Cloudy morning
Needless to say, we rose early again the next morning. It had become a tradition, and we'd developed certain traditions that we'd stick to throughout the trip. The weather forecast wasn't promising this time: rain for most of the day. But what could we do? We had to get going. After all, tomorrow we'd leave Glacier, and today we'd have to cross Logan Pass again and reach the park from the other side. There should be some beautiful trails there, too.
The weather is gloomy.
Mists and clouds drift between the mountains, making it gloomy but still very picturesque. The promised rain hasn't arrived yet, and the "Going to the Sun" mountain road is easy to drive at a normal pace. We cross the pass without difficulty, pass by Lake St. Mary, arrive at the park gates, and are turned away. Apparently, the same rules apply here: if you can get in before seven, go ahead; if not, you must schedule a time in advance.
We eventually found other trails. One of them turned out to be particularly sad to walk because it passed through a burnt forest.
These areas were probably devastated by large fires 10-15 years ago. They destroyed a significant portion of the forests on this side of the mountains. As we climbed higher, we could see the skeletons of dead trees sticking out for miles around. The only relief was that young pine trees were already clustered around them, and raspberry patches and blueberry fields carpeted the previously scorched slopes.
And yet, we left the trail and headed toward the waterfall. By this time, it was already raining, fortunately not very heavily. The narrow trail leading to the waterfall was lined with tall grasses, enough to soak us waist-deep in just five minutes. After a while, our boots began to squelch. We decided to walk to the waterfall despite the weather. This area boasts a stunning combination of rock colors. Rock outcrops of dark red, burgundy, and brown are interspersed with unexpectedly vibrant, greenish-blue inclusions. A stunning contrast of cool and warm tones!
The waterfall turned out to be pretty, though not very tall, yet turbulent. And then there's the color. The water here shimmers in every shade of green. Even on a rainy day, it seemed vibrant—emerald, covered in lush lacework of white foam.
By this point, we were practically soaked from head to toe. It was a relief to return to the car, find dry clothes, take off our wet boots, and put on flip-flops. We could adjust the warm air and head back. But we'd have to drive more carefully now, because the steep turns of the mountain road were glistening with rain, and Logan Pass was completely hidden in the clouds.
The road from the pass
We take our time, occasionally entering thick fog, slowing our already slow speed. But sometimes, suddenly, the clouds part and a patch of gloomy landscape opens up. Sometimes distant mountains are visible, their peaks seemingly existing on their own, surrounded by clouds on all sides. Even below us, there are clouds.
Despite the bad weather, we stop at various interesting places on the way back.
We drove along this same road yesterday, but we were so tired that stopping anywhere else would have been difficult and wouldn't have been much fun. In one beautiful spot, for example, there was a snowfield, eroded by a stream from below, forming a low tunnel. But you can't walk through it because the heavy, compact snow could collapse at any moment. Around another bend was a long rock wall, down which a small but wide waterfall flowed, as if licking the stone. It was so close that the spray flew right onto the road. A beautiful and dangerous place! We didn't stop at the numerous viewpoints because visibility on that cloudy day left much to be desired. Moreover, the day before, we had had such a wonderful opportunity to see so many picturesque landscapes that it made no sense to get out in the rain. But we decided to stop at the triple arch.
It's part natural, part man-made: a road tunnel was dug into the rock where a natural arch already existed. A small stream flowed next to one of them, forming a miniature waterfall. Luckily, the weather had cleared at that moment, and a beautiful view could be seen from the natural arch's opening. It's amazing! We saw so many of them during our trip, we never got tired of them!
The Last Trail
When we descended, hope rose that the weather would finally improve. We decided to have lunch at home, rest a bit, and then head out somewhere else in the late afternoon. Around four o'clock, the clouds dispersed, the sun dried the grass and trails, and we set off along another trail. Here, we were promised a forest lake and a good chance of seeing wildlife. The lake turned out to be small and charming, surrounded by tall spruce trees and a beaver lodge on the far shore. But we weren't particularly lucky with wildlife; we only saw a partridge.
But her behavior was downright textbook, just like Charushin's. When she saw us, she didn't fly away, but began quietly clucking. At first, we didn't understand why the bird wasn't flying away, but upon closer inspection, we noticed: one chick under a stump, one in a hole, one behind a knot. Another, the bravest one, stood on a fallen tree trunk and cheeped. I took a photo of it and said:
- Naughty boy! Do what your mother tells you! Hide quickly!
And we quickly moved on along the trail so as not to upset the partridge, especially since it was getting close to sunset, and we still had half an hour to drive along a bumpy, winding dirt road.
Well, our time in Glacier Park is ending, and it's time to pack up and head back. For seasoned travelers like us, it's a matter of twenty minutes. One last night in our temporary shelter—and then we're on our way home.
July 20
Last morning at Glacier
So, the things are collected and packed into the car.
Early in the morning, we regretfully leave Glacier National Park. It's so beautiful here! And even the morning chill and yesterday's rain didn't spoil the overall impression.
It seems as if yesterday's clouds haven't drifted far away, but have lingered in every valley and mountain fold. We make our way through the gray fog to admire the sunrise over the mountain lake for the last time.
Majesty and tranquility. Trite, yet so true, words that can describe the state of nature at the moment when the sun rises over the mountains.
Just before the park gates, we see a black bear leisurely crossing the road from the car window. It's a good sign! Montana's very nature has given us a parting gift. We should definitely come back here, since it's been so kind to us...
Blackfoot Tribe
We drive for another two hours through narrow valleys between the mountains. The sun rises higher and the fog reluctantly creeps into the lowlands, toward the rivers and lakes. The slopes become more gentle, and after a while we find ourselves back on the prairie. Around nine o'clock in the morning, my stomach is clamoring for breakfast. On the plain, at the foot of the mountains, we decide to make our first stop and eat. We found a suitable place—a park on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation. A large cultural heritage center has been built nearby, but due to the early hour and the weekend, it's closed. While breakfast is being prepared, I manage to look at the metal figures nearby.
It turns out these are characters from a Native American creation legend. It's a familiar story: a bored Creator was amusing himself, fashioning a moon, sun, and stars from mud, and creating humans and animals. He settled them all on Earth. But humans (once again!) proved treacherous and unworthy. Then, enraged, God abandoned them on Earth and, accompanied by his "stars," flew off to the heights. Beforehand, he caused a flood to undo the results of his failed project. The wise old man Napi remained on Earth. This assistant of God's brought everything back to order. He climbed a high mountain, caught clouds with a rainbow rope, stopped the downpour, and asked the animals to retrieve some mud from the bottom to recreate dry land. Possessing special powers, the animals could take the form of humans.
Unlike previous generations, they were righteous and began a new life on earth. They were the ancestors of the Blackfoot tribe.
Much time has passed since then. The righteous have become lesser, otherwise they wouldn't have left so much trash in the park where we had breakfast. And the gas station seemed somehow unkempt. Only legends of former greatness remain.
Echoes of a Legend
And again, we're driving all day across the Great Plains. The weather, sunny at the start of the journey, is starting to deteriorate. Ahead, across the deserted, arrow-flat road, a storm front is visible. We even had to change our next overnight stop because we didn't want to set up camp in the rain. We decided to keep going, especially since there was still plenty of time before sunset. And so we bravely drive into the storm. At times, it pours so hard that we have to slow down to twenty miles per hour. We drive leisurely in the rain for two hours, and even the thought occurs: "“
Probably the Indian god has once again decided to send a flood, it seems that it is not enough for him.”
When a rainbow appears on the horizon towards evening, the feeling of the presence of a legend arises again.
Apparently, old Napi himself stretched out a rope—a rainbow—to disperse the clouds. So the rain will soon end.
And so it turned out. When we arrived at the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers campsite, near the dam and Fort Peck, it was warm and dry. We pitched our tent without any problems, made dinner, and even managed to stroll along the banks of the Missouri River at sunset.
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