Hungry Horse, Whitefish, Blackfeet Lake, Glacier...the names seem to say it all. Montana, the Big Sky State, broad and tall, rough as granite, is the place of legends. Glacier NP has been on our bucket list for a long, long time, and we’ve finally made it. Our domicile for the next week is a time-tested campground called Mountain Meadows just off Highway 2 ten miles from the eastern entrance to Glacier NP. The campground, for a private one, is a real keeper. It’s nestled in to the wooded hillsides on the south side of the Flathead River valley. All the sites are semi-private with wooded enclosures affording a sense of quiet. I found a path that led out of the camp and up the hillside where I walked the dogs most every day. It was very remote up there and you could find openings in the forest where vistas to the valley below and the mountains of western Glacier could inspire your view.
Multiple signs posted implore you to be “Bear Aware”. For sure, bears have been spotted here just this week, though visits are not the usual daily occurrence. It just felt like bear country. The local newspaper featured on its front page a story about grizzlies taking control of certain hiking hot spots within Glacier. There, also, was a feature recalling how two mountain lions had been shot by residents of a local subdivision the week prior. The killing and eating of a house cat the apparent reason for the lion posse. We went over what you’re supposed to do when confronted by bears and lions out on the trail and tested each other so as to ensure each other’s safety. Nonetheless, we bought bear spray. If the local forest rangers use it, then so would we.
It’s well reported the Glacier NP is losing its namesake, that is, glaciers. By 2030 they predict none will be left. Their scarcity is very evident even now. However, that loss of glaciation, though a harbinger of bad climate to come, doesn’t overly diminish the bold beauty of this place. We met up with Dusty and Cindy, our great friends and traveling companions. We seem to have the same interests and travel destinations in mind and continue to meet up as we wind or way around the country. Piling into Dusty’s truck we made the grand ascent of the “Road to the Sun”. How the devil did they create this road? Did they have mountain goats build it? Again, words fail me. It is quite clearly, one of the great experiences of my life. One of the things that amazed me about this road is the rock wall work that survives to this day from the original building of it. Instead of guard rails, rock walls, as handsome as any you’ll see anywhere, hold you close on the precipitous two lane up and around and down the mountain walls of sheer rock. To give an idea of the still dangerousness of the road, a 14 year old girl was killed by a rock fall in her parents car just the week before on this road. Her parents were injured badly as well. I think back to other roads of awe that I’ve traveled and measure them against each other for their wonderment factor. Pikes Peak, the Million Dollar Highway between Ouray and Silverton, CO, Wolf Creek Pass, Mt Evans...this may be the granddaddy of them all.
One day during our stay we decided we would all hire a guide on Blackfeet Lake and fish for Lake Trout. Blackfeet Lake is a treasure itself, sitting just south of the Park. Hank, our guide, was unique in that instead of hooking the fish and then handing the rods over to you to reel in, he let you do all the fishing, but with his excellent gear. It took Dusty and me a little while to get used to running the down riggers properly, but we got it, and we got fish as well. We must have caught 8 or so of at least 27 inches but only kept one each for eating. Mine was largest at about 30 or so inches and was a real beauty of a fish. Roasted in butter, lemon and spices wrapped in tin foil on the campfire , few things taste better.
After our week stay on the western side of the park we all headed caravan style to the eastern side to find camping and explore that area. We checked out three different private campgrounds, the NP campgrounds being sold out months in advance, especially since we faced Labor Day weekend. These three were fairly pitiful places and we moved on. Fortunately for us we accidentally stumbled upon a huge open meadow along the lower St Mary’s lake just outside of the Park near Babb, MT.
This is Blackfeet country, their reservation, their land, and they have turned this traditional tribal meeting place into a fine campground. Tepees lie about for ceremonial use and for effect, I suppose. Nothing, however, can improve upon the already grand layout of this place. It’s stunningly and beautifully placed. We fell in love with it. Bald eagles fly unencumbered here as do Loons, whose early morning and late evening eerie calls hearken to an earlier time of wildness. The “camp dog”, T-Rex, patrols the shore and the camp in search of new friends. He and I became fast buddies pretty quickly. Indeed, dogs, including ours, run free here. The Native Americans, Blackfeet, who managed the campground were wonderful as well, very accommodating, but not intrusive. Jessica, Warren, Waylon, and Mason were their Christian names. Fine people all. Chewing Blackbones is the name of the park, named for the last warrior chief of the Blackfeet nation, who lived here from 1857 to 1963. He was an illustrious source for tribal information and helped document the ways of life among the Blackfeet during his latter days. Young Blackfeet now as then honor his name and recite his exploits and tales.
Grizzlies often come here, mostly at night. One had been seen the week before we arrived. Bear traps, the large barrel type, have been placed here by the Blackfeet Game Authorities, not to kill them, but to relocate them to the Park itself. We couldn’t leave this place and kept renewing our campsites for several days. During evenings we would often sit out by the lake and watch, just watch and listen quietly. Grand clouds would arise from behind the mountain range to the west and form any number of sacred animal shapes. The water would calm into glass save the rising of the trout nipping at insects on the surface. The trees and shrubbery were beginning to try on their fall colors. Indeed, Autumn was in the air. We sat speechless in appreciation wrapped in our jackets to brace against the falling temperatures. If ever you can find a place to evoke the feeling of living during past primeval times while enjoying the comforts of modern camping, here it is...Chewing Blackbones.
Canada and Waterton Lakes National Park, a joint national park with Glacier, lies a scant 20 miles from Babb. What a drive over we had! I think this eastern and northern side of the park is the wilder part, being less populated by tourists. The Prince of Wales Hotel on Waterton is something you don’t want to miss. Such a grand structure in such a grand showcase of mountains. It’s a busy place and tourists are aplenty. It doesn’t diminish the jaw-dropping grandeur of the area, however. This is a destination for millions, a bucket lister. We didn’t do any hiking or purveying deeply into the trails here as Diane, Dusty, and Cindy were not feeling able to. However, the sights from the roads were ones I’ll never forget. Every now and again I get a feeling in my soul similar to when I was a boy and I’d see the ocean or the mountains for the first time. I get that feeling over and over again here in Montana. It’s indescribable, really. I think most people understand it, though.
As we drove down the road in Chewing Blackbones campground leaving for Helena and West Yellowstone, T Rex, my newest buddy, ran alongside the motor home until we reached the entrance to the highway. He took one last long look at us and began walking back to his home with the spirits of campgrounds past, present, and future among the people of the Blackfoot.