Taking the High Road

After Thanksgiving, it was time for this unemployed girl to take a little road trip.  After almost 2 months of absorbing the views of my old home, it was time to seek out some new ones.  I set out on a short drive, meant to be a out 48 hours.  The first afternoon, I took a cue from century old wisdom and headed west.  After a few hours, I turned south at good old Medicine Hat and followed my niece to her new hometown of Lethbridge and met her college roommates.  Is it good or bad for your aunt to tie for first place in the game "Cards Against Humanity?"

 

The next morning, I continued my journey south, with my goal being to head to Glacier National Park and take some photos.  I had not been to Glacier since....1997 according to the old photos I found at home.  On the way I saw a lot of wind farms, something new for me.  They are pretty much along the roadside in a many parts of southern Alberta now.



 

I crossed the border south of Lethbridge at the Carway border crossing.  One of Montana's monikers is "God's Country."  Hard to argue that when this is the scene that greets you entering Montana.

I have come to dread the common border crossing questions, which most people I meet ask.  "Where is home for you."  "ummmmm, I am between places."  "Where do you work?"  "ummmmm, I am between jobs."  "Where are you going?"  "ummmmmm, I am not exactly sure."  The customs agent was very friendly and tailored things a bit, like, "ok, when you do work what do you do?"  "did you book any accomodations in the US?  No?  Any idea where you might stop?  Well have fun!"  As I drove into the US I entered "Blackfoot Nation," an area of about 3000 square miles designated as a reservation -- the government on these lands is tribal, meaning that a tribal council rather than state or federal government makes decisions on land use, fish and wildlife, gaming, and there is a complex set of laws for crimes that happen on and off reservation land, with jurisdiction for prosecution set out depending in whether victim and defendant are both Indian, both non-Indian, or one Indian and the other not.  Basically, misdemeanors fall to tribal courts, major offenses fall to both tribal and federal, but the state of Montana only gets involved when there is no Indian involvement.  My inner Canadian keeps wanting to say Native or First Nations, but if I refer to the recent constitutions from 2009, they say Indian or Non-Indian.  So when in America, will use American terminology.  Anyway, before that little off topic blurb, I was just going to say that I crossed into Montana, Blackfoot Nation, and it was immediately stunningly beautiful.


Montana also calls itself Big Sky Country, which fits

This shows the juncture of Canada-US Border at Blackfoot Nation

As the drive south of the border continued, I felt that instant relaxation that comes with "vacation."  I was on an adventure...and you know how I love my adventures, no matter how big or small.  I followed highway 89 South for a while.  The strange shaped mountain seen in the distance here is Big Chief Mountain, and the road lazily follows the St. Mary river for a while.

 

 

It was a beautiful fall day for a drive....clear blue skies, and golden trees and hillsides in all directions against the blue skies and blue-grey mountains.

 

 

Highway 89 is a bit of a twisty roads that winds its way up and down the mountains.  My plan was to explore East Glacier, and just go up and down the roads in the park, looking for wildlife and scenic views.  That would mean turning off Highway 89 and going onto Highway 49, which seemed like it would be a good idea since Highway 89 was so curvy.  The starkness of a prior forest fire really stood out along Highway 89.

 

After rounding yet another curve at the top of a hill, I came almost fender to face with a bunch of black cows who were standing in the road and gave me a good moo for my insolence at driving there.  To the credit of the cows, there are a few cattle crossing signs dotting the highway, but I never expected to see a small herd in the road.  Turns out they don't really fence the cattle in around these parts, they are free range.  Chances are saner people don't really travel this road much anyway, hence the look of surprise to both the cows and I on meeting this way.  It seemed like a good time to pull over and take another picture of burned out trees and ancient mountains.  I gotta say my new camera captures the colors very true to life.

 

After a few minutes of walking around and taking a break from behind the wheel (it had only been 100 km but my speed had slowed considerably on this road), I pulled back onto the road just in time to see the cows make another new acquaintance.





 

I drove up to the little one on the roadside and asked if I could take her photo.  She mooed consent.

 



After a few more miles, and passing St. Mary's Reservoir, where the St. Mary River empties into a large lake, I came to the junction for highway 49.  It instantly narrowed, and was riddled with giant potholes, heaving pavement, and a rather unnerving upward ascent.  I remembered from my trip to Glacier back in 1997 that there was a road somewhere near Browning, MT that I had sworn to never drive on again.  I was pretty sure it was the 89 that carried on to Browning, and that the 49 couldn't be worse.  As I turned onto the road, it immediately narrowed and proved to be riddled with potholes and uneven heaving pavement.  It also had an unnerving upward angle, and I pulled off to the side of the road to take a picture of where the road headed -- a sharp curve around the top of the mountain with some nefarious signs perched precariously on the side, presumably suggesting caution.  I figured that would be the worst of it, took a deep breath and carried on.

Can you see the road carved into the side of the mountain and the signs on the edge?

Well, as it turns out, pretty sure Highway 49 was the road I was remembering as the one I would never drive again.  It was literally falling apart in places, horrendously narrow, with hairpin turns around the edge of the mountain, no guardrails, and almost no shoulder on the road.  15 mph was as fast as I could muster, with sweaty palms as I went around the corners blind, praying that another vehicle wouldn't be on the other side of it and bump me over the cliff into freefall and oblivion.  I wanted to turn around but there was no room to safely do so...forward was the only option.  I would have taken pictures of how terrible the road was....but I was to intent on survival even at my snails pace.  The road was only about 12 miles when I later looked on a map, but it is 12 miles that I had absolutely no intention of retracing ever again in my life (or at least until I forget which road it is again).  I did google Highway 49, and found a picture at least explaining why on the scariest curve in the road the pavement was piled awkwardly (and dangerously) in the road.

Once on the other side of those 12 miles, there suddenlywas a nice roadside turnout, and I stopped and took this photo, which if I named my photos I would simply call "Still Alive!!!"