CROSSING THE MOUNTAINS ON FRIDAY

Heading towards Helena, Montana, I am surrounded by mountains on three sides.  My crayons are not sufficient for the panorama.  This scene requires watercolors and broad brush strokes to catch the purples and greys and tans of the mountain. The wide sweeps of harvested wheat fields are a yellowish tan, polka dotted with dark clumps of trees along the landscape. 

At McDonald pass, between Helena and Missoula, I am climbing steep into the mountains.  Sometimes when I round an uphill curve all I see is sky for a second or two, the rest of the mountains are down below.  The ranges are piled one upon another as far as I can see.  Up close they are a charcoal green because of the mixture of many dead trees amongst the living.  This is the first real mountain driving I have done on this trip.  Wherever I was when I called Montana heaven – well that was just the suburbs of heaven.  This is the real thing.

I’ve been listening to Sirius radio, mostly classical music as I drive.  As I start down the other side of McDonald pass, I hear George Gershwin’s “An American in Paris.”  What an odd sensation – urban music with honking horns while I am in the middle of specatular mountains. I cannot connect these mountains and that music in any way in my mind.

The hay between Helena and Missoula is stacked in huge piles, perhaps ten or twelve feet high, rather than rows of round bales.  A split rail fence surrounds the base, set perhaps five feet away from the hay stack, to prevent livestock from eating directly from the pile. Before now, everything has been either round or rectangular bales.  I am reminded of pictures I’ve seen of agricultural areas in Europe. 

I arrive in Missoula about 3:00, check myself into the B&B, then set out on a 300-mile loop drive north to Whitefish and back.  I know it’s too much for the rest of the day, but it’s my only chance to see this area and my scenic road book says it’s a good drive. 

 

Before I leave Missoula for the loop drive, I stop for gas.  Right next door was Starbucks, so I’m thinking today is really my lucky day.  I haven’t had a single mocha since I left home and I’ve been looking for one. I've just never been in the right place at the right time. While I am pumping gas, a girl comes out of the gas station market with a bag of popcorn.  I have discovered I love munching on popcorn during afternoon drives.  Now I have a dilemma:  popcorn or mocha.   What to do? I can’t do both.  I opt for the popcorn – it lasts longer. I will save Starbuck’s for another day.

As I drive through the Flathead Indian Reservation, one of the first things I notice is that the highway signs are written in two different languages:  Native American first, English second.  I don't recognize some of the script. It’s a great reminder of where I’m traveling and on whose land I am on.  It makes me feel like a visitor when I can’t read the signs, or only part of the signs. For me, it creates an interesting environment.

The Mission Range on the Flathead Reservation

St. Ignatius Church

Interior of St. Ignatius Church

I’m following the Mission Range, black base with grey peaks, rising out of the flat valley.  St. Ignatius Church, a rather ordinary looking brick church, sits in this valley.  Inside it’s very ornately decorated, not gold and marble like the Cathedral of St. Paul, but very appropriate for this place.  One of the side altars has a teepee on it, I assume to honor the Native American people who live and were converted here.

As I head toward Polson, I come around a curve and am surprised by Flathead Lake which completely fills my view.   The lake is bright blue, the sky is clear and cloudless, and several ranges of mountains encircle the lake.  Farther along the shore the Town at Polson Bay looks like a wonderful place to come and stay for a while.  Part of the harbor is filled with sailboats – a scene I didn’t expect in the midst of the mountains. There are also small islands dotting the lake, some have houses on them.  Really cool.

Mission Range

Flathead Lake

At Lakeside I saw a sign for charter fishing boats.  Wouldn’t that be a great thing to do on my next trip.  I don’t even know how to fish but I would certainly be willing to go along for the ride and let other people fish.

 I am just totally blown away by the beauty here at the end of a day that has already been wonderful.  It started with Louise, then I found Louise’s home place and the area where Dad grew up, I drove through the mountains and over McDonald Pass, and was debating about whether I could do another 300 miles today on this scenic loop.  It has been worth every mile, to soak up the natural gorgeousness.   Even if it gets dark before I get all the way back to Missoula it’s been worth the extra time.  I’ll pick up fast food for dinner (my first burger in fries since I left home) so I can take in as much of this scenery before darkness falls.

   

The sun is starting to set at 8:20 and I’m starting the southward part of the loop.  I like seeing the mountains in silhouette which makes them even more spectacular than they were earlier.  This is the first night of the entire trip I have driven in the dark to get to my bed for the night.  But it’s o.k.  It’s been a great day.