decorated building was in the middle of the square. This was a
nice place.

But, before we show too much enthusiasm, please remember,
that time and again we’ve chosen the neatest places to live,



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Kalispell:

only to find that they are the coldest places known to man.
Kalispell qualifies with us as a nice summer resort town.
By the time we print this book it will be overrun with it’s
popularity, like lots of other nice places in the west, West
Yellowstone, Mt., Gunnison, Co., Jackson Hole, Wy., Prescott,
Az.

We stopped at Smiths, the tourist’s grocery store. All over the
west Smiths stands out as the best freshest vegetables, fruit,
bakery, and meats. It has deli that no one else would dare
carry, because of the their high traffic. Rousers, in Libby
wasn’t even a contender.

There are lots of nice groceries throughout the west’s smaller
towns. All are expensive, but none compare to Smiths. It’s
the standard barrier, the most expensive of all the tourists’
expensive groceries.

We had a great time, really enjoyed the city, and packed in
foods for the long haul to the National Park.
We’re not beyond taking pictures in these grocery stores, but
have been told our camera could be confiscated.

Remember when we returned from months in the boondocks
of Canada and Alaska, and made our first stop in the United
States at ‘Wegmans’, in New York. (It’s the grocery of all
groceries.). Well; we have lost enough cameras on our own.
We don’t need to encourage losing them otherwise, so there
are no pictures of these marvelous places.






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CHAPTER 6

Glacier National Park:
The further east we go the less volcanic action impacts the
mountains. We saw that in Idaho, and again in Montana.

The Rocky Mountains that make up Glacier National Park
were formed by an upheaval known as the Lewis ‘Overthrust’
where the great plains ocean was thrust up into these
mountains, And as a consequence early fossils are found here
unlike elsewhere in the world.

This ‘Overthrust’ has created a different Mountain profile.
Defined by the Ice Age, glaciers, (Last cold spell was around
1850.) creating more rounded peaks and great ‘U’ shaped
Moraine Valleys. They aren’t too high either, ranging up to
10,000 feet in the east and around 6,000 in the west.

We would consider this National Park the most pristine in the
Continental United States. We hope to hike a bit, usually
along the valleys, but hopefully high on the mountain ridges.
The lakes are so beautiful and clear we also hope to kayak
around them too.
We could always see the snow covered mountains as we left
Kalispell, about 35 miles to West Glacier, the Visitors Center
and our camp ground Apgar; named after the Flathead
Indians who once lived there. Like most national parks,

Glacier National Park:

their campgrounds aren’t the major attraction. The
campground was filled. Our site was on a slanted hillside,
poorly defined, with brush and trees around, a picnic table,
and campfire ring.



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Glacier National Park:

There was no electricity, and the pit toilet was down the road.
Occasionally these camps are called ‘Natural’; we call them by
their pathetic rating ‘1’.
We were going to be here for a while, so each evening we’d go
to the Ranger Lectures. They were usually pretty good.
Addressing the adults, and usually mentioning the dreadful
problem of the receding glaciers. Glaciers are suppose to be
100 feet thick, 500 feet across, and constantly on the move.
They creep along year after year.

A lot of research has been done in the park, recognizing the
huge loss of glaciers. Around 125 recorded in 1850 to 25 in
2010. They estimate the number will shrink to zero by 2030.
Statistics abound; 17 of the last 18 years have been the hottest,
4 of the last 5 years the hottest recorded.





















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Glacier National Park:

Our first exploration was at Lake McDonald. The lodge’s
architecture was a combination of Swiss Alps, Western Motif,
and American Indian. We didn’t stay long and went out to the
lake, the longest and deepest of the 170 in the park. The wind
was blowing white caps and it took a while for Arlene to
convince me that we shouldn’t put the boats in the water.
She did, and also brought up the problem of my medications.
Funny, how my stubbornness and lack of blood pressure pills
would coincide. We gave up on paddling and headed back
into Kalispell to fill my prescription. Three pharmacies later
we headed back to camp with more pills.

We’d had rain each day and after going into Kalispell we tried
a different tack. We began at the Park souvenir shop where
we found the neatest hats. Always on the look-out for
Christmas gifts these hats met Arlene’s good taste and
uncanny sense of humor. They were winter pull-over’s, down
over your ears, snapping under your chin. They were wolf
hats, with pointed ears, a long snout and sparkling teeth. Cool.
We were so happy with them that it encouraged us to sign up
for a ‘ride and hike’ trip up the mountain side to the Logan
Pass. We’d scheduled it for a couple of days later when the
rain was supposed to stop.

The Ford Motor company had built these propane driven
buses for several National Parks. Glacier got the red one’s
while Yellowstone got yellow ones. They’re pretty neat, the
top is canvas and slides back like a large convertible so you can
see out the top.





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Avalanche Lake:
We wanted to get a little exercise so we left for what we
thought was Avalanche Lake.

Outside the shop in the parking lot was a car with a Rhode
Island license plate. How could that be? We are world
travelers. For 20 years we’ve driven on and across every road
in North America. If there is one thing we’re sure of, people
much less cars from Rhode Island aren’t traveling outside of
their State much less New England. We had to see them. We
waited in the rain. Ten minutes we waited, before writing a
note asking if they stole the license plate. We’ll never know,
nor have we ever seen a Rhode Island vehicle outside of New
England since.
Avalanche Lake turned out to be a hike in the forest alongside
this roaring mountain stream.




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Avalanche Lake:


















It was incredibly colorful, The water was foaming white/silt
from the glaciers, flowing around the black granite rocks, tall
grey timber with a heavy canopy of forest green and the
underbrush a bright spring green.

Often we would climb high above the stream through the
dense wet forest and underbrush. And then back down to the
stream. We should have been nervous about all the water
racing down the mountain, but felt it was at its ebb. Hopefully
we were right.










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Avalanche Lake:




























We hiked in the down pour until soaked, with rain dripping
from our nose and glasses. Even our Goretex performance
rain coats didn’t protect us. But, we did enjoy ourselves.








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Avalanche Lake:




















Lake Bowman:

Tomorrow we’ve planned another boat trip. Further west of
us, 30 miles, (in a round about way), is the remote Lake
Bowman. We can’t remember why we thought that would be
a good place to paddle, but we did. Getting there you might
say would be half the fun.
I woke early to the sound of a scurrying varmint rushing
around the RV. I’m not usually the one that hears them first,
but always the one to chase them down. I’ve developed a
procedure to chase them out. Chasing them, because I’ve
never caught one.

It’s not a long story, but it’s been going on for years. It’s been
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Lake Bowman:

into the ‘basement’ of the RV when we’re in camps like this,
where there’s lots of underbrush, and little maintence.
They seek shelter and tasty snacks, and our Class ‘C’ RV had
many nooks and crannies that were easily accessible.

First I’d get dressed, a learned experience, putting on heavy
boots, and opening the kitchen door. I use the broom to poke
around the cabinets under the sink, and around the stove, each
have holes to the basement. I keep the flashlight on hand so
that if necessary I can either poke, shine the light or if the
mouse is caught in a stare down I can grab our 35 foot pepper
spray from the dining table. One squirt could permanently
distract them.

That’s not true of our Casita. It’s entirely enclosed fiberglass,
top, sides, and bottom. There are a few holes where pipes
enter, but it’s never been breached. In the Casita we sleep
undisturbed. Arlene only hears weird noises outside in the
forest.

I must say my fishing record is as good as my varmint record.
In all our years I’ve never caught one, never seen one, and
never saved a Damsel-in-Distress. I crawled back into bed,
frozen, and slept another hour.
Bowman Lake is in the National Park but you have to leave
the Park to get there. We left camp around 10:00 with blue
skies, in our little Nova, with kayaks on top, our safety gear,
and a packed picnic lunch.

Outside of our camp, Apgar, was a narrow dirt road that led
out of the Park to another dirt road, Montana 486. It led
along the North Fork Flathead River toward Polebridge.



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Fires, are often caused by lightening. We see them as
destroying much of the countryside. But, forests need to be
rejuvenated to maintain their growth and health. We just
don’t have a handle on how to manage them.
The East hasn’t had the horrendous forest fires that occur in
the West, and therefore may have less interest in how to
reduce their destruction. That may change along with the
rising temperatures, and dryer climate.

Along the border on the Western side of the Park there have
been a number of fires. They have left their mark, and we can
see different stages of recovery, returning to the meadows and
forests.
























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Grasses, then brush, and after several years, depending on the
climate, or microclimate, trees begin to grow. After several
years, trees seem to hit a stride, and grow faster over 4 feet,
than before. Managing the density of the brush, is a key to
reducing runaway fires.
Polebridge is a town with a general store, and a small
population. They however, like it that way and when given the
chance to have a hard top road turned it down. Good for
them. As we’ve learned if it’s built they will come. Instead
their road is dirt with gravel mushed into it, making a pretty
hard surface, which they plow during the winter and grade it
during the warmer seasons.

We’ve been taking our time driving along these roads. Outside
of Polebridge we turned off toward Bowman Lake, back into
the National Park.
You can still see the reforestation under way. Also, the road
has changed from a two lane hard dirt Montana country road
to a single lane pathway into a small primitive campground and
lake. It’s 8 – 10 miles of ruts, potholes, and washboard, twists
and turns, up and down around and over small creeks. We
loved it and drove all the way at about 5 miles an hour.

Occasionally, looking up to see the magnificent snow covered
mountains. This was splendid, and if we never got our feet
wet in the lake we’d have had a swell time. As the mountains
closed in on us the trees grew taller and more numerous. The
campground appeared first among the trees, with a couple of
tents. There weren’t many campers, and those were roughing
it. We pulled up to the lake side and one magnificent view.



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Except for the little ‘Red’ sign. We were excited about our
arrival.





















It’s really difficult to describe how beautiful this lake and the
surrounding mountains were. Look at how calm the water is.
It’s so clear we could see 30 feet straight down. The hillsides
were covered with vegetation, and so steep we couldn’t climb
them. At the water’s edge the cliff sank into the lake
seemingly straight down.








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Lake Bowman:





















There were no motors, no canoes, and no rowboats. The lake
was empty as far as we could see. The quiet was only
disturbed by a bird’s flapping wings.














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Above, us were the mountains, with forest cedars and hemlock
to their limit of height, and above that were the granite peaks
and snow forever hanging during the summer. Unlike any
other park no airplanes fly over. It’s a designated quiet zone,
and we could here it from the time we laid our boats in the
water to each time we took a stroke.
The Nova is much lower than our Hondas, and unloading the
kayaks is much easier. We had no problem setting them on
the ground and sliding them to the shore. Both the back and
bottom of the seats are adjustable. Arlene lowered the bottom
seat so she could easily reach the foot pedals. Once in the
water she would tighten the back strap to sit comfortably. She
put her life jacket over her blue pull over, and pushed off.

Back at Logan State Park we had polished the kayaks with 303
a sun protect that repels water. It acts like the silicon we spray
on our fishing flies. The water was crystal clear, and icy cold.



















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Lake Bowman:

I followed right behind her.






























This was something like the Lake Thomson paddle, the water
was flat, calm, and with each stroke the boat glided through
the water with the greatest of ease. We paddled easily along
the shore beyond the turn on the horizon before turning back.
I’d describe it like this. Take a stroke, watch the ripples widen
as the bow pushes effortlessly through the water. Sit back
lifting the paddle out of the water, dripping a few drops on
your legs. Relaxing. Taking a look at the fluffy white clouds
rolling by between the mountains. Then reaching out toward
the bow to draw another stroke along the freeboard.

You can see how good we felt as we playfully paddled. It was
our own pristine lake, laid out in these grand mountains just
for us.


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Arlene tries to reach the ground with her paddle, but it’s so
deep she can’t. My, how clear it was. It looks like she was just
off the shore, but the water was 12 feet deep. Wow!



















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On our return voyage we found a small, sheltered area to pull
our boats on shore. We’ll have our picnic here.
Off with our preservers, off with our pullovers. It’s so warm
in the sunlight that we don’t need them.

















No soda pops, just good old water, with tuna sandwiches,
pickles, and chips. It was a good break and it sure was a good
lunch.














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We fooled around a bit before shipping out again. This time
we paddled along the closest shore, towards our car and the
campground. We were tired and took it really easy.
This photo shows the water at about 4 – 5 feet deep. The
steep hillside is difficult to see because of the dense foliage.













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Another photo shows how clear and deep the water was.
Throughout the day we wondered why we never saw any fish.
There must be fish because no license was necessary. Fishing
in the Park was free, like at Fishing Bridge in Yellowstone.







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That said, we learned that the cold clear water reduced the
amount of Plankton. It in turn increases the likelihood of
pollution. The slightest change in the climate therefore has
been and is measured in these waters.
So Glacier Park is a bellwether for our climate here in the
continental United States, and probably for all of North
American. By studying it we’ve learned that it’s been changing
drastically for years. (Unlike what our Oil Companies and
many politicians would have us believe.)

It wouldn’t take us long to land the boats and load them up on
the Nova. We tied both ends to the bumpers and strapped the
sides to our rain gutters.




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Lake Bowman:

This time our long day had worn us out. We’d lost interest in
the earlier ‘lovely’ drive. Now it was ‘let’s get back to camp’.
We moved along a little faster than before, but instead of
missing the pot holes and broken pavement we hit a lot of
them.
Tomorrow after a relaxing evening and a sound sleep we’ll
realize what an incredible day we had.




























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CHAPTER 7

Glacier National Park 2:
Going -to-the- Sun:

There is a single road across this sprawling park. It’s called the
Sun Road (53 miles long). It took years to construct beginning
around 1910, but not completed until the early 1940’s. The
Civilian Conservation Corp, CCC’s was given credit for
completing much of it.

We’ve signed up to take a bus ride to the top of Logan Pass
along the ‘Going-to-the-Sun Road’. It’s spectacular, and so
rough and scary that had we known what we were in for we
might have chosen something else.
We’ve taken a photo from Wikipedia to show just how
awesome this ride and trail is. This is a road to the top of the
Continental Divide. The horizontal line across the middle of
this shear wall shows the road way.




























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Going -to-the- Sun:

There is a dark line at the top of the wall where the mountain
seems to recede. Once at the Continental Divide and Logan
Pass we would hike along this ridge, known as the Highland
Trail.
That’s a statement and thought after the fact. Even so we
were warned before hand and can’t understand why we did it,
except that we’d never seen this photo.

Here’s the way we saw it on that rainy day.

‘Ride the historical Red Bus to Logan Pass, take a 4 mile hike along the
Garden Mountain Highline and return on down the Road-to-the-Sun to
Apgar Village’. ‘Total time about 6 hours.’ ‘Those who might not like
narrow passages or extremely high places might not want to participate.‘
That’s some advertisement, yet Arlene wasn’t put off. She
must have wanted me to look around as we rode up the Sun
Road, and to stand 1 foot from the edge, peering into to core
of the earth.
Rangers told her stories that the two lane road was so narrow
in places that a single vehicle might not be able to pass. That
there were places where the road was crumbling, and where
once there were roadside walls, some had fallen.

These are statements that for the life of me I couldn’t
understand. Arlene has always shrunk from steep highline
roads. She’s never liked roads without barriers.

The last straw should have been the Ranger’s description of
the Sun Road as something like the drive up Mount
Washington in New Hampshire.
Now she has a legendary history about Mt. Washington.
Arlene climbed it. From the bottom to the top. Halfway up,


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her friend and climbing companion became so tired and scared
that she quit. Arlene persevered carrying both their packs to
the top, while admonishing her friend to continue.
Wow! Enough said; if that’s how she treated the Great Climb
she surely wouldn’t be hesitant on this ride.

So I was going along with this trip. But wait, didn’t the two of
us drive up Mt. Washington once. And does anyone
remember how that went? Sure enough. We both do.

We once owned a beautiful yellow Mustang 5.0 V8
convertible. It’s 250 hp, stick shift was like a rocket for us and
we only drove it on back county roads where it’s stiff
suspension would keep us safe from every wild turn. Here’s a
photo of us above the tree line on the Mt Washington road.
Arlene is sitting as far down in the passenger seat, hiding from
everything around her.

It’s a short story. We started up the dirt/gravel road to the
coldest place in the U.S. Arlene loved the top down and was
hanging out the side admiring the beautiful country side. Until
we reached the tree line. There she looked out and to her
astonishment she could see to the end of the world; every inch
of it. In a moment she was sitting in the drivers seat. Right on
top of me. We drove like that to the top of the mountain. She
took a moment to wiz, and we turned around with her still
right beside me, on the gear shift, as we drove back down that
mountain.







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Going-to-the-Sun:






















We arrived at the pick-up by 8:00 ready to go. In fact we were
over packed. At the last moment I’d put on long thin nylon
pants. Each of us wore high tops boots, and flannel shirts. In
my backpack were sundry items packed for safety, years
before, and still useful when there might be isolation, or
separation in the outback. In addition Arlene had packed trail
mix, a couple of power bars and two 20oz bottles of water.
She had her binoculars and me my camera.

We were early enough to watch the driver unveil the canvas
top, rolling it back 20 feet. There were chrome bars every 5
feet.





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