After leaving the comfort of Stan Bailey's Spokane condo, we headed east through a wee bit of Idaho and into Montana: destination Glacier National Park.  We spent the night at McDonald Lake lodge at the western end of the park.  The lodge was originally accessible only by boat and featured a marvelous fireplace decorated with rune-like characters by the cowboy-poet Charley Russell, who according to Ivan Doig is, for Montanans, as famous as Jane and Bertrand.  We took an evening cruise around the upper portion of the lake and listened to Ranger Jerry's recital of factoids about the region.  A smoldering forest fire had been rekindled by the day's brisk winds and the resulting haze somewhat obscured the views.  Our last event of the evening was a talk given by the omnipresent Ranger Jerry (he also had been peopling the desk at the visitor center when we arrived at the park in the afternoon) on the horned/antlered animals of the park.  After hearing his introduction (the same one he had given on the boat) we got a slide show on sheep, elk, moose etc.  Major fact learned: antlers are shed every year, horns are forever. Then we trundled off to bed.

Despite the approach of autumn and the 7000+-ft. altitude, the weather for the next day's drive through the park was wonderfully warm once the sun popped up over the mountaintops. The east-west route through the park is called the Going-To-The Sun Road and I suspect you'd have to drive its 40 or so mile length at least four times (both directions, morning and evening) to see all that it has to offer. There wasn't much snow left at this time of year, and the glaciers themselves are pretty well hidden. Nevertheless, the scale of sheer granite walls and deep valleys you encounter at each turn of the road leaves you with the impression that this place is BIG.

At the pass near the center of the park, we hiked up about a mile and a half through an alpine meadow to get a view of Hidden Lake.  The ascent was only about 400 feet, but relatively steep, up a series of steps and boardwalks protecting the fragile tundra. We found ourselves stopping often to gaze around at the scenery and, not incidentally, to catch our breath.  About halfway through the climb, we looked up to see a small herd of shaggy-coated mountain goats descending to meet us. They ignored hikers and photographers as they slowly worked their way down the slope, pausing frequently to sample the flora. Witta's camera went beep-beep as the moment was captured on disk. Small streams flowed down across the trail from the remaining unmelted snow and we, I suspect foolishly, sampled the icy water from cupped hands when we got thirsty. The overlook of the lake below was postcard perfect when we finally reached the top.  Witta enlisted the aid of a group of easterners to take our picture. Turns out these retirees were veteran travelers and one lady gushed over their trip last winter to Hudson Bay to get a close view of polar bears. She made it sound very exciting.  Another destination for us to keep in mind for the future.  

(Click on these pictures to see then full size) The trip down was, obviously, much less taxing as we smugly apprised the odds as to whether some of those on their way up would make it or not. We reached the parking lot to find, as we had been warned, that spaces had filled up, so we quickly left to allow another vehicle to disgorge its beauty-seekers. 

Still not having completed our walking quotient for the day, we soon stopped again for another hike. By this time it was 'shorts' weather. After changing, we headed off on a trail to a nearby waterfall. Along the way, we kept an eye open for the ever-shy huckleberry, advertisements for which we had been seeing throughout the region. Witta had obtained a description of the bush and fruit from a passing ranger, and sure enough, we found some scraggly specimens with a few not-so-prime berries along the trail. A little like a blueberry, the somewhat dehydrated berries were sweet and a bit chewy, but not bad. Witta also found a couple of wild raspberries, but neither fruit was plentiful enough to do anything but tantalize us. After we had walked gently sloping trails for a little more than a mile, the sound of the promised waterfall could be heard not far ahead. There were dozen or so folks sitting around the rocks of the creek below the falls when we arrived. The mist from the falls was quite refreshing and I could imagine early inhabitants of the area seeking refuge there from summer heat.

Back in the car, we had about ten miles and two or three remaining views to pause for before leaving the park. After taking the standard picture with the park entrance sign, we stopped for ice cream cones to fortify us for the miles we wanted to get behind us before nightfall. To authenticate our visit, we purchased the requisite BTDT tee shirts and then hit the road again.

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