The twilight hour is upon us and we’re speeding up the Going-To-the-Sun Highway towards Logan Pass in Glacier National Park to catch Montana’s big sky magic.
Only tonight, the we failed the troll’s riddle and we weren’t allowed over the pass. Shane, one of our hosts, had told us they were closing the pass at 10:30pm for construction purposes. Ty, a boat captain for “Montana’s Mountain Navy” on Glacier’s St. Mary Lake, has heard no such thing.
So we stay on Silver Dollar beach a while longer, picking perfect stones from the millions of flat rocks along the beach and skipping them across the glass. Cali, whom is yet to embrace the beauty of skipping stones, mimics our therapeutic practice. Many tries later, however, our focus is broken by her continuous giddy inquiry; “did you see that one!?”
Having chosen stones over guaranteed return travel back over the pass, we’re now locked into the confines of having to trace the southern border of Glacier – an extra hour worth of travel and our only way back home.
Shortly into the drive, the harvest moon appears atop a rolling hill, initially mistaken for a road sign until it continues to lift into the sky.
“The bloody moon. Wicked things will come your way,” Cali tells me. Maybe not so wicked, but it’s midnight, we’re still an hour and a half away and our rafting trip leaves at 7:00am.
Having been another long day on the road, Cali and I are both exhausted and Willie Nelson and Fleetwood Mac just aren’t cutting it. My eyes are struggling to remain fixated on the road after nearly clipping a horse’s ass several miles back but the weight of the day is adds to gravity’s pull. Thus begins story time.
An hour later and with a whole new perspective of my cycling partner, we make a left turn near West Glacier Grill, the home stretch, or so we think. We idle past long dark driveways, squinting our eyes trying to make out the silhouettes or recognizable houses. The only problem is we were only here once before and nothing seems recognizable.
We spend twenty minutes driving down long driveways with “Posted, No Trespassing Signs,” hoping one of them will lead us to our hosts, Shane and Hilary’s, home. But our strategy is to no avail and we resort to calling Hilary, at 2:00am.
We finally arrive, sleep depraved and embarrassed.
“Lost Cascadia, lost in Montana,” Hilary jokes. Now she knows where the name comes from…
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Are you going through a company for your rafting trip or are your hosts taking you out??? (either way – Good Luck!)
Both actually. Hit the water with our hosts Shane & Hilary along with Glacier Raft Co.