John Rachal's Blog

DAY 59, July 19, Friday

Morning temperature was cool, about 44 degrees when we woke up. We were up and away early—a highly variable term, and we are at the “late” end of that spectrum—in order to get a parking space at Logan Pass, the centerpiece of Glacier National Park. We are only eight miles from the West entrance, but then there’s another 31 or so of the scenic but winding Going-to-the-Sun Road. At its upper reaches it gets even windier with mountain wall on your left as you ascend, and a two foot stone wall separating you from eternity on your right. Lanes are skinny and blind curves abound. The Tahoe seems to need every inch of its lane, and though that’s not true, it is tricky driving. I found going down even trickier since those mountain walls on your right seem only inches away, especially if an oncoming driver is hugging the inside of his lane. We pulled our mirrors in, as do many others.

In any event, being at the entrance at 8:30 or so and making Logan Pass by 9:08 is not nearly early enough. Every one of the 120 to 150 spaces was taken and, as we have experienced before, a dozen or so cars and trucks were prowling the lot, ever hopeful. Val says she can remember coming as late as noon and getting a place, but of course at that time of day prowling can work, because people are actually leaving. But at 9 in the morning, most of the parked cars have only recently arrived. We’ve never been to the Pass (the Continental Divide running right through it) as late as 5, but that might be a good strategy. But the surest alternative is to park at the Visitors Center and take a shuttle, though lines and waits can be long. Bicyclists are still allowed on the road before 11 and after 4, to the considerable annoyance of at least one of the shuttle drivers. My friends the O’Neals and the Hoods have done that ride back in the day, and my hat is off to them. Even starting from McDonald Lodge, it’s a 20 or so mile climb, with some very attentive braking going down. As about any Tour de France rider would probably tell you, Alps and Pyrenees climbing is about body weight-to-power ratio as well as pain tolerance, but descending is scary-are-you-friggin’-crazy daring, handling skill, and artistry. The five of us riding in the hill country of Italy last September might almost get to a white-knuckle 40 mph on a long descent; the Tour riders might hit 60, sometimes riding in a crouch on the top tube that sane people wouldn’t consider at 20 mph.

So a bit nervously we drove back down and piddled away most of the rest of the day, driving around here and there, and having an evening fire.

DAY 60, July 20, Saturday

Another mid-forties cool morning, but warming steadily to a high of low 70s. Snyder Lake, a hike I did a few years ago and recounted on my blog, was closed now for “bear management,” so that was out. I finally decided to go easy and chose almost surely the most popular hike in the park, a 4.6 miler round trip to Avalanche Lake, with only 740 feet of elevation gain. Val dropped me off at the Visitors Center and after about an hour I caught a shuttle to the trailhead and joined three battalions of hikers along that well-worn path. As usual I was passed, this time by folks on pogo sticks, gymnasts walking on their hands, people hopping on one leg, and toddlers and their centenarian great, great grandparents. But many folks stop as soon as they see the beach of the dramatic, emerald green lake at the top, thus not quite reaching the end of the trail at the far end of the lake. For a while at least I had a nice little beach to myself, sitting on a log eating my sandwich and Cliff bar, with a scurrying, chipmunk-like pika my only company. The lake is ringed by mountains, and in the early spring there may be as many as seven waterfalls feeding it. Today there were three. As I have in the past, I took another embarrassing wrong turn at the bottom—the telltale hint being the absence of all those other hikers—but eventually found the shuttle stop and took one back to the Visitors Center, where Val came to get me.

Meanwhile Val had the car, had a little lunch at—you know by now—Montana Coffee Traders, and worked on our itinerary and reservations for Yellowstone. I am so lucky she takes that on; I am so laissez-faire about it, or more accurately, fairly lazy. We ate dinner at the Mexican restaurant in Columbia Falls again, came home, made a fire, and talked a long time with a retired Minneapolis attorney with an absorbing and unusual interest in Mississippi. He said that he saw our Mississippi plates and hoped to chat with us. He has been to many of the state’s historical and literary sites and seems quite enthralled by Eudora Welty. His interest in the state itself did not seem disdainful at all, but a genuine curiosity. He seemed happy to speak to two long-time residents, gleaning whatever tidbits of Mississippiana we could offer.

Another campfire ended the day. There must be a latent pyromania tucked away in my marrow; I enjoy looking into a campfire, savoring it, looking for pieces to move around so as to burn just a little more efficiently.

DAY 61, July 21, Sunday

After returning from the “wilderness” of Yukon and Alaska, Coram and environs seem to be a return to civilization, or at least so says Val. So we are eating out a good bit, and today had breakfast at a B+ place in Hungry Horse that had excellent huckleberry pancakes with huckleberry syrup. Back at camp we took showers and Val readied herself for a solo trip over to Whitefish, while I decided to hang around camp. I washed and dried dishes, washed clothes, wrote a couple of post cards and this journal (I’m often a day or two behind), hung with the hounds, split a little wood, and got a wee bit worried when Val called to tell me that the park assist light had come on.

She returned, but the light had not come back on, so we decided to let it go. I’ll call the Hattiesburg Chevrolet dealer tomorrow to tell them about it so that if the problem returns, possibly they would fix it on warranty since we will be a couple thousand miles beyond warranty when we actually roll into Hattiesburg.

Around 5:30 we drove over to Glacier and enjoyed watching all those cars exiting the park. We parked at a pull-out and did a good piece of the one hike we have done together every trip I have made to Glacier, the Upper McDonald Creek hike. The trail flows along the creek (really a small and briskly running river), is basically flat, and is quite scenic. It would have been a shame to be here over a week and not do that gentle hike. The creek has rapids and one very impressive waterfall, where you don’t want to trip, and where a conservative 16 quadrillion photos have been taken over the years.

We got back around 8:30, had grilled cheese sandwiches and chili for dinner, sat by a campfire, and held the pooches.