American Road Trip 1: Glacier to Idaho

Day Seven: Sorest Calves in Glacier

This morning’s hike took us into the “Heart of Glacier,” a flora identification trip to Iceberg Lake, about 10 mountainous miles round trip. The hike began well, with seven of us outfitted with boots and packs and a cool crisp morning.

About two miles in, though, dark clouds suddenly poured over the Ptarmigan Wall (the caps of the mountains here), the temperature dropped, and the rain and wind whipped in. We plowed on, of course, slowing to identify bear sign and fireweed along the way. My knees and ankles kept pace well, I thought, especially because my knees gave me some trouble in Nepal.

When we finally arrived at Iceberg Lake (1200 feet up), the temperature dropped again as the wind swept across a lake plenished by ice fields falling from the mountains above. Late July, and the lake was full of ice. We had lunch.

Ranger tours are one-way, as it turns out. Our guide left, and the small group dispersed. I ended up walking back on my own for more of the five return miles, though there were so many on the trail, that every four or five minutes someone would pass, one teen in flip-flops (idiot). I enjoyed setting my own pace, since I could pause (carefully unwrap the camera that I had poncho’ed against the rain) and take photos.

The last mile was a steep slope down, and this is where my ankles and calves, then my knees protested. I am in my camp now, having gathered for a few minutes with a crowd grizzly-watching through telescopes. Given the multiple activities in which I could engage, all involving the extensive use of calf muscles, I opted to write this update.

Tonight I will attend a talk with the Blackfoot Jack Gladstone, grandson of Chief Red Hawk, who will discuss the status of the tribes in the area. Tomorrow I will head out early on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, see Glacier’s west side, and then move south. High on the list will be a new phone, servicing the Camry in Missoula, doing some laundry, making it into Idaho, and perhaps finding a hotel for a night.

Day Eight: Glacier to Idaho Falls, ID

Left early this morning (6:00) to get a head start on Logan Pass, the Going-to-the-Sun Road, but when I stopped in St. Mary’s for a quick cup of coffee, the tiny moose-ornamented café was playing classical music and serving omelets. Okay, a little later than I planned.

Good thing it was no later. Once again, I had the road mostly to myself, so I could pause and pull off frequently to see everything. The pass literally moves across the Rockies for 50 miles, and it is spectacular. The occasional delay from construction only gave me an opportunity to get out and see more. Lakes appear in the upper altitudes. Waterfalls form a series of cascades across miles, and from above I can see them all. Rock falls are fairly common, I gather, since I actually saw two small ones (dodging rolling stones from one) on this one trip. Water constantly drenches the side walls on one side, sometimes splashing across the pavement and over the edge into the valleys below. To be sure, guard rails are sparse, and the low rocks that do appear as rails would hardly stop a car crossing them. Also found two ram near the crest of the pass!

Two hours later I reached East Glacier—glad I stayed on the west side where the views are better. All of the east locations I can see are forest-heavy. Great fishing, though, from what I can tell!

Kalispell was big enough to find a Toyota dealer to get a regular scheduled check-up (and since I’ve now driven 2200 miles, it’s probably a good thing). One hour later, I’m back on the road, heading by the enormous Flathead Lake (practically a sea!) that is surrounded by boat docks and retirement communities. Drive drive drive on by.

Southwestern Montana returns to the agri-business that I saw in the east, but because the farms are more poorly-equipped and often buried in valley-crevasses only a mile or so wide, they appear to be family-owned.

I was anxious to be free of Montana. The people were nice, but the battered-pick-up syndrome was getting on my nerves. Besides, I was also on the hunt for a phone, and my internet search at the Toyota dealership found that I was not in T-Mobile country. South Idaho had dealers.

But Idaho, in the Bitterroot Mountain area, was a great change of pace. I followed Salmon River for about 100 miles, with winding roads through low foothills peppered with pines which scrabbled their roots through the scree. (By the way, the Salmon High School teams are called “The Savages.” So much for sensitivity, and I was again anxious to move on.) Red Mountain was dramatic, and through the sometimes narrow rock crevices that US-93 traveled, I found small ranches and remote trailer homes overlooked by crags and deep hills.

Once the mountains faded into a Rocky Mountain break, I turned east at Challis towards Idaho Falls. And the land changed into non-arable scrub and hillock. As two storms crossed my path, I realized that this was the kind of land where—if someone were lost in it—they might not be found for weeks. Certainly it was easy to imagine (lonely road that it was in the dusk) that a lone pick-up pulled along the side of the road could have any story attached to it.

I got gas in Mackay, Idaho, and spoke briefly with a large woman who lived there, her casual sweatpants and her baby’s hat both camouflage. It was a quiet village, with no apparent need for clocks, as some of the locals hung out at the gas station, and I knew from here it was another 50 miles to Arco.

Arco is tiny and adorned with “Atomic Burger” and “Nuclear Park” signs. Outside this town in the scrubland, my last town before Idaho Falls, the US built the first atomic reactor. All the experiments were done here. (Cynically, this was the part of the country the government called “expendable.”) I discovered that enormous sections of this land had been cordoned off by the federal government for electricity experiments which are still being conducted. In the distant gloom, I saw the occasional side road with dusty signs describing “Fuel Storage” stations and “BRDN-E1.” Security lights in the distance. Something from a science fiction conspiracy film?

So why not drive up to the original reactor site, which is now abandoned? In the failing light, another storm brewing in the west, I drove a mile down one of these roads to find a fenced building, labeled proudly as an historic monument. It was creepy.

I pulled into Idaho Falls, found a hotel with internet service, plotted my course to find a phone tomorrow morning, and then I will push on into Wyoming and Yellowstone on Thursday.