I have thought a lot lately about my trip, with friends Chrissy and Shane, to Glacier National Park in July, which I haven’t yet written about. The majesty of Glacier is overwhelming to behold, transporting visitors to a place that feels much further away than it appears on any map. With time, my recollections about the park have evolved from a numb grasp of its ancient beauty to a more serene appreciation.
Glacier National Park is located in Northern Montana along the Canadian border, far from cities and sustained only by quiet towns offering at most one bar, one gas station, and a hotel. In unparalleled contrast to the entrance into the Great Smokey Mountains there are no overly commercialized hotels and dinner shows offering cheap entertainment to park visitors.
We arrived on a drowsy and frigid night after a full day of travel from Yellowstone. After passing Helena, few convenience stores, gas stations, or restaurants offered respite from our journey. We entered from the East into the park, a relatively remote and unpopulated route. Landscapes stretching dozens of miles with a single farm house were a common sight on either side of the Interstate. Cows deliberately chewed their grass, alone in watching the highway traffic that clipped along too fast to completely appreciate the natural grandeur.
While planning the drive, we underestimated the distances on a map. Without giving attention to the real distance between Yellowstone and Glacier, or perhaps indulging in the timeless continuum of the nature that only exists far away from cities, our endeavor began to appear overzealous as stars began to take hold of the sky. We had planned to camp within Glacier that night, however, our late arrival and the crispness of the frigid air easily convinced us that a hotel would be preferable.
Having decided on booking a hotel, acquiring a cellular signal was a rare luxury that allowed only a fleeting opportunity to check our distance and hotel prices. The normal tools I employed to find hotels while traveling (Yelp, TripAdvisor, Expedia, Hotwire), lagged painfully separated by mountains and blackness from the nearest town.
Meanwhile, Chrissy weaved frenetically through valleys of invisible depths on a barely paved road as Shane slept fast in the backseat. We blindly raced toward a hotel we thought might have vacancies. I had called St. Mary’s Lodge near the east entrance to Glacier National Park, yet the poor reception made only every other word decipherable. Again, the time it took to travel to the hotel astounded us.
We arrived after midnight at St. Mary’s lodge, only to learn that most ‘normal’ rooms had been sold. However, as we found out, rooms were available in the basement for half the price of a regular room. Not wanting to drive further, we took the rooms.
I was too tired from the long drive to inspect the room. But, it was cold. And, being in a basement, there were no windows. I turned on the radiator and started a hot shower to add humidity. Within 15 minutes the small room became cozy enough to sleep…
The next morning at 8 AM after less than six hours of sleep, my room phone began to ring, and ring, and ring. Chrissy began calling incessantly to wake me. We had a full day of exploration within Glacier National Park to begin. As I remember, I reluctantly and venomously answered the call. Foremost in my mind was the thought of refusing to awake. I don’t usually fully awake until my first words are spoken. That day I, regrettably, remember wanting those first words to curse my friend who was insistent upon waking me. After our conversation, I slowly began to awake from a sound torpor. As my deep dreams evanesced, reality solidified in my mind; the forthcoming adventure and exploration inside the park fortified my will to awake.
That day, the exploration began in the hotel. Chrissy and Shane’s basement room had a window for ventilation—yet, as far as we could tell, not to the outside. Through the window, a huge empty corridor stretched into darkness behind the line of rooms in the basement. The cool, dank smell of aged wood, isolation, and collecting dust exhaled through the window. The cavernous void brought morbid thoughts of what could be hiding there and of what it once was. A grand ballroom, perhaps. Yet, as manmade things decay and fall out of usefulness, the ancient majesty that awaited outside, did not decay. It’s maturation brought more distinction and splendor. The National Park beckoned.
The Opulent Vagabond 