Arising to the shrieks of our Japanese neighbors at the campsite, we struck camp, left our bags, and ascended to the Bonner Pass. Up 2000 feet to the Continental Divide, we could see into the next glacially carved valley. Impressive enough, but we decided to continue upward, climbing the col to Mt. Helen, at 8500 ft. There was no trail to the summit, but it was above treeline, and we figured the views would be worth risking our lives. Actually the weather was clear and the incline wasn’t severe. We did stay away from the cliff edge, and kept an eye on the horizon for threatening clouds. The pictures speak for themselves.
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After the morning’s hike, we trekked back to the car, and drove across the Going To the Sun Road. The vistas here were spectacular, but somehow less satisfying than the ones we earned with our sweat earlier that day. Eventually, we became tired of awe-inspiring terrain, and left the park in search of huckleberry milkshakes. We found salvation at a roadside stand, where a boy of perhaps 11 played James for a fool. He claimed that their prices had gone up substantially because “their cows were sick.” He calmly gave James about half the change expected for a $20. James told him they should update their signs. Then the boy smirked, and gave us the rest of the change. James guffawed, and congratulated the boy on his budding hucksterism.
Huckleberry Heaven
Had buffalo burgers for dinner, and drove south trying to find the real thing. We arrived at the National Bison Range near closing, and were unable to find the campsites there that the map promised. We cursed the Montana Department of Transportation, which seems to be very good at tearing up roads, but not so skilled at mending them. So we left, bison unseen, through interminable construction and found a commercial site for far too much money. An early morning loomed, so James could catch the 7:30 bus, and so I slept fitfully again.
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