Logan Pass Training Session

(Note: This entry describes the events of July 27th, 2007)

“I never cared for Browning” Dad remarked as we zipped past a series of shuttered businesses, “the town kinda scares me. I considered taking the train here until I read in the paper that a man was brutally murdered in the street; thought we might want to avoid that.” From the looks of things, I had to agree with Dad that we were better off taking our chances with the grizzly bears of Glacier than with the residents of Browning, and shifted my gaze from the depressing surroundings to the approaching mountain horizon. Glacier National Park, the crown of the continent

We made our way up Highway 89 to the Saint Mary entrance of Glacier, familiarizing ourselves with the park at the large Ranger Station/Visitor Center located there. Already late in the morning, our plan was to secure a site in one of the local camp grounds and complete a day hike or two to get our legs used to the trail. Obviously, to make any kind of hiking possible, we would need fuel, and after making camp at the nearby Rising Sun campground, we exited the park and lunched up at the Park Café. Little did we know what a prominent role the café would play during our time out west.

Recharged with hamburgers and late-morning pancakes, we decided to tackle Logan Pass and the corresponding hike to Hidden Lake. To reach the pass, we drove Going to the Sun road, the famous highway that bisects Glacier Park and provides dramatic views of the parks mountains, valleys, and wildlife. Arriving at Logan Pass, we scoured the packed parking lot for a place to store the Impala, finally finding a spot relatively close to the visitor center and trailhead. Our packs flung over our shoulders, Dad and I eagerly trotted over to the beginning of the trail and our first hiking adventure in Glacier was underway.

Logan Pass is a relatively easy hike, designed to be accessible to a wide variety of visitors with a sturdily constructed boardwalk path for the approach to the pass. Following the boardwalk is a heavily-used trail leading down to Hidden Lake that passes snowfields and white mountain goats. Dad and I gobbled up the boardwalk and began the descent down to the lake, making sure to drink plenty of water and cover ourselves with sun block.

The hike down was pleasant and we encountered a family that had been fishing at the lake; they boasted landing a 20 inch trout, which naturally prompted us to request photographic proof (which they had). We tackled the ascent back up to the parking lot, pacing ourselves and snapping photos along the way. We passed dozens and dozens of tourists, many sporting expensive camera hardware; Dad and I figured we walked by at least $100K in camera equipment on the trail.

Back at the visitor center, we purchased postcards to write home before hopping in the car and returning to camp. Figuring it would be best to conserve our freeze-dried meals for the trail and longing for civilized food, Dad and I opted to visit the Park Café a second time, savoring a sort of last meal before diving into the back country.

Back at camp, I made note of the time and borrowed the car to make a quick attempt at a sunset picture from the Goose Island lookout point, a rather scenic point we had passed earlier in the day with framed views of Saint Mary Lake and its surrounding mountains. At the Point, several serious photographers were gathered, appreciating the sunset, examining each others’ gear, and engaging each other in a lively round of the now age-old debate in photography, “film vs. digital.” It was very entertaining listening to these Ansel Adams wannabes having at it and learning a bit about their techniques. The sunset was magnificent, well worth my trip up. In fact, I would later find out that smoke ruined the view from that spot every night Dad and I were in the park, making it a lucky coincidence I had picked that night to claim my shot.

Train in the Distance

(Note: This entry describes the events of July 25, 2007)

Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance
Everybody thinks it’s true

As I sat waiting for mechanical carriage that would sweep me up and whisk me westward to fun and adventure, the Paul Simon song ran steadily through my head. This was only the second long train ride of my lifetime, and my first experience riding the rails through the American west. While traversing the countryside behind a locomotive is no longer the glamour activity it once was, it remains a more cost effective mode of transport than airplanes when visiting northern Montana and is much less tiring/stressful than driving long distances over the plains.

We boarded the train in the dead of night in St. Cloud, Minnesota, a confusing experience because of the poor signage found at the station and the mute nature of the station’s employees. Dad and I amused ourselves talking to fellow travelers and debating which side of the station we were supposed to park on. Eventually, like a vision from a gritty sci-fi novel, the Amtrak train rolled through the station and greeted us its mechanical whirs and whooshes (If you’ve ever ridden Amtrak, you know it looks like something straight out of Blade Runner, at least from the outside). Once on board, we hurriedly found our seats and did our best to securely store our gear, squeezing and cramming our bags into racks and overhead compartments. Our moment of panic over, Dad and I settled into our seats and did our best to doze and rest. The train rolled steadily westward, rocking us to a fitful night of sleep on the Great Plains of America.

The next day, I passed the time in the lounge car reading books and writing notes in my journal and on the laptop. Dad and I munched on Pop-Tarts and apples and sipped coffee from the lounge car, enjoying the views out the floor to ceiling windows. One of the great advantages to rail travel is time. Time to catch up on all the reading and written correspondence that ordinarily gets brushed aside. Time to really think about what you want to write, what you want to say. Time to think about what you are reading and really savor the experience. Seemingly endless time.

Eventually, we began to long for the solidness of real ground beneath our feet and began tracking our progress with my GPS, anxiously anticipating our arrival in Cut Bank, Montana. Before too long, the tiny screen of my GPS revealed Cut Bank approximately 45 miles away, and before we knew it, Dad and I were grabbing our gear, leaping out the door, waving goodbye to the conductors, and making our way over to the blue Chevy Impala rental that would serve as our base of operations for the next two weeks.

A gritty oil town on the American frontier, Cut Bank is bisected by two prominent roads: Main St. and Central Ave., making it an easy place to navigate, even for first-time visitors. Dad and I found our hotel, prominently marked with a gigantic penguin, and made final preparations for our drive into the park the following morning. Our adventure had begun.

Glacier Blog Series

Starting today, I will begin posting my Glacier blog series. This series will detail Dad and my trip to Glacier, Montana that occurred from July 25th to August 6th. I plan to post one new entry each day for the next 13 days, at which time Minnesotan on the Loose will revert back to its usual inconsistent-ramblings.

Photos from our trip can be found here.

Enjoy!