Travels in the West I

In the West

 

Hand in hand--Logan Pass, Glacier, late July

 

It took a couple of days before the summer rains appeared, but when they did they were heralded by the heavy rumbling of thunder and big streaks of brilliant lightning. We left the heat of the Midwest behind when we finally crossed over into Montana at dusk. From the vantage point of small rest stop on a hill, a couple blocks off the Interstate above the small town of Wibaux, on a Beaver Creek, the ruby sunset clouds glowed above rocky hills. Far off in the distant Montana sky giant steaks of lightning shot down from the sky; but where we were it was dry.

I decided to keep on pushing on despite the approaching dark to get closer to Glacier National Park. The dark closed in and there seemed to be nothing but ranch lands. A small town called Circle, on Highway 200S, along the Redwater River, behind the Sheep mountains, and at the terminus of a rail line, promised a refill of the gas tank. Fortunately there was one store open at 10:30, because the two other stations in town didn’t have credit card readers for their gas pumps. I asked the station attendant if she knew where we could camp. She directed me down to the edge of town to a big city park with grass, small trees, a picnic shelter and bathrooms. It wasn’t the last night we made a late camp, but we had full days. I left the rain fly of the tent off to see the night sky, but as has happened in the past, early morning rain led me to a quick placement of the rain fly.

The Rocky Mountain Monsoon was on and it rained a bit every day for the next two weeks. But storms were brief and finally as the nineteen day-trip wound down by the pool of Grand Lake Lodge on a mountainside terrace above town and alpine lakes, just outside Rocky Mountain National Park, the sun kept its vigil and the night skies were clear. The immense, Milky Way-streaked sky shown above the huge bonfire pit of the lodge and the shooting stars traced their burning streaks across the sky where the mountain peaks pushed into the dreamy, dark sky. Some nights, distant flashes of lightning lit the night sky while we remained secure in the twilight below tall pines. Such were two nights at Round Prairie Farms when Bella and I and Jerry and his son Aidan (one week older than Bella and playmates from a previous trip four years ago) lingered on the trampoline past a normal bedtime of a child’s and early rising, working Dad’s. But so things happen in the gentle summer nights when even the long days of the northern latitude don’t seem long enough to take in the brief summer pleasures.

Public radio comes in almost anywhere you are in the west. So I listened to it on occasion. But still vacation is a time when I drop out of the affairs of the world—life and death, peace and war, winning and losing. A few CDs got played and we listened to books on tape: Dragons and princesses and Willy Wonka. I brought Robert Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in book form and on tape read by Eric Idle. We listened to it on the drive and I read it to Bella at night. Bella eventually requested not to listen to it because she would rather have me read it to her. Knowing you can beat out Eric Idle for your daughter’s attention made me feel good. Bella did a little movie viewing, we planned out her eighth birthday party, and we found out facts about different states. She asked the time and when we would be to a certain place; but it was in the spirit of inquiry and establishing her perception of time passage, not a sense of impatience. A lot of the time Bella sang songs and I listened to my daughter’s sweet child voice as the scenery of the high plains and Rocky Mountains passed by the open windows of my small ’93 Honda Civic with bikes on top.

We heard on the radio that a tornado killed a couple of people a hundred miles north of us that night. Later in the trip, the radio also told us a couple of escaped convicts had been captured two days after we left the small town of Meeteetse where we spent eight hours camping after leaving Yellowstone. But we had Bella’s lucky rabbit’s foot purchased in the general store in North Dakota beside the world’s largest buffalo (and with a real white buffalo grazing somewhere in the distance—a sign of the peaceful union of the peoples of the earth). Bella thought she was lucky enough already having a father who was going to take her to Colorado. That black cat who crossed our path in Wibaux didn’t seem to matter.

Bella at Logan Pass w/ glacier lilies

We’ve been to three National Parks and three hot springs on this trip. I’m happy to see my daughter enjoys the pleasures of both hot springs and the parks. I’m not sure, she might enjoy the hot springs more than the mountainous sights of the Rocky Mountains themselves. But fortunately, they are in close proximity to each other among the geologic wonders and winding trails of the Continental Divide.
   
Swimming has been one of the main activities on this father-daughter trip. With warm summer days, why not? Floating, and splashing, and jumping, and soaking—those activities are fine ways to gravitate on our water-covered earth.
   
We were about to finish up our second day in Glacier National Park with a swim in the clear, cool but not cold July waters of Lake MacDonald below the still snow covered peaks of Logan Pass before heading into Whitefish, when Whitefish came to us. Just as we were walking to the lake under the tall green pine trees with our suits on and towels in hand, up drive my friends Tom & Mary with his daughter Kaily. We’d walked and skied together in Glacier many a time, including a summit or two in Glacier. They were here for their annual swim in Glacier and it was a fine day for it with temperatures in the eighties.
   

photo by Tom Megher

photo by Tom Megher

After retrieving a six-foot log floating close to the rocky beach and using it as a float toy, we returned to shore to find a just-hatched dragonfly. The compact, emergent dragonfly had just popped out of its cocoon/shell. It was sitting on my white beach towel. Its shape mimicked that of its shell. For thirty-five minutes we watched it stretch and grow to its full size. Its head and big, giant eyes where much the shape an adult dragonfly appearing ready to lead the body somewhere. But its wings were compact, dense and folded tight to its body so that you could hardly imagine this insect could fly. But ever so gradually the wings began to unfurl and become the translucent, veined wings of a hovering machine.  The tail of the dragonfly also began to transform. It appeared to telescope out gradually from a short stump to its long needle- like long protuberance. Finally, in a quick movement, the wings snapped out to full width. They began to vibrate as if testing the controls. It sat, full in its development. And then it launched itself and flew off freely into the pines above the lake.
   
Our adventures with water continued. The next day we were exuberantly and repeatedly jumping off a floating pontoon into the clear, rocky waters of Whitefish Lake with the kids and parents of my friends. The day after that Bella played in the indoor pool of the local health club (after stormy weather forced them from the water park).

While she was so occupied, I ascended to Big Mountain to go for another mountain bike ride. From the base of the mountain, high above the valley floor, at an elevation of 4800 feet the trails start winding up 2ooo vertical feet in seven miles. Now you can also ride up a chairlift with your bike following you, but for some reason, I’d made it a principal to always ride up the mountain. The clouds began to break and the weather was fine. The finely constructed single track trail wound up the mountain, across the grassy, flower-filled runs and through the moist forests of large, broad douglas firs and larch. My legs and lungs seemed strong from the many miles of biking I’d done earlier in the summer. As I began to cross the large open bowl of the Big Face near the top of the mountain, I knew I would be reaching the summit with its spectacular views of Glacier National park, the large valley floor, and the other various mountain ranges that receded into the distant curve of the earth. I discovered a new trail had been built since the last time I was here four years ago. It was called Runaway Train and it descended from the summit in about half the distance. Now I don’t have the precise geometric formula, but it does mean my descent on Runaway Train was significantly steeper. The trail at points practically plunged over cliffs, necessitating tricky balancing maneuvers to keep from tumbling head over heels. In some situations it meant getting off the bike and carrying it down. But later the trail joined the run called Easy Street where I rode without breaks at thirty miles an hour.

Back down in the valley, at Round Prairie Farm compound where we were staying, a party was about to start. A keg of beer, gin & tonics, jugs of Tang, and enough kid friendly activities like tree houses (with Tibetan prayer flags flying from its peak high in the pines) and trampolines (and kids) to make it so that I didn’t see Bella for a couple of hours. When I did she was hungry.

For all her comfort with my friends and their children, much of the nineteen day-trip it was just she and I. It is a big world in which we roam while we travel—for adults and seven year olds. As we walked into a store or restaurant, or sauntered off down a trail in the mountains, her hand slipped easily and naturally into mine. There is a pure and secure connection between parent and child in the joining of hand.