Glacier National Park
We’re at Glacier RV Park, just a mile west of Glacier National Park. Maggie and Michael, my sister and brother-in-law, are flying in today from Tucson to Kallispell, Montana – 40 miles away - to spend the next 5 days with us. Both of us (we find out later) are wondering what we’ll do for 5 days, but as it turns out, there’s plenty to see and do here. When they arrive, we have a quick lunch and then set off for a late afternoon hike in the park. The hike is on a horse trail through the forest. Along the way, we lose the trail (just as well; it’s dry, dusty and marked with fresh horse poop) and hike for awhile along a crystal-clear river (or maybe it’s a wide creek) etched into glaciated rock. The weather is perfect – sunny and slightly warm but certainly nothing like the Arizona summer they left.
During the next 4 days, we take several hikes and drive the famous Going to the Sun Road, a 52-mile, 2 lane road that bisects the park from east to west. It’s so narrow and full of switchbacks that no vehicle over 21 feet is allowed on it. The scenery is spectacular, enveloping us like a hunger that can’t be satiated. Everywhere we look is color-drenched, wild and breathtaking beauty: rugged tree-covered mountains soaring skyward, steep valleys green and luxuriant from rainfall and melting snow that cascades in waterfalls, and everywhere, those wildflowers, along the road, climbing up the mountainside and down the valleys like careless, colorful splashes of paint.
One of our favorite hikes is the 4-mile Avalanche Lake trail which takes us through the woods to the shore of the shimmering aquamarine lake. Avalanche Lake is a cirque lake, formed by melting ice left in the depression or cirque gouged by one of the park’s 27 glaciers. A glacier is basically moving ice layered with snow, and Glacier National Park’s ice sheets are shrinking as more ice melts than is replaced each winter.
Other hikers we meet on the trail tell us they spotted bears near the lake, but we don’t see them, although Maggie and I find paw prints on the trail that we’re sure are bear tracks.
Another day, we take the Hidden Lake Trail, 3000 feet up at the halfway point on Going to the Sun Road. We encounter mountain goats so tame we almost expect them to walk up to us and beg for food. This 6 mile roundtrip trail climbs steadily up through wildflowers meadows and groves of fir separated by the occasional bent and twisted stunt pine emerging from the rugged rock ledge. At the end of the trail is a panoramic view of Hidden Lake. While the trail is wide and well marked, it’s strenuous; we are astounded by the people we pass on the trail who are making the trek in flip-flops or street shoes, with no hat on a hot, sunny day. It’s bad enough when we see adults in this attire – but when their small children are dressed this way, it’s just plain stupid. We even see a couple pushing a flimsy stroller on the trail as we’re returning; we’re pretty sure they won’t make it very far before realizing the folly of their effort.
At the end of Maggie and Michael’s visit – after having taken hundred and hundreds of photos between us, driving through the park in our open-top Jeep, hiking multiple trails, drinking in the scenery and never feeling full -- we all agree Glacier National Park is a very special place. We will return again someday.
We take Maggie and Michael regretfully to the airport on Aug. 9, and the next day Steve and I pack up the motorhome and pull out. We’re going to Waterton National Park, the Canadian side of Glacier, and then our plans call for us to drive to Banff.
Wednesday, Aug. 10
Waterton National Park, Alberta, Canada
It’s a grey and cloudy day, but there are holes in the clouds through which blue sky gleams. We decide to take a chance that the gloomy weather will clear up, and set off for a hike. We choose the 8.4 km (roundtrip) Lineham Lake trail - a little over 5 miles. We pack water, apples, cheese, peanut butter crackers and mini candy bards in my canvas backpack and drive the 10 miles to the trailhead at the base of a mountain. We’ve both brought shorts just in case the weather warms up; when we arrive at the parking area, Steve changes from jeans to shorts. I decide I don’t trust the weather. We set off up the trail, quickly discovering that it’s uphill all the way. Narrow and rocky, the trail winds through dense forest, then grassy mountain pastures, then into the forest again. Everywhere there are wildflowers – tansy asters, snowy everlasting, harebells, lupine – splashing yellow, lavender, white, red, blue and fuschia across the mountain and along the trail. The exertion of our steady uphill trek forces us to pause frequently to catch our breath. I pretend I’m stopping to look at the view so as not to appear overly wimpy; in truth, I’m furiously sucking in oxygen! We figure the elevation change from the start to the end of the trail is about 1,000 feet or more. Of course, I’m stopping every hundred or so yards to examine rocks or take photos of the flowers and cloud-shrouded mountains in the distance. It’s a challenging but glorious hike, even though the weather doesn’t cooperate – the sky soon vanishes beneath a thick layer of grey. We pass only 2 hikers on the trail, a German couple who report there is no view of Lineham Lake at the end of the trail, despite the name. But they say the flower display makes the hike worth the effort, and we agree. We trudge on through forest an field, coming to a rocky V-shaped canyon that looks like it might be the end of the trail. But the German couple told us there’s a sign marking the trail’s end, and as we look around, we can see scraps of the trail winding through the rocks and into the woods on the other side of the canyon, so we march on over rocks and into the forest again. Eventually, we reach the sign. Here we pause for a snack of crackers, chocolate and cheese sliced with the Swiss Army knife I gave Steve 10 years ago. I stow the knife in my “first aid kit” – a ziplock baggie crammed with bandaids, pepto-bismol, hand sanitizer, sunscreen and other essentials. As we sit, eating our food and drinking in the beauty of the scenery, I glance down at the rocky terrain. “Look!” I exclaim, picking up a rectangular rock with a perfect heart embossed in black on the flat surface. I put the rock in the baggie and minutes later we begin our hike downhill – a much faster trip since I’m not stopping to snap photos or snag a lungful of oxygen.
We reach our Jeep in just over an hour and 20 minutes, just in time to escape the rain that starts falling in a fine mist. After driving to Cameron Lake where the road dead-ends, we head back to the village of Waterton for a warming cup of coffee for me and the inevitable ice cream for Steve. It isn’t until we arrive back at the RV that I discover the first-aid baggie, with Steve’s knife and my heart rock, is missing. It’s not in my back pack and not in the Jeep. Steve is upset over the loss of his Swiss Army knife; I’m more upset about the rock. Steve wants to hike back up the Lineham Lake trail the next morning to get the missing items. That’s crazy, I tell him – what if we get to the end and don’t find the baggie? The next day dawns with clear blue skies and bright sun. We discuss whether to stay another day at Waterton, head up to Banff and Lake Louise, or just pack up and head home. We opt for the latter, and when we reach the U.S.-Canadian border, the agent there tells us that snow is predicted that night for Banff. We decide we’ve made the right decision – we’re not ready for snow in August.
The drive home is long, boring and certainly not scenic once we cross into eastern Washington – at least until we get close to Seattle. The terrain in eastern Washington reminds me of South Dakota, flat and featureless, with little vegetation or change in landscape to relieve the monotony. We stay overnight near Redmond, where our son, Timothy, lives. The plan is to meet him for dinner, but he gives us the wrong address and we wait for him at Ivar’s, a casual seafood restaurant in Seattle while he’s sitting with his girlfriend at another Ivar’s 40 minutes away. We’re too exhausted after driving all day to drive anymore, so he agrees to meet us the next morning at the RV park where we’re staying and we head home for a dinner of leftovers.
August 11 – Home again!
We’re home, and it feels good! Our house is just as we left it, with the addition of a few spiders in residence in the corners and crannies, and weeds snuggling into the ground cover and shrubbery in the yard. We spend a day unpacking the motorhome – it’s amazing how much stuff we’ve collected, in addition to the necessities with which we started our journey. We spend another day scrubbing and shining it up in preparation for putting it up for sale, and it spends a couple of days at Al’s RV service in Bellingham for an oil change and minor repairs. At the end of August, we run ads online and in the Seattle and Bellingham papers, and get plenty of response. It doesn’t take long to sell “Old Dutch”, as Steve calls our RV. She’s bought by a fellow from Regina, Saskatchewan who flies to Vancouver on Sept. 1. We pick him up at the airport and take him to our house to look over the RV, and he drives away with it that evening. For us, it’s the end of a journey in more ways than one.
People ask us if we miss traveling or if we’re sorry we sold the RV. The answer to both questions is no. We had an extraordinary trip with experiences and sights and people we’ll never forget, but we were ready to come home and begin the next phase of our lives. We’re traveling that road now, with no regrets.
During the next 4 days, we take several hikes and drive the famous Going to the Sun Road, a 52-mile, 2 lane road that bisects the park from east to west. It’s so narrow and full of switchbacks that no vehicle over 21 feet is allowed on it. The scenery is spectacular, enveloping us like a hunger that can’t be satiated. Everywhere we look is color-drenched, wild and breathtaking beauty: rugged tree-covered mountains soaring skyward, steep valleys green and luxuriant from rainfall and melting snow that cascades in waterfalls, and everywhere, those wildflowers, along the road, climbing up the mountainside and down the valleys like careless, colorful splashes of paint.
One of our favorite hikes is the 4-mile Avalanche Lake trail which takes us through the woods to the shore of the shimmering aquamarine lake. Avalanche Lake is a cirque lake, formed by melting ice left in the depression or cirque gouged by one of the park’s 27 glaciers. A glacier is basically moving ice layered with snow, and Glacier National Park’s ice sheets are shrinking as more ice melts than is replaced each winter.
Other hikers we meet on the trail tell us they spotted bears near the lake, but we don’t see them, although Maggie and I find paw prints on the trail that we’re sure are bear tracks.
Another day, we take the Hidden Lake Trail, 3000 feet up at the halfway point on Going to the Sun Road. We encounter mountain goats so tame we almost expect them to walk up to us and beg for food. This 6 mile roundtrip trail climbs steadily up through wildflowers meadows and groves of fir separated by the occasional bent and twisted stunt pine emerging from the rugged rock ledge. At the end of the trail is a panoramic view of Hidden Lake. While the trail is wide and well marked, it’s strenuous; we are astounded by the people we pass on the trail who are making the trek in flip-flops or street shoes, with no hat on a hot, sunny day. It’s bad enough when we see adults in this attire – but when their small children are dressed this way, it’s just plain stupid. We even see a couple pushing a flimsy stroller on the trail as we’re returning; we’re pretty sure they won’t make it very far before realizing the folly of their effort.
At the end of Maggie and Michael’s visit – after having taken hundred and hundreds of photos between us, driving through the park in our open-top Jeep, hiking multiple trails, drinking in the scenery and never feeling full -- we all agree Glacier National Park is a very special place. We will return again someday.
We take Maggie and Michael regretfully to the airport on Aug. 9, and the next day Steve and I pack up the motorhome and pull out. We’re going to Waterton National Park, the Canadian side of Glacier, and then our plans call for us to drive to Banff.
Wednesday, Aug. 10
Waterton National Park, Alberta, Canada
It’s a grey and cloudy day, but there are holes in the clouds through which blue sky gleams. We decide to take a chance that the gloomy weather will clear up, and set off for a hike. We choose the 8.4 km (roundtrip) Lineham Lake trail - a little over 5 miles. We pack water, apples, cheese, peanut butter crackers and mini candy bards in my canvas backpack and drive the 10 miles to the trailhead at the base of a mountain. We’ve both brought shorts just in case the weather warms up; when we arrive at the parking area, Steve changes from jeans to shorts. I decide I don’t trust the weather. We set off up the trail, quickly discovering that it’s uphill all the way. Narrow and rocky, the trail winds through dense forest, then grassy mountain pastures, then into the forest again. Everywhere there are wildflowers – tansy asters, snowy everlasting, harebells, lupine – splashing yellow, lavender, white, red, blue and fuschia across the mountain and along the trail. The exertion of our steady uphill trek forces us to pause frequently to catch our breath. I pretend I’m stopping to look at the view so as not to appear overly wimpy; in truth, I’m furiously sucking in oxygen! We figure the elevation change from the start to the end of the trail is about 1,000 feet or more. Of course, I’m stopping every hundred or so yards to examine rocks or take photos of the flowers and cloud-shrouded mountains in the distance. It’s a challenging but glorious hike, even though the weather doesn’t cooperate – the sky soon vanishes beneath a thick layer of grey. We pass only 2 hikers on the trail, a German couple who report there is no view of Lineham Lake at the end of the trail, despite the name. But they say the flower display makes the hike worth the effort, and we agree. We trudge on through forest an field, coming to a rocky V-shaped canyon that looks like it might be the end of the trail. But the German couple told us there’s a sign marking the trail’s end, and as we look around, we can see scraps of the trail winding through the rocks and into the woods on the other side of the canyon, so we march on over rocks and into the forest again. Eventually, we reach the sign. Here we pause for a snack of crackers, chocolate and cheese sliced with the Swiss Army knife I gave Steve 10 years ago. I stow the knife in my “first aid kit” – a ziplock baggie crammed with bandaids, pepto-bismol, hand sanitizer, sunscreen and other essentials. As we sit, eating our food and drinking in the beauty of the scenery, I glance down at the rocky terrain. “Look!” I exclaim, picking up a rectangular rock with a perfect heart embossed in black on the flat surface. I put the rock in the baggie and minutes later we begin our hike downhill – a much faster trip since I’m not stopping to snap photos or snag a lungful of oxygen.
We reach our Jeep in just over an hour and 20 minutes, just in time to escape the rain that starts falling in a fine mist. After driving to Cameron Lake where the road dead-ends, we head back to the village of Waterton for a warming cup of coffee for me and the inevitable ice cream for Steve. It isn’t until we arrive back at the RV that I discover the first-aid baggie, with Steve’s knife and my heart rock, is missing. It’s not in my back pack and not in the Jeep. Steve is upset over the loss of his Swiss Army knife; I’m more upset about the rock. Steve wants to hike back up the Lineham Lake trail the next morning to get the missing items. That’s crazy, I tell him – what if we get to the end and don’t find the baggie? The next day dawns with clear blue skies and bright sun. We discuss whether to stay another day at Waterton, head up to Banff and Lake Louise, or just pack up and head home. We opt for the latter, and when we reach the U.S.-Canadian border, the agent there tells us that snow is predicted that night for Banff. We decide we’ve made the right decision – we’re not ready for snow in August.
The drive home is long, boring and certainly not scenic once we cross into eastern Washington – at least until we get close to Seattle. The terrain in eastern Washington reminds me of South Dakota, flat and featureless, with little vegetation or change in landscape to relieve the monotony. We stay overnight near Redmond, where our son, Timothy, lives. The plan is to meet him for dinner, but he gives us the wrong address and we wait for him at Ivar’s, a casual seafood restaurant in Seattle while he’s sitting with his girlfriend at another Ivar’s 40 minutes away. We’re too exhausted after driving all day to drive anymore, so he agrees to meet us the next morning at the RV park where we’re staying and we head home for a dinner of leftovers.
August 11 – Home again!
We’re home, and it feels good! Our house is just as we left it, with the addition of a few spiders in residence in the corners and crannies, and weeds snuggling into the ground cover and shrubbery in the yard. We spend a day unpacking the motorhome – it’s amazing how much stuff we’ve collected, in addition to the necessities with which we started our journey. We spend another day scrubbing and shining it up in preparation for putting it up for sale, and it spends a couple of days at Al’s RV service in Bellingham for an oil change and minor repairs. At the end of August, we run ads online and in the Seattle and Bellingham papers, and get plenty of response. It doesn’t take long to sell “Old Dutch”, as Steve calls our RV. She’s bought by a fellow from Regina, Saskatchewan who flies to Vancouver on Sept. 1. We pick him up at the airport and take him to our house to look over the RV, and he drives away with it that evening. For us, it’s the end of a journey in more ways than one.
People ask us if we miss traveling or if we’re sorry we sold the RV. The answer to both questions is no. We had an extraordinary trip with experiences and sights and people we’ll never forget, but we were ready to come home and begin the next phase of our lives. We’re traveling that road now, with no regrets.
posted by Anne-Marie | 6:47 PM
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