Picture of America

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Geo: 48.6829, -113.799

I graduated college in December of 2002 (good lord). Although I had a great internship that would surely turn in to a great career, I had two goals at the time: to attend some sort of Bible school, and to travel overseas. I killed two birds with one stone and attended Capernwray Bible School in New Zealand. I lived there for 6 months and a day. It was a 10-week semester, then a 2-week break, followed by another 10-week semester. I tagged about a month on to the end of the trip purely to travel. During the first 6-weeks of the second semester was an option called Adventure Bible School. This program centered around the outdoors - hiking, biking, sea kayaking, white water kayaking, white water rafting, spelunking, rock climbing - a pretty physically challenging agenda with Biblical studies, team building, planning, meal and trip preparation, and many other aspects built in. Like a Christian Survivor where nobody gets kicked off. Or maybe nothing like it. Either way, it was a blast.

I was 22 at the time, much older than most of the other students, most of whom were fresh out of high school. I've always been a bit of an old soul, and during my childhood I could often be found hanging out with the adults instead of my own peers. Between that and having 4 years of college and work experience behind me, it was somewhat difficult for me to really click and bond with many of the people there. It was the first time in my life that I felt I didn't really belong, that I was out of place. There were a couple exceptions, however. One was Mike - a redheaded goofball just a couple months older than me. He was definitely a refuge from the childhood clatter of so many of our companions, and I clearly remember a few times standing with him, feeling like old, slow gorillas observing a group of chimpanzees yapping and hopping and throwing poop all over the place.

I've hardly kept in touch with him since then, but once in Canada, I made a point to reconnect, and made plans to stop by his home in Calgary. Although it had been 8 years, when he answered the door, it was like we were right back in New Zealand! He looked exactly the same! He showed me around, I took a much needed shower (warm water and all!), and we lounged on the deck enjoying a couple of cold beers and burgers while laughing at the old times and catching up on the new. After some time his wife and mother in law showed up, as well. The oppressive hotness of the day had turned in to a perfect, relaxing evening with some fantastic people, and the cloud couch in the dark dungeonous basement provided me a sleep like I hadn't had in quite some time.

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If the Canadian Rockies blow the Colorado Rockies away, the Montana Rockies definitely give the Canadian ones a run for their money! This was my first time to Glacier National Park, and first time to Montana (known to many as Mantana - this is the kind of place you'd better bring a woman with you, cause there aren't any available ones there!).

I didn't arrive until 4 in the afternoon, but there was still time to catch a shuttle in to the park and go for a quick hike. There were bear warnings all over the place, encouraging people to hike in groups, make noise, clap, carry bear spray, etc. I was hiking by myself, in the early evening, in flip flops. No big deal. Just a few minutes in to the trail, I was thinking about bears, looking at the trees and bushes, trying to get an idea of areas that I might surprise a bear, such as blind corners or thick bush. As I was having this thought, I heard something move right next to my foot. Startled, probably even jumping a little bit, I quickly turned my attention to where the noise came from, only to see the tail end of a snake slithering in to the brush.

After a three mile hike over rolling terrain, two waterfalls, a beer, some snacks, and light reading, I was back to the trailhead. The last shuttle to the park entrance would show up at about 7:15. It was 7:04. I sat for a while and read, keeping an eye out for the shuttle. There it is! I stood up and started approaching it, perplexed and surprised when it did not come to a stop or even slow down, but rather zoomed right passed. WTF? I walked down the road a little ways to see if perhaps the shuttle stop was actually further down (later investigation would confirm this), but the bus was long gone anyway. I pushed a few construction cones down the hillside in frustration and went back to the trailhead to attempt some hitchhiking! Car, thumb, nothing. Car, thumb... odd stares. Truck, thumb.... nothing. Van, thumb, can slows, approaches, comes almost to a complete stop right in front of me.... then accelerates. Probably 20 cars passed. Awesome. A family of four was coming up the trail, having a race to the car. I smiled and asked them if they were going to the east entrance. They said yes. I explained what happened and asked if they might heave room for one more. They looked at each other, paused for an answer, and reluctantly said yes. Thank you, thank you! I climbed in back with the son and daughter, probably about 15 and 17, respectively. Mom and dad were up front. I told them of my travels and adventures, we talked about Glacier, about Louisiana (their home). I quickly had them all laughing, washing away any lingering reluctance about picking up this strange man who may kill them all. They dropped me off at my truck, I thanked them profusely, and wished them well on their way. I ran over a curb that I didn't see while leaving the parking lot.

I found a dirt highway off-shoot a couple miles out of town. Home for the night. Dusk already, I quickly cooked some ramen and organic peas (from Canada) for dinner and enjoyed a hardly-cool beer. Again, the only thing worse than warm beer is no beer, so I managed. Indian ground, I said a quick prayer and gave thanks as I sprinkled a handful of sage on the ground as a gift. A windy, chilly night, I woke in the morning to crystal blue skies. Oatmeal for breakfast. Standing in the morning sun, warming my body and my smile, a fluttering bird caught my eye about 80' from my truck, a fox in hot pursuit, bounding up and down in the brush. My eyes grew large like a child at Christmas, my smile turned in to a wide grin, and my heart leaped at this amazing sight! Foxes are such beautiful, haunting, graceful creatures, and I had surely never seen one acting this free, this wild. The chase went on for a few seconds until the bird gained some altitude and left the fox perched atop an old fallen tree truck. I could see him panting and almost hear him thinking "drats!" as he watched the bird fly away. He was facing away from me, and, perhaps finally noticing my scent, turned to look at me. As soon as my eyes caught his, he acted much like I did the night before - his entire body jolted and jumped into action, sprinting off in leaps and bounds away from me. Boing - I could see him above the brush. Then he was gone. Boing - up again. Then gone. Up. Gone. Up. Gone. Surely this will be a good day, I thought!

My first full day was spent in the Many Glaciers area. I hiked 17 miles that day. First, a 10-mile hike with a 1200' elevation gain, followed by a beer and a quick nap in my truck, and then a 7-mile hike (most of which I jogged since there was no significant elevation gain). The first hike was up to Iceberg Lake - pretty much a dead end hike, but one of the most fascinating dead ends you will ever encounter! A small lake who boasts the deepest, purest blue waters that would even make Lake Tahoe jealous, living up to its name - the far side of the lake still sacked in with snow fields and ice, and a number of icebergs just floating around in the lake having a good time. As with most things on this trip, as with most things in life, words cannot capture it. My feet were curious, so I removed my boots and socks and stepped in up to my shins. I think I lasted about 5 seconds before the pain was too great and I had to get out. Without a doubt - the coldest water I have ever felt! The trail was littered with wildflowers, fellow hikers, and, apparently, grizzlies. 7 grizzlies, in two separate groups, were reported by a number of hikers. I unfortunately did not see any until I was back at the trailhead and rangers had high-powered telescopes set up for people to observe the bears high on the mountain sides, filling their bellies and preparing for winter. Even from such a distance, they looked huge, and it made me a little glad I didn't see one first hand. 😊

Tired, and still anticipating another 7 miles, I hydrated with beer and water and took a quick power nap in my truck. Got my running shoes on, chugged some water, camera in hand, bear spray on board, and got on the move for Grinnell Lake. The trail was basically flat, rolling gently along the banks of Swiftcurrent lake and Lake Josephine. I clapped when going through thick brush or around corners, but felt safe (I'm sure there are a few of you out there shaking your heads), partially due to the fact that there was traffic every couple hundred feet. At the destination lake, I dunked my tanktop in the cold, glacial water and gasped in relief as I slipped in on for the jog back. A dunk in chilly, muddy-bottomed Swiftcurrent Lake under the late afternoon sun was a perfect completion for the day.

In search of a place to camp fort the night, I noticed a dirt off-shoot much closer to town than that of the night before. Let's check it out! Across a river-bottom-like gravel bed, a steep incline was right ahead. Not being in 4wd, I knew that I would need to maintain my speed to make it up. "Here we go baby!" I said to my truck as we slightly accelerated into the hill. Jump! jump! bump! spit! whiiiir! spit! chunk! spin! spin! crack! Like a tornado eating a barn my truck chattered up the hill, rocks and dirt being catapulted in every direction. I made it to the top! Woooeeeee!!! I was laughing and gave my old Tacoma a pat for a job well done. To the left I immediately saw an old road leading to two derelict cabins. On the porch of the closer cabin sat a young man. He had a fire going. Shit. I felt horrible for disturbing this person who probably did not like having someone so rudely barge on to his property. I pulled up a little, waved apologetically, and was about to turn around when he stood and began to approach me. Shit.

"Hey there, sorry to disturb you," I said.
"Oh, zat is fine," he spoke in a French accent. "Is this your land?"
"No, it's not."
"Ok, I am just camped he for ze night, and I think zis is private land, and was worried you were ze owner."
"Oh, ha, no, I was just looking for a place to camp for the night, as well."
"Well, you are more zan welcome to stay here, it would be good to have ze company anyway!"

Awesome! I backed my truck up so that I could enjoy the fire from the tailgate. He was set up in the front cabin with a light pad and sleeping bag. His name is Alexi, or Alex, for Americans. Weird since I had just met Alex the German in Banff a few nights earlier. Alexi had flown from France to Anchorage, Alaska two months earlier, and was riding his bike all the way down to Argentina. He is a chef, and was hoping he could find work down there. He reminded me of a guy I met about a year and a half ago in Utah. I was hiking down the highway in to Escalante after a 3-night trip down the Old Boulder Mail Trail when a young, dirty, hairy blonde guy excitedly asked me, "Hey! You through hiking?!" "What?" "The Hayduke trail - are you hiking it?" I had heard of the trail but sadly informed him no, I was just hiking the mail trail. We talked a lot about Utah and hiking and canyons, places we've seen, places to go. He had started in Washington (I can't remember how long prior), and rode his bike, towing a small trailer, through Oregon, California, Nevada, now Utah, and had about a month to get to Houston, where he would catch a flight to see his girlfriend out east. "Man, I've always wanted to do something like that!" I said. His reply was simple and stinging: "well then why don't you?" Now here, a year and a half later, I ran across his kindred spirit in the thicks of Montana, finally making my own journey.

Alexi and I had a fantastic evening. I shared some of my whiskey with him, as well as a couple Fat Tires. He apologized that he had nothing in return, but I assured him I was happy to share. We stoked the bonfire with old palettes that we ripped and pried apart, surprisingly with no bloodshed. We talked of our families and what they think of our travels. At three different points in his journey he has a family member that is flying from France to join him for a while. Although his English was very good, he asked a lot of questions, learned new words and new phrases, eager to know the language fully. I played a number of my songs. He applauded, telling me that he wished he had musical talent and could sing. We sang our national anthems to each other and taught each other the meaning behind the words. I thought he sang quite well. I broke out my star chart and we looked at stars and constellations, admiring the vastness and brightness of the unobstructed Milky Way (so romantic). In between, we thoroughly enjoyed being entertained by the "Poor Man's Television" eating up the palette remains. We talked about travel and how you meet the most amazing people, how travel gives you hope in humans, how brilliant and kind strangers can be, and just how much you can learn about yourself, your home, your country, your species, your God, simply by encountering different people from different places and different upbringings. A window to yourself, to others, and to our beautiful world. We talked about the stereotypes of each others' people (I had this same conversation with German Alex, who was saddened that Americans see Germans as people who just drink beer in leiderhosen and dance to polka music). Alexi told me at one point, "This is what I picture America to be," he motioned to me, sitting on my tailgate, "out in ze woods, camping, ze truck, sitting on ze tailgate with ze window up like that..." He pointed to my boots, the guitar in my lap, the whiskey in my hand, the campfire and the clear, dark night sky. "This is what I picture America to be." Although incredibly flattered and honored to fulfill his image of America, I admitted that I wished more people could enjoy it like this, instead of being wrapped up in the cities and the noise and the rush. We talked deep into the night. After he retired, I stayed up a while to watch the Television slowly fade before retiring myself. Oatmeal and yogurt and french press coffee for breakfast. He too, had coffee, and toast with jam, cooked over his old-fashioned wood-powered camp stove. Though I had only known him for 12 hours, it was sad to say goodbye. I have seen some incredible places, places of beauty and majesty that sadly most people probably never see, but it is times like this - these ingenious, unpredictable, and un-creatable encounters - that will stay with me, inspire me, challenge me, and help me to create the person I want to be.

What can I say after that? I started the day at the most photographed part of Glacier National Park - the famous scene of St Mary Lake and Wild Goose Island (which is actually the remains of an ancient rockslide) with the layered Montana Rockies towering behind. Rather than stay at the "viewpoint", I wandered down to the lake. Giant slabs of stone, with grooves and patterns and luges carved by glaciers thousands of years ago. And the beach, oh! what a beach! Every stone was a perfect skipping stone! Thousands! Tens of thousands! I must have skipped 50 into the lake. Barefoot, of course. Every skip was successful other than just a few flops, and three or four that would skip the water, fly 50 or 60 feet over the lake, and shoot down in a thud. The stones were so perfect I even successfully skipped 5 out of 5 with my left hand (a feat I don't think I had ever tried before). Simple, but it was paradise. I think paradise is always quite simple. We just fuck it up by trying to spruce it up with all the bells and whistles that just complicate and crowd the real pleasure.

Another 12-mile hike along Highline Ridge. Perfect views the entire way! Every view the same, but every one so unique and beautiful, much like the canyons of Utah. Though I did not feel tired when I started the hike, within minutes, my knees reminded me of the 17 miles I had traveled the day before. Still, I hiked quickly. I'm not a very competitive person, until it comes to hiking. I love to pass people, and cannot stand to be passed. In the 12-miles and four hours of this hike, I passed nearly 100 people, and was not overtaken once. I learned many years ago while hiking in Utah that it is possible to hike quickly, but still be present in every step. Since then, I always try to make the conscious decision that, no matter how fast I am moving, to enjoy every bit, to not miss a step, a stone, a flower, a caterpillar, a pika, a breath, a sunray.

The one-way hike left me relying on a shuttle to get me back to my truck at the top of the pass. The first 3 shuttles were either full, or only had room for 1 or 2 (there were about 10 of us waiting). Finally, an empty shuttle approached, thankfully stopped, and took us upward. My knees, basking in the rest, nearly buckled when I stepped out of the shuttle and returned to my truck. Driving out of the park in the late afternoon sun, I could not resist a dip in Lake McDonald on the west side of the park. A good swim and a good scrub as the sun danced in and out of dark gray clouds, spilling sunrays across the lands and the waters. Head under water, the relatively shallow shelf steeply and drastically dropped off into darkness - an eery sight that always stirs my fright! Back on the beach, smooth hot stones, sized anywhere from a strawberry to an apple, dried and nearly singed one side of my body (felt amazing!), while the hot sun quickly evaporated any moisture on the other.

After doing three or four complete rolls over the hot stones, I gathered my belongings and strolled back to my truck, to the relief of an Indian-looking family that was about to picnic and looked at me ("that guy"😉 with concern, confusion, and, it seemed, a slight tinge of fear. Haha. All smiles here. All love. All thanks.

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Comments

[Loaner of bicycles]

Awesome entry and awesome pics, but I must say I loved the part about driving over the curbs. Been there.