How did we get from...
to...
On a beautiful day in the Montana sun, Wolf and I enjoyed a
peaceful game of putt putt golf and a swim at the Whitefish KOA. We even
managed time for a shower. Feeling rejuvenated from the leisurely activities
and a complementary breakfast of coffee, orange slices, and Fruit Loops, we set
out for our first experience at Glacier National Park. It felt only fitting to blast "Born To Be Wild."
The park ranger at the entrance informed us of the
disappointing news that the infamous Going to the Sun Road was still closed
from the winter (according to my cousin and Missoula resident Reed Westlin, May
is a beautiful month in Montana but June is a wet one). We drove sixteen miles
into the park until we could go no further. The road was closed off at the head
of the Avalanche Lake trail. The Avalanche Trail is one of the more popular
trails in the park due to its incredible views of the cut out rapids of
Avalanche Creek and cliffs thousands of feet above. 
After about an hour of hiking, sweating, and photo-taking
throughout the forest, two wide-eyed walkers informed us that the end of the
trail was only ten minutes away. Twenty minutes later, we reached an opening
that unveiled a rocky beach next to a bright blue Avalanche Lake. The lake is
surrounded by tall mountain peaks with melting glaciers dripping down their
sides. Our eyes widened to the size of the passers-by we spoke with. We cracked
open a bottle of hefeweizen in celebration of our accomplishment. The sun
dropped over the peaks. Clouds gathered. We felt a drop of rain. A low crackle
of thunder sounded.
The sudden change in the weather turned our slow sips of the
frothy goodness into chugs. It felt like the right time to head to back to
Black Sally parked two miles away. We reentered the forest, which had become
much darker since we left. The trees, clouds and peaks worked together blocking
the dwindling sunlight. There were no more hikers on the trail and we felt
alone in the once heavily populated forest. The thoughts of grizzly bears
suddenly seeped into our minds. Then a flash of lightning. Wolf counted fifteen
seconds until a booming thunder. Then another flash. Twelve seconds. I was just
about ready to complain about my sore legs and knee then another flash. Nine
seconds. Multiple flashes from behind us lit the darkening forest and we
quickened our pace. We ran down inclines and fast walked up slopes. Wolf set
the increasing pace with his hiking shoes he purchased back in The Dalles on
the first day of our trip. The constant thunder sounded over the deafening
rapids of Avalanche Creek. The rain began to find its way through the ceiling
of trees. About a mile into our return trip, we reached the point where the
trees dissipated. The lightning flashes continued and the rain started pounding
on us. Our fast walking turned into a dead sprint. I had forgot all about my
sore legs. All about the grizzlies. All about the magical national park that
had brought out our inner children. We wanted to get the hell out of
there.
I have lived in the soggy towns of Portland and Eugene my
entire life and have never experienced such rain. Flash flood type rain. In a
desperate panic at a juncture in the trail we made a false move and went left
instead of right. Thankfully our guide, Wolf, recognized our mistake and turned
us around before too long. In the distance, we saw Black Sally, looking as
miraculous as ever. With complete disregard for Sally’s interior, we threw our
wet backpack and selves into the car.
Glacier exposed an intense side that went beyond grizzly
bears. It exposed itself.
"Heavy Metal Thunder"
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