Heading North

I decided to poke around Whitefish a little bit more the next morning.  The front desk clerk recommended the Buffalo Café for breakfast, and I couldn't resist the cinnamon bread french toast.  Very good -- not quite as good as the Blue Water Grill's cinnamon bread French toast in San Pedro, Belize (also get the key lime pie if you go there), but pretty darn tasty all the same!

 

I am going to give Whitefish the unofficial title of Happiest Town in America.  The people were unbelievably laid back and friendly.  Waves and hellos from strangers, extremely courteous hospitality workers who made conversations beyond just a basic greeting, the way motorists and moms with strollers all smiled at each other at crosswalks, and then turned to smile at you too.  The waitress at the café who answered my inquiry with enthusiasm, and backed it up with suggestions from her coworkers and manager in the back.  I think it's the kind of place where you wake up and see the mountains, the lake, the river and trees, some critters roaming about in your quiet town wedged between a world famous ski resort and a world famous national park, .and think "Damn, I've got it all," before happily going about your day. 

And so I chose this little place for my road cappuccino, and was met with more of the same.  I chose it because it is a bike shop, ski shop, with a coffee bar in the corner.  A business plan that totally meets my approval.  I went inside, browsed around, called out a hello, and watched a guy who looked like the stereotypical snowboarder rake leaves and exchange morning greeting to people passing by for about 10 minutes before I wandered back outside and asked if he by any chance was doubling as coffee barrista for the day.  He wasn't, but he found someone downstairs who was, and I had a nice chat with two more happy and friendly residents of Whitefish.  Again, it's a great place, and the cappuccino was just right.  With that, I headed North.  The plan for the day was to cross the US
Border south of Fernie, British Columbia, and stop along some favorite childhood vacation spots as I worked my way back to Alberta to find the giant potatoe I had passed in the dark a few nights earlier, and ultimately get back to Saskatchewan that night.  More on the potatoe later.

The woods on the West side of Glacier park look a little more like Canada to me.  East Glacier was a place of starkness, sharp angles...a harsh rugged beauty.  Somehow things just looked a little softer on the West side of the mountains.  It wasn't far out of Whitefish that I stopped to document the difference...there are gentler slopes, a bit more variety in the grasses (presumably due to being a little less rocky, having a bit richer topsoil?)

 

Just northwest of Whitefish, Montana

A quiet Montana Road

The Stillwater River runs alongside the highway in this area, and there are several lakes around.  I made a U-turn on the highway and backtracked to an absolutely spot called Stillwater Landing.  The only resident at this time of year was a little squirrel, happily munching what I believe is a pine cone.  Isn't he cute?

This little genius of a squirrel has chosen Stillwater Landing as his or her forever home, and this is the view from his or her little pine tree abode every day.  This is a good argument for squirrels and other animals being smarter than humans, because I eventually left and am currently looking out the window at other houses in a small town where my sister lives, while the squirrel is presumably still enjoying this view.

Stillwater Landing

Stillwater Landing again

And so I carried on down the road.  I found another gorgeous glimmering mountain lake by a little place called Trego.  I think the lake is Dickey Lake, but the town is Trego.  Fortunately there was a roadside turnout where I could stop and walk around and get some pictures.

The little path leading from the road to the lake

The reward for walking down the short little path

the blue-green of the lake, and the calm glassy appearance of it was perfect!

I also had to take a picture of this purple rock.  Earlier in the trip I noticed the highways were made of red pebbles, and sure enough there were a lot of red rocks in the area.  I noticed a lot of purple rocks around Trego...but not a purple rock road.

The water was a perfect mirror for the clouds and colorful trees as they donned their fall colors.

 

I loved this house on the lake in Trego.  This guy is clearly at least as smart as a squirrel.

 

Farewell Ocean Vet

One day soon, a TV series called Ocean Vet will air.  It's setting is the azure waters off of Bermuda, and it's lead is a tall, grey haired, grey bearded man with a voice larger than his already large stature.  That man in Neil Burnie, a resident veterinarian, mariner, musician, lecturer, TV star, etc etc etc.  It's easy to be a big fish in the little old pond of Bermuda, but Dr. Burnie could attract attention in even the biggest of ponds.  Truth be told, he literally swam with the biggest fishes in the pond that is the Atlantic -- sharks and whales.  Routinely.  A day in the life of Dr, Burnie.

To be forthright, I did not know Neil Burnie.  I knew of him in that generic way that you know a lot of people in the island.  He was a vet at my clinic, and I often saw him talking to large dogs and their clients, and got to know his notably booming, enthusiastic voice with the characteristic Liverpool accent.  Sitting in the waiting room at the Endsmeet Animal Hospital, I once heard him declare "THAT is an unusually aggressive animal!!!" amidst the characteristic and equally large growl of my Lexi cat who was just waking up from a minor surgery.  It was in recounting the story to another friend on the island that he was "the shark guy," and Lexi's reputation as a ferocious little tabby grew a bit when even the shark guy found her a bit unnerving.

It seemed everyone knew Dr. Burnie -- he had a reputation as a fabulous vet, but his personality had equal fame.  He spoke with a robust enthusiasm, in fact it seems as though he lived and breathed with a robust enthusiasm.  Be it dogs, cats, sharks, whales, turtles, he helped them all.  He was known in the community for both his passion and compassion.

I doubt anyone felt surprised when the news reported he was filming a TV series on the island.  He had that type of attitude that made it seem like a natural progression for him, rather than the exceptional achievement it actually was.  Education is a major component of the show, with identifying conservation issues and potential solutions, and hoping to dispel fear of animals like the tiger shark with knowledge of their natural behaviors.  Dr. Burnie was known to swim with the sharks quite routinely.

Trailer from Ocean Vet

I came across Dr. Burnie at the docks in Flatt's Village one afternoon while visiting the aquarium with Siobhan.  He was boarding his "Ocean Vet" boat, which I assumed was new for the TV series.  He appeared happy and enthusiastic to start his mission of the day, whatever it may have been.  He yelled "Ocean Veeeeeeeeet" as he pulled out into the harbour, and gave a wave and thumbs up on his way, a natural showman, even if the audience was only two.  To hear that this truly larger than life man passed away yesterday tugged at my soul all day.  Although I have left Bermuda, it still feels like home in some ways, and this man was part of the backdrop of the island.  I am sure that voice of his will echo through time with his work just as it echoed around the island during his life, but his presence is not one that will be replaced.  His research partner has already voiced a commitment to carrying on their work.  But today even the oceans weep for the loss of one of their most vocal ambassadors.  God speed sir.

Peaceful Whitefish

 

I pulled into Meadow Lake Resort, and it was a lovely little golf resort.  While it looked great,

I was hoping for a little town to explore for the evening, somewhere to take photos.  I t\decided I would have better luck carrying on to either Whitefish or Kalispell.  I got a good vibe about Whitefish when I crossed the Whitefish River.

 

It could tell it was my kind of place just by the gorgeous river before town.

And it did not disappoint.  Whitefish had a feel like the river -- a slow and undiscernable current that could be felt but not seen.  It managed to be peaceful and vibrant at the same time.  I drove through the small town, eyeing up the hotels and vacancy signs, and followed to signs to "The Beach."   That took me to the shore of Lake Whitefish.  I sat and watched the day fade, content that I had found a good spot to stop for the night.

I was a little surprised to notice this "emergency hovercraft" shed.  Who has a hovercraft?  I wondered if the residents of Whitefish needed something spectacular since their neighbours over at Hungry Horse has the vortex anomalies and the Amazing Fun Center....maybe a hovercraft tops that.  I don't know, but there it is.

This little urban dear (pardon the pun, urban deer) took slow and careful steps down the alley on the way to her favorite eatery....a backyard garden.  It looked so gentle and so careful that it melted my heart, I hoped the owner wouldn't begrudge it a few nibbles in their yard.  The rest of the deer family was a few yards away at the visitor center.

When I checked into the hotel, a Best Western, they mentioned it was not uncommon to see a moose or bear in town at night.  I was considering a late night photography session, until I saw my room.  On check in they asked if I wanted 2 queens or a king.  I decided for king, and then was asked if I wanted a fireplace which was coming up as the same price.  Yes please!  Once I saw my room, I decided to get dinner in and wine, read my book and enjoy a cozy evening by the fire.

It's true, trust your instincts and you will find exactly what you need.  I found a wonderful vacation refuge in Whitefish, and would love to go back.

Hungry Horse

 

The road trip, it was safe to say, was not quite going as planned.  It was slow going on Highway 89 with its curves and cows so many fatality crosses on the road that I lost count.  Then Highway 49 turned out to be the most nerve wracking thing I have ever done.  The town of St. Mary's had been all but closed up.  And when I finally reached the park gates of East Glacier....the park was closed for the season.  The famous "Going to the Sun Road" was closed both seasonally and for repairs, and the only option was to carry on south and around the mountains to try to enter through the West Park Gates....or go back, but that was certainly not an option for me and Highway 49.  And so onward we went....it was only another 100km on mountain roads.

 

I passed the Two Medicines area, one of the parks popular areas, but nothing caught my eye from the road, and the knee is still not in hiking condition after that little dog-scooter surprise in Bermuda (new readers fear not, the dog is fine.  me not so much).  So I kept going and reached the West Glacier park gate around 4pm.  It was quaint, with original buildings, but a bit like a ghost town.  So I kept going.

 

I pulled off at the roadside to find a trail head.  I found the standard bear warning signs, but there were to be no bear sightings on this trip.

What did catch me off guard though was this giant stone pillar in the middle of the park.  In Canada, development is kept to a minimum outside of the town sites within the park.  But there are several monuments along the road in American parks.  This one is a Roosevelt Memorial.  He did work with the national parks, so it is fitting I guess.

The Roosevelt Memorial

Somewhere along this area, I noticed the highway took on a reddish color rather than the standard black pavement I am used to.  I snapped a photo, and sure enough....the pavement contains predominantly red rocks here.

And so I followed the little red road.  I was thinking of driving as far as Meadow Lake Resort and having a relaxing early evening there, wanting to be off the roads before dark.  But it was still a ways away.

At least in West Glacier, there were living trees, unlike poor fire ravaged East Glacier.

These two horses came trotting up to say hello when I pulled over to take pics of the fall colors.

 

 

One other difference between parks in Canada and the US is that in Canada, they build roadside turnouts at vistas and places you would want to take a picture.  The placement of roadside turnouts in the US appears to be more frequent, and much more random.  Time and time again I pulled over and realized there was nothing to see.  And whenever there was a stunning site along the road, there was usually no place to safely stop to take a photo.  But once in a while it worked out.  I stopped at this river valley, and just as i thought "wouldn't it be cool if a train were going through," a train rounded the corner like a metal serpent.

 

At West Glacier, I was surprised to see this Canadian tourist center.  This little piece of Canada is 232 km into the US.  Presumably this is because Waterton Park in Canada and Glacier Park in the US are a continuous park that crosses the US-Canada border.

Almost everything in West Glacier was closed.  There was no one in site, except at the little tourist shop that let me buy a postcard before closing up.  The "Going to the Sun" Road was open until Logan pass, so I asked about the road conditions -- they looked at me in shock and asked if I was going to drive it alone.  I said yes, but that I had not enjoyed Highway 49 and didn't want to be on similar roads.  Again they looked at me in shock and asked if I drove Highway 49 alone.  I said yes.  I can't quite figure out why it seemed more perilous alone than with 2 people....perhaps one person could dial 911 while the driver slides over the cliff?  Anyway, they said Highway 49 is a "mini Logan pass", which did not sound like fun as the sun was fading.  I headed out that way anyway, but hit construction 6 km in, and turned around at MacDonald Lake, another area ravaged by forest fires an not very photogenic on this day.  Onward to Meadow Lake I decided.

Reflecting on the disappointments of the day (an adventure has not had so many setbacks since the day Siobhan and I were wading through Bermuda swamps), I noted a road sign announcing the next town, "Hungry Horse Reservation."  Good Lord, I thought, that sounds like the most unhappy place on earth.  This day just keeps getting better.  I looked down at the gas tank and thought at least I won't be forced to stop in a place named after animal misfortune.

Just before Hungry Horse, I saw a jumble of wooden structures and a large billboard advertising "The Amazing Fun Center."  The Amazing Fun Center.  It kind of made me laugh, as I pictured my American friend Simon who could typically be expected to name a business something like this one day.  I can picture it "The AMAZING Fun center, who wouldn't want to go there?  Fun center is too boring, but an amazing fun center is worth the money."  Turns out the Amazing Fun Center is North America's largest wooden maze for people, plus has mini golf, bumper cars, and more.  It might really be amazing and fun.

Just down the road, I entered the town of Hungry Horse, and I couldn't help but smile.  It was an eclectic little place.  First off, the local bar was named "Dam Town Tavern", after the nearby Hungry Horse Reservoir.  I can just see all the escapades blamed on that "Dam Town Tavern" by angry local housewives.

Then of course was a trading post called "Fort Hungry Horse," which looked like a mini amusement park itself.  It was sadly closed or I would have definitely gone inside.  The red cartoon horse with ribs sticking out is like a town logo.

And just outside of Hungry Horse I encountered the "House of Mystery," proclaiming fun for all.  I was curious, but decided to carry on.  Had the House of Mystery been as descriptive as the Amazing Fun Center, I would have gone in, because it turns out it is an anomaly, a natural vortex, a sacred place where gravity and electromagnetic principles are altered...now if that were on the sign I would have stopped in to see it myself.  Next time I guess.  If any readers have ever been here, post a comment saying what you thought of it please :)

And so it was Hungry Horse where the trip got a little more interesting, and I started enjoying the day a bit more.  Sometimes it's the most unlikely of places that give inspiration.

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!!!"