Rocky Mountain National Park

The drive in through Big Thompson Canyon to get to Estes Park and RMNP is so twisty that I was getting motion sickness, and I was driving. We finally arrived in Estes Park, the gateway to RMNP, and could not believe how many people were there! But we made it all the way through town and into the park and made it to our campsite to begin our weeklong residency. We got there at about 1:00 and set up camp, and took a nap, and made dinner. After dinner, some of us built a campfire for s'mores, while Liz and Gabe went back to the visitor center where they had the best wifi so that he could do work for his online summer class. And he needed to go there because in Rocky we are dry camping. No water or electric or sewer or cell phone or internet. It's as it should be. But to get primitive is no easy task when you are accustomed to the modern world. So we got a solar panel, convertor, and all cables to charge the camper battery. And removed the camper's outside TV as a place to store it, and carted it all over the United States. Got a “solar shower”, which is basically a bag of water you hang in the sun until it's warm enough to use. Got a little solar phone charger. Got a 5 gallon water jug for drinking. Bought paper plates and disposable cups which we hate to do, but we have to conserve water. Charged the rechargable lantern.

And the lantern didn't stay charged. And the solar phone charger just doesn't work. And we never used the solar shower.

And the solar charging system... well, that seems to have had a short circuit in it. And very nearly burned down our camper. Luckily, I got it disconnected, and got the fire extinguisher, and got it unscrewed from the very thin, very dry wood it was attached to before flames appeared. Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrggghhhhhhhhh that will get the blood flowing.

But it was mounted in the storage compartment just below my bed. And if you've ever smelled fried electronic circuitry, then you know exactly what my bedroom smells like.

It was about an hour after the fact that I realized I could have just burned down Rocky Mountain National Park with my flaming camper.

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We woke up Monday morning, excited about visiting the park that we love but haven't seen in eight years. Parking lots fill up early – like, 7:00 am early – so we decided that we would just take the free hiker shuttle to our hike. Lucky for us, there is a short trail leading from the campground to the shuttle that is only 50 feet from our camper! But there are now SO MANY FREAKING PEOPLE in Rocky that it took us nearly two hours to get to our trailhead. And had to change buses at a waystation where we stood for so long in a line that snaked back and forth like the lines at DisneyWorld. Except that you are supposed to go out into nature to get away from other people.

We finally made it to the trailhead along with dozens and dozens of other people, to begin our hike to Loch Vale. And we hiked, single file, almost as though on one of those moving sidewalks at the airport. Our hike had started at about 10,000 feet, and we climbed to about 11,000 feet over three miles. Some of us were handling this better than others, and we would often spread out, and then wait for everyone to catch up. When we were .8 miles from our destination, however, one of our party began to suffer the effects of... well, we're going to call it altitude sickness. We were forced to retreat to the trailhead, and we bravely continue on in the hope that we never see the people who were on that trail again.

We got back on the bus, and took another hour-long ride ride back to camp, where we promptly began discussions about moving on. I don't know about anybody else, but I am greatly disappointed. I have wanted to come back to this park, and to camp inside this park, for years. Congratulations to the NPS on raising their numbers. We need visitors to sustain the parks. But Yellowstone often feels crowded, and it had fewer visitors than Rocky did last year. And Yellowstone is nine times the size of RMNP.

After we got back to camp, I dropped Gabe off at the visitor center for wifi homework and headed into Estes Park to run a few errands and use their LTE signal to look for our next destination. The traffic was so bad that at one point, I drove past four storefronts in twenty minutes.

After dinner, our altitude sickness better in check, we drove the Trail Ridge Visitor Center, and climbed the 224 stairs (Izzie counted) to the nearby summit, which is at 12,005 feet. Would have been awesome if we had remembered to bring a camera. Seeing these spectacular views, and not sitting in traffic jams, really reminded me of why I came to love this park in the first place.

Pika

One final thought as we began drive down the hill...

We came upon a group of elk along the road, and Izzie, always the wildlife biologist, says in a loud voice "That elk is a boy!" And we all look over and together say "Yes, you can tell he's a boy because of his huge antl--OHMYGOD!!!!" And then she giggled. And giggled.

We decided to go to our old standby, the Black Hills of South Dakota. We were lucky enough to once again find campsites on our final call to our final option. But, once we cleared Big Thompson Canyon and had cell service, we discovered that an entire week of terrible weather was waiting in the Black Hills.

And so we all pulled over for a conference and phone calls to determine where we would go.

And so we headed east into Kansas. And while a number of things have gone wrong inside our camper, nothing has ever gone wrong outside of our camper. But yesterday, my mountain bike hopped off of the bike rack (it held on for dear life by clinging to the bike lock until a good samaritan flagged us down), and we had to stop for a sewer hose mishap, and... while preparing to exit to get fuel and while The Moose said that we still had 35 miles left in our tank... for the first time ever, we ran out of gas.

Did you know that if you are stupid enough to run out of gas on a Kansas highway, that $5 plastic gas can costs $30?

Luckily, Mom and Dad were a few miles behind us. They took the kids, and Liz unhooked Dad's Jeep from the RV to go for fuel. And I made a new friend, Trooper R.K. Thornburg, who was as kind and professional as he could have possibly been. Making sure we could get going and were emotionally sound (we thought the problem was mechanical and some of us may have been in a twit); helping keep passing cars off of us; and even helping to get the gas into the Moose. Couldn't have been better or nicer or kinder.

Today is Kathy's birthday, and we celebrated by driving through Kansas and Missouri. We are now in St. Louis for a few days of good old fashioning touristing as we head east.

See you soon!

Fort Collins

July 23. Saturday night we camped in Fort Collins. We had called literally every campground in the book and – amazingly – got the last two camping spots available in any campground from Cheyenne, Wyoming through Estes Park, Colorado. I'll give you a minute to find your atlas so you can really appreciate that. As you read the numbered list below, keep in mind that we were grateful to have any place to stop.

Fort Collins is a very unique town. On the one hand, it is the quintessential western cowboy town, filled with silos and feed stores and tack (horse gear) shops and pickup trucks. But it's also a college town, and the downtown college area is as much a college town as any. To use a fairly common reference point, it's even more Ithaca than Ithaca is. The town that I think I would most closely compare it to is Burlington, Vermont, for anyone who's been there. There also seems to be a lot of super-sketchy people and potential gang activity.

Interesting things happening at our campground and around Fort Collins:

1. Our campground SMELLS. Terribly. It smells almost exactly like a sweaty horse blanket, which isn't an offensive smell if you are actually on a horse, but it is when your whole world smells like that and immerses you in it and you can't escape it and there's not a horse in sight.

2. The entire campground is backwards. You drive in on the left side of the street and it goes from there. The owner is European so maybe that's it.

3. When driving into Fort Collins for dinner at a college town brewpub, we drove for probably 12 miles. The last three or so miles we were behind a pickup truck. At one point, when he needed to turn, he got over a lane and slowed down. And gave us the angriest angry bird you have ever seen, in a complete rage. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever been flipped off by a road rager who was I was simply following.
        *Ed. note – Numerous witnesses attest to the fact that the author's driving was fine.

4. Gabe discovered that there was something wrong with the electrical outlet at the campground by finding our plug beginning to melt and acquiring a severe 2nd degree burn on his finger. The campground owner's response to learning of this was to try to sell us some ointment from the camp store.

I'm turribly sorry. This distgustingness is the only photo we have from our night in Fort Collins.

5. Finally, the site we had was set up so poorly that our sewer hose (commonly referred to as the poopchute) couldn't reach the sewer. So we thought it would be easier to just go to the dump station. The owner wanted $20 to use it (when you had already paid for the campground), and had a padlock on the drain cover. It's an outrage! It's a scandal!

But at least we are headed to Rocky Mountain National Park.

Yellowstone! Grand Teton!

And so we left our beloved Glacier National Park. It was great doing the Highline Trail and the misery of The Loop on our last day there. It makes leaving easier.

We had planned to drive all the way to Hardin in the southeastern corner of Montana, but a string of lateness and route decisions meant that we only made it halfway. Which was infuriating, until we looked at a map and saw where we were. So yesterday, we turned south, and did a two-parks-in-one-day drive-through visit of Yellowstone and Grand Teton. We stopped for lunch at the Old Faithful Inn, and then sat outside and waited forever for the eruption. The Park Service always says that the predicted time is +/- 20 minutes, and Old Faithful - after teasing and teasing and splurting and stopping four or five times – finally went off 21 minutes late. Psshht. I tried to get my money back since I had been inconvenienced and their attraction obviously needed repair, but no such luck.

The Roosevelt Arch and gateway to Yellowstone, "for the enjoyment and benefit of the people"

Inside the Old Faithful Inn, the world's coolest log cabin/treehouse

Thar she blows

We drove south out of Yellowstone past Lewis Lake, where we had our sketchiest-ever kayaking experience last year. And as soon as we passed it, the incredible Teton Range rose in front of us. I absolutely love this place. There is just something magical about it. I think part of it is the way these fantastic, pointy mountains rise from the flat of the lake. (And you know I loves me some mountains.) Yesterday was our fifth visit, and it still takes my breath away. And we were sooooo close to being able to spend the night in Colter Bay, right on Jackson Lake. But no such luck. 

The Tetons above Jackson Lake

At Colter Bay

Tetons over Elk Flats

So we drove south through Jackson – a cool town if ever there was one, although you'll enjoy it even more if you're rich – and turned east on Highway 191.

As we made that turn, there was one of those portable electronic signs, saying “191 open. Use caution.” Hmmm, weird, but okay. Maybe because it is so scenic and twisty. And so we drove through this incredible canyon we'd never seen before, and it is absolutely gorgeous. Love it. Highly recommend this drive if you ever get the chance. And then we came around a blind corner, and found ourselves in an active forest fire. The area right next to the road had been put out, but recently. There were still hotspots on the hills 100 yards above us, and some of the ground was still smoldering. We were driving past hotshot firefighters on the ground, as those bucket-hauling helicopters flew overhead. Further off, maybe a quarter-mile away, the top of the next hill was on fire. And it had been windy, and it was obvious that the fire had jumped hilltop to hilltop, with a number of other spots on fire nearby. As we descended a little bit into the burn zone, we were immersed in the smell of the wildfire. The ground was black and trees were toothpicks, with some of them still smoking. We came around the corner where the canyon opens up into the flat, and there was a little cabin resort and a horse farm next to each other. And it was obvious that just hours earlier they had both been surrounded on three sides by fire that came within 100 feet of them. Now that will make you poop your pants.

Ol' Smokey ahead of us

The fire map app is always handy in the West

One of the firefighter staging points

Another active fire over the next ridge

Cool helicopters

On the upside, we had some fantastic discussions on forestry and earth science and geology and the role of fire in the forest, and we also got to see some very cool helicopters and other forest fire equipment.

Huge shout out to the Hotshots and Smokejumpers that work in our forests. Not the first time we've seen these folks at work, and probably won't be the last. The level of courage required for those jobs is mindboggling. I don't throw the word “hero” around, but these men and women sure are.

After we made it through the fire zone, we got to drive parellel to the huge and beautiful Wind River moutain range, which was incredible. Like I said, I recommend this drive.

We camped last night in a campground in rural Wyoming that was basically a gravel circle in a field that was completely saturated with mosquitoes. But there was an incredible sunset over the mountains and, unbelievably, the best internet we've had all summer.

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This morning, our next-door neighbors from Arkansas wouldn't reply to “hello” or “good morning,” but did stand outside of their camper and stare at me, unblinking, for thirty solid minutes as I packed up. It was like the Children of the Corn, except they were old. And were camping on a Saturday morning in a prairie dress (her) and short sleeve dress shirt (him), which added to the creeptastic effect.

*shiver*

*shiver again*

#ithinkihearbanjos

#paddlefaster

We are currently driving to Fort Collins, and tomorrow we enter Rocky Mountain National Park for the first time in eight years. We are dry camping inside the park, which is going to be amazing, but will limit our use of technology.

So long for now!

The Highline Trail, Big Bears, Ouchies, and Goodbye to Glacier

About a week ago, we had wanted to hike The Highline Trail, which is often rated as the #1 hike in Glacier. Unfortunately, we got fogged out, but we kept it on our list, even though the drive to Logan Pass is a relatively easy 30-minute drive from the east side, and a rather challenging 90-minute drive from West Glacier, where we are now. Highline is a shuttle hike, meaning that you start at one point and end at another. As it happens, there is a free shuttle service in Glacier.

We were looking at about twelve miles for this hike, which means it is the biggest dayhike any of us have done, especially when you consider the elevation. It goes about 7½ miles up to the Granite Park Chalet, a sort of hiker's hotel, and then another 4½ miles down The Loop trail to descend the mountain. We were very confident in the children's hiking ability. We knew it would be a challenge, but well worth it.

Highline gets its name from the fact that much of it is on a narrow trail cut into the mountain, 2,000 vertical feet above the valley floor. Most of it is on a trail that is 2-3 feet wide, above a steep slope. But some of it is 18 inches wide, above a sheer cliff. Those spots, at the very beginning, have a chain for you to hang on to. Did I mention it was windy?

Wednesday was our last day in Glacier, and we all determined that we would do the hike. Jerry and Kathy decided in advance that due to the steep decline at the end of the hike, they would turn back at some point while the rest of us continued on. It seems that they are the smart ones. But more on that later.

More than a week ago, we hiked to Iceberg Lake and, even on our 6th visit to Glacier, were blown away by the views. But the views on the Highline Trail blew those views away. It's no wonder that this hike is rated #1. I have left a number of the photos without captions, because I just can't even begin to describe with words what only the eyes can see. But it's not all fun and games.

Marmot!

Iz had a great time in the first part of the hike. After we left the chains, she kept a hand looped in the hiking pole while I held the other end, as a movable handrail.

Just... I can't even.

One of us really had a hard time with the elevation and exposure of this trail. Looking at body language, can you guess who that is?

Sheeps!

We climbed over the pass and were amazed to have another whole world of mountains open up to us. 

At this point in the hike, I am overwhelmed by the beauty around us. I can see for miles and miles. And each view is better than the one before. But by this point, our youngest two hikers, who ordinarily trade off on who is having a good hike and who is having a terrible hike, both are starting to crash. And it only goes downhill from here. Literally and figuratively. Because at this point, we are only 1/3 of the way through the hike. And we had expected things to get progressively better because the first half went up and the rest went down. But... not so much. But more on that later.

By this point, Mom and Dad had (wisely) turned back to return to the trailhead, while we continued onward. It was about another 1.5 miles past this point that we waited for about 30 minutes because an enormous female grizzly was there, next to the trail, with her very young cub.

When we left the trailhead at Logan Pass, we heard from rangers that there had been a griz spotted 3.5 miles up the trail. But, 3.5 miles up the trail, no griz. And we continued on our merry way. And as we approached a little rise, a family of four, who look like they're really new to this, are stopped and kind of hunkered down really low, and tell us that there is a bear just ahead.

"Where?" we ask.
"Just ahead."
"How will we spot it?"
"There are about 20 people there."

And so we went over the little rise, and saw twenty or so people sitting and standing around at the next little rise, about 1/4 mile ahead. I'm not sure if this family thought that the bear had the power of teleportation or was going to blast them with her laser eyes or what, but they were not going to screw around with the idea of keeping a safe distance. But we joined the larger group of people and immediately saw her. And she was, without question, the biggest bear we have ever seen in the wild. This was not the "oh how adorable, she's digging" type of bear. This was more of the "Oh lawdy, I hope I am still alive later today" type of bear. I don't know if I have even seen a bear this big in a zoo. And the males get to be another 300-400 pounds bigger? No thank you. Looking back to the pre-hike anticipation, it's always that mixed bag of "Ooooohhh wouldn't it be cool if we saw a bear today" vs. "Oh crap, it's a bear."

We really didn't want to turn around at this point (turns out that turning around would have been a great idea, more on that later) as we were very nearly halfway through our 12-mile hike. On the other hand, we also didn't want to die. I quickly began surveying the crowd that was with us to see who I could outrun. Actually, I thought we could easily and safely move around the bear, seeing as see was probably 50 yards off of the trail at this point, and there was one of her and twenty of us and there was just no way she would but anyway twelve of us had bear spray just in case she did. But at the same time, there was absolutely no way I was going to be the ringleader on this. I could just see the headlines:

THIRTEEN DEAD IN SAVAGE GRIZZLY ATTACK

SURVIVORS BLAME SHORT, SOMEWHAT PAUNCHY MUSIC TEACHER WHO SAID "DON'T WORRY, IT WILL BE FINE"

And so we waited.

And finally, there was this young couple that had backcountry reservations, and the man stands up and says in a loud voice, "We're going. Who's with us?"

Um, yes. We're happy to go, now that we know who to blame.

Fifteen of us went, trying as best as we could to move as group, but still move quickly and see where she was without making eye contact. (Bear researchers have done interviews with bears and discovered that making eye contact really pisses them off.) And for just a second the cub poked her head up and with her colorations looked like a blond panda and was just the cutest thing you could ever imagine seeing but I still didn't want to die.

Once we got past Mama Bear and were at a safe distance, we started slowing down because 1) it was a safe distance and 2) we all wanted photos to prove everything I've just said is true, but 3) the people in the back started FREAKING OUT. Apparently they also knew that this bear had the power of teleportation and laser eyes, and they sort of shoved us down the trail until getting any kind of decent pic (with an iPhone, anyway) was nearly impossible.

But, we were safe.

And didn't have to throw any of the smaller, slower folk in the path of the bear.

And we went around the corner, and the mom behind me, who was previously freaking out, says to her husband, "Whoo! Well, I've had my adventure for the day!" And her husband starts FREAKING OUT.
"Oh, an adventure, huh?!?!? Didn't seem like fun to me at all!!!!"
"Well, I didn't say it was fun!"
"Yeah, well I didn't want to do it at all!"
"Well, maybe you should have said so, FRANK!"

Note to Frank: Once your wife has started using your own name as a weapon against you, it's really time to call it a day. You aren't coming out of this in one piece.

"Well it was your idea!!!!!"
"Well, we survived, didn't we, FRANK?!?!? And anyway, every single adult in this whole group was smart enough to buy bear spray before coming on this hike except for you, FRANK."

Ouch. It was at this point that I announced that I had to go to the bathroom, so that the Bickersons could continue down the path ahead without us. And this side of this beautiful hill, looking up through the rocky meadow, and out toward Lake MacDonald between the mountains, is the nicest place I have ever gotten to pee.

Looking up toward the rocky meadow

Lake MacDonald beginning to peek through the mountains.

This was really the best bear photo I could come up with. She's at the bottom, right of center. Taken from approximately 125 yards away while moving at a sprint because the lady behind me and Frank were FREAKING OUT.

While others were failing and flailing, Gabriel was a rock on this hike, and I don't think I would have stayed sane without him. As morale was reaching an all-time low for * cough cough * some of us, he began quoting his online health class, in the sing-song, peaceful happy voice of BeyMax from Big Hero 6:

"Don't worry about me, Dad, because to handle a stressful situation, I know to #1) Be prepared, which we were; #2) keep a positive attitude; #3) something else that I can't remember [I didn't forget, he couldn't ever remember, and would always say that]; and #4) don't do drugs. And Dad, right now, I am not doing drugs."

We finally - FINALLY! - made it to the chalet. And the views were incredible. And the buildings were these little stone buildings that made me feel like I was standing in Winterfell. Snack prices ranged from 75 cents for a bag of chips (fair) to $5.50 for a bottle of water (ridiculous, but about what you'd pay at the ballpark) to $9.50 for a slice of pie (are you freaking kidding me?). But then it occurred to me that somebody has to schlep this up 2,400 feet of elevation, and the prices actually reflect the weight and care and timeliness that is required to get the goodies up to the chalet.

Not actually my photos. All devices were dead at this point.

 And the outhouses were on the edge of the hill and just behind were all of the barrels and why would there be so many barrels and why would anybody need all of these 55-gallon barrels up here and then we see the little crane that swings from where the barrels are to where the outhouses are and OH MY GOD THEY'RE FILLED WITH POO.

And so we hiked for just a few minutes with a renewed spring in our step, singing "99 barrels of poop on a hill, 99 barrels of poop; take one down, crane it around, 98 barrels of poop on the hill."

But then we began our descent.

Throughout the entire hike, we just kept telling ourselves that it was all going to be okay, because the last 4.5 miles was all downhill. We knew we would make good time. We knew everything would be better because the kids all love going downhill, even though this was going to be steep. But this wasn't just steep; it was brutal and sadistic. This trail was unrelenting and took personal pleasure in our misery. Within a quarter-mile - 1/18th of the way to the end - our knees were screaming for relief. Our hips and then our feet followed. But relief never came. There was never even a flat spot. It. Just. Kept. Going.

At one spot, we stopped for a moment's rest, and three men, all looking to be about 50, came past from just behind us. And as they passed us, they said, "Oh no, don't stop! You guys were our bear scouts!"
"Please tell me you guys brought bear spray on this trail."
"Um, nope. None of us."
Morons. "Well, at least he'll be full by the time we get there!"

And then we continued. Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Down.

And then - Finally! - we saw the parking lot and shuttle stop! But then the trail turned away from it and kept descending for another mile and a half. But now we were in thick vegetation in full exposure of the afternoon sun.

And Kieran was potentially in the worst emotional state of his long and illustrious career of hating hiking with his family.

And Izzie was also in the worst emotional state of her entire hiking career.
And then she fell on the rocks and stones and gravel.

And so at this point we split up, so Liz could move at a more leisurely pace with Izzie while the boys tried to keep going at speed.

We had hoped to be to the shuttle by 5:00 pm, which would get us to our rendezvous with Mom and Dad by 6:00. This plan would be fine because the shuttle runs until 7:00 pm. We did know that we were quite late, but all phones were dead by this point and we didn't know know the exact time. And suddenly this guy that was going up to the chalet when we were already coming down runs by at a full sprint. And I said, "Hey man, what's up?" And he was English, and in his thick, thick, thick  Cockney accent, he said... well, I don't know what the hell he said. But just a moment after he passed, his friend came up at a full sprint. At this point, I thought perhaps they were being pursued. And I said that I couldn't understand his friend and why were they running so fast? And he called out as he passed that someone at the chalet said that the last shuttle bus at our stop wasn't at 7:00 but at 6:15!
"6:15?!?!?" I called out in reply, "but what time is it now?!?!?"
And as he went around the next bend, I heard "Iiiiiiiiii dooooooooon't knoooooooooooow!!!!"

And so we tried hiking even faster.

And then, at long last, our struggle was over.

And there, finishing the trail at the same time we did, was a family with about thirteen kids who were on their first hike ever, wearing sandals and flip flops and superlightweight sneakers, and carrying one 12-ounce bottle of water for all of them. And they're fine.

--------

While we all suffered, I don't believe I can convey the level of horror and drama and strife that overtook two of our noble party. I believe, as we made the descent from the chalet, that they may have been ready to accept the hand of fate. And we may have been ready for that as well.

Before we reached the chalet, we were tired. But after our descent, we were injured. It is now the morning of day three since that hike and I am just starting to feel better. Yesterday I could barely put on shoes because my feet were still swollen and I have open blisters. And lest you think it's just because I'm getting old WHICH I'M NOT SO YOU CAN JUST SHUT UP the kids still have sore feet, knees, and hips as well.

But the views. I can't speak for anybody else, but I'm glad we glad this. And we have a new benchmark for what we can do on a hike.

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Did I mention, that as she hiked alone with Izzie, Liz walked - within a few feet of the trail - right past another bear?

FIN.

Kalispell and Whitefish and Kallispell

After we had paddled fifteen miles and Mom and Dad had hiked 11 miles in two days, we were ready for a change of pace. We had heard that there was Cabela's in Kalispell, about 45 minutes away. A good thing, too, because most of the outdoor stores in the Glacier area are lacking. So we made a plan for a shopping trip followed by a visit to Whitefish Mountain, where Gabe would have an opportunity to be connected real WiFi (he's actually in summer school, getting ahead on requirements by taking an online course through Victor HS this summer) and Kieran, Iz, and I would try out what has been recognized as the #1 mountain bike park in the West.

Unfortunately, despite their time at Dryer Road Park back home, I may have overestimated Kieran and Izzie's comfort level on MTB trails. And it was an 80-minute odyssey of getting them down the mountain. There was worry, and crying, and yelling, and even swearing. (No, I don't mean by me.) But they survived, and Lizzie took them from the bottom of the trail into the lodge for onion rings and ice cream while I got in one ride at speed from the top. It was, absolutely, the greatest thing I've ever done on a bike.

The view from the summit of Whitefish, looking toward Glacier.

Well, I didn't actually take an pics from the trail. But here's the trail.

We got back to camp and had dinner and relaxed a bit. Personally, I was exhausted after two days of paddling and a hard MTB ride. But we made a plan to return to Logan Pass the next day and do the hike we had meant to day on our final day in Glacier. At about 8:15 pm I went to move the bike rack from the Suburban back onto the hitch-mount on the back of the camper, and discovered that one of the four bolts that secures it to the camper had broken. I had no way of knowing when this happened (could have been day 1 and just missed it), but if another bolt failed, all four of our mountain bikes would hit the ground at highway speed and be destroyed. This is, I believe, the 17th thing to be wrong or go wrong with our new camper.

And so, at about 8:30 pm, I departed for Kalispell, and the Lowe's Hardware that is right next to the Cabela's. Grabbed a few other provisions at the Target across the street, and drove back to West Glacier. 

While in Kalispell, the full moon came up over the mountains, which were lit perfectly by the waning light. Unfortunately, this is Kalispell, and every shot I tried to get had a strip mall in front of it.

The full moon from our camper in West Glacier, which lit my re-installation of the hitch-mount for the bike rack.

Bowman Lake PaddleVenture!

We had been on the road for nearly four weeks at this point, and still had not had an opportunity to actually put our boats in the water. We have had our boats inspected five times, however. I can't blame them for that, as I also want to keep invasive species out of these lakes and rivers. To this point, we also hadn't had an opportunity for a backcountry overnight adventure. But, amazingly, everything aligned with date and the site availability and the timing and the weather. On Sunday, we all headed out to Bowman Lake, in the North Fork area of the park.

To get there, first you have to get to Polebridge, which takes about an hour, while driving on what you think are the sketchiest dirt roads you've ever seen. But Polebridge, while being comprised of about four buildings (one of them being the outhouse, which they only recently put a door on) is one of the coolest places around. Northern Lights Saloon (sadly, closed while we were there) has incredible food, including the best prime rib you've ever had. And the kids always enjoy the sign out front that says "Hippies must use side door". (No, they're not serious.) And the Polebridge Mercantile is still in its original building from the Old West, and has baked goods and pastries that are absolutely worth a two-hour round trip on a sketchy dirt road.

Anyway, the road to Bowman Lake is one of the most remote and poorly maintained thruways in the park. It is only 6 more miles from Polebridge, but that stretch takes nearly an hour. It is an ungraded, unfinished, unmaintained (pretty sure I just made up a couple of those words) dirt road that has vegetation so thick and encroaching that two vehicles can't pass without one of them eating plants and/or going off into the drainage ditch. But when you arrive...

WHAT A VIEW.
(Actually, this view is from about halfway across the lake, but still.)

Kathy and Jerry hiked about halfway down the lake and then returned to the trailhead and home, while the wee gowfolk continued to the head of the lake and a backcountry campsite.

Mi famiglia, preparing to depart on our 15-mile overnight round trip. It's hard to beat this view.

You can see the size of the waves behind Iz. Not terrible, but the wind was, of course, coming right at us. It made for slow going but, at about 2/3 of the way, the wind stopped, and the water was like glass. (See the first photo above.)

We kept thinking we could see the end of the end, but it was just a curve or peninsula. It seemed to take forever. But we were happy the whole time, and were made only slightly nervous by the potential storm clouds coming up over the mountains.  But they never stormed us.

Some friends we made at the backcountry campsite were hiking the trail along the lake at nearly the same rate we paddled, and told us that they watched us the whole way. (Creepy.) (Hope I didn't pick my nose or anything.) And they told us that just about at this point, as we were looking forward, a black bear swam all the way across the way, right behind us.

We finally made it to our campsite after about four hours of paddling. Not a bad spot.

Our campsite was one of five in the immediate area, and even had chairs cut into the nearby stumps... and a beautiful creek roaring through our backyard.

After dinner, at about 9:30 pm, we went out on a little paddle around our inlet, where we saw ducks, loons, and deer.

Mah boy.

Iz and I shared the smaller tent. She had the time of her life.

In the evening, the deer came right into camp. They were all fairly young, but were led by a beautiful, strong, six-point buck. I was very glad to see them, because their presence implies that the large predators known to inhabit this area (grizzlies and mountain lions) are probably not around.

Before you are given your permit to go backcountry camping in a national park, you have to watch this 20-minute video that details all eighteen horrible ways you are going to meet a gruesome death in backcountry. It goes from grizzlies to mountain lions to drowning to lightning to water-borne illness to falling off of a cliff and on and on and on and on. I think the point is that if you really don't belong in the backcountry, then this video will scare you off. But the video and the rangers never, ever, ever mention deer and their insatiable quest for sweaty salt. Three of the five campsites (including us) lost towels to the deer, but we got off easy compared to our friend who looked up from the campfire to see his pants dangling from the buck's mouth.

All items were recovered. No animals were harmed in the production of this scenario.

Ahhh, morning.

Izzie with some of her new friends as we all pack up in the morning. I suppose she could be pointing and asking a question but, what it looks like to me - and, if you know my daughter, what it looks like to you - is that she is clearly giving them directions.

One last pic before we leave camp.

On the return.

The day we returned to camp was Dad's birthday and, before we left, Liz has made the filling for a chocolate cream pie with text guidance from her sister Sarah. Kathy made the crust while we were paddling, and we all enjoyed a fantastic dinner.