Celebrity concierge for a day
A close friend and fellow rowing club member of my oldest brother’s came out from Cincinnati to visit a couple of weeks ago, the first time he’d been to the Flathead Valley. He was returning from a week’s vacation in Yellowstone with his brother from Chicago and cousin from Missoula.
Naturally, I wanted to take him to Glacier National Park. Since it was post-advance reservation days in the park, we hoped for the best with regard to lines at the West Entrance. We’d already decided to take the shuttle from Apgar to avoid potential parking issues at Logan Pass. I was completely surprised when we arrived just before 9 a.m., and there was virtually no line — less than a dozen cars between the two gate lanes. I was even more pleasantly surprised when, after several days of smoky skies that had obliterated Montana’s mountain views, the sky began clearing that morning; we had blue sky, clouds and sunshine.
All was going great until we had to wait about 90 minutes — the first shuttle had filled up quickly — for a seat to Avalanche (Shuttle wait times had increased since many of the park’s drivers had returned to their school bus driver jobs). We then waited through three smaller shuttles to get a seat from Avalanche to Logan Pass. But it was a beautiful day, the temperature was gradually warming and our fellow shuttle riders, also in the same boat, made light and lively conversation with each other as we waited.
A common conversation opener overheard was people asking each other where they were from. What I didn’t expect was how amazed everyone in every little group was when I told them I was from Kalispell. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I became somewhat of a celebrity in the queue. When one woman asked me where I was from and I answered, “Here,” her eyes got wide and she exclaimed “You’re from Montana?” to which I replied, to her further astonishment, “Kalispell, actually.” You’d have thought I told her I was from Mars.
It was ironic how eager a sea of tourists from around the world were to discover a local person in their midst. I became the person to seek advice on where to dine in each town in the valley, whether they needed reservations, and was even asked for specifics on menus. How expensive? Did they have a bar? Can I still get a reservation for tomorrow if I call tonight?
By the time we finally got to Logan Pass, Geoff and I — we’d left home at 8 a.m. and we’re off the bus at 12:30 p.m. — were more than ready to hike up to the Hidden Lake Overlook. Still, it had been a fun, if patience-taxing journey, and the bus drivers were all friendly and professional.
I was delighted the skies had cleared so Geoff could experience the majesty of the park. A light haze filtered the sunlight on the lower halves of the mountains, lending a mystical sense of place, and a lone mountain goat paused long enough for me to spy him in my binocs before skipping out of sight. We toasted my brother who’d died in 2019, then sat on the rocks gazing out in every direction while eating the sandwiches we greatly appreciated having packed that morning.
In contrast, back at the Logan Pass Visitor Center we were able to board a bus back to Avalanche within a few minutes and, just when I thought I’d have time to eat the second half of my sandwich while waiting for our second bus to Apgar, we were ushered from one right onto the next. Our bus driver had radioed the other driver and asked her to wait for our bus. So, the trip down was lickety-split. Only a few seats were available and I ended up sitting next to a guy who had his hat dipped over his eyes until we got to Lake McDonald Lodge where the buses are required to stop to drop off and pick up any passengers. My sleepy seatmate thought we’d arrived in Apgar and was ready to get off the bus, until I assured him we were only at the lodge. We then began a spirited conversation about his annual treks to national parks with his seven friends. I asked him where they’d been in Glacier, what other parks they’d visited in previous years, what he did for a living (retired). He was a good storyteller. The one thing I never told him about myself? Where I was from. There weren’t enough miles left in the ride to recommend restaurants and reiterate menus.
Community editor Carol Marino may be reached at 406-758-4440 or community@dailyinterlake.com.