Winter 2006

Magic Mountains

A road trip to visit national parks, out West and up close
Glacier National Park, Montana

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“HAVE SOME OF OUR FISH,” he said. “Just be careful of the bones.” The fish was cloud-white from being boiled for a few minutes. I smelled it for a moment, savoring the sights and smells of the man’s generosity. I took small bites to avoid swallowing small bones. It was, without a doubt, the best fish I had ever tasted in my life. It was sweet and delicate, falling to pieces in my mouth.

The fish, though, was not nearly as impressive as its source or the generosity that bestowed it upon my plate. As I chewed slowly, I looked out upon Elizabeth Lake, fed by crystal-clear waters that had melted from the glaciers in the mountains above. The lake was protected by a glacial valley within the borders of Glacier National Park. The generous company I kept was with five older, misfit men whose path through the valley followed that of my travel partner, Caitlin Jacob ’03, and me. Four of the men were formerly educators who hold a pact that they will hike some beautiful part of the continent every year. The other, a priest, had joined them for this trip. He was the one who caught and offered the fish. He had never fished before, he said, and that evening he caught five fish in twenty minutes. Go figure.

My trip to that point had been something of a miracle. I was traveling more than four thousand miles round trip from my home in Ohio, through the Badlands, Yellowstone, Glacier, and Theodore Roosevelt National Parks. I could have easily bought a plane or train ticket to get there, but I would have missed so much. Traveling in a car, I can be spontaneous; I can explore things. And I had the opportunity to meet friendly travelers who are willing to give me some of their fresh catch.

Not a single person who took the Amtrak out to Glacier National Park can boast of seeing the Corn Palace, the pride of Mitchell, South Dakota. Every year the building is stapled with corn in a pattern of color that resembles images of South Dakota. Inside, one will find all sorts of facts on the Corn Palace, South Dakota, and Ñ of course Ñ corn. The palace was just one of many roadside attractions on the way, from the world’s largest ball of yarn to a gigantic outdoor museum of metal animal sculptures to Mount Rushmore.

The national parks, my chief destinations, are some of the most multifaceted places you can visit, a perfect match for the spontaneity that road trips inspire. You can stay in plush hotels (such as the ones in Yellowstone) or hike deep into the backcountry and sleep in a tent far from any conveniences.While it may be roughing it, backcountry expeditions are, in my opinion, far better. You see more wildlife, and you are more likely to see the land unspoiled by development or tourist hordes. (Yellowstone attracts more than two million visitors a year, but only a small fraction of them actually stay in the backcountry.) In fact, the National Park Service encourages spontaneity. All you have to do is go to a ranger station once you arrive and reserve a campsite.

The best example of road tripping to the U.S. national parks is in Glacier National Park.Montana is a land that borders on the magical, with mountains so high you have to lower your head in the car just to see them out the window. The highways also offer a unique bounty Ñ derelict towns, roadside huts that offer huckleberry ice cream, and Native American reservations.

Glacier National Park was established at the turn of the twentieth century as a tourist attraction for city-dwellers on the East Coast. Hence mountain chalets and grand lodges are scattered throughout the southern end of the park. But you can also camp near cool lakes and towering glaciers, and you’re usually alone. My most memorable campsite in Glacier was beside Cracker Lake. It sits at the top of a valley, where it dead-ends at the foot of a glacier-capped mountain. The lake has a turquoise hue due to the minerals washed by the glacier. I had never seen anything on the scale of Cracker Lake. Not a single place in that backcountry disappoints.

Colin Grindall lives in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, between Akron and Cleveland, where he teaches fourththrough eighth-graders who stay at the Cuyahoga Valley Environmental Education Center for week-long programs on local history, geology, and ecology.