Going to the Sun Road

More of my shaky video as I hang out the car window. But nothing, not even Hollywood cinematographers could capture the absolute wonder of Glacier Park.

Princely Views

We left Whitefish, Montana yesterday morning. It didn't take long to get to the southwest entrance of Glacier Park. We camped in Apgar under the tall pines. If there was sunshine you wouldn't know it tucked away in that dense haven. It was quite chilly and we weren't allowed to run the generator. The night owl that I am, I ran the battery down and we had no heat by morning.

However, there was plenty of sunshine on the Going to the Sun Road. We left the Airstream and tackled the long incline up the gorgeous peaks. We drove as far as Logan Pass (about 35 miles) before doubling back. Once again I hung my head out the window to videotape while Robert was steady at the wheel.

Glacier Park is magnificent and we could spend a lot more time exploring, but we want to keep up the pace to get through Canada while it's still warm. This is the end of the summer season. So, this afternoon we headed north to Waterton Park in Alberta. This is the first time any of us has ever visited Canada. We had absolutely no trouble crossing the border. I imagined I'd see more security, or at least the Royal Mounted Police, but it was uneventful. The drive up was beautiful, breathtaking. Hard for Robert to keep his eyes on the road for all the wandering cows (kinda like in Baja!)

We are staying at the full-service campground in Waterton near the lake and below the Prince of Wales Hotel. We were so excited to have dinner in the Royal Stewart Room where the waiters wear Scottish kilts. We imagined Prince Edward hosting his royal friends there, hunting and fishing, dining in the grand room overlooking the spectacular mountains and lake.
I was very disappointed to learn that the Prince of Wales Hotel was actually built by ambitious American railroad big-wigs. They created it as a getaway spot for Americans looking for a drink during the Prohibition era. They boldly named it after Prince Edward (who owned a large ranch in Alberta) betting he would draw patrons. I don't believe he ever even visited the place. Prohibition ended after a few short years and the depression hindered profits further. Still, it was a nice idea. It must have been quite a sight years ago to tourists coming in on the train, just as it impressed us as we pulled in, Airstream in tow.

Goodnight America, how are ya?

Here's something I never knew until yesterday: When a train nears a crossing it blares its horn four times. Two long, one short, one really long blast from the horn. How do I know this, and why did it take me over 40 years to discover this esoteric bit of knowledge? Well, for the past two nights I've been jarred awake every hour by the passing of trains on the BNSF Railway.

Hwaaaah Hwaaaah Hwaa Hwaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh. Here, take a listen.

Although the code is always the same, there are subtle variations. Some horns are more baritone. Some engineers wail longer on each note. A sleepy person grows sensitive to these little variations of the nocturnal locomotives. It only takes one night of this auditory assault to become discriminating of style. I wonder--does the horn-blower relish this task? Is it fun to pull the lever that releases that piercing compressed air into the still night? Does he work on his style and delivery? Who is he and how do I find and kill him?

Our course, all this just makes me curious enough to google. The BNSF is a huge conglomeration of railroad transporters. I understand it works hard day and night for America. How else would all the stuff we like get to the shelves at the grocery store? These following italicized fact alone soothes me enough to forgive for now:

• BNSF is the largest transporter of beer and wine by rail in the United States.
• BNSF transports enough canned beverages to supply every resident of New York, Chicago and Los Angeles with one beverage a day for nearly one year.
• BNSF moves enough sugar to make more than 3 million batches of cookies a year.

Still, it is time to move on.

She'll be Coming Round the Mountain Every Hour

After Flathead Lake we landed in Whitefish, Montana to a tiny campsite along Whitefish Lake. At seven miles long, this lake is tiny compared to Flathead, but more charming. This photo shows the view from the campground. The other is of the view from our bedroom in the Airstream.

It would be mini-nirvana but for one thing: the Great Northern Railway. The tracks run not some 100-feet from our campsite and a train runs practically every hour 24/7 bellowing its horn as it passes.

We will endure it one more night and then we're on the Glacier Park and Canada.

Flatheads and Huckleberries

Polson, Montana. Never heard of it until yesterday when we landed here. We stayed in out first KOA camp. Apparently, it is one of the better ones, I'm told. We snagged one of the better spots with it's own wood deck overlooking Flathead Lake. The area is a little hazy from fire smoke. I read where this fire originated in the Indian reservation nearby. There was some controversy about the Indians supposedly neglecting to put it out before it grew so big.

I hadn't known it, but half of Flathead Lake and a huge portion of the land south is a reservation. I imagined a flathead fish as the origin of the lake's name, but no, it turns out that Flathead is the name European settlers gave to the local Indians. How lovely. But then I remembered how pioneers called Germans, "square-heads," so go figure. Which leads me to believe that a good portion of Polson's early settlers were Germans. Maybe they nicknamed the Indians Flatheads, as they were accustomed to cranial observations. There does seem to be a lot of Germanic names on mailboxes in the eastern shoreline of Flathead Lake.

The 1855 Treaty of Hellgate divided the lake. The Indians got a 1.2 million acre reservation and $120 thousand dollars. The upper portion was offered up to private ownership. Somebody found that the land was suited to growing apples and cherries, and more European settlers. Too bad they didn't throw out Flathead in favor of the true tribes' names: Salish, or Kootenai.
The east shoreline is dotted with cute homesteads and orchards. Some areas, like Finley Point are like quaint little hamlets. Long country roads are marked at the entrances by wooden picket signs.

One the east side of the lake is a cute little town named, Bigfork which is situated near the very top of of 26-mile long lake. It is a cute little town where the main street is named "Electric Avenue" due to the power plant that was created there in the early 1900's. We bought a jar of huckleberry preserves which is the touristy thing to do. Huckleberries are everywhere in this area, and having never tasted any we thought we'd give it a try. I can only describe it as "blueberry caviar." On the road back we stopped at a fruit stand to buy cherries and fresh huckleberries which cost a hefty $15.00 for a couple handfuls. Maybe I'll get Robert to make a huckleberry pie since he's getting pretty handy in the Airstream kitchen.