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Some of the purest, most scenic wild lands in this country

Glacier National Park Montana



imageThe jagged and spectacularly beautiful peaks and valleys of million-acre Glacier National Park that anchors the north end of America's Rocky Mountains represents some of the purest, most scenic wild lands in this country. The Crown of the Continent, or Backbone of the World, has long been revered and reached sacred status with the Blackfeet Indians long before it became a national park in 1910, or was designated the world's first International Peace Park World Heritage Site in 1995. Today the honor of achieving Peace Park designation is shared with Waterton Lakes National Park just across the Canadian border.

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Together, these protected lands form an ecological whole, an 1,800-square-mile block of wilderness unsurpassed in its rich diversity of plant and animal life certain to rejuvenate your spirits, put the spring back in your tired step and slap a grateful smile across your face. Sublime, glacier-carved, U-shaped valleys await the hardcore backpacker and hurried car-camper alike. You'll be mesmerized by soaring peaks and rapidly melting glaciers, plunging waterfalls and free-roaming grizzlies; vibrant wildflowers and high alpine meadows and dense evergreen forests. It's a land of extremes. It is a land of beauty beyond compare in the continental United States. And that's not hype. image Visitors often limit their experience to the west side of the park, vacationing at Lake McDonald near Apgar. Or they join the inevitable procession of summer traffic up the engineering marvel that is Going-to-the-Sun Road that curves and bends along a well-traveled notch carved into the dizzying sheer cliffs of the Garden Wall, all the way to exquisite Logan Pass with its wide open meadows and serrated, cone-shaped peaks and jagged ridges and those long-distance views; home to tame but protected, shaggy white mountain goats close enough to catch, maybe, if you're swift of feet. image As wonderful as that might be, however, they've missed the best of Glacier, the eastern half, regarded by many as the most photogenic scenery in all of Montana. It's over here that the views open up, where grand mountains meet the rolling, uncluttered plains of the Blackfeet Reservation that extend to the horizon. Here you'll find big, long lakes, and accessible deep valleys penetrating the heart of a towering mountain kingdom. And over here is where you'll discover some of the park's finest lodges that simply must not be missed. Last May we drove up from Helena and approached the park from the east on one of our many visits hoping to evade a late-spring cold front that chased us north from southern Idaho and brought rain, the ever-predictable wind, and deep snows up high. We're quite familiar with this very good country and the biggest of skies and treeless, rolling, open space that has “cowboy” written all over it; where working ranches come in the thousands of acres, and the tens of thousands, and they vote republican and love their guns, and still ride horses. Where the locals are genuine and polite, and they respect the land. Avoiding the Interstate, we journeyed up long and lonely Highway 89 through Augusta and Choteau, keeping the Rocky Mountain Front and the Bob Marshall Wilderness to our left twenty miles distant. We drove through ancient history and Wild West lore, where bison roamed in the millions and solitary mountain men found refuge from pointless “civilization,” and aggressive Blackfeet war parties walked their painted ponies single-file along the bottom of meandering draws out of sight and out of the spring winds, and those relentless autumn blows that last well into winter; constant wind, always the wind; chew-your-fingernails-and-beat-your-head-against-the-wall kind of wind; wrap-the-trailer-around-a-telephone-pole kind of wind. image Browning can be depressing. Located in one of the most scenic regions of the West, alone out there on the plains in the long shadow of Glacier's mountains, this hub and cultural center on the Blackfeet Reservation has undergone a recent facelift that belies the underlying reality plaguing so many reservations, a crystal meth epidemic and rampant alcoholism that is the curse of rural Montana, not just here. Chronic unemployment doesn't help matters. But the image of Blackfeet men out cold on the steps of the corner liquor store must be offset by the sight of energetic, bright and cheerful graduates riding in the back of a pickup truck celebrating their recent graduation as they cruise Main Street with twenty cars trailing and honking at their accomplishments, everyone cheering at overcoming the odds and bleak statistics, all happy and full of optimism and proud. Paint-peeled, weathered subdivisions are giving way to a new crop of public and private housing in Browning. Miles of sideways-blowing, tattered plastic bags and wind-driven garbage tangled in barbed wire fences appear to have vanished from the landscape, for now. image Fish out of water, we drove through the neighborhood, gawking, sticking our noses where they don't belong, snapping photos at reservation life like it was an amusement park. We turned one corner and ran into a pack of dogs, four of them, maybe five. Big dogs, deranged mutts with attitude. They charged our SUV with demonic fury, barking and snapping and smashing their yellow fangs and thick skulls against the side of our rig with a force that vibrated the steering wheel and shivered the floorboard in a relentless barrage. We looked at each other, “What the …?” Bang, smash, bang, growl, snarl, thump. I could hear the crunch of incisors against the metal door as they dined on our Suburban. No exaggeration. Up went the windows. These dogs know white folk when they smell them. As the frenzy intensified we made a hasty retreat for those snow capped mountains to the west before they took aim at the tires. But I got the message, and I could relate. You know … if I was stuck in Browning I'd be pissed, too. image Billed as a surreal, mythical romance, the 1998 movie “What Dreams May Come” starring Robin Williams was filmed in part near Many Glacier Lodge, the park's largest lodge built in 1915 in an unmistakable Swiss Chalet style. Sprawled along the shores of Swiftcurrent Lake and surrounded by towering massifs just miles from the Canadian border, were I to choose one spot to renew my vows, if I had any, this would be the place. My goodness, it's beautiful. Rent the DVD and watch Robin row a boat across the lake. Locate the exact spot on the hill behind the lodge overlooking the blue, wet orb where Robin picnicked. We did, on a beautiful, sunny, summer day years ago, glassing bighorn sheep as they grazed the near-vertical rocky slopes while distant Swiftcurrent Lake shimmered in the breeze and passenger boats slid across the blue puddle, back and forth and back and forth, and fairly fat fly-fishermen flung their frilly flies from the frothy fringes of that fair body of frigid water, for real. image Don't be surprised to find 400-pound grizzly bears wandering along the ridges way up high, ripping apart turf and overturning boulders in search of delectable vegetables and petrified rodents - watching him kept us occupied for an hour. Undaunted, they saunter along foot trails that circle the lake, or any place else for that matter. They've been spotted on the trail to lofty Iceberg Lake where bergs of ice, I'm told, still bob in the aqua-blue, ice-cold waters at the base of sheer 3,000-foot cliffs. Those bears have been just about everywhere at one time or another, and have been known to gobble up startled campers now and then. I'm still figuring out “The Shining” (1980) with Jack Nicholson, still scratching my head over that one. I saw it for the first time just the other day and jumped out of my chair during the opening credits as the overhead camera followed Jack's car up the eastern side of Going-to-the-Sun Road, up to the (supposed) lodge where he had his chilling meltdown and started swinging the ax. Gore aside, that was some great aerial cinematography, superb shots flying over Goat Island and Saint Mary Lake. image At 9.9 miles long and surrounded by a succession of towering mountains that converge on Logan Pass, this area is a photographer's dream. Turquoise water, whitecaps on cold windy days, aspen foliage blazing orange and bright yellow, it's enough to make you ignore the 38,000-acre fire that ravaged both sides of the highway leading back to Browning. That was a shock this time around. Wow! Where did that come from? What once were beautiful, lush green stands of evergreens are now bleached stumps, and not just a few. I'm not the only one saddened. Mention it to a park ranger and watch the shoulders slump and the smile droop as they recount that bleak period not so long ago. Fires, BIG fires, have plagued the park for the last 20 years, especially on the west side. Whether it was caused by an epidemic of drought, a century of fire suppression policies or a combination of both, during the bad burns the smoke and havoc can be downright apocalyptic. If you want to put your fleeting, tiny life into perspective, get close and watch a Rocky Mountain wildfire erupt; mountains of yellow flames crackling and roaring 500 feet in the air; pitch black and yellow-white smoke billowing thousands of feet above the flames, and higher still, like late afternoon thunderheads, or an atomic bomb exploding and curling up and up. Come to think of it, it does make for some great photos. image I've stood atop craggy Mt. Oberlin near Logan Pass during one such conflagration. The air was saturated dark brown looking west toward Flathead Valley, and it stayed that way all summer. East, the sky was crystal clear and deep blue, courtesy of prevailing winds off the plains that shoved that mess back across the Continental Divide. But what can you say? Like losing your hair, you know … that's life. To play it safe, you might adjust your vacation plans before you pack up the kids. Call ahead. Monitor the fires. And if your heart's set on driving up to Logan Pass, make sure they've cleared the snow drifts off Going-to-the-Sun Road because winter can linger into July and render the pass inaccessible. My neck's got a crick in it from staring at the ceiling down at the Glacier Park Lodge and Resort in East Glacier next to the Amtrak station. It was built not long after the park opened and catered to tourists flocking here in large, civilized droves. Do take the time to visit this architectural masterpiece. The Blackfeet called it the Big Tree Lodge, which was fitting considering the main structure is supported by gigantic Douglas fir trees. And they're inside the building, not out. image You won't believe your eyes when you stroll through the lobby. For someone like me who knows a little bit about building log homes, I marvel at the audacity at attempting such a feat, let alone pulling it off in a day when automobiles were a novelty out West and the big cranes we take for granted were unavailable. Of all the memorable moments in Glacier, one stands out above all others, and it wasn't the scenery or the paradox of luxury living in the wilderness. It happened on a short hike near Logan Pass one afternoon with a couple of friends. The trees were patchy, the terrain flat and the hovering mountains lofty. Not far from the trail head we came across a group of 20 men and women standing in a circle, heads bowed, hands held tight, praying. A young man had been mauled by a grizzly bear in that spot the year before. Friends and family accompanied him and gathered together to mend his broken pieces. And the circle represented closure.


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John Treadwell Dunbar -- Bio and Archives

John Treadwell Dunbar is a freelance writer


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