My journey has made me a scavenger and a fearless brother of the dirt, immune to the social trappings of normal folk. When I drop food on the ground, I pick it up and, without question, grub it back down; when my boxers start to get crusty, I shake 'em out, ready for a few extra days of wear; and when something in the cooler starts to smell funky, I simply assume that the odor is adding some "seasoning". As our trip together progressed, these facts were not lost on Tara.
All the while, she just rolled her eyes and laughed at my antics. Her lasso cinched tighter as
the days wore on and she pulled me surely back toward equilibrium. Chicks rule. Now, certainly more civilized, I take the time to blow the dirt off of a piece of stray food before popping it into my maw.
Our first stop in Glacier National Park was Lake McDonald. It is a oblong teardrop nestled under a canopy of sloping green hills. The photo of my swim makes me look like the latest Loch Ness sighting.
The water color, especially in the streams, is distinctive and different than any other I've ever seen. It's like the scintillating liquid produces its own light, shining with bright blues and deep purple hues. As I was later to learn,
the waters get their color from suspended particles of "rock flour" that the glaciers grind up and deposit into the meltwater as they move.
Glacier National Park does not actually have many glaciers, and those remaining are but high-reaching shadows of their former glory. The park gets its name from the ice that existed during its formation, which carved incredibly deep and wide valleys that are shaped like perfect parabolic bowls. When I stood from the many vantage points to view the mountainous splendor, the dizzying magnitude of the tipped slopes hit me like a slug to the chest. One
cannot help but gasp.
Halfway up the engineering marvel that is known as the Going to the Sun Road (a road blasted into the face of a cliff), Tara and I stopped to admire a waterfall, which plummeted and blinked in the sunlight like a million pearls. "Beep, beep", a passer-by honked at us, "Get a tent!" Tara's lips, deprived for so long, were in a 24-hour state of pucker.
For two more days, the sights raged on in Glacier. I almost got to the point where I was jaded by the scenery. Ho-hum, another pristine glacial stream cascading down a banded mountainside. Gee-whiz, another arresting valley dripping with greenery and wildflowers.
We partook in several trompings in the park to see various destinations marked on the map. Wherever we went, I never had to
worry about Tara's location. Adorned in bear bells, she was a jingling angel in boots, emitting a contagious joy that made every step a pleasurable experience. To be honest, her presence re-awakened my original sense of adventure that had been smeared and faded by solitary traveling.
Our second night was spent at the popular destination known as Many Glacier. Aptly named, this outpost sits beneath several massive walls of ice, the most prominent of which is called Grinnel Glacier. With clouds darkening, we pushed in a late afternoon hike to Redrock Falls and sat under its
crimson-hued spray. I watched in rapture as an elegant little bird sidled up to the rocks by the falls and with instinctive grace plunged into the water to feed. The wonders are never-ending. We got back to camp just in time to fix dinner and retreat to the tent, where the healthy patter of rain lulled me to sleep.
Large animals are prevalent within Glacier's confines. At the Jackson Glacier Overlook, I saw my first mountain goat, stone cold chillin' as only a goat can do. On the drive out of Many Glacier, I also saw the first bear of the journey, a young black whose roadside feeding attracted a group of camera-toting tourists.
On our third day in the park, the brief showers from the night abated and we drove the awesome stretch of road into Alberta. Oh, Canada! The land of few people and much acreage. Alberta is known as Wild Rose Country and it glistens with raw beauty and overlooked landscapes.
Our border crossing was quite an interesting experience. The brash customs guard intentionally put on a hilarious display of intimidation. I'm not sure what types of felons pass through these gates, but they definitely treat you as guilty until proven innocent. "Do you have any firearms?" he asked, stone-faced.
"Nope," I replied coolly.
"Any bear repellent?"
"No, sir." (lie)
"Are you running a load of coke for a Colombian drug cartel to poison our law-abiding citizens?!"
"No way, dude. I'm just the Rig Guy, runnin' thick rhymes to bust on yo ass."
Just when I thought that he was going to search The Rig for firearms, the guard's tone softened and he let us through without further harassment. It would have taken that dude about three hours to wade through my gear had he chosen for an inspection. I'm gonna flow regardless, because I'm an artist until I'm trapped, and I'll continue to hit the hardest whether I scrap or rap.
With a quick photo op, we rolled across the 49th parallel and into the Canadian portion of Glacier National Park, known as Waterton Lakes.
All the while, she just rolled her eyes and laughed at my antics. Her lasso cinched tighter as
the days wore on and she pulled me surely back toward equilibrium. Chicks rule. Now, certainly more civilized, I take the time to blow the dirt off of a piece of stray food before popping it into my maw.Our first stop in Glacier National Park was Lake McDonald. It is a oblong teardrop nestled under a canopy of sloping green hills. The photo of my swim makes me look like the latest Loch Ness sighting.
The water color, especially in the streams, is distinctive and different than any other I've ever seen. It's like the scintillating liquid produces its own light, shining with bright blues and deep purple hues. As I was later to learn,
the waters get their color from suspended particles of "rock flour" that the glaciers grind up and deposit into the meltwater as they move.Glacier National Park does not actually have many glaciers, and those remaining are but high-reaching shadows of their former glory. The park gets its name from the ice that existed during its formation, which carved incredibly deep and wide valleys that are shaped like perfect parabolic bowls. When I stood from the many vantage points to view the mountainous splendor, the dizzying magnitude of the tipped slopes hit me like a slug to the chest. One
cannot help but gasp.Halfway up the engineering marvel that is known as the Going to the Sun Road (a road blasted into the face of a cliff), Tara and I stopped to admire a waterfall, which plummeted and blinked in the sunlight like a million pearls. "Beep, beep", a passer-by honked at us, "Get a tent!" Tara's lips, deprived for so long, were in a 24-hour state of pucker.
For two more days, the sights raged on in Glacier. I almost got to the point where I was jaded by the scenery. Ho-hum, another pristine glacial stream cascading down a banded mountainside. Gee-whiz, another arresting valley dripping with greenery and wildflowers.
We partook in several trompings in the park to see various destinations marked on the map. Wherever we went, I never had to
worry about Tara's location. Adorned in bear bells, she was a jingling angel in boots, emitting a contagious joy that made every step a pleasurable experience. To be honest, her presence re-awakened my original sense of adventure that had been smeared and faded by solitary traveling.Our second night was spent at the popular destination known as Many Glacier. Aptly named, this outpost sits beneath several massive walls of ice, the most prominent of which is called Grinnel Glacier. With clouds darkening, we pushed in a late afternoon hike to Redrock Falls and sat under its
crimson-hued spray. I watched in rapture as an elegant little bird sidled up to the rocks by the falls and with instinctive grace plunged into the water to feed. The wonders are never-ending. We got back to camp just in time to fix dinner and retreat to the tent, where the healthy patter of rain lulled me to sleep.Large animals are prevalent within Glacier's confines. At the Jackson Glacier Overlook, I saw my first mountain goat, stone cold chillin' as only a goat can do. On the drive out of Many Glacier, I also saw the first bear of the journey, a young black whose roadside feeding attracted a group of camera-toting tourists.
On our third day in the park, the brief showers from the night abated and we drove the awesome stretch of road into Alberta. Oh, Canada! The land of few people and much acreage. Alberta is known as Wild Rose Country and it glistens with raw beauty and overlooked landscapes.
Our border crossing was quite an interesting experience. The brash customs guard intentionally put on a hilarious display of intimidation. I'm not sure what types of felons pass through these gates, but they definitely treat you as guilty until proven innocent. "Do you have any firearms?" he asked, stone-faced.
"Nope," I replied coolly.
"Any bear repellent?"
"No, sir." (lie)
"Are you running a load of coke for a Colombian drug cartel to poison our law-abiding citizens?!"
"No way, dude. I'm just the Rig Guy, runnin' thick rhymes to bust on yo ass."
Just when I thought that he was going to search The Rig for firearms, the guard's tone softened and he let us through without further harassment. It would have taken that dude about three hours to wade through my gear had he chosen for an inspection. I'm gonna flow regardless, because I'm an artist until I'm trapped, and I'll continue to hit the hardest whether I scrap or rap.
With a quick photo op, we rolled across the 49th parallel and into the Canadian portion of Glacier National Park, known as Waterton Lakes.
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