Friday June 18 Day 14-Hyder Alaska to somewhere north of Dease Lake British Columbia Canada
Still feeling pretty crappy but this is one of the days I anticipated when planning the trip. Mark-get up.
Pack up. Point North. Go.
I had to dig out my big girl panties this morning.
In Stewart, a little village between Hyder and the rest of the world, there was a Swiss-German grocery store in town
that had Advil Cold and Sinus tablets. Cup-o-joe, energy bar...
I gotta say. Having a runny nose and sneezing in a full face helmet takes some of the romanticism out of an epic
road trip.
The ride out of Hyder between the mountains- lush at the bottom- snow covered and jagged at the top, was even more stunning
in the late morning light. In this valley, the sky takes up less room than the terrain. A sharp contrast
to the Dakotas, Wyoming, and Montana.
The Cassier highway above 37a consists of smooth well lined blacktop that ends in brush just inches off the edge of the
road. The farther north you travel the worse the road conditions become until south of Dease Lake it becomes loose gravel
and constuction. Not bad riding but hyperfocused attention is critical. Many critters call this remote road home.
I passed three moose, several deer, four bears and a poor puppy that I hope didn't look distressed. I only hope he had
a home in the bush where some side roads would be an over night camp for the ever present 4x4 trucks with slide-in campers.
At Bell II, an oasis in the middle of the Cassier, I stopped for fuel and a snack. As soon as I raised the shield
on my helmet, mosquitos filled the void. I snapped the shield shut and squished as many as I could with my face on the
helmet liner and proceeded to pump gas in all my gear. These guys are vicious. Even in the middle of nowhere they
swarm you in seconds. I wonder what they eat when I'm not around?
At Dease Lake I decided to stop at the only store, a small reservation stop-in, to replenish my dwindling stock of dried
soups and noodles when I saw a BMW GS across the parking lot. Swinging in to make conversation the rider asked my name
as I noticed his NC plate and "Boone" sticker. We both realized that each other was the faceless person on the other
end of the Adventure Rider forum where I had asked if someone had an extra bed in Dawson for a gathering of ADV riders.
David Kellner had been the one that answered my plea and after a couple of days of exchanging emails we realized we lived
only 80 miles apart. Fancy that. 4500 miles from home and we accidently find each other in a remote part of British
Columbia. With the only phone for hundreds of miles in either direction, I snagged it to call home and wish Cathy a
happy anniversary. 22 years. I still don't know how I pulled that one off.
I had intended to push on another 150 miles to take advantage of the light but David had already put in a extra long
day on his GS so we decided to hit a local campground on Dease Lake. Again, magic wifi in the wild.
So I sit here with my mosquito headnet on at 10:45 pm banging on this little computer toy in broad daylight.
On one side of us are a couple of gentlemen from Oregon and Colorado on nice new KLR650's on their way to Ancorage and
on the other is Simon who hails from England by the way of Vancover in his new Toyota FourRunner with all the Africa Safari
gear including a tent that pops up on the top in case of lions. Really cool rig. Simon just completed a
whirlwind tour of the Yukon and Alaska hitting some of the same back roads I intend to ride.
David and I are planning the rest of the trip up to the circle and back into Alaska via the Top-of-the-World highway,
a unpaved winding road from Dawson to south of Fairbanks. Depending on the weather it could be a breeze or a muddy mess.
We'll see.
At least for the next week, I'll have a riding partner for the hardest and most remote parts of the trip and I can show
him how to fix things with zip ties.
Gotta force the sleep.
Good night my precious little kiddies (20 and 16), Happy Anniversary my bride.
Wednesday June 17 Smithers BC to Hyder Alaska
After leaving Prince George I moved west on Yellowhead Highway (hwy 16) noticing the road was running out of people.
A couple of small towns grew from rest stops when it took much longer to traverse this stretch. I stopped in Smithers
after having ridden for much longer than I intended or should have and found a small municipal primitive campground next to
a large river. Quickly setting up camp next to a couple working in the area I fixed a quick Thai Noodle dish
and lemon tea.
Maggie and Nicolas had just finished a stint as tree planters in the vast bush of BC between catching semesters at school.
When a site is logged, the company then contracts a team to replant by hand what had just been harvested. They showed
me the quality tools used. Strong cast mini-shovels. I like good tools.
Nicolas shrugged when he said it's still a monoculture but as long as the world uses paper, pencils,
and builds houses this sustainable scientific approach is the way to go. Besides. They are oozing trees up
here.
Maggie drove her old Subaru from her home in Nova Scotia. (hey Emily, this is from back when Subarus
were kinda square shaped like my old blue one). She, Nicolas and their dog Boreal worked the plant camps in the bush
for the season. It was fasinating to hear about the camp coming together to run off the bears and how one particular
set of very large grizzly tracks were concerning. Boreal was a dog's dog. Alert, curious, and playful. Bright
sky blue eyes caught your attention too.
Nicolas and Maggie were good peaceful souls. Sprinkles on the ice cream of my travels.
Pine trees stretched from horizon to horizon becoming mesmorizing at Canada's maximum 100 kph limit. That's 60
mph max no matter how long, wide, or desolate the road is.
I ride the speed limit for a number of reasons so twist the grip on the right to the correct position and resume my vigilant
scanning of the roadsides for signs of bambi.
I saw a moose this morning. I really didn't realize how big these suckers are. Like a Subaru on stilts.
He didn't run fast or particularly gracefully. Actually quite clumsy. Kind of like the steampunk spider in the
remake of Wild Wild West. Deer, on the other hand are like Mother Natures suicide bombers. I suppose automobiles
haven't been around long enough to weed the bad geometery gene from their DNA.
As I neared the begining of the Cassier Highway, a long mostly paved two land road from south BC to the Yukon, I saw
signs for a PetroCanada just ahead. Pretty much the last chance before Stewart or Hyder or beyond. Fuel up, bacon
and eggs, stretch and hydrate.
The Cassier is the less know little sister to the Alaska Highway running to it's east. The dense
brush grows to within a couple of feet of the road making wildlife scouting more frantic and dropping one's speed here
is a good idea. Three bears playing at the edge of one curve disappeared instantly into the foliage inches away.
To be as big as they are they can be stealthy when they want.
Ride, ride, ride, ride, stop and become mosquito food while I hydrate and stretch (quicker this time), ride, ride,
ride, ride...
A long one-way-in-and-out spur off of the Cassier takes me 40 miles or so to the BC town of Stewart, just across
the river is Hyder.
Goal 1. Alaska, check.
Hyder is not unlike Cicely Alaska, the ficitional town in the tv series Northern Exposure. All dirt roads,
a hodgepodge of small stores but mostly bars servicing the fishing industry along the Portland Canal and tending to the few
tourists that wander in looking for the famous bear watching place. When the salmon run in this area, grizzly and black
bear come like parisioners to a buffet at Ryans as soon as church is out. Before the runs, few bears, while the salmon
are running, they are everywhere. Sorry that I'm a couple of weeks early this year.
I did see a couple more black bears poking their heads up above the grass for a better view of me.
The Bear Glacier and Salmon Glacier are must sees in this area. The Salmon is at the end of a 20 mile long freshly
scraped dirt road but worth the dust to see. It's the fifth largest in North America.
Supper was at an old school bus transformed into a kitchen by Diana, wife of a local fisherman. Diana serves whatever
is fresh and does it well.
Fish and chips. Halibut with home made tartar sauce was amazing. Stop and see Diana when you are in town.
I've been slowly eeking out a cold/sinus/achy feeling for most of the day and decide to curl up deep in my mummy bag
and sleep it off. No drug store for miles so I'll eat some advil and drink more water and see what happens in the morning.
Night Emily and Eli, all of my love Cathy.
Tuesday June 16 Mt Robeson British Columbia to some where in the boonies near Hazelton British Columbia
I'm writing this from a Starbucks in Prince George as they were the only free wi/fi I could find in town. Since
it's only mid day, I can't finish this story day until I find another place with at least cell service. That might be
a while.
As cold and rainy as it's been for the last few days, this morning was as beautiful. These Canadians have some
really blue sky and cotton white clouds...when they want too.
Breaking camp with little dew to dry and very early daylight (4:30 am), I set out for what will be one of my longer days.
Break it in two. Prince George by lunch and within a couple hundred miles of Alaska by campdown.
Long desolate two lane Hwy 16 pressed into the pine forest giving me views like so many postcards held for a few seconds
in front of my visor. Each new creek following curve shuffled the deck a little. No sign of civilization for a two hundred
kilometers or so.
Forceing myself to stop every 80-100 miles to stretch and drink water is required due to quick dehydration and subsequent
muscle pains. The wind really dries you out in a hurry.
I saw a wide pull-off and clamped down on the brakes to make the gravel entrance at a gravel entrance speed. A
small sign indicated this was BC's Ancient Forest. The farthest inland rain forest anywhere. I hid the bike in
the bushes and after removing my riding jacket set out for the 2.5 kilometer loop trail through the area. This
is hobbit land. Mossy, primevel, old. The smell of wet pine and decomposing plant matter moved up the mountain
in waves pushed by a gentle wind. The walk was over far too quickly but I needed to cover more miles so...drink...stretch...drink
again.
Time for fuel in the small village of McBride. Much more so than in the states, you can't fool around looking for
better prices. Fuel up everywhere.
Across from the small petro station was an abandoned hut with several log carvings like you see around the Smokies
but these were GOOD. I started across the side road to get a better look when a very used Dodge Caravan groaned
to a stop next to me. A rugged fellow slid out of the driver's side and immediatly began asking about my trip.
Destination? Home? Stayed last night? Going today? The voice was east block european but I wouldn't
try and guess where. He stuck out his hand..."The call me Darda, short for O'Darda". He welcomed me to McBride
and professed to be the local carver. "You did these?" I inquired. "Nope. My friend Garth Elliott" Garth
lives in Alberta and, like Darda, carves in the winter and sells in the summer. "These are mine" Darda said as
he opened the back of his van and began pulling smaller but more detailed carvings of cowboys, indians, faces not unlike "face
jugs" from the Appalachian mountains. Remarkable expressions and attention to mood were gouged carefully from each piece
of wood. Darda continued pulling these from every corner of the old van. "I live in the bush about 10 miles upstream
and come down every morning in the summer to make enough for the year" Darda said as he pulled a hand sized carving
from his dashboard and handed it to me. "Here is for your travels". I told Darda how much I was appreciative
and touched by his generosity. He handed me another even larger and more detailed one. "This one is for you
too Mark" "Keep them both for your journey".
While I spoke to Darda he sold three pieces to travelers wandering in off of the road. I took his picture
with a couple of them and he took mine on the bike next to Garth's big log carvings. Darda came to North America in
1978 from Czechoslovokia and wandered around as far north as Alaska before settling here. He sported a newly bandaged
hand from a bandsaw accident that morning. Apparently a little glue took care of most of the damage.
o'Darda Kirchschlaeger is one of the rare artists-historian-survivor that typifies the rugged folk of BC and gives McBride
the type of character that seeds a small town like that for greatness.
If you make it through McBride British Columbia, Look for the roadside wood carvings and a robust gentleman with
sandy-grey hair and beard talking with his hands. Look carefully at his art. It is astounding. You
can also reach Darda at his link to the outer world..
o'Darda Kirchschlaeger
PO Box 157
McBride BC Canada
VOJ2EO
Time to suck the bottom out of my green teal half-caf, non-fat, hold the whip, blended, frappuccino. I'm not sure
how I orded it. I pointed a something someone else got then nodded my head when the barista started asking questions.
She offered sizes but I just pointed at a cup on the counter. Clay would have known what to do. I feel fine next
to a creek camping with the stuff on my bike but get a little nervous pulling off a Starbucks order.
Bye for now. The next post will probably be a while.
Glad you found the cat Emily. Take care of things Eli. Big hugs Cathy.
June 15 Day 11 Banff Alberta to Mt. Robeson Alberta
June 15 Banff Alberta to Mt Robeson Alberta
Someone in a room above me or next to me sure is taking a long shower. When I pull aside the drapes and peek out to the
alley I realize it’s pouring rain. Oh well,…I’m in an underground parking deck so at least I can pack and dress in the dry.
By 8am I’m loaded and pulling out of the small inn in Banff to see the famous Icefields Parkway.
According to the lady in the little hut at the beginning of the Kootenay park entrance to whom I reluctantly paid $9.80
US (doesn’t matter, the exchange rate is nearly the same) I have until 4pm on the 14th to get out of Banff/Jasper
provincial park or pay another $9.80. That means covering the full length of the parkway and 10 kilometers west of Jasper.
The rain broke almost immediately but it was still quite chilly. I had dressed accordingly and was glad of it just miles
from town. A young girl from New Zealand mentioned that I might want to take a side road- not in as good of condition than
the prepped-for-RV Highway 1 but more apt to find wildlife and certainly suitable for the KLR. Within 3 kilometers of Banff,
two black bears were picking something from bushes on the roadside. Because of the heavy fog and threats of rain, I had left
my new camera (thanks mom and dad!) in the tank bag covered with a unwieldy plastic rain cover that resembles a big shower
cap. My smaller camera that was mounted on the handlebars had quit working sometime yesterday (sorry Eli). Just around the
next curve, two elk were grazing on the roadside. I had to stop for these guys. With the bike turned off and layers of gloves,
helmet, headphones, and the rain cover to remove I felt a little safer with the deer as the focal point instead of the bears.
The two roads merged just east of Lake Louise and I took the detour to hike near it and Moraine Lake. As majestic and frighteningly
in-your-face as Glacier National park was, the terrain of the Icefields Parkway made Glacier look small. Pulling into the
parking lot of the regal inn at Lake Louise it started raining again. I left on my riding gear but fitted my rain hat and
began the trail around the lake. If you ever see (if I can ever load) the pictures of Lake Louise and Moraine Lake, it appears
that the water color is either dyed or Photoshopped. The deep teal of the lake is it’s true color. Emanating from Victoria
Glacier at it’s West end, and bordered by six unique mountains, it is the quintessential Canadian post card shot. Or I thought
so until I saw Moraine Lake.
Moraine Lake is not as big as Louise but more compact and nestled tightly within the arms of Mount Babel and Mount Little.
I’d like to be there when they named that mountain “Little”. Don’t know what they were thinking.
Is that a snowflake?
North from Lake Louise the air turned bitterly cold as I tractored up the Bow Summit, a high mountain pass, wrenching my
neck to the left at no less than ten glaciers, each more spectacular than the last, the air became even colder with a little
wind to boot. Stopping at one particularly stunning view, I wanted someone to take my picture but noticed no English being
spoken within the dozen or so tourists at the pull-off. German, Korean (maybe), French, another language that I think was
made up on the spot, but no English. I took a chance with an Asian gentleman who thought I was giving him my camera and wouldn’t
accept it so I thanked him for his humility and turned to the German lady. “You vant me to picture you?” So she steps back
with her camera….no, no…let’s try this again. By the way, talking louder doesn’t help. I handed her my camera and verbalized
my request in syntax that I didn’t even recognize while flailing my arms around like I was getting ready to fall off a cliff.
Somehow she figured it out and took a couple of pictures and while handing the camera back said in perfect English “I took
another just in case”. "Guttentag" I said.
Pushing toward the high mountain pass, it started to snow. Not just flurries but heavy and thick. I had to wipe my visor
off every few seconds, pushing the snow to the right side of my helmet where it stuck until it finally accumulated enough
to break free only to splat on my waterproof duffle behind me then slide down my back. The road didn’t freeze but the snow
created a spring slush and slowed traffic down from the molasses-like Canadian speed limits to a metric crawl. My heated grips
have been on HI for the last three days but just not hot enough right now.
On the downhill side of the pass the snow turned to rain then to the inevitable break in the clouds for a little warm sun.
Someone mentioned that on the Icefields one would experience all four seasons. I’ve yet to experience late spring, summer,
or even fall but I’m only a third of the way up.
The granddaddy of glaciers presented itself just up the road. Columbia Icefield is a monster of a chuck of ice. Even as
big as it is it’s retreating at an alarming rate and leaving hundreds of acres of mounds of rock in its wake. I notice some
small dark dots and larger but proportionally tiny rectangles on the upper portion of the glacier. I realized these were people
surrounding the all-wheel drive (six of ‘em) buses used to tote folk up for a closer look. This put it all in perspective.
Pushing on faster than I wanted to get to camp and out of the park before accruing another day’s charge, I covered another
hundred and fifty kilometers of otherwise outstanding landscape that I normally wouldn’t pass up. My head on a swivel and
up and down trying to soak it in from the seat of a steady motorcycle.
Jasper lay at the northern most point of the parkway sandwiching the north and south with it’s more upscale sister Banff.
Not to say it’s any less expensive. I walked out of a small village pizza joint when I realized a single serving single topping
pizza and drink would set me back some twenty bucks Canadian before tip. A stop into a small drug store scored a hot dog and
bottle drink for ten dollars. I passed on the obligatory “Jasper” sticker for my sidebags when the Korean lady behind the
counter (Grandma, everyone was calling her) quoted five dollars. Really neat town but for crying out loud…Hey folks, it’s
summer, the skiers you usually fleece are long gone!
Seventy kilometers up the road was one of three Mt. Robeson campgrounds. One on a river, one in a meadow, and one kinda
between. I saw a couple of other riders on the way to Alaska earlier pull into the meadows but couldn’t find them. They must
have gone back to the river campground as it’s on the way toward their chosen route. Maybe I’ll catch up with them in Alaska.
Mt Robeson is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies and requires me to look way up to see it’s peak from my campsite.
I quickly set up camp and went for a walk. The well trodden path followed the river for a few hundred yards then turned
up the back side of the camp. Deer signs all over but no bear. Maybe because I’m whistling loudly the last song I herd on
my MP3 player as I walk. “Dee dee didilup dee dee. Dee dee deeUP de de de de..Dee EE didliup de dee… singing his cattle
call. He’s brown as a berry from ridin’ the praire….” If there were bear, I’d surely have heard ‘em laughing.
Two gentlemen about my age crossed the parking lot quickly earlier at the Mt. Robson info center wearing matching t-shirts
and wanting to know about my trip and the bike. They were just talking about how they wanted to do be riding but were leading
a group of young people (in matching t-shirts) on a hike and camp this weekend. Suddenly I felt a little selfish taking all
this time for myself while they give their time to all of these kids. I don’t remember their names but they were from Prince
George.
I started feeling lonesome too and missing my family dearly. When one is on automatic pilot, simply twisting the throttle
a little and scanning for wildlife, one has a lot of time to go down thought tangents- wandering around in the past, poking
the present with a what-if stick, and laying out the mental cards of the future like a game of solitaire on a clean kitchen
table.
Am I going where I want to go? Not on this trip, but with my life?
Am I doing what I really want to do? What will my impact on this old world be?
How badly did I screw up my kids? Is that a new vibration from the back of the bike?
I wonder what Eli is doing right now. Probably eating or hanging out with his friends. Emily is probably at work saving
up for her trip to Africa next summer. Cathy is probably at school or reading on the porch. I love looking out the of front
screen door early in the morning and seeing her curled up with a book in her red rocking chair marking the spot occasionally
with her finger to gaze through the morning fog or to see what made the horses snort. I like to watch her when she doesn’t
know I’m watching.
As I write this I suppose mom and dad are wondering why I can’t call tonight. No cell service for forty miles. That’s probably
going to be the case for the next 1000 miles so I’ll have to make a point to keep an eye on the “bars” for opportunities.
Excuse me while I load up the fire, the mosquitoes are out to play.
Good night way over there on the other side of the continent kids…My love will travel to the moon for you Cathy.
Monday June 14-Day 10 Glacier Park Montana to Banff Alberta Canada
Nature called very early this morning. The quick rip of the tent zipper broke the peace usually reserved for God's
other creatures. Trust me...it had to be fast. Sorry creatures.
Around 3am I awoke to hear the door on the closest bear box rattle. Then another farther away. I wanted to
look out of the tent and maybe get a picture but I wasn't sure what a flash would cause a bear to do. Ah, go back to
sleep.
Speaking of bears. I passed a drive through grizzly park on the way out of Glacier this morning. For a second
I thought that might be cool. For a second. Ever heard of a moveable feast?
Anyway, I packed the bike and before putting on all of my layers of clothes and riding gear decided to take a hike down
the lake bank from my campsite. Some fresh tracks that I found out later were beaver were stamped in the soft mud along
with birds. Three loons were playing a hundred yards off shore and their call was the only sound other than the soft
lapping of the water on the shore rocks.
This is a remarkable place. Terry Logan, the guy that stopped by last night quoted his dad "I wish someone made
a camera that would capture this as I see it." It's almost depressing to take a photo, even with a good camera, and
expect it to convey the whole feeling.
I sat on a log for over an hour and just watched... enjoyed. Go see it for yourself.
Backtracking to Whitefish and northward, I crossed the Canadian border unceremoniously.
Border Guard: Passport Sir
Me: Here ya go
Border Guard: Guns or weapons?
Me: (pulling out my pocket knife and pointing to my machete) These..?
Border Guard: Where are you going in Canada
Me: Banff, Jasper, Stewart, Cassier Highway
Border Guard: Anything to declare?
Me: (I just about screwed this one up with a smart alec but pretty funny remark)...No sir.
Border Guard: Have a good day sir.
North on I93 then right to Kootenay National Park and across Vermillion Crossing. The temperature dropped the more
I pushed into the mountains until it was in the mid-30's. Then the rain. Then the snow. Then thunder and
HAIL.
Along side of the two lane road that ran through the park with only me on it today, there was a large statue of an elk
just inches off the road. I was wondering outloud in my helmet (as I'm doing way too frequently) why they
would have put it so close to traffic. Just then it turned and walked to the river.
I was having problems pulling up the campground loaded in my GPS and rolled on into Banff. Stopping a lady
walking her dog to ask her if there was affordable lodging in Banff (Think Aspen, highly unlikely) resulted in more of a conversation
than I had bargined for in the rain but sucessfully ended with her pointing across the street at hostel style lodging for
ski instructors in the winter. The hotel next door administrated the rooms. Fifty bucks a night. I'm in
brother.
Parking the bike in a secure parking deck and carrying the two loads to the room (I know there's a bed in here somewhere)
I walked down Banff mainstreet in the rain ducking in and out of storefronts. This place is too expensive for my blood.
I bought a Canadian flag sticker for my side bags on the bike.
A bison burger and bison brew capped off my evening in Banff. Just as the weather cleared and reveled tremendous
craggy mountains jutting up from the edges of town. For the second time today I sit in awe with my camera in my pocket.
Goodnight my little ones, hug your mommy for me.
Sunday June 13 Missoula Montana to Glacier Park Montana
The alarm rattled the nightstand at 6:30 and I had
to cross the motel room to disarm it. I had been up since 6am packing the big
duffle and assembling the smaller bags to stuff in the side boxes for a half hour.
John stirred in the other bed then snatched the
tv remote to check out any updates on World Cup football. After prepping most
of the load to tote down to the bike, I plopped back down, snatched up the covers over my clothes and checked out the map. With the Road to the Sun closed on top of the mountain at the best spot, I considered
my alternatives. Idaho and Washington maybe?
I could check them off the list but would only be doing it to do it. Not
really enough time to enjoy the states. Head start on the Canadian Rockies? Perhaps.
Let’s let the road decide.
I gave the bike a once over tightening loose bolts
last night as the single cylinder tends to give them their freedom on a regular
basis. Some folks say KLR stands for “Keep Loctite Ready”. Others say it stands for “Kinda Like Ridin’”. John being John
was there to carry the load, check air pressure, suggest alternatives for the lost strap that secures the tank bag and providing
support for the next big leg of my journey. Any race car drivers needing
a cracker jack crew chief, you know where to look.
Even with the sun strong the air had a chlly Montana
bite. With the liner in my jacket and long underwear (top and bottom), I pulled
onto I93 north toward Canada.. .
I93 is more of a fast access road than an interstate
and slows unexpectedly at several small towns around Flathead lake. With one
more day on my Montana fishing license, I stopped at one of the public access points to drag a streamer along the bank. With my riding pants on and little room to move along the bank I really didn’t the
fly much of a chance as I soon grabbed the camera and sat on a big rock taking in the view.
This is some very blue and very clear water. I quelled the temptation
to strip down and jump in.
Just outside of Kalispell MT, I saw a Yamaha dealership
open at 10am and stopped to buy a few quarts of fresh oil. Last time I changed
it I anticipated much warmer temps and went with a heavier 20w50. With mornings
in the 30’s and barely warming up past 60 I went back with a thinner 10w40. Changed
in the dirt parking lot and left to make a decision on how to proceed north.
The Glacier Park website indicated that the
Road to the Sun was closed at avalanche 18 miles into the park. Well that’s something. I decided to burn the rest of the day seeing as much as I could before heading to
the border.
After paying the obligitory twelve dollars
(enjoy the free Smokies folks) I wandered into the most breathtaking topography I’ve ever seen in my life. Roaring deep green water with cotton candy froth cut a path next to the Road to the Sun. Each turn delivered a unique vista that can’t be captured with camera.
On the way back out of the park I found a
great campsite next to Lake MacDonald. It was just a few feet from the water
but sheltered from the strong breeze by tall pines and aspens. As I was preparing
to fix supper, a fine looking BMW GS1200 rolled up and Terry Logan, Montana resident and Alaska-by-motorcyle alumnus rolled
in and stopped to chat. As always I took the opportunity to grab my trusty but
worn notebook and grill him on his trip. By now most of the suggestions and “must sees” offered are redundant but Terry was able to deliver good advice on points of interest that I didn’t have penned.
A quick camp stove pot of Pad Thai and leftover
hard sausage from Wisconsin washed down with lemon water and I now sit to read the literature on Glacier and bang on this
little keyboard. Oh, I also have to wash my pots and store them with virtually
everything else I am carrying in a large bearproof box back near the road. I
suppose I could leave all of this stuff on the ground and just sleep in the box but I don’t think the rangers would look kindly
on me poking holes in the top to get air. These folks are REAL serious about bears around here.
This blog is brought to you by the fine folks
at Gold Bond Medicated Powder. Shovel a scoop in your drawers and your good to
go for 500 more miles.
Good night kids.
All my love Cathy.
Saturday June 12- Day 8. Day off...Fish
John and I grabbed a quick make-it-yourself waffle from the lobby before pointing the rental Impala south along the Bitterroot
River.
Conversations with the locals quickly dimmed our hopes of finding many fishable spots on the river because of the very
high conditions. We were cautioned to avoid wading and be aware of walking on the unstable banks. A fellow lost
his life yesterday on Rock Creek when he fell in and became tangled in a tree washed into the river. Nuff said.
We visited most of the places we were familiar with but only had a few feet of safe bank from which to roll cast at best.
Moving 60 miles from Missoula to the east fork of the Bitterroot south of Hamilton and Darby we spent most of the day
leap-frogging up and down both sides of this usually docile river. Only once did I have a fish rise to a salmonfly pattern
I was using. John will surely have better luck the rest of this week when the salmon fly hatch opens up and the river
calms down.
I'm going to try my luck farther north tomorrow as I move toward Canada by Flathead lake and it's feeder streams.
I was dissapointed to hear that the Road to the Sun was closed putting a halt to my plans to cross that high mountain
pass tomorrow morning and see the Glacier National Park I've read about for years. Oh well...another time.
Nighty night Emily and Eli. Sweet dreams love. I really miss you all.
