Glacier National Park
August 31-September 1
We arrived in Glacier National Park at the same time a cold front did. Now, I ask you, does it seem like a park named Glacier needs any help being cold? Doesn’t that strike you as unnecessary?
Being the ambitious hikers that we are, we lined up our day with a 6-mile morning hike, a 6-mile afternoon hike, and a glacier overlook where we could decide what else to do.
Hike number one to Avalanche Lake went well. We’re not sure whether the name comes from its formation or from the heavy avalanche activity that continues to dump snow into the lake, but it’s a very quiet, aqua-green lake surrounded on all sides by steep mountains down which three waterfalls cascade gracefully.
At the far end of the lake, water slowly seeps through the rocky ground and slides into the lake, and then makes a silent exit at the opposite side through a haphazard dam of downed trees.
That trickle of water exiting from Avalanche Lake is continuously joined by other small brooks and streams until, about two miles downstream, it rushes and dances through a narrow, twisting gorge. Here is where I started thinking about the amazing power of water. Over time, this gush of water has sculpted and polished the vibrant red rock underlying it. The result is a fantastic series of falls, rapids and whirlpools splashing through wells and arches of variegated rock. This was Aaron’s highlight of the day, appealing to the geology and art lover inside of him.
The drive to our next hike took us along a breathtaking stretch of Going-To-The-Sun Road, renowned for its structural ingenuity and spectacular scenery. We cut our way warily along the edge of sharp mountains, winding our way upward amidst hail and rain. By the time we reached Logan Pass, highest point on the road and trailhead of our next hike, it was an all out snowstorm. Mind you, it was still August, for crying out loud.
I made a quick stop in the restroom, where I was fascinated by both the Swedish water saving toilet and the warning signs next to the sinks about the unusually frigid temperature of the water, which was fresh from the glacier (and they weren’t kidding Brrr ).
Meanwhile, Aaron found a park ranger inside who eagerly shared his wealth of knowledge about global warming (the park had nearly 150 glaciers in 1860; it currently has 27, and 10 have disappeared in the last 4 years). Ambitious as we are, we are not hardy enough for hiking in a blizzard, so the friendly park ranger recommended another hike at a significantly lower, and thus warmer, elevation.
On we drove, stopping to look at Jackson Glacier on the way. It was my first glacier, and I’m sorry to say that I was sorely disappointed. It looked identical to every other collection of snow nestled in the mountain peaks. I thought it would at least be glittery blue or something.
The 5-mile hike from Sun Rift Gorge to Virginia Falls was delightfully varied and graciously flat for the most part. It led us by three sweet waterfalls, and there was a spectacular stretch of trail that ran along a ledge overlooking St. Mary Lake, a pristine, icy glacial lake.
As the water sparkled and the jagged mountains commanded the background, my hair mysteriously turned into long, golden braids and the refrain from “The Sound of Music” wafted through the air... Or something like that.
Always on the lookout for bears, we encountered no grizzlies, but were privy to the amusing antics of countless brazen little chipmunks. Aaron derived endless entertainment from their company.
We left the park in time to arrive at our campground in daylight. On the way to the hot tub for a pre-dinner dip, I remarked to Aaron that I hoped the water was warm. Once again, our road trip did not disappoint. In fact, it was so blisteringly hot that I could barely put my toes in. Any body part that was submerged was instantly as bright red as a cooked lobster. We shared the tub with a Guiness drinking 47-year-old man from Seattle who runs 50-mile trail races and gave us hot tips about where to go in the Pacific Northwest.
Glacier is described as a land of extremes, where flat prairie collides with abrupt mountain. In like fashion, our overheated hot tub experience turned into a frosty night’s sleep. After a dinner of hobo pies, tomato soup and smores (of course), we bedded down in our mummy sleeping bags, tuckered out and ready for some deep rest.
It was not to be. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, writhing from the cold. I was grateful when daylight arrived, so I could get up and relieve my aching, cramped back in a hot shower. When I unzipped our tent door, I found a landscape crisp with a thick frost. The bathing suits we’d left on the picnic table overnight were frozen solid, defying gravity as they stood on end when I picked them up.
After an Aaron’s Special breakfast of pancakes and bacon (he’s becoming a chef whiz over Shannon’s little Bunsen-burner camp stove), we decamped and headed into Glacier for one more short hike before turning north toward Canada. It was a quick jaunt up to Apikuni Falls, a great way to say good-bye to a stunning park and to stretch our legs before the day’s drive to Calgary.
This country just keeps getting more and more beautiful.
Speaking of showers... Aaron and I have adapted Uncle Marv’s philosophy of “preventative eating” (see “Meet the Family” post). We now practice preventative showering. Since you never know when your next chance for a shower will be, take one while you can
- Alyssa
