'Brook and road were fellow-travelers in this gloomy pass'

This spring and summer in northwest Montana has been a near-continuous cycle of storms and cloud, making travel into the high country difficult even though snowpacks have stayed impressively large. Last weekend there seemed to be a short window of opportunity, so we headed up to the wild east side of Glacier National Park.

Our planned campground near Marias Pass was still drifted over and closed, so we plugged on to Two Medicine, itself open but half snowcoverd.

Two Medicine Lake, 10 p.m., June 24.



In the morning we woke to broken skies and moved camp to Rising Sun campground. Road crews have cleared Going to the Sun Road to within a mile of either side of Logan Pass, but the road remains gated--at Avalanche on the west side and Jackson Glacier Overlook on the east. We drove up to the gate. I stuck my boots and skis on my pack and pedalled 2 miles up to Siyeh Bend and began skinning toward Piegan Pass on a still-thick snowpack.



The weather deteriorated and at Piegan Pass I had clouds, strong winds, and intermittent snow. Thankfully the view was still clear when I made the pass between Piegan Mountain and Pollock Mountain for the view south into central Glaicer.



The descent was a skiff of new on a firm surface.



Lower down the surfaced softened nicely.

In the afternoon we hiked to a few waterfalls, went to a ranger talk on wolverines, and called it an early night.

On Sunday we woke to blazing blue skies that quickly detiorated. I was back at the gate by 9.30 a.m. and pedalled 4.5 miles to where the plows sat idle. The impasse was a wall of snow called "The Big Drift", where winds sweep off Logan Pass. This was a curious crux: the drift itself was too steep to cross, and the slope above had too much exposure. Below, in a mellow bowl, snow was creeping off its hold on a line of cliffs in a sort of mellow crevasse; I found a snow bridge and was atop Logan Pass, where it was slightly eerie to be alone in a place which a few weeks from now will be packed with people and their vehicles.

The visitors center: not open.



Looking down the valley toward St. Mary, a Wordsworth poem, The Simplon Pass, came to mind:

—Brook and road
Were fellow-travelers in this gloomy Pass,
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow step. The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,
The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent, at every turn,
Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn

From the pass, it was a straightfoward skin up the apron below Clements Mountain, and then a traverse along its base in periodic heavy, wet snow.



The view out to Bearhat.



The view down to Logan Pass. A few inches of new snow enlivened the skiing.



Crossing the Big drift was much easier coming back, and I made a few short runs out of it.



Naturally, once we were out of the mountains it cleared up beautifully. We enjoyed a two hour sunset on the way home: 11 p.m., near Bearmouth, Mont.

Visitors

When you live closer to British Columbia than you do to the nearest Sam's Club it should probably come as no great suprise that a lot of out of town friends and family don't just casually stop by. Nevertheless, Montana has its charms and we have had a few visitors this spring.

As mentionned earlier, Laura's brother spent spring break here and enjoyed a typical April week full of blizzards and close encounters with wildlife.

Laura's good friend Liz came from Atlanta in June. We learned a valuable less on her arrival--Northwest makes just one flight a day to Missoula, and if you miss it, you're going to spend 24 hours in Minneapolis. Well, at least the mall was close by.

We took Liz up Pattee Canyon, around downtown, to Maclay Flat



and later up into the Swan Mountains to Holland Lake.



The next week my parents came from Houston. We went to the farmer's market and bought beef from the rancher, did some shopping



worked in the yard, saw some of the countryside, and reveled in the Montana days which, as Norman Maclean described in A River Runs Through It, "are almost Arctic in length". Indeed, it's interesting to walk the dog to the park at 9:30 p.m.--in broad daylight.

We took an afternoon and hopped over the border into Idaho, visiting the bridge to Jerry Johnson Hot Springs



and this giant western redcedar forest, where we ate lunch.



They also enjoyed the weather--when they weren't shivering. I told them to bring jackets and sweaters; falling on ears in Houston it may as well have been a message from outerspace. But they indeed wore jackets most of the time.

The next weekend we all went to Schweitzer, the ski resort in far northern Idaho where Laura and I spent part of our honeymoon. Though it was mid June there was still plenty of snow, so I sneaked in a couple of runs before everyone woke up. That was not hard to do as the sun came up bright and blinding at 3:45 a.m.

Schweitzer overlooks Lake Pend O'reille--an impressive sight.



On the way back we swung through Couer d'Alene and walked along the lake there on a sparkling 65-degree afternoon.



With the parents on their way to Yellowstone, we hosted a second batch of visitors--my Spanish class. I've taken a year of Spanish at continuing ed and we end each quarter with a small party.



And we've got one final visitor to mention--Laura's having a boy on October 22. As an early gift, I guess, my mom handed back many of my baby clothes: here's a sweater knitted for me by her mom!

Latent spring.

This epic winter has turned into an epic spring. Snowpacks in the backcountry continued to grow right through March and April and even into May. Many locations in northwest Montana continue to show 15-foot snowpacks on May 15. The result has been some spectacular skiing, some long runs, and what the National Weather Service is calling an epic flood season. Here's Murphy Peak, looking very midwinter on May 8.



And here's Point Six on May 1. May 1?



It's like it's all lurking up there, ready to pounce. Fifteen feet of snow in mid May is a lot of latent water in waiting.



I try to go to a new mountain every week. A lot of the time, starting out from the car first thing in the morning, you look up at the mountains and think, This is going to be easy. Like this delightful morning, looking at East Como Peak in the Bitterroot.



But it almost ever is easy. Here I am, eight full hours later, not even halfway up. I don't think there's any way to climb this mountain in a day.




Despite the difficulty, I do find good places to ski. This gem became my afterwork haunt through April. It's five miles from my front door to the trailhad.



The other side of that same canyon provided a nice outing on a stormy Saturday a few weeks back.



Lately now it's been warm (and dry) enough to get outside and do some work. We skipped over the yard last summer in favor of work on the inside of the house. Now we've moved outside. When the snow melted in March we made plans to build a pergola.



All it took was a truck full of wood. And then a truck full of rock. Thank God for trucks.



Here's the mostly finished result.



Back in March we won a $500 shopping spree from Ace. I guess we're boring people, because we spent the money on boring things. Like computer desks and fire suppression equipment.



Despite the never ending backlog of work, there's always time to get out in the mountains. I like to wake up early and get things done. Here's the Missoula Valley at sunrise from high atop the Rattlesnake Mountains, May 15.

As the bullwheel turns.

Laura's brother Bill came out from Atlanta last week for spring break. On Saturday we woke to rain, so we spent the day in town. On Sunday we woke to snow. A few flurries at 7 a.m. accumulated to 3 inches before we finished breakfast.

A sunny day **and** new snow!



We went to Discovery ski area for the day; it was their last day and lift tickets were discounted to $19. Disco had 6 inches new and it snowed for much of the day, the snow broken with brilliant sunshine. It was a fitting way to end the season.

Bill, deep-breathing before his first turn on Terminator.



Ski areas around Montana for the most part came to a rest last week and this week. The bullwheels stopped turning not for a lack of snow. Whitefish is advertising their 'deepest base in 20 years'. Lost Trail has 12 feet of snow at the bottom of the mountain. And Lookout Pass has nearly 200 inches of snow on their summit. But with afternoon temperatures in Missoula often climbing into the 50s, well, of course it's obviously time to garden.

The buried 8-foot snowstake at Lolo Pass two weeks ago; it's snowed several feet since then.



This has certainly been a memorable ski season. I've skied 40 days this year and can't think of a single one when it had not snowed in the previous 36 hours; only two of the days had what you could call 'bad' snow--a feat unmatched even during some 14 winters in Utah.

Laura three weeks ago at spectacular Moonlight Basin.



Yes, the bullwheel has stopped turning at almost all the Montana ski areas, but the season of course is far from over.

The bullwheel stops its turns at Discovery, April 3.



Nearing the summit at Moonlight.

A Journey to the Interior of Canuckistan.

Of course it's open 24 hours. Because the Canadians like to par-tay!



You call this a ski lift? It's all they got at Pass Powderkeg, Alberta.



After a day of skiing, I hit the golf course.



Dusk patrol on the Continental Divide.



Looking toward the prairie.



Back at the lodge.



Lovely Wapiti Ski Club ski area, Elkford, BC




Parting shot: Fernie at dusk.



Meanwhile, back in Montuckey...

Montana is one of two states unfortunate enough to have a budget surplus. (The other? Nortrh Dakota). I say 'unfortunate' because the lack of a focusing effort has left our legislature with too much time on their hands. Following are some of the Montana House's major efforts to date:

-An effort to legalize hunting with hand-thrown spears.
-Elimination of incentives to create wind power.
-A repeal of laws prohibiting concealed weapons in banks, schools and churches.
-Support of the U.S. withdrawal from the United Nations.
-Official designation of the 'Code of the West' as the Code of Montana; the code includes such inspirational encouragements such as 'Ride for the brand.'
-Nullification of endangered species laws.
-Elimination of educational requirements for persons running for state schools superintendent.

None of this should come as too much of a suprise. In 15 years of covering officials ranging from vice presidential candidates to at-large irrigation district board members, it was state representatives which left me, ahem, least hopeful for the future. (The best, by the way, were city councilors, followed my mayors and elected county attorneys.) Our budget surplus was maintained by Democrats, who were voted out in November in favor of Republicans, who pledged to 'create jobs' and 'eliminate wasteful spending.'

Luckily, the Montana legislature meets only every other year, so we get a 22 month break beginning in April.

These Mountains

"That was one of the main things that kept me from thinking of deserting when I first got to the mountains. It's a terrible shock to be suddenly plopped into that environment, especially when you're not prepared for it physically or mentally."



"You can't see in the mountains. Everything is dark at first, until gradually you start seeing like a cat. You start to differentiate among the dark shapes to make out the lay of the land. But at first it all looked the same."



"I never did figure out if I loved the mountains or not. Because it hurt me to leave them. But I also hated them; I came to hate the mountains. But I loved them too--who knew what the [heck] was going on inside of me."



"I remembered the railroad in Leon, when I took the train for the first time, and the thought of the train also brought back my childhood; coming down from the mountains in the truck was a continual coming and going over my own past, with the velocity, the agility, of a monkey ... That was how you went from your childhood to the mountains, from the mountains to the city, and so on--in a rapid-fire juggling, a sort of mental trapeze act over little bits of your life--going farther and farther back in time."



"Before entering the mountains I had no assessment of either the jungle or the forest, no conception of what the mountain really meant. So I went to bed with that standard beside me; I kept it always with me; I folded it neatly and put it under my head like a pillow, and went to sleep."




"Before long you quit listening for the noise of cars, or of bicycles, or television or radios, or for the shouts of kids hawking newspapers or Chiclets. You quit listening for that typical city tone in the cries of the kids. You no longer see movie houses, or billboards for films. And you keep going; no electric light. And on. Then no more colors, nothing but green; no colors but what people are wearing, and even those colors are starting to fade. You end up color blind."



"That night in the safe house in Leon a flood of sensations overwhelmed me; one of the things I felt most intensely was the sense of the absurd. Distances in the mountains are measured in time: eight days, let's say, or seven days, or a month. It was a minimum of three hours to get from one place to the next, right?"



"My God, I thought, the dialectic has stopped! As if the whole year I had been away was just one second, see? I didn't know if I had really lived it, if I had really been in the mountains, if I had really lived all those days, one after the other, until finally I had come back here. Or if, in fact, I had never been anywhere at all."



quotes from "The Mountain is More than a Wide Expanse of Green" (1982) by Omar Cabezas.

VIVA LA NINA!

Last week I made it to the summit of Stuart Peak after getting skunked on the mountain the previous two attempts -- once when I came across distressingly fresh grizzly tracks and once when I simply ran out of daylight. Stuart is not the biggest mountain around but is visible from the entire Missoula Valley and is a 16-mile trek. The trail to the summit starts in a leafy neighborhood, is flat for 3 miles, straight up for 3 more, and annoyingly flat for the last 2.

(Snowghosts on Stuart, Dec. 3, 2010)



This time, I was up at 4, hit the snooze a few times (LAZY!), had two espressos, and made it to the trailhead by 6. I hiked for 2 hours by headlamp then enjoyed full sunlight -- and cold temperatures -- the rest of the way. I made it to the summit just before 2 and was back at the car by 4.

The summit ski was made easier this time both due to the predawn start and the snowpack down low. When I attemped the summit last year on Christmas Day the bottom 3 miles of trail had less than a half foot of snow, and even halfway up the mountain there was barely enough snow to turn. This year the trail had perfect coverage the entire way, and the summit had more than 5 feet.

(From the summit, north into the Rattelsnake and Mission.)



The difference? Last year was one of the strongest El Ninos on record, which left Montana high and dry and Montgomery nearly as snowy as Missoula. This year is one of the stronger La Ninas on record; it started snowing the first week of November, things picked up with a Thanksgiving week blizzard, then the temperature went to minus 12, and things have not really let up since.

There's been more good skiing already this year.

Looking down 3,500 vertical on Sheep Mountain on Saturday after a delightful predawn start.



On Thanksgiving Day, Paul Smotherman and I found some surprisingly nice turns on Lolo Pass, that old standby.



Two days later Laura and I made a very important stop here:

(The new Florence Coffee on Brooks.)



Which helped us get here:

(Madison River, Yellowstone National Park.)



More to come!