To Glacier National Park

After a long spell in Bozeman with Ben (1.5 weeks) Ben and I set out together for Glacier National Park.  I have to admit, I cheated a little bit during this segment - Ben and I drove until we were just northwest of Helena.  We could have driven to the top of the continental divide pass to start our trip, but some masochistic tendency within us told us to bike all the way up and over.  We skipped Missoula and headed straight north through the Swan Valley, a valley with the Swan mountains to the east and the Mission mountains separating us from Flathead lake, the largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi.  Through the valley we biked, passing snow capped peaks and crystal clear rivers with trout rising from their stream homes.

We arrived at the Flathead brewery in the early afternoon, a little distraught after missing all the Montana microbreweries in Helena and Missoula, but looking forward to some good pints and the Flathead Brewery's new claim to fame, the "tackle box" - beer in a bag - the perfect product for the touring cyclist.  After three alcoholic pints and a little tour of the brewery's operations, we were on our way to find a camping spot where we could fish and consume the gallon of beer - 8 pints - that our new "tackle box" held.  The campsite ended up being a little sketchy.  It was on the way to a National Forest campground where water levels in the lake had flooded the causeway that crossed it.  With the road being closed, we camped in the dead end and awaited our friend Grace who was coming from Havre in a car to meet us.  Alas, there were no fish to be caught in the lake, but the pints of fermented malty soda slid down our throats like cold water on a hot day and the evening was a success.

Once finally inside Glacier - and here I cheated again as Grace drove both Ben and myself the remaining 40 or so miles to the park - we were amazed at what we saw.  Initially called "The Crown of the Continent," Glacier National Park and Waterton National Park on the Canadian side rise abruptly from the prairie plains on the east.  Once within the green mountain valleys, the mountains reveal huge glaciated troughs where gigantic rivers of ice snaked their way to the plains.  Waterfalls spewed over the cliffs of hanging valleys where one glacier's path was cut off high in the peaks by another.  Alpine meadows of wildflowers covered the hills, fueled by the consistent streams of melt water from the glaciers.  As the glaciers disappear, this place will indeed be different without the streams and meadows of flowers.  By 2030 the glaciers are projected to be completely gone, melting and receding since 1850.

I had two days to spend alone while I waited for Christa to arrive on the train with backpacking gear.  On the first day, I found myself out of the park buying supplies for the camping trip.  Sitting on the curb outside the grocery store with piles of food scattered around my bike, I sipped a beer wondering how I would fit everything on my bike and bike the 15 miles uphill back to the park.  Fortunately, luck was on my side and after a few more sips of beer I was sitting in the front seat of a pick up truck with my bike and groceries in the back.  Turned out Gerard and his wife Lynette who picked me up from the store were bike tourists themselves and were happy to help me out.  The conversation went from politics and the little care that people in the area seem to have for the environment to whitewater kayaking.  Gerard ran one of "the most scenic school bus routes in the United States."  He couldn't believe that all the kids he gave rides to played video games on their cell phones for the entire length of the 45 minute journey to school.  Kids who he swore would shoot the entire Montanan wolf population dead in a heartbeat if they had the chance (Montana wolf permits this year only $19, it'll be the first year of permissible wolf hunting).  I tried to offer optimism in that the video games were a phase that kids go through and there was hope for the future.  But it must be hard to see this hope surrounded by people that don't see similarly to you.  By the time I was dropped off in the park, Gerard had arranged for me to meet him the next day for me to use his old Prijon creeker boat for a run down the middle fork of the Flathead River.

Everything was set for Christa's arrival.  Although the weather forecast held a winter storm warning and a 100% chance of rain on the first 2 days of our 4 day hiking trip, I had the permit to hike 40 miles from the east, over the divide, to end up in West Glacier.  The run down the Flathead River was magical, wonderful to be in a boat again, but this time floating down pristine glacial runoff looking up at the towering peaks of Glacier above me.  Logs and dead trees were scattered about the shore, 10 feet above me, a reminder that just a month ago the river was still in high flood stage from the huge snowfall of the past winter.  The rapids were great with a couple little surfing waves to play about on and no rafts to worry about pushing me off.  After the run, I awaited the arrival of my girlfriend by Lake McDonald in the park, reading a book on the shore of the lake.