Polebridge & Going-to-the-Sun Road

It was in the darkest hours early Sunday morning when they came. Silently, they moved o'er the pathways and byways, ever through the darkness. With greatest stealth, they crept through the deepest darkness, until they were upon us. And then silently, ever so silently, they opened the door to our camper, and slid inside. And upon awakening Sunday morning, I so glad to see Liz's sister Sarah and Isaiah, the Tag Team of Taste, the Duo of Dining Delight, the Couple of Culinary Cuisine.

[I sure would like to insert a photo here but I forgot to take any photos.] All nine of us got up yesterday and headed for Polebridge, on the northwestern side of the park. Almost nobody comes out here, but those who do are greatly rewarded. Polebridge isn't on the edge of the wilderness; it truly is an oasis in the middle of wilderness, 30 miles from the nearest park gate, visitor center, or lodge. I actually hated the last time we went, and had planned to abandon the family on this particular day. But it is home to two amazing buildings that sit right next two each other: The Polebridge Mercantile & Bakery, and the Northern Lights Saloon. Imagine driving an hour on the bumpiest road you've ever ridden, just to get to a bakery that is absolutely worth the trip. And then having brunch, outdoors, at a little saloon... that is better than the bakery. We sat at a picnic table underneath a glorious old tree, surrounded by mountains and wilderness, and had a brunch that consisted of eggs, hash browns, prime rib, biscuits & gravy, Bloody Marys, and more. But the crème de la crème was the French toast, which was the best I've ever had. After lunch we (well, Sarah and Isaiah) dropped $60 at the bakery on kolaches, bear claws, croissants, and more. We had planned a great hike down the even worse road a bit; but soon realized that while bellies this full would probably appreciate a nice walk, we would never survive the ride to the trailhead.

So we headed south, made our way to
Going-to-the-Sun Road, and experienced the most beautiful drive in America. We returned to Logan Pass, where we had gazed upon 10-foot-high snow drifts and had many, many snowball fights a week ago, and were stunned by how much the snow had melted. But don't worry, there was still plenty enough for a snowball fight. We had been concerned last week that we didn't see any mountain goats or bighorn sheep, but yesterday they all showed up precisely on time for their photo

appointments. For the first time, we saw the bighorns moving as a herd, with at least fifteen of them together. And once we left, just as Sarah was lamenting not getting to see mountain goats, Gabe shouted, “There they are!”, and we passed next to a mom and her kid. It was really cool seeing how the glacier lillies, little yellow crocus-looking flowers, pop up and bloom the very minute that the snow is off of them. They know that time is short. And winter is coming.

After a long day of driving, we came back home for dinner, and then Liz, Dad, Isaiah, and I went to to the Glacier Distilling Company, makers of whiskeys, vodka, and gin, who have the same local-source ethos as Sarah and Isaiah. That means almost everything is made with rye, which I don't particularly care for, but we did have a lovely malt whiskey, Wheatfish (because, you see, there's an area here known as Whitefish), which was fantastic.