2014-18. Father’s Day in Montana

    Father’s Day Sunday found me in East Glacier, Montana, in a campground with views of the snow-covered Rockies. As the Going-to-the-Sun Road was closed due to snow and some much-needed repairs, my plan was to follow Highway 2 and the BNSF railroad lines around the south end of Glacier National Park.

    It was cold when the sun awoke me at 5 AM, so having an electric site, I did the unmentionables: pulled out the electric heater, made coffee in the microwave (luxury), and returned to my sleeping bag until a more reasonable hour. 

 

    Around 7 AM, I was off for another day, my first Father's Day completely alone in years, yet with such beauty, it all seemed the way to go.

Trains approaching each other.

Glacier Park Lodge, East Glacier, MT.

    After exploring East Glacier, I headed west and over the summit of the Rockies and the Continental Divide: Marias Pass. Once again I marveled: two drops of water landing here could end up in two different oceans, another concept, after Black Holes, that can boggle the mind. 

Heading toward West Glacier.

    Once over the pass, I picked up the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, which I would follow down to West Glacier. It was meandering at its finest, enjoying the snow-laced hills, the beautiful river, and other wonders of nature.

 Flathead River.

    At one stop, I observed a few gents with rafts getting ready to go down the river and wondered if I could do it in my kayaks, yet upon seeing the rapids and how cold the water was realized that was folly.

    Not wishing to impose, I continued down river, where I found a quiet secluded spot away from traffic. Returning from another leisurely walk, I saw the same rafters at what appeared to be the end of their trek.

    I approached them and immediately was asked, “Do you want to run the river with us? I have gear you can use.” 

    What to say? Looking at the snow on the hills and the speaker’s smiling face, I realized I had no option. Yes, I will get in a 10-foot raft with a stranger, put on various items of clothing designed to keep me warm if not dry, and go for it. I mean, what other option is there? “Yes,” stumbled out of my mouth, followed by a big smile. 

    After a quick introduction, Larry added, “If you are here in an hour when we return, I will take you.” 

    So there I was an hour later, leaving the warm MRV, dressing in his extra gear, and after returning the rafts to the original put-in, getting ready to launch.
    There were three boats: one solo and two doubles. In the doubles, the rafter sitting in the middle had two sweep oars and the passenger (me) sat in front on an icebox and held on.

    May I add that the icebox had about a half inch of foam that Larry was pleased to point out had been rather sliced by an errant grizzly bear on a previous journey.

    After a quick safety brief—yes I won’t fall out, if I do I will go feet first—I grabbed the two bow lines, put my feet on the raft, and felt like a cowboy ready to leave the chute on a bucking bronco. 

   For the next fifty minutes I smiled, got wet, held on, and enjoyed a constant conversation with another ADHD type. We filled each other in on our pasts, found we were both in the Gulf of Tonkin in 1972, on different carriers, and on and on. 

    When we beached, Larry asked if I wanted to go further. Again, what to say, and for the next hour and a half we continued down the river, seeing ice walls down to the river (yes, it was a bit brisk), sighting mountain goats, and just so much beautiful scenery. 

    Del, the passenger on the other boat, had a camera and I have included some of his pictures.   

    Finally we were at the end and loaded the boats on their trailers, after which Larry gave me a tour of his town, Essex, Montana, and the amazing Izaak Walton Inn. For the train buff, this is golden. You can stay in one of their cabooses—they have quite a few—or how about in a converted Great Northern 441 locomotive? They also have a beautiful lodge. And Amtrak stops there—what a deal!

    But all good things do come to and end, and I was back at the MRV. My idea was to spend the night on the river, until I realized how cold I was. So with the heater at full blast, I drove down to West Glacier and the national park campground where Marilyn and I had stayed three years before in the bus. I quickly found a site that promised some privacy. 

    On the way to pay I observed a vehicle similar to the MRV and was soon talking with its owners, Marianne and Hubert, from Vancouver Island, BC. As they were cooking dinner, I excused myself and returned to the MRV to get its license number (which I keep forgetting) for registration. Walking back, they beckoned and insisted that I join them for dinner. What to say? Again, “Yes,” and for the next three hours we talked and laughed.
    Marianne shared that they were both born in Germany before WWII, that she had lived in Cologne during the Allied bombing of the town, until her mother was able to move them to Austria, and that her dad had perished in Russia as part of the German Army.
    Being a bit of a boat nut my ears perked up when Hubert shared that he had built a 36-foot steel sailboat that they kept moored in front of their house on Saltspring Island, one of BC’s Gulf Islands. We talked of sailing and family until I finally convinced Marianne that I was a good dish washer.
    Soon it was time to return to the MRV.
    What a grand day, a day that once again reminds me how gracious others are, if we only let them in.
    Or as my brother says: You don’t plan adventure. 

—Doug