July 20 - Drive to Flathead Lake, Montana

In the morning we were unpleasantly surprised to find out that this large RV park with over 100 sites provided a total of only 4 bathrooms. Each bathroom was equipped with a shower, but since the folks taking a shower were at the same time blocking one of the bathrooms, the net availability was even less than you would ordinarily expect in the morning rush hour. Monika had to wait for a while before she could get into a bathroom and that was the first time that had ever happened on this trip. I was luckier when my turn came, but we packed up and departed our overpriced, under-bathroomed, noisy campground as quickly as we could after breakfast and hit the road.

The rest of the day was a pleasant drive through wonderful mountain scenery as we worked our way eastward through Idaho to the Montana border and then down the Clark Fork River to Missoula. For the most part the interstate followed the river valley and we could enjoy the mountain ridges with their gorgeous carpet of conifers on both sides. The tree-covered slopes were in some ways similar to the eastern Appalachians such as the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, but being composed mostly of the tall, spear shaped conifers gave them a different, more shaggy appearance. The slopes of the Rockies were also somewhat steeper and the feeling of being deep down in the valley that much greater than we have experienced on similar roads back east.

After a stop for fuel and lunch at the 4 Bs restaurant at the junction of Interstate 90 and US 93, we turned north to Flathead Lake. We had found three state parks on the eastern shore of the lake that had some camping spots, so we thought we would try our luck at staying at one of those. The first of the campgrounds was on a spit of land that stretched way out into the lake; the 4 mile drive out there was on a very narrow 2 lane road, so I had to take it quite slowly, particularly when I had to squeeze by oncoming traffic. When we finally arrived at the end of the spit we found the park and they had two spaces left. We were behind a big 5th wheel rig, so he had first crack at the available sites and backed in to #1. He was unhitching when apparently he discovered that this campground did not offer any hot showers, and with that he hooked it all back up and took off, letting us have the choice of campsites. We opted for #9 which was between two other campers but right on the beach, and after a little bit of backing and forthing I got our trailer into it well enough to fit the truck in front area of the trailer, which saved us a $5 fee for an extra parking space.

After setting up the trailer we could just sit by the lake and relax a bit, which was good for the soul. This was, if I remembered correctly, my mother's birthday, which we celebrated in grand style last year when she would have been 100 (see Wanderung 3). I thought about her as I watched the two little girls from the neighboring campsite playing in the water of Flathead lake. It was too cold for most of us adults although Monika went in for a brief swim, but the kids were so active they never seemed to notice! The puffy white clouds over the bluish mountain ridges hulking above an emerald colored lake with foaming whitecaps was all together a magnificent scene. The waves were lapping rhythmically on the shoreline about 20 feet away and the sun was warming us exactly as much as the breeze was cooling us, so we really couldn't ask for anything more. Except, of course, for live entertainment, and Monika played her dulcimer a bit to provide even that, so the world was as well nigh perfect as it ever gets. No wonder the state limits how long people can stay in these campgrounds; I could easily see people setting up housekeeping there for the summer!

After dinner I sewed a patch on the zip pants using the fabric I had purchased in Lewiston, and Monika started crocheting a fancy doily with some red, white, and blue colored yarn, which looked fantastic. Our late evening entertainment was our traditional campfire interrupted only by a spectacular sunset. The sun slowly descended behind the mountain range across the lake from us, reflecting a brilliant golden yellow across the waves.

We also chatted with Max and his family, Canadians just down for a summer break, and the gentleman on the other side of us, a commercial pilot who used to work for the airlines. I think it is easier to chat with folks in these small, intimate campgrounds rather than the ones where you have a field of huge RVs. Possibly it is the that folks themselves who come to small state park campgrounds are more open to social interaction than folks driving the huge, fancy rigs that predominate in many of the private RV parks. I am curious if this effect of different campgrounds is real or just something I've imagined, and if it is real how much is it due to the people and how much due to the context of the campground.