I sit here on the bank of the Northfork of the Flathead River, on the NW side of Glacier, which is far less traveled by tourists. We had to take a long dirt road to get out here, and we noticed all of the campsites have vacancies. I'm a little nervous due to the bear prints we saw in the mud as Taylor led me from the car to a gravel bar off the bank of the river.
Since I'm not technically posted up on the side of the river--but rather IN the river--I somehow feel a bit safer. We weren't planning to come up to this river, but then again, we haven't really planned much of this trip, so why should I be surprised by my current position?
We actually set an alarm this morning so we could get out on the road ahead of tourists, hoping to see some much-anticipated wildlife. Taylor said last night was his worst night's sleep yet, and I hated to agree. The rustic accommodations allowed us to hear every flush of any toilet above, below, or beside us, and before 5 a.m., I thought a group of people must have been climbing down the escape ladders outside our room for a pre-dawn hike, when, in fact, it was just the water running through the exposed pipes in the room.
Regardless of the noise, we took two showers each in less than twelve hours simply because we could.
The Going to the Sun Road was much less populated, and seeing the spectacular sights in reverse order was equally as amazing as yesterday. When a group of cars pulled over and tourists stood staring up at a hill, I glanced up and saw the backside of a grizzly. But by the time Taylor could safely pull over, the bear had tucked away into some trees. Not even a few miles up the road, however, I spotted a longhorn sheep. Taylor saw three more.
After taking a few photos and continuing on our journey, we saw one more lone sheep, prancing up the highway and straight into the Logan Pass Visitor's Center without a care in the world. We continued looking for wildlife as we exited the park and made a mental list of things we want to do next time and locations we still want to see.
Taylor kept mentioning the town of Polebridge, but in all honesty, we thought it would have been too much of a haul to try and get up there, just less than 20 miles from the Canadian border. Then we saw a mileage sign, just as we were about to head for Whitefish. Polebridge: 25 miles.
With that sign, we headed north.
A Missoulian (?) bartender spoke fondly of Polebridge a few days ago, and once we arrived we knew we made the right directional decision. There's a mercantile and a cafe, and that's about it. Oh, and this river and the NW entrance to Glacier.
We were told the cookies were heavenly and the breakfast sandwiches were to die for, so we stocked up on both, which are now probably melting in the car as I write this.
The town is on the national list of historic places, and--like McDonald Lodge--is celebrating its 100th year this summer. I love a good centennial celebration, and I enjoyed serendipitously stumbling upon both of these. I'm not sure where we'll end up tonight, but the hot sun here, intermittently reprieved by a soft breeze, sure isn't something to hurry along.
A few random Montana observations: There are so many casinos here! They're small but frequent. The Rocky Mountains are spectacular, a gorgeous border along the highway up to Flathead Lake from Missoula. It seems no matter where we've been, the locals--or summer locals--are used to visitors and tourists, and everyone seems so genuinely friendly. Oh, and today (Thursday) was the first time I turned on my phone since Sunday, and I really only turned it on to see if my sister had gone into labor yet. For all we knew, we could have a new niece or nephew. We also just realized we have no clue what's going on in the news or back home. We called our moms to let them know we're safe, and we aren't ready to be back in the city yet.
I forgot to mention that there are quite a few historic Catholic missions sprinkled around the Indian reservations of Montana. Not only are these structures and surrounding towns beautiful, but they got me thinking about what the area must have looked like when these churches were painted.
...
Picking up again from home to recap the conclusion of our final night on the road.
After departing from Polebridge, we planned to stop in Flathead Lake by way of Whitefish. After a longer-than-intended lunch in this adorable--albeit tourist-heavy ski and summer lake town--we decided to keep driving through Flathead to reach Missoula and then continue to Idaho. We made a choice to hit home Friday, instead of Saturday, to give us a few moments to readjust to schedules and alarms...emails and phone calls...before Monday inevitably arrives. We made it to Missoula at 5:45, just fifteen minutes before the fly shop closed.
...
Well. It looks like that's where my journal entry ended. As I recall, we got a couple of souvenirs at the fly shop, hit the Big Dipper Ice Cream stand, and drove until dark. We ended up staying at an RV park on the side of a river in who-knows-where Idaho. It was a little sketchy, to say the least, but we ran out of daylight and had no choice. The bathrooms were amazing, though. And I caught my first glimpse into the life of RV'ers. Wow. Those people were serious with their patio sets, potted plants, full-size barbecues, and endless equipment to settle into their time away from home.
Even now, eight months removed from this trip, it sits at the top of my mind as one of the best weeks of our lives together. It was just Taylor, me, and the open road. Without a home. Without a cell phone. Without a plan. It was summer as it should be. Wild and free. And I'll never, ever forget it.
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