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We were heading into the Big Sky state for the weekend. It truly is big, the state is the fourth largest in the U.S. after Alaska, Texas, and California. I think the name of the state may be a bit misleading, Montana is the Spanish word for mountain. While the western side of the state is crowded with many mountain ranges—part of the Rocky Mountains—over half of Montana lies in the High Plains, the semi-arid, westernmost prairies of the Great Plains.

Montana has long been utilized for its natural resources: gold and silver mining and timber in the west with ranching, farming, and oil and coal extraction in the east, but Montana’s rugged beauty has the potential to bring in even more money. Tourists flock to the state, eager to visit Yellowstone National Park (Montana has three of the Park’s five entrances), Glacier National Park, and Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument while Montana’s rivers are renowned among fishermen for their excellent trout fishing. It is a gorgeous state, at least in the summer—I don’t think I’d like it so much during the long winter when the temperatures drop.

I read somewhere that Montana holds the record as the coldest in the lower 48, with minus 70Àö F (measured in 1954). Brrrrrr. On the plus side, though, Chinook winds are known to blow over the Rockies and warm things right up, by sometimes as much as 50Àö. The downside is that they can come barreling over the mountains with hurricane force winds and they don’t stick around long; as soon as the winds leave the temperature plummets. As you can imagine, there are a great many stories about the sudden warming power of Chinooks. This is my favorite: A man was driving his horse-drawn sleigh to town when a Chinook started to blow. He kept abreast of the wind; while his horses were running belly deep in snow, the sleigh rails were running in mud up to the buckboard, and the cow that was tied behind was kicking up dust.

Thankfully, we were visiting during the last part of summer on a wonderfully warm and sunny weekend. Our first stop was actually unplanned, I saw a blurb on the map that said National Bison Range. Intrigued, we made a slight detour. As we exited the highway I spied a fruit stand selling the last of the summer’s cherries. While Lance filled the gas tank I walked over to strike a deal. I came back with an entire flat of deep red, delicious, juicy cherries. Lance wondered aloud how we were going to eat them all…

The National Bison Range is one of three refuges established by President Theodore Roosevelt to protect the few remaining American Bison (Bison bison). The other two are Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge in Nebraska and Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge in Oklahoma. By the early 1900s only a few hundred Bison, of the once vast herds numbering over 60 million, were still alive. They had been systematically wiped out as a matter of government policy, which rightly figured that if the Bison were gone the Plains Indians would have to stop fighting and move to reservations, or starve. The slaughter provided many men with good wages for the time.

Today through the special efforts of many groups the total estimated Bison population is 350,000—in both public and private herds. Most of the privately owned Bison are bred for human consumption, as Bison meat has higher protein and less fat than regular beef. Of that number only 15,000 are considered genetically pure as the rest bred with cattle at some point. The 18,500 acre National Bison Range shelters a small herd of roughly 500 Bison in northwestern Montana. The Range offers two auto tour routes, we opted for the shorter drive since we still had quite a distance to travel that afternoon. Fortunately for us, a good portion of the herd was loitering along the road only a few minutes from the Visitor Center.

Before venturing out to tour the park, staff had warned us to stay in our vehicle and be extra cautious since it was mating season and the males were especially moody. We had only to roll down our windows to get an idea of what the staff meant: several of the adult males were engaged in loud grunting, rolling, and other masculine displays. It was rather amusing to watch since the females would have nothing to do with them, they just walked away, shaking their heads and sighing. Much like women’s responses to ridiculous human male dating techniques. The only thing the females didn’t do was roll their eyes!

The majority of the Bison rested in the grass or slowly grazed so it would have been a rather sedate visit if it hadn’t been for the bellicose males. Watching them lumber around it was difficult to imagine them running at speeds over 30 miles per hour or jumping fences. I once heard that nothing short of a six foot fence can stop a determined Bison. That would be a sight to see! After filling a whole memory card full of Bison pictures it was time for us to continue on our way. We could still hear their grunting and see dust billowing up from their wallows as we drove out the gate.

Soon we reached Polson at the southern end of Flathead Lake, the largest natural fresh-water lake west of the Great Lakes. The lake’s name comes from the local Salish tribe who were described by early explorers as “flatheads.” As we drove along Highway 93 that skirts the western edge of the lake we kept our eyes peeled for “Montana Nessie”, the Flathead Lake Monster. To no avail—instead of spotting the large, cryptozoologic creature all we saw people out fishing and boating, enjoying the wonderful weather.

By now it was late in the day and our rumbling tummies reminded us it was time to eat something besides cherries. As luck would have it we were nearing Kalispell and one of my all time favorite hang-outs, Moose’s Saloon. It ain’t fancy—every inch of the old wooden tables is carved upon, the lights are dim, the sawdust on the floor mingles with peanut shells, and the animal heads on the walls are flea-bitten—but it is what you picture a western tavern ought to be. People from every walk of life—ranchers, politicians, tourists, families, bikers, hikers, and birdwatchers—stop in for a glass of Moose Drool and a bite to eat. Satiated, we used the last of the day’s light to enjoy the scenery as we headed to our home for the next two nights. Since our motel was at the southern edge of Glacier, near the half-way point between West Glacier and East Glacier, we decided to tour the eastern section on Saturday and the western side the following day.

The next morning we were up bright and early, eager to start on our day of touring Glacier National Park. We were heading into familiar territory for me, I worked at Glacier one summer during college. Even after working at a few other parks and visiting so many across the country, Glacier remains my favorite park—it is very accessible, with over 700 miles of trails, and wildlife is extremely visible. I have yet to visit the park and not see bears, this trip was no exception. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I just get so excited that I can “bearly” contain myself…(groan).

Our first stop was at Goat Lick Overlook, a place where Mountain Goats travel to lick the rocks. The rocks and soil in the area are full of minerals and salts, which the goats need as part of their diet. We didn’t see any goats there, they tend to use the area mainly in the Spring when their higher elevation mineral and salt licks are still covered in snow. Next it was on to the Two Medicine area. Two Med, as we used to call it, is usually blessedly quiet and uncrowded unlike the areas along Going-to-the-Sun Road.

We struck out on a trail around the lake to a scenic waterfall and before long we were joined by a charming couple from England. They were eager to hike with us since they were quite concerned about encountering bears. We had a pleasant time chatting and soon the falls were in view. After absorbing a good dose of negative ions we split ways, they continued on around the lake while we backtracked. On the return trip we noticed a tree which had bear scratches on it. The claw marks began high up on the tree, near where the top of Lance’s 6’1” head lined up. Stuck in the bark nearby were several bear hairs. Probably a good thing the other couple didn’t see it, they would have been scared witless.

All the talk about bears brought back the memory of my first day at Glacier. My manager called us all together for a special mandatory bear talk given by a park ranger. In a rare incident several days earlier a Black Bear sow and her two cubs had killed and eaten a man. He was actually a seasonal employee, a young college student, like the rest of us. The ranger emphasized that the victim had broken a major basic safety rule by hiking alone. Passing hikers on the trail were the first to notice something was amiss when they found his tattered backpack. The pack was taken to the ranger station, and immediately the area was closed for investigation.

That the man was attacked is frightening enough but the really disturbing part of the story is that he was consumed. Bear attacks are uncommon, Glacier logs about two attacks a year, but fatal bear attacks are extremely rare, with an average of two people killed every year in all of North America. Rumor was that the remains of the young man that the rangers found fit in a shoe box. The sow seen in the area was immediately killed and her stomach contents examined, she was definitely guilty. Rangers were slower to determine the fate of her offspring; their scat was collected and tested for human DNA. Both cubs were found guilty and summarily exterminated.

That summer I struggled to make sense of it, finally I accepted the event as a reminder that though humans tend to think they are separate from, and somehow immune to, the natural world—the other creatures of the natural world understand the individual human to be just another being, subject to the same natural laws as they are. Basically, it gave me a healthy respect for the furry residents whose home I was inhabiting that summer, a respect that continues to this day.

We left Two Med without a bear sighting and drove north towards the Saint Mary entrance. We tackled a couple short hikes in the area but not much was stirring. The heat kept all the critters deep in the shade and out of sight but the views were amazing, as always. To the west rose steep peaks some snow-capped but most barren, while to the east flat prairie stretched out to the horizon—such a contrast! Nearby is a special place appropriately called Triple Divide Peak. It is the only place in the U.S. where rain drops falling within inches of each other can end up in three different major bodies of water: the Pacific Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, and Hudson Bay.

Late afternoon found us in Many Glacier, one of the most scenic sections of the park, in my opinion. The large historic Many Glacier lodge sprawls along the shore of Swiftcurrent Lake with prominent peaks standing guard. We don’t go for the scenery, though it is lovely, we go there for the bears. Every time I have ever visited Many Glacier over the years I have seen bears, especially late in the day. Our wildlife sightings had started off slow thus far, some deer, a couple Varying Hares, a chipmunk, a Common Merganser pair, and a few other birds. Then, high on the hillside was a dark moving blob and not just one but two blobs! Using the binoculars we quickly identified our blobs as Grizzly Bears, their prominent shoulder humps were clearly visible.

Truly that is about as close as I’d want to get to grizzlies. As we watched the bears, perhaps a sow and her cub, they ambled effortlessly up the steep mountainside and were soon out of sight. We continued on the trail and soon spotted a small herd of Mountain Goats. The young kids cavorted on the craggy rocks while the parents grazed indifferently. They have little to be worried about as few predators can beat their cliff-scaling skills. I read that the leading cause of death for Mountain Goats was from falling off cliffs. I think that would be hard on anybody!

Finally we tore ourselves away from Many Glacier. As we were leaving we saw a car pulled off on the shoulder of the road, which could only mean one thing up there—a wildlife sighting! There in the field was a female Black Bear and her one, nope two, make that three cubs. The mountains were blocking the sun, ushering night in early, but we still had enough light to watch the bears. The mother was determinedly munching on berries while her offspring tussled around her. The cubs ran all over the field, sometimes disappearing into the trees yet mama never seemed concerned about them. More than likely she had already detected the slight hint of cold in the air that meant the end of summer and she was busy fattening up for the long winter ahead. Delighted with our day of exploring we headed back to our motel.

Up early the next day we prepared ourselves for the maddening crowds. They couldn’t be avoided since close to two million people visit Glacier each year and most of them are concentrated along the only highway that traverses the park, Going-to-the-Sun Road. This year we were pleasantly surprised to learn that the park has a free shuttle system, so we hopped a ride. The road which is considered one of the most scenic in the country is an engineering marvel that is currently receiving a much needed refurbishment. Yet another reason to park the car and let someone else do the driving.

We hopped off at Logan Pass to enjoy the view of the Continental Divide with several thousand other people. Measuring in at just over 6,600’ the bio-zone at Logan Pass is alpine, predominately a meadow with a few stunted spruce trees. Our hike to the Hidden Lake Overlook afforded us with not only exceptional views of the rugged mountains and two glaciers, Gem and Sperry, but also wildlife. We watched a Short-tailed Weasel frenetically hunt among the flowers, a young male Mountain Goat lounge in the shade, and two Bighorn Sheep graze—they were so close to the trail we could count their whiskers! It was such an amazing day and we hated to leave but we had a long drive ahead of us. Our love affair with Glacier National Park continues and we have one man to thank for our incredible weekend: George Bird Grinnell.

Grinnell was a boy from the east who studied the west not only in school but in person. As a graduate student he served as naturalist for Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer’s 1874 Black Hills expedition. The following year he toured and reported on the wildlife in the newly formed Yellowstone National Park. Thankfully for the rest of us Grinnell turned down an opportunity to join Custer’s ill-fated Little Bighorn expedition. In 1885, Grinnell was exploring north of Yellowstone when he discovered the glacier that now bears his name in Glacier National Park. Grinnell was so taken with the area that he campaigned to have it set aside as a national park. He knew some powerful people, in 1887 he had helped President Theodore Roosevelt found the Boone and Crockett Club, a hunting club with a focus on conservation and habitat preservation.

By 1905 Grinnell’s wildlife observations made him a passionate defender of birds and he advocated for their protection by forming the National Audubon Society. (How fitting that a man, whose middle name is Bird, organized that world-famous bird conservation agency.) Through the years Grinnell continued to publish articles and books on his observations of wildlife and wild places all the while calling for conservation. Grinnell’s vocal concern—along with that of other citizens—for the rapidly disappearing American Bison led to the creation of the National Bison Range in 1908 and in 1910 Grinnell’s persistence again paid off with the establishment of Glacier National Park. Thank you for all your hard work, Mr. Grinnell!

Video: Watch and listen as a male Bison grunts his stuff.

Photos: View our photographs from National Bison Range and Glacier National Park.

Dates: We stayed in Glacier National Park from 08/22/08 to 08/24/08.