There’s a sign on the edge of the road that asks, “What is wilderness? Can you drive to wilderness, or must it be miles from a modern road?” Glacier National Park seems determined to answer that question. It bridges the gap — offering wilderness adventures to those who choose to explore by road, foot, bike, or guided tour. The entire park feels like a roadmap for experiencing wild spaces, whether you seek them actively or passively, in peaceful solitude or with wide-eyed excitement. But always with awe.
Make no mistake — this is a wild place. A magnificent place of red rock cliffs and multicolored pebbles glimmering beneath some of the clearest alpine waters I’ve ever seen. Waterfalls drop 500 feet into winding streams and rivers. Forests of evergreens and aspen climb toward towering mountains, while wild bears, moose, bighorn sheep, and mountain goats roam free and unbothered. Other national parks may have taller peaks or wider expanses, but Glacier is unique — wild yet serene, untamed yet peaceful.
We smelled wild huckleberries and fragrant lilac and honeysuckle bushes in bloom. We swam in Lake McDonald’s glacial water, and one perfect day, we kayaked across its glassy surface. We hiked as much as we could with the dogs, though pets aren’t allowed on most trails — for their safety, and for the safety of the wildlife (and the wild tourists, too).
Our first camp was in a town with the unforgettable name Hungry Horse. The massive 565-foot dam there helps control the beautiful Flathead River. I especially loved the statues of emancipated horses scattered through town, a nod to the story of how the town got its name. Legend says a Native tribesman found his starving horse after searching for weeks through this rugged land. “Hungry Horse” stuck. Just about every store here sells wild huckleberries — like blueberries, but smaller, more purple, and absolutely delicious.
One day we took a six-mile bike ride from our campground to Apgar Village and the Visitor Center, then down into West Glacier and back again. The park is well-equipped with trails and bike paths, making it easy to get around — not just by bike or on foot, but via shuttle buses and vintage tour cars that wind through the scenery. And of course, everywhere you go you’re advised to carry bear spray. We didn’t have any, so we relied on the old-school method: singing, clapping, or talking loudly while walking or riding to avoid surprise encounters. Trust me, we are so not in Indiana anymore.
Of all the roads I’ve traveled, few can compare to the Going-to-the-Sun Road — a 50-mile masterpiece that climbs and twists its way across the middle of the park. The drive is narrow, steep, and spectacular. Your eyes don’t know where to look — up at a glacier-draped mountain, down at the ribbon of river far below, or (if you’re Gary) firmly on the road so you don’t drive off the edge!
One of the park’s most fascinating features is Triple Divide Peak, which stands just over 8,000 feet high. It’s one of only three mountains in the world where water flows in three different directions — west to the Pacific Ocean, southeast to the Gulf of Mexico (and ultimately the Atlantic), and northeast to the Arctic Ocean. That’s pretty amazing.
The tallest mountain in Glacier National Park is Mount Cleveland, just over 10,400 feet. There are only 25 active glaciers left in the park today, down from around 150 a century ago. Ten thousand years ago, the entire valley was sculpted by glaciers. I can only imagine how breathtaking it must have been.
And no, I’m not going to launch into a lecture on climate change. Spending meaningful time in these woods, I get the distinct sense that Mother Nature has her own rhythms and reasons. Maybe we’re speeding them up, maybe we’re affecting them, but what I know for sure is this: our newfound appreciation for how incredible this planet is — how it works, how it heals, how it moves — goes way beyond any late-night talking point.
Go out into nature. Stay awhile. Then maybe you’ll understand.