Whitefish & Glacier

My apologies for being gone so long. I have not come to a bad end (or a good end, for that matter), have not been abducted by Grenjees from the planet Xylonic and did not meet a cowboy in western Montana who showed me around his spread. I have been bonding with relatives and revisiting my home town, etc., which will all be shared in good time.

Driving from Missoula to Whitefish was not a stretch - the day was sunny, the road was clear and the putt-car hummed. However, I did notice that Montana seat belt laws are fairly lax, as can be witnessed by the photograph on the right. I see no passive restraints for the blue bear in the back of the truck. In fact, I didn't see any restraints on the animals in the back, which is why so many animal rights activists, trainers and vets encourage truck owners to crate pets who ride in the box. I did not report the people in the truck in front of me, but I did send a silent prayer to those poor plush teddies so carelessly treated. And I have photographic evidence.

Although disturbed by this flagrant disregard for stuffed toys, I didn't let it ruin my appreciation for the landscape.Flathead Lake on northbound highway 93, just before the village of Polson, provided me with my first glimpse of Glacier National Park's beauty. That's the thing about the West. Just when you think you've reached scenic overload, there is yet another glory.

The road wound around the lake, which is twenty-eight miles long and fifteen miles wide. Needless to say, real estate along this coast comes at a dear price depending on shoreline quality and accessibility. The ads quote anywhere from $500,000 to $10,000,000.

Whitefish is a charming little town with a dynamite Safeway store (There is a fireplace IN the store. Really.), and a picturesque downtown of a few square blocks filled with boutique-y shops and the like. I petted a pair of turquoise boots with orange stitching, ate a delicious salmon taco at The Buffalo Cafe (slogan: It's Fun to Eat in the Buff!) and found Sweet Peaks Ice Cream where I indulged in peanut butter with Heath bar. Oh, yeah. If you're in Whitefish and need accommodations, check out the Big Mountain Inn. It's set back in what appears to be an inauspicious location behind the Pizza Hut and the Army Surplus, but it is scrupulously clean and well-maintained. They have a nice complimentary breakfast, and I had the best night's sleep since I left Grand Junction. Just an FYI. Oh - and Whitefish is yet another town that has a paved trail by the river for bicyclists and pedestrians.

Part of the reason for my sojourn up to Glacier was to visit with one of my high school teachers. I found her at a campground just outside the park entrance. She is as ever - smart, funny, witty, astute, wise, kind, generous. Seeking her out gave me a chance to nose around about my mother. Since I never got to be good friends with my mother, I glean others for any bits of her. I collect those bits.

For the past 52 years this woman who was an art teacher/librarian and more has spent nearly every summer at the park. In fact, she and her husband were fire look-outs back when the park had few or no roads. She said there were summers where she didn't come down off the mountain all season. Although it rained for the entire day I was there, we still lunched at Eddie's, shopped (Montana House has a chunk of my checking account balance now) and drove to her favorite points. One of those was the Trail of the Cedars where, if there are little fairy and leprechaun people, they live along this trail under lichen-covered stumps and a forest floor covered with velvety moss. Sorry to say that I got no pics because of the rain. Google it. Really. Finally we sipped tea and indulged in huckleberry pie.

I did take photographs as I drove Going-to-the-Sun Road at 15 mph, white-knuckled hands on the wheel all the way up over Logan Pass (where tiny, hard snow pellets stung me) and the Continental Divide. Neither my photographs nor my words articulate as eloquently as I would like about the place, the views, the mountains. Instead, I have to borrow from John Muir speaking of what is now Glacier National Park, in 1901.  I had no words. I wept.

"Give a month at least to this precious reserve. The time will not be taken from the sum of your life. Instead of shortening, it will indefinitely lengthen it and make you truly immortal. Nevermore will time see short or long, and cares will never again fall heavily on you, but gently and kindly from heaven."