How To Weather The Weather

---

Prepare yourself for a paragraph or two of irrational whining. Starting with:

GPS - Getting People Stranded. Our special edition Tom Tom has a fetish for gravel roads leading to dead ends. Why direct the WHOW down a highway when there's a perfectly rutted piece of dirt track finishing at an impasse. Resorting to the tried and proven method of map reading, we found ourselves at our final destination in Canada, The Waterton Lakes National Park, a place where:

"rugged windswept mountains rise abruptly out of gentle prairie grassland, interloped with around 200 klms of hiking and bike trails, all with uninterrupted views of the tranquil waters of Waterton Lakes".

That's a brochure's spin and it's probably true for those rarish days of the year when conditions cooperate. Bringing us to:

Canada, I love you and your residents, but it's time to go sit in the corner whilst I poke you with a stick for a touch of vengeance over your climate.

In 3 weeks, Homer Simpson could count the days of sunshine on one hand and still have a finger to spare. The cold and grey were tolerable, almost superfluous traded against its alpine gems. The Armageddon we drove into at Waterton was not. Horizontal sleet doesn't exactly lend itself to outdoor fun and games and with Waterton Village housing a resident population of about minus 6 and a dog, indoor alternatives are thin on the ground.

Go back north? Mudslides. South? Road closures due to ice and snow. East? Mudslides (I'm not kidding). W......... There's no road west, this is the end of the line.

So we sat it out for a couple of days and in the process became frequent flyers at The Fireside Cafe and Bar. Snuggled against their open log fire and chowing into the bison pie washed down with a cheeky Malbec was a gold edged way to observe the holocaust raging outside.

3 weeks and we'd developed an industrial strength sized disdain for Canada's weather, the type of disdain that David Stratton (Australian film critic for international readers) reserves for the hand held camera. So when I gave the "bird" on passing the border, it wasn't directed at Canada, surely one of the more enviable nations on the planet. Rather, the finger was aimed directly at the ominous black clouds and trees bent over at 45 degrees disappearing in the rear vision mirror.

Back in the USSA and I immediately mounted my very high horse going by the name of Moral. The strips of ice that gave name to The Glacier National Park are in a constant state of flux in the wrong direction. All the remaining glaciers are fighting tooth and nail to maintain a toehold on planet Earth. If the stats read true, in around 8 years time, the entire place may as well be beaten down to its pulp and carted away in a hearse. Either that or rename it "There Used To Be Glaciers Here National Park". Someone should drag a few climate change cynics up here and rub their sceptical noses in the slush that 10 years ago was frozen over.

Having set the record crooked on climate change, I shall pack up my self righteous bag and slide back on vacation, including the above mentioned Glacier NP, which, by the way, is a striking chunk of mountains despite its tenuous physical state.

The weather here wasn't overly cooperative either. "The Road To The Sun" (a misnomer if ever there was one) through the park was partly closed due to snow and ice. It was time to ponder a strategy on how to weather the weather and Montana is studded with options.

We've been as happy as rats in a flour bag slipping into small town middle America. Eating cherry pie at a roadside diner lifted straight from the screens of 1960s television. Historic, if unabashedly tourist driven towns, such as Philipsburg and Virginia City. Scouring amongst mining ghost towns, of which Montana is peppered with. A jaunty romp at a quaint rural theatre version of Jekyll and Hyde. It has been a slow immersion into an America that doesn't receive a great deal of hoopla in tourist promos.

These towns come with an array of placards detailing their historical background. An anecdote from one of those really raised a snicker. Back in 1854 ish, a bare knuckles contest between 2 of the region's renowned pugilists drew the punters in from miles around to witness the bout. 185 rounds later and the contest was controversially declared a draw. Bare knuckles and 185 rounds. Those 2 guys must turn in their graves anxious for a shot at contemporary boxers wearing sissy gloves and calling it a day after 12 lousy rounds.

The week was also sprinkled with new, for us, wildlife sightings! Red foxes, mountain goats (he's a mountain goat and he loves mountin goats) and buffalo (we cheated on that one a tad by driving through the National Bison Reserve) are a few examples. It also included a couple more extremely close encounters with our mate the bear. Heads down and hoods on in the rain, striding back from Avalanche Lake, I would have tripped over this chap except for Penny's patented oh oh! 10 meters dead ahead on the same trail and heading straight towards us. Was it a Black Bear or a Grizzly? I don't know, they all have claws and teeth but this one was brown and when standing upright was an intimidating sight - for most people.

What this bear didn't realise was that he wasn't dealing with any ordinary man, he was now fronted by a man who shall now go by the pseudonym of "The Bear Whisperer". To the casual observer, my clap, arm waving and "shoo" may have appeared innocuous. However the trained eye and ear would have recognised the subtleties. Those actions meant 2 things:

Firstly, it sends a blood chilling streak of fear down the spine of any bear like critter.

Secondly, in the intricacies of bear lingo, it translates, "this track is MAN made so get back in the foliage where you belong bear".

The result, Humans 1, Bear 0.

Plenty of tourists resort to hanging in large groups and carrying bear repellent spray in their Batman utility belts as a means of security. No need, just come and hang onto the shirt tails of The Bear Whisperer.

If Penny tackles this topic, ignore her version and take heed of the REAL details outlined above by:

The Bear Whisperer.





We seem to be constantly trying to dodge rain, sleet and cold. We have turned WHOW around, pointing south in the hope of finer weather. I've been looking forward to some days relaxing under the annexe sitting in our outdoor chairs and taking in the scenery.

So we headed for Waterton National Park, our last stop in Canada. What we didn't plan on was that the area would be on hurricane alert for the next 3 days. Even the Elk tried to get some refuge next to WHOW. I never thought I would get motion sick from my bed on dry land, but our first night in Waterton felt like I had come down with a bad case of vertigo.

So bad were the winds in the middle of the night that I recalled something my mother had said growing up. "Always wear clean undies in case of an emergency." I was thinking along the lines of what clothes should I put on in case we were swept away and someone had to come and rescue us. Fortunately WHOW weathered the storm and we live to tell the tale.

We spent the following two night at the local bar/ grill sitting by the fire, drinking copious amounts of alcohol while we sat out the storm. Waterton did manage to show us the most beautiful skies on our final day allowing us to get out on the trails and head to the border to start the next leg in Montana.

Border control.

Going from the US into Canada was fairly simple apart from the fact we have no licence plates on WHOW, a small problem. However going from Canada back into the States our lack of licence plates were of no concern, but the contents of our fridge were of more interest. Exit all our fresh fruit and veggies. I really don't understand. They took everything ie avocados, vine ripened tomatoes, mandarins etc. Apparently their origin were Mexico and Peru, but if that's the rules so be it. However, my next question is, why when I next go to the supermarket to replenish my fruit and veggies in the States, am I buying fruit and veg marked from Mexico etc!!! I bet the staff at the border that day had a pretty nice lunch compliments of Colvin / Yeates.

So for the next 5 to 6 days we travelled through Montana, and I have to say I am pretty impressed with middle America. Petrol is cheaper, groceries are cheaper and a night at the movies only cost us $5.50. Gaz, we need to spend more time here. Apart from the the fact that it is reasonably priced ( our lowest fee yet for a overnight hook up), the staff everywhere ( whether it's the supermarket, the gas station etc) are so polite, helpful and extremely friendly. I don't know what they eat for breakfast, but I want some of it if some of the genuine happiness rubs off.

We managed to navigate a slightly different path to avoid anymore hurricanes and we found ourselves driving the ghost town trails. Philipsburg our first stop, filled with cutsie shops and a to die for candy store. This town could also possibly be a worthy stop in winter for skiing, something we will look into.

Of the ghost towns themselves, my favourite was Nevada city , filled with log cabins, shops and houses with really low ceilings and overflowing with charm.

A hop skip and a jump from Nevada city was Virginia city. Also chock full of old fashioned charm, so much so we decided to pull WHOW up for the night so we could venture out for a night on the town and see some live theatre. Dr Jekkyl and Mr Hyde followed by a Vaudeville production. A fantastic night out with pre dinner drinks at the saloon next door.

Montana all round has been an exceptional visit.

And by the way, Gaz's bear story had some facts straight but those of you who know him can read between the lines on the real story and work out who is the true hero.

Penny.

More images at:

www.colvinyeates.zenfolio.com

---

Photos

Hear about the guy who drank 50 cups off tea?
He drowned in his own teapee.

Cameron Lake
Waterton Lakes NP

Waterton Lake
The rain cleared but the wind howled

Road To The "Sun"
Glacier National Park

Virginia City
Old car in an old town

Granite
Silver mine ghost town

Nevada City
Barber shop quartet