Sun in an Empty Room

Yeah, you could say I'm back in Glacier Park. I’m in bed, reading by the light of my headlamp as Paul, from the Amphib Crew, is strumming his mandolin along with the light bluegrass coming from the old boom box in the other room.

It’s quiet around here. The “House of Many Doors” Bear Crew coined (eight of ‘em) only hosts three of us, and tomorrow Paul and Amphib Crew leader, Blake, will be leaving. Tomorrow, I also uncover what I will be doing for the next month, as the flooding Flathead River and snow packed mountain passes prohibits us from anywhere above 4,000 ft in the park.

But you can feel the May sun warming up West Glacier. There were only a few lightly scattered clouds and highs made it to above 70 degrees. I took a five mile bike ride into Apgar and Lake McDonald on a mountain bike that is in desperate need of a tune up. Apparently, the day the Bio Techs left last year a snow storm covered it, and snow remained until last week. So I had to pump its tires and only take it at cruising speed, so the rusted chain wouldn’t break off.

The park’s roads were virtually empty, and the only disturbance to the quiet village was the few employees preparing to open their shop doors this weekend. Oh, and of course the Floridians with their stealth black Hummer that passed me on Highway 2.

I’m told May plays tricks on the park. The sun shines all day, and the wildlife sing and play as if it’s late July, but come June, the rains will come. Hopefully these are lies, because I’m enjoying the spring weather. It’s something we never experienced last May and June.

But if the warm weather comes too soon, it’s obvious that there will be serious consequences. There are places in the park list 800 percent above average snowpack, and the places that read only 200 percent, may usually have 150 inches at this point, but now have 300, so it’s all relative. Looking from the southern shores of lake McDonald, you can see the pure white peaks of Brown, Clements and Stanton, which circle the lake. It’s gorgeous, yet intimidating, thinking ahead to what the summer will hold. I only have a couple weeks before I’ll be crossing creeks and rivers flooding their banks and hiking into those passes that are impenetrable until late July and August.

Folks around here are already comparing the winter to 1994, and I guess they still talk a lot about that winter.

All I know is that tomorrow will tell what this month holds. I have the whole cabin, little responsibility and days to relax and clear my head from last semester, although I’m already thinking about journalism. Nerding out.



Cheerio,

Beaz_