EVER ONWARD

July 25:  Up bright and early for our date at the RV hospital in High River, Alberta, just south of Calgary.  I handed the tech our 42 page list of the issues that we would like addressed.  He said, “Will you be leaving your vehicle with us for a month?”.  “No. One day”, I replied.  “Ah”, said he, with genuine Canadian kindness, “We will do our best, eh.”  The dealership was wonderful.  Very knowledgeable, pleasant and accommodating.  They gave us a free loaner car, but we spent the morning employing their wifi to pay bills and post the blog on the net.  Then we went and played golf at a nearby course.  We were delighted when advised, later in the day, that they would like to keep Albie overnight, so they could do more work on her.  Astutely, we found a brand-new Marriott suite in which to spend the night, watch the Monday speeches at the Democratic National Convention and totally chill out.

July 26:  Albie was ready to go by 11:00 AM, so we returned to the dealer, where they carefully explained all the work they did, what they could not do due to need for parts and what we should do to connect with the national Roadtrek factory in Kitchener, Ontario on our trip east to fix the remaining issues.  They also gently tried to persuade us to trade in our vehicle for a brand-spanking new one, taking advantage of the 30% discount because of currency difference between Canada and the US dollars.  We politely declined, but the new ones were magnificent.  

OLD GRAIN ELEVATORS, NANTON, ALBERTA

AMERICAN AVOCET

AMERICAN AVOCET

We drove south through the broad Albertan high prairie, at about 4000 feet elevation, steadily aiming at the good old USA.  All the while, the sawtooth horizon of the Rockies cut through to our west.  A slight detour at the small town of Nanton for groceries slowed us down enough to take close looks at some of the prairie potholes with ducks and their broods.  So, ever distrustful of completely straight lines, which tend to prevail on the flatland, we made a two hour rectangular detour searching for wet spots that might hold southbound birds that had completed their odyssey to the far north, as had we.  Eventually, we came to the very small town of Nobleton, Alberta, which had, much to our pleasure,  eschewing modern technology, a series of mid-sized sewage lagoons consisting mostly of shallow stinking water and mudflats.  Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is heaven for birds and birders, and 

after poking around for a bit, we hit the motherlode.  One pond was chock full of migrating Franklin’s gulls, black-necked stilts, American avocets, Hudsonian godwits, long-billed curlew, greater and lesser yellowlegs, numerous Wilson’s phalaropes, willets (western form), so we set up the scope and were having a blast, until we got blasted by one of those gigantic prairie storms that rolled in on us.  Torrential rain accompanied by marble-sized hail, pounded our roof, creating a racket that made conversation impossible.  So we had lunch!  The storm passed fairly quickly and we went back to birding for a bit before continuing our journey south.  When we crossed into the US, at a lightly used border station, the obviously bored guard confiscated our just-purchased tomatoes and peppers because they contained seeds.  I hope they made a nice dinner.

HAIL STORM, NOBLETON, ALBERTA

SWAINSON'S HAWK, MONTANA

Onward to Babb, Montana, where the campground at which we intended to stay declared itself defunct.  Onward to St. Mary, where hundreds, if not thousands of travelers spend the night before descending on adjacent Glacier National Park, to get an early jump on those precious few campsites.  As did we.  We drove up and over The Highway to the Sun, through 6600’ Logan Pass and down the narrow serpentine ledge that passes for a two-way road to Avalanche Campground, where we actually secured a lovely campsite.  Once settled, not having sufficient knowledge of the now over-population of the park, we drove back up the  tortuous 17 miles to the Logan Pass Visitor Center, where we assumed we could park, get some information and go for a walk.  Not to be.  The parking lot was so jammed with cars there were no places available and lines of vehicles circled like vultures waiting to pounce on a open spot.  After some minutes of this, we gave up, deciding to go for a walk to Jackson Glacier, one of the few remaining glaciers in almost Glacier-less National Park.  We arrived, overcoming massive slow traffic along the route, to find so many vehicles and walkers there that the entire experience was completely unappealing.  We turned around and drove an hour back to our campsite for lunch and a nap.  We have learned a VERY important lesson and would like pass that along to all you prospective travelers to the big national parks of the US and Canada.  DON’T EVER COME DURING JULY AND AUGUST!!!!!!  While the parks are still beautiful, magnificent and worthy of every superlative adjective you can imagine, the crowds dilute the experience to make it more frustrating than enjoyable.  If you have no other choice but to venture forth in those heavily visited summer months, do your research in advance, pick your spots and get to them very early in the day for the greatest enjoyment of a natural experience.  We did this at Emerald Lake in Alberta’s Yoho National Park and it is a strategy we will adhere to rigidly forevermore.

HAYSTACK CREEK, GLACIER NP

Now, relaxing at our site, with the piercing songs of varied thrushes ringing in our ears, we’re gearing up for a hike somewhere nearby, where we and I’m sure several thousand others will enjoy nature at its finest.  

Well, we never made it on our walk, since thunder and a few drops scared us off.  We did wander around the campground and talk to a couple of other owners of RVs similar to ours, comparing notes and checking out their vehicles.  Some creative, talented, hands-on kind of people actually buy a shell and do their own conversion.  This is basically a foreign concept to me.  I’m much better at writing checks.  Other vehicles come fully equipped, like ours, but have different engines, fuel, beds, cooking, storage, etc.  If only there was some way to stay the same size, carry golf clubs, fishing and photo gear AND a small boat it would be perfect.  We’ve got to find an inflatable canoe that takes up no space, self-inflates and has the stability of an aircraft carrier.  Suggestions?  

Since our previous site-occupiers had left us a stack of firewood, we had no choice but torch it and sit outside, even if some of the time was under an umbrella when droplets began to fall.  Still, there’s that cozy feeling from enjoying a campfire, smoke billowing in your face no matter which direction you sit, even if the only thing we had to cook up was ideas.

MOUNTAIN GOAT WITH KID

HIDDEN LAKE

July 28:  Got up early again (egad, what’s happening to us?) to attack the throngs at Glacier with our new strategy.  By 7:30 AM we had arrived at the dread parking lot at Logan Pass, where already masses were gathering for their assaults on every trail and facility the park has to offer.  After eating breakfast in the parking lot, we, along with many others, began our 1.5 mile walk up the hill to Hidden Lake.  Fat ones, lean ones, short ones, tall ones - all marching up the broad boardwalk installed to protect the land from the hordes.  It was a clear, windless day, and with the strong mountain sunshine, we doffed our jackets rather quickly.  At 7000 feet, we made it to the lake overlook, albeit with a wee bit of gasping.  A wedding was being held on an adjacent outcrop, where the entire wedding party, in full bride and groom glory, had marched up the hill with gown and suit underscored by hiking boots.  Just to the right, as we took our places on the overlook platform, a female mountain goat clambered over the ledge, kid in tow, and rolled in a dirt wallow she obviously had used previously.  This was obviously the nine o’clock goat under contract to perform for the crowds.  She was wearing a collar with a device attached to it, aptly dubbed a “goat pro” camera by one of the observers.  A fat hoary marmot sunbathed nearby.  Later, a male goat, also similarly collared as part of a study, crossed the path just in front of us.  Hidden Lake, meanwhile, revealed itself to us in all its glory and was quite beautiful with its deep jade tones and surrounded by still lightly snowy mountains.  We took a little side trail and were rewarded not only with some respite from the crowds, but there were a ton of birds there!  Gale saw a black swift fly by, plus there several kinds of sparrows, red crossbills and a couple of teeny-weeny calliope hummingbirds.  We managed to get back down the hill without incident or injury and then swung Albie into traffic for the long twisting descent to the western exit of the park.  

We stopped at the very cute, artsy-fartsy town of Whitefish, Montana for a stroll among the shops.  We did find one bit of reality - an ice cream store that made its own stuff from local ingredients.  Delicious!  Chocolate ice cream with tiny chocolate chips. Perfection!  Onward toward Eureka, where we will play golf tomorrow.  But where to spend the night?  We adhered to Murphy’s Law and landed on the shores of Murphy Lake, where I fly-fished for underwater sticks for about an hour until I caught my limit.  This was actually a beautiful unofficial campsite, right on the lake shore.  We sat out in folding chairs and watched the slow sunset while we had our usual gourmet dinner.

RED CROSSBILL

July 29:   Camped on a little dirt side road, we went for a pre-breakfast walk.  Almost immediately, we found an adult and juvenile red-naped sapsucker, a lifer for Gale we had hoped to see somewhere in the area.   There was also a small flock of red crossbills roaming through the conifer tops, one of which amazed me during breakfast when it perched right outside the RV window for great shots.  

MURHY LAKE

We headed north to the old mining/logging town of Eureka, Montana and almost to the border of British Columbia to play at The Wilderness Golf Club, a resort truly in the middle of nowhere that apparently subscribed to the notion, “Build it and They Will Come”.  That didn’t work out so well at first and the course went bankrupt, but the current owners seem to be doing much better, selling luxury cabins and timeshares for those who really want to get away from it all.  The course itself was difficult, especially for a first-timer, but a lot of fun and in great shape.  One problem was that when we finished, it was 95 degrees!  The humidity was only 23%, which made the heat bearable to some extent, but we decided to tough it out by sitting in the bar, drinking beer and watching the second round of the PGA tournament.  We brought in our maps and itinerary and figured out that we needed to get up in the mountains tonight to find some cooler air.

That’s when the trouble started.  We had decided to go to the tiny town of Yaak, Montana, about 4000 feet higher than where we were.  As usual, we programmed my phone for the best route and made the error of actually following its directions.  Paved Route 92 gave way to unpaved road, so we gamely continued, winding up and up.  A herd of five deer watched us like we had arrived from outer space before bolting into the forest.  We came to a fork in the road, but unwilling to follow Yogi’s advice, we chose not to take it, since one way - the route our phone said to take, was now very narrow, rutted and had tall grass growing in the middle and the other went up Maria Mountain, which was not that appealing either.  At any moment, we expected a swarm of survivalist paramilitary mountain folks to surround us and take us home for dinner.  Which reminds me of a tee shirt I saw a guy wearing at Glacier NP.  The front read: “The Donner Family Restaurant - Serving Humanity since 1847”.  I must get one.  Anyway, we turned around and successfully descended to pavement, found the right curvy ascending paved road toward Yaak and took it.  By this time, I was pretty beat driving these winding roads and it was getting late, so we only went about 10 miles before finding a perfect little camping area for the night. 

Here’s something that I’ve noticed.  Throughout the trip, especially out here, we’ve seen the usual numerous roadside crosses where people have met an unfortunate fate in vehicular mishaps.  However, I’ve never seen a plastic flower-studded Star of David in any of my travels.  Seems to be a cultural thing, but Jews apparently either do not die in car crashes or don’t put up religious mementos when they they do. I suspect the latter is a more accurate assessment.  Just an observation.  A mountain cottontail welcomed us for the night and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

July 30:  As we went up and over the mountain this morning, a family of ruffed grouse with five chicks placidly strolled across the road just ahead of us.  We were riding six white horses and comin’ round the mountain, which really makes a lot of noise, taking us 35 miles through the forest and eventually to Yaak.  Since this is that kind of place, we did not talk back, driving past the Dirty Shame Saloon, just across the street from the Yaak Tavern, which seemed to be the only surviving businesses in town.  Forced by obviously misplaced mountains to take a somewhat circuitous path to our ultimate destination somewhere near the Coeur d’Alene River, we wound our way north, south, east and west before finally crossing the Continental Divide at Thompson Pass and into the great state of Idaho, where tubers (not the potato sort), were floating down a broad, shallow, crystal clear expanse known as the above river.  We did see some scantily clad people making the float who did closely resembled Idaho potatoes, completely baked.  All they lacked was the butter, sour cream and chives.  

RUFFED GROUSE

Finally, after winding for 20 miles north along the river, we arrived at our place of destiny, where no less than the Yellow Dog Creek flowed into the Coeur d’Alene.  We did see a yellow dog floating on someone’s raft, but again, I digress.  Here there was supposed to be a trail leading up the aforementioned YDC to Shadow Waterfall, where BLACK SWIFTS were nesting behind its watery curtain.  Alas, the unmarked, unmaintained trail was narrow, overgrown and very uncertain as to length or disposition.  Plus it is berry season, when our ursine friends like to flop in the fruit patch and stuff themselves.  Until some unsuspecting tourist comes along to provide a bit of protein with the meal.  Reluctantly, we agreed that our search for the grail must come to a premature end and retreated to Albie for consolation.  We did manage to secure the last site at a National Forest campground along the way out, where, although it is still almost 90 degrees, we have shade and a picnic table.  All for the senior Golden Pass holder price of $9.00.  What a deal!  We didn’t have the right , so we slipped a tenner into the envelope, figuring it was all for a good cause, but about an hour later the campground host came by with a dollar for us.  So nice when those sort of things happen.  We took a little walk around the campground, dropping down to the Coeur d”Alene River for a view, where a couple of people had parked their lawn chairs in about a foot of quickly moving cool water and were enjoying the refreshing current.  We returned to the campsite and were sitting outside, delighting in the wind through the trees, I writing and Gale reading.  BUT, if I had to take a course in sitting still for very long, I would definitely get an “F”.  The wonderful Yiddish word for this affliction is shpilkas, or vaguely translated, “ants in your pants”.  So after dutifully composing the above, I put on my swim trunks, returned to the cool flowing embrace of the Coeur d’Alene (“coor dahlane”) and plunged in.  There definitely was some shrinkage involved while submerging in these chilly waters, but in moments, the temperature could not have felt better.  The only problem was that I was wearing foam rubber sandals, which, while they protected my feet from the slippery stones, were made from extremely floaty material, so when I sat down on the stream bottom, my feet instantly jumped up to the top, sending me ass over teakettle backward into the flow.  In 18 inches of water, it was great!  As things often happen, I began having a nice conversation with the two folks in the lawn chairs.  They were from the city of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, about 50 miles away, and both worked at a company that works primarily with forestry (lumbering) companies that replant up to 85 million trees each year that have been harvested for timber.  To accomplish this amazing statistic, they bring in people mainly from Mexico and Guatemala on work visas, to hand plant the sprigs that will ultimately become trees.  This is extremely hard work and although it pays between $14-20/hour, they said they can’t get very many Americans, of any ethnicity, to do the back-breaking labor.  And, according to them, when they do find an American, they usually quit within hours because the work is so hard.  Draw your own conclusions, my friends.  Anyway, I come back from my swim, cooled off, refreshed, but can’t get that beautiful clear water out of my mind.  So I return with my fly rod for half an hour, practicing casting.

One word about the people of the northwest.  They really know how to enjoy the outdoors, even in places where there is no phone service!  It seems like everyone camps in a tent or RV of every conceivable sort when the weather is conducive or when it is not.  

My new friends, who are camped right across the road from us, invited us over for a beer after dinner, so, being sociable folks, we visit.  We had a blast!  Another couple was there, the sister and brother-in-law of our hostess and during four glasses of wine for me and couple of brews for Gale, we were really enjoying ourselves.  Now, I must say, my usual limit is one cup of wine, since I have an inordinately low tolerance for alcoholic beverages, so I was pretty wasted by the time we left, very glad we were only 50 feet from home.  With Gale’s assistance, I made it, although the forest was now whirling around me, and with that, I wish you all a pleasant good night.

FLOATING GREEN, COEUR D'ALENE GOLF COURSE

July 31:  When traveling in an RV, your perspective on what makes a day great can vary widely from similar expectations of the general populace.  We found a gas station that had BOTH fresh water for our tank and a dump station for our other tanks.  Heavenly!  After that, the day only got better.  We continued on into the City of Coeur d’Alene and played golf at the posh resort of the same name.  This course is famous for one thing: the 14th hole is a par 3 with a floating green!  That’s right - the green is about one acre in size, beautifully decorated with flowers, has sand bunkers and is towed around into a new position every day and anchored into place.  A beautiful old Chris Craft motorboat takes you and your putter out and back for your time on exquisitely beautiful Coeur d’Alene Lake.  The surface is beautiful, but not the bottom.  In the past, this unfortunate body of water was the dumping ground of a multitude of mining companies that deposited so much toxic sludge into the lake that it can never be cleaned up.  Basically, a really good-looking corpse.  The golf course itself was a delightful resort-type layout, not too difficult, perfectly manicured, but all the holes very interesting.  Like Augusta National, there is no real rough, just a bit of water (remember that floating green) and for the first time in I don’t remember when, I played 18 holes with the same ball.  

Return to reality and back to the same-ole night at Walmart for shopping and a paved campsite under not the stars, but the light posts.

August 1: Despite the fact that we did not see any antelope playing, there was not a cloud in the sky all day.  Air quality is another issue, though.  Throughout the trip, I have been surprised that wherever we go, the air is not as clear as I would have expected or have previously experienced, even in the most remote areas of Alaska and northern Canada.  There is always a haze in the sky.  I don’t know if this is a summer phenomenon or just the new normal, but it has been somewhat disappointing and concerning.  This evening, as we drove south through Idaho, the sky took on a gray/brown cast with the smell of smoke.  There is a major fire somewhere west of us sending smoke this way.  I know there are some huge uncontrolled fires raging in California, but there could be another on this side of the Rockies that is causing this condition.

I played golf again this afternoon, Gale wisely choosing to sit this one out.  About 40 miles south of Coeur d’Alene in Worley, Idaho is the Circling Raven Golf Course, part of the Coeur d’Alene tribe’s casino and resort complex.  The course is absolutely gorgeous, winding up and down and around hills blanketed with golden wheat about to be harvested, dotted with ponderosa pines and lined by tall fescue grasses.  No buildings at all on or near the course, which for me doubles the visual enjoyment of a golf course.  Almost half the holes have forced carries over brush and those tall grasses, making it extremely difficult and unfriendly to most women and short hitters, so Gale made a good choice to just ride around with me as caddie du jour.  We had two most pleasant playing companions from Sand Point, Idaho, who were both very good golfers and knew the course, making for a fun afternoon.  My play was the usual good, bad and ugly, but it’s always a great experience in a beautiful setting.  

THE PALOUSE

From there we continued south on Route 95, traveling through the Palouse, a vast area of largely treeless rolling hills, mainly in grain production, that encompasses much of the Idaho panhandle, eastern Washington and a bit of Oregon.   As we approached Lewiston, Idaho, the road plunged two thousand feet down through the hills to the Snake River and the city of Lewiston, right on the Washington State border.  The air had gotten foul with smoke by now and smelled like there was a campfire right next to us.  We hung a left to begin our first major push east and pulled over for the night in a large rest area next to the Snake River.  Despite the late hour, I whipped up a big omelet with mushrooms, red pepper and onions for our evening meal.  Very tasty!