Bird Woman Falls

©Bert Gildart: Falcon Guides, produced by Globe Pequot Publishers, has just released the first in a new series called “Pocket Guides,” in this case a Glacier National Park Pocket Guide.

Though the books are small, measuring about 5 ½ by 4 inches, they pack a great deal into the 91 pages-and I am pleased to say that Janie and I are not only the authors but also the photographers, having provided all but three of the book’s forty-plus photographs.

Because of their size, the books are not intended to be comprehensive, rather they are intended to provide a snapshot of the park’s history and natural history. To give you an example, we’re providing here a few paragraphs from the book, beginning with an overview. We’re also providing a few paragraphs about bears and about one of our favorite areas in Glacier National Park, specifically, Kintla Lake. In the Pocket Guide we detail all the fun you and your family can have there by launching a kayak.

PARK OVERVIEW

One of the crown jewels of America’s national park system, Glacier can be described with many superlatives: Inspiring. Breathtaking. Vast. Some 230 years ago, when the mountain range containing Glacier National Park was first seen by Europeans, adventurers were prompted to call this the “Land of Shining Mountains.”

Yet another applicable catch phrase could be the “Land of Glorious Adversity,” for contemporary scientists tell us that the park was born of fire, quenched by torrential rains, inundated by vast seas, forced upward by internal pressures, and then gouged by great continental ice sheets that came and went on at least four occasions. From this heritage, mountains were molded that reach up to touch the sky and cradle more than 200 lakes…

SURPRIZING A GRIZZLY BEAR

If you should surprise a grizzly bear, stay quiet and back away slowly, avoiding direct eye contact. Try to get off the bear’s trail. Never run or yell. Stop if your movements are upsetting the animal. Signs of bear agitation include swaying of the head, clacking the teeth, lowering the head, and laying back the ears. Keep your pack on in case of an attack, and then drop to the ground. Protect your stomach by assuming a fetal position, and cover the back of your neck with your hands. Don’t move until you’re sure the bear has left…

Startling a grizzly

KAYAKING KINTLA LAKE

Kintla Lake, located in the most extreme northwestern portion of Glacier National Park, is probably the park’s most remote lake that can still be accessed by a vehicle, and its isolation and tranquility make it an ideal place for kayaking. At one time the park permitted power boats on the lake, but that’s not the case anymore, so the setting’s peace and quiet will never be marred by the sounds of motors.

What’s more, on some mornings the reflections of Starvation Ridge, Starvation Peak (in Canada), and Long Knife Peak in Kintla Lake are so perfect, you can almost invert any resulting photo images you might take and not tell the difference…

Of course, each of these sections describes more about the park’s history, bears and activities. At $9.95 (plus a $2.00 handling charge), these glossy booklets would make ideal gifts or serve as an excellent introduction to the person who is passing through and wants a quick introduction to the park’s fascinating features. There are also sections on where to stay both inside and outside the park-and much, much more on Glacier’s natural history.

Kayaking Kintla Lake

Though this new Falcon Guide book can be ordered from Globe Pequot, you can also order it from us. As well, you can order another Falcon book from us–or from them–about the Flathead Valley, which they published last year about this time.

Glacier is a National Park we know well for I once worked here on a trail crew and as a park ranger. In upcoming blogs I’ll be describing a few of its other natural history and historic aspects, specifically the 75^th Anniversary of Going-to-the-Sun Road.

ONE YEAR AGO:

Last Year about this time, I made two postings: One was about Boating in Alaska , the other about the spectacular profusion of Arrowleaf Balsam Root, which promises to be abundant once again.

©Bert Gildart: Fall is winding down in our part of the country and winter snows are beginning to blanket some of the higher peaks here in the Flathead. Over the years I’ve managed to photograph one of the most impressive of mammals, the bull elk. From this black and white photo–made with a Hasselblad medium-format camera–I created what has been a very popular print into what is now a 5×7 card, and then added to it several paragraphs of text.

Exhausted bull elk settling in for winter

The card is available from us in various quantities, and if any are interested, you should contact us for price structures. The card, along with 10 others in the series, is sold locally in art galleries around the valley as well as at the airport. Another B&W in the series is shown on a previous posting.

Here’s the text that accompanies this photo.

Bull Elk: Early winter and this royal bull elk (one with six tines) steps forward to test the fury of the winter wind and the bite of the mountain snow, determined to find food on a day that’s none too pleasant. As the snows pile, the once indefatigable energy level of the bull may wane as food becomes scarce. Will the animal endure? Probably, for the elk is wonderfully equipped to thrive in a land where temperatures sometimes dip to 40 below. Undoubtedly he’ll survive to gather his harem again next fall, the latter custom yet another adaptation that enables this magnificent species not only to exist, but to thrive…

A mature bull elk is defined by the number of tines it produces. If a bull has six tines, it is called a Royal; seven, an Imperial; and eight, a Monarch. The antlers below represent those from a Monarch. Of course, young bulls also grow antlers, beginning in their first year. Normally the first antlers are a single spike on each side. Sometimes those first antlers are forked on top, and may even show a single short brow tine.

The next set are known as “raghorns,” and usually consist of four to five points. The third set occurs in a three-year-old elk and it is likely to have less than six points. Mature bulls often‑though not always‑shed between January and February, depending on location. Young males generally shed in March. By April you can see new growth and by May, you can see tines.

A 40-year resident of Montana, Bert Gildart has become a nationally recognized writer and photographer with numerous professional awards. He has written about wildlife extensively. Photo: Bert Gildart

Entering Natchez Trace, from Tenn to Miss

©Bert Gildart: For a period of time I lived in the South and though I now live in Montana, I am constantly drawn back to renew acquaintances with friends I knew while in high school and then again in college (before transferring to Montana State University). In those years I was drawn more to the country side both for its excellent hunting opportunities, though I was also drawn because of an interest in the history of the Old South.

Stretching 450 Miles: In recent years, Janie and I have returned often to the South, essentially because there is an incredible national parkway that allows me to see friends and renew my fascination with both the area’s natural history and history. It does so because the parkway travels past such places as Florence, Alabama (where I began college), and places me within striking distance of Huntsville, where I graduated from high school.

And because I’ve returned so often, several years ago I convinced interpreters at the Natchez Trace that they needed a book that documented in both text and photographs some of the features this incredible area preserves.

Sunken Trace, created by erosion and thousands of footsteps

Because fall is one of the best times to visit the Natchez Trace, it is only natural mental images from this 450-mile long road should crop up again. Fall is beautiful throughout the country , and it’s the season along the Trace that has provided me with my so many recollections. In other words, the reds and yellows here in Glacier evoke memories from other parts of our nation, particularly when they are as splendid as those found in the South.

Gen. Grant: "Too Beautiful to Burn." Winsor Ruins

First Major Research Trip: My first major fall trip was made in the late 1980s. Winnebago loaned me a Mini-Winnie Motorhome, which I photographed and it provided a cover for Trailer Life that complemented my story for them. More significantly, that trip was one I made with my parents when I was single and the trip ultimately became one of their favorites. For that dear retired military couple who traveled the world, that’s saying something.

In1990, shortly after I married Janie, we traveled the modern-day road, taking time to hike all sections of the ancient road. During that time, we lived out of our first Airstream where we completed gathering material for my Natchez Trace book.

Because "She’s Boss."

Below is a section from that book, which is available from the Park Service or from us. The book is $17.95 plus $2.00 shipping, and if you’d like to purchase an autographed copy from us, please send a check to me at my posted address . Include, of course, all your pertinent mailing information.

And, now, here’s a short segment from my book of 98 pages, lavishly illustrated with color photographs:

Stretching from historic Natchez, Mississippi, to Nashville, Tennessee, is a highway that parallels an old trail, a trail which once was a major thoroughfare for an emerging nation. Stepping from a pullout on the modern highway, Janie and I walked down a short path that ended where the much older trail began. Spanish moss on the branches above drooped over this pathway, while along the ground lay dense carpets of darkening leaves. Deeply eroded, the trail appeared ancient.

Here ran the Old Natchez Trace, a trail of sublime beauty that once had seen the passage of Pushmataha, Meriwether Lewis, Andrew Jackson, Aaron Burr, John James Audubon, General Ulysses Grant, Abe Lincoln’s father-as well as thousands whose faces remain nameless. Fate had smiled kindly on many of these travelers, but not all. One black night Lewis was mortally and mysteriously wounded.

The Old Natchez Trace harbors many secrets, and we took a few more steps, to learn more about the lives of those who had preceded us and to absorb the path’s pristine beauty…

Natchez Trace Book

©Bert Gildart: For a period of time I lived in the South and though I now live in Montana, I am constantly drawn back to renew acquaintances with friends I knew while in high school and then again in college (before transferring to Montana State University). In those years I was drawn to the countryside mostly for its excellent hunting opportunities–but also because of a growing interest in the history of the Old South.

In recent years, Janie and I have returned often to the South, because there now exists an incredible national parkway that allows me to see friends and renew my fascination with both the area’s natural history and history. It does so because the parkway travels past such places as Florence, Alabama, and places me within striking distance of Huntsville, where I graduated from high school. And because I’ve returned so often, several years ago I convinced interpreters at the Natchez Trace that I knew this region and that they needed a book that documented in both text and photographs some of the features this incredible area preserves.

Some call the Natchez Trace National Parkway the nation’s longest national park, and though it may be that, it is also an area that explains the foundations of our country. To gather all material we needed Janie and I lived out of our Airstream for several months, traveling this area at all seasons.

We feel fortunate that we have had the opportunity to add to the interpretive material this slice of the South now offers…

A most beautiful drive

Stretching from historic Natchez, Mississippi, to Nashville, Tennessee, is a highway that parallels an old trail, a trail which once was a major thoroughfare for an emerging nation. Stepping from a pullout on the modern highway, Janie and I walked down a short path that ended where the much older trail began. Spanish moss on the branches above drooped over this pathway, while along the ground lay dense carpets of darkening leaves. Deeply eroded, the trail appeared ancient.Here ran the Old Natchez Trace, a trail of sublime beauty that once had seen the passage of Pushmataha, Meriwether Lewis, Andrew Jackson, Aaron Burr, John James Audubon, General Ulysses Grant, Abe Lincoln’s father—as well as thousands whose faces remain nameless. Fate had smiled kindly on many of these travelers, but not all. One black night Lewis was mortally and mysteriously wounded.

The Old Natchez Trace harbors many secrets, and we took a few more steps, to learn more about the lives of those who had preceded us and to absorb the path’s pristine beauty.

Park rangers say any time of the year is excellent for touring the Natchez Trace, but spring and fall are ideal. On a number of occasions we’ve meandered the entire 500-mile long parkway, part for pleasure and part for the business of collecting photographs and conducting research for a book ultimately published with the cooperation of the National Park Service. In the course of our travels we simultaneously explored portions of the rural South and walked existing portions of the ancient trail.

Over the years the parkway has become one of our favorite drives, and the uncrowded highway has allowed us to cruise for mile after mile, stopping only because of some point of interest or because one of the Trace’s 200-plus species of wildlife demanded that we diminish our speed.

General Grant: "Too beautiful to burn."

Many years ago the Daughters of the American Revolution began laying the groundwork for a trip such as ours by explaining to Congress that agriculture and the development of new towns were smothering the Old Southwest’s first national highway. Spurred into action, in 1938 Congress designated moneys for the Natchez Trace Parkway. Its purpose would be to commemorate the Old Natchez Trace. Construction began soon after and, by 1995 only a few more miles needed to be completed.

No one knows precisely the age of the Old Trace. Some say bison cut the trail while Indians refined it. But it was the “Kaintucks”—men who began traveling the Trace shortly after the settlement of Fort Nashborough in 1778—who provided it with a touch of immortality. Years later Andrew Jackson described these men. “I never met one,” said Jackson, “who didn’t have a rifle, a pack of cards, and a bottle of whiskey.”

Dogwoods and spring along NT

By and large, Kaintucks were entrepreneurs who floated goods downstream along such rivers as the Pennsylvania, Ohio, Cumberland and Tennessee. They continued their great adventure when the rivers merged with the Mississippi by floating farther downstream—slow and easy—until their trips ended at the major ports of either Natchez or New Orleans. Here, they sold their wares as well as the dismantled wood from their boats. Then, with pockets a-jingling, they returned home, making use of several paths.

But the one that Indians, boatmen, itinerant preachers, soldiers and post riders beat into the archives of history became known as the Natchez Trace.

Though you can easily drive the parkway in several days, you should allow at least a week (we’ve spent months). Not only does the parkway allow you the opportunity to immerse yourself in the history of the country, but as well, there are opportunities for biking and hiking. In fact, some consider a several week long bike trip along the Trace to be one of America’s great adventures.

Of course we suggest you purchase our book and you can do so by E-mailing us, or you can do so by contacting the park’s bookstore. (If you contact us, we’ll provide an autographed copy of our full-color informative 8 ½ x 11 book). Regardless, now is a perfect time to visit the Trace, for flowers are in bloom and in many places the catfish are just waiting for you make them an offering.

Bert Gildart: If I were producing a musical about Montana flowers, it would be appropriate to steal from the classic The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music, staring Julie Andrews.

Arrowleaf Balsam Root & Flathead Lake

In part that’s due right now to the Arrowleaf balsam root, still making its gaudy appearance on so many dry slope areas of Montana. In part I use the hills surrounding the Conrad Cemetery in Kalispell as an indicator for spring boat trips to Wildhorse Island, for all of the cemetery’s dry north facing slopes are now running wild with yellow. The hills face the highway as you drive into town.

I mentioned some of the specie’s qualities in my last post, but did not mention its scientific name, which is reflective of its food value. That’s part of the reason for this post—Chapter two if you will.

Another reason is that this photo is an instructive photo, and I thought the information might be useful to some. Of course, we also want to post reminders that some of this material on Wildhorse is covered in our new book. The link will take you to Falcon guides and to access our book, click the Book category, then the exploring catetory. The book can also be purchased by E-mailing us.

Indeed, the scientific name Balsamorhiza sagittata, speaks to the specie’s palatable properties. “Balsamon” means balsam and “rhiza” means root. The sap in the tough woody roots smells and feels like balsam fir pitch. “Sagittata” means arrow-leaved. Other information about the way in which local Native Americans used the species is included in my last posting.

This photo was made just as the sun was appearing, imparting the warm cast to the photograph. I made the photo with a 4×5 camera, and used a wide angle lens. Even with the advances in digital photography—and I am an advocate—it is virtually impossible to beat the old view camera for detail and depth of field.

Patience, however, is required, as you must generally wait for the flutter of leaves to cease so you can stop down your camera’s lens. Technical data for this photo includes a 1 sec exposure at f32—rendering everything tack sharp throughout this landscape’s extensive sweep.

Arrowleaf Balsam Sweeps Over Wildhorse

©Bert Gildart: May 6th, and right now, this week—and not much later—is the time to see fields of Arrowleaf Balsamroot running from hill to hill on Montana’s Wildhorse Island. In turn, this combination is surrounded by Flathead Lake, largest body of fresh water west of the Mississippi River. Reaching the island requires a two-mile boat ride from Dayton, Montana, on the lake’s east side, which we usually accomplish using our Johnboat.

Wildhorse Island is one of the many features we describe in our book Explore! Glacier National Park and the Flathead Valley, and it can be purchased by e-mailing us or by contacting Falcon Guides. The link will take you to Falcon guides and to access our book, click the Book category, then the Exploring catetory. In our book we describe the beauty of Wildhorse Island focusing not only on the Arrowleaf Balsamroot, but also on the wild sheep, deer and incredible floral displays, such as the one now occurring.

Arrowleaf Balsamroot is one of the first flowers to rear its head in spring and does so in late April and early May. It blooms for several weeks and then fades, leaving behind only its arrow-shaped leaf.

I first became familiar with the species in graduate school at Montana State University, when I took a course in botany as an elective. As part of the curriculum, I had to submit a collection of plants properly labeled with both scientific and common names. As well I had to provide facts about the species.

That was long ago, but annual forays and a sustained interest have kept the information alive.

Arrowleaf Balsamroot was collected and described by Lewis and Clark as part of a directive from President Jefferson. In this case Captain William Clark collected the plant, and on April 14, 1804, explained in his journal entry how he came across it. As always, he employed his own unique spelling.

“I walked on shore with Shabono on the N. Side through a handsom bottom. Met several parties of women and boys in serch of herbs & roots to subsist on maney of them had parcels of the stems of the sun flower.”

Clark’s description was made in what would one day be Montana, but it concerned Indians to the south. However, local Indians also made use of the plant, but whether or not they paddled out to Wildhorse is not known. More than likely they relied on the profusion also found in other parts of the valley.

Arrowleaf Balsamroot

Indians collected Arrowleaf Balsmroot and then ate raw the tender inner portion of the young immature flower stems. They also ate the seeds and large roots, which are tough and woody and taste like balsam. To make them more palatable, the Flathead Indians would bake them several days in a fire pit. Indians also used the large coarse Balsamroot leaves for burns. They boiled the roots and applied the solution as a poultice to wounds, cuts and bruises. Indians also drank a tea from the roots for tuberculosis and whooping cough.

That’s the science of the plant, but what must not be overlooked is the plant’s beauty, which can be enjoyed for another week or so. Though we’ve kayaked to the island, generally on photo expeditions we take our Johnboat (if the waves aren’t too choppy) so that I can transport my heavy large-format camera with lenses that produce such incomparable detail and depth of field.

We leave before sunrise and land early enough to catch the sun’s first rays as they first peak over the Swan Mountain Range. Views from the island are panoramic and everywhere wonderful. To the north are the ranges forming Glacier National Park while to the west are the Salish Mountains.

And then, of course, you are surrounded by largest body of fresh water west of the Mississippi, usually tranquil in the early morning. At your feet sweeps the spectacle of field after field of the gold-colored Arrowleaf Balsamroot; and it’s difficult to imagine a more beautiful setting.

©Bert Gildart: Shenandoah National Park in Virginia is a park where we feel at home. In 1998, we spent the summer here (that’s where we are tonight and have been now for the past three nights) hiking virtually every trail in the park. Our efforts resulted in the publications of two hiking guides to Shenandoah, Hiking Shenandoah, and Best Easy Day Hikes in Shenandoah National Park.

Falcon Press, which is now an imprint of Globe Pequot, published both guides and the books are now in their third edition, and we’d like to say that we are particularly proud of the results, but always ecstatic when we find people actually using them.

One such person was Al Chase, camped next to us (also in an Airstream) and after introductions, he asked us if we were the same Gildarts who wrote the above two books.

That Al knew our names astounded us, and we attempted modesty, and said that “Yes, by golly, we are those very same Gildarts,” and then began reporting to him that to make the book what it was that before the summer was over, we had hiked almost 600 miles or almost 100 miles more than the actual number of trails, which is 500.

We also mentioned to our kind listener that we’d climbed Old Rag, elevation 3,268 feet, and a mountain that contains some of the oldest rocks found in the Appalachians. “Shenandoah,” we emphasized, “is special!” But then Al certainly knew that, for he seemed to be a very capable outdoorsman. And modest, too, a trait I greatly admire.

And so I limited myself to a half hour or so, explaining that we’d hiked all 101 miles of the Appalachian Trail that wind through Shenandoah and had met a number of through hikers who had left Springer Mountain in Georgia, bound for Baxter State Park, hoping to complete all 2000 miles of the “AT” in four long months.

Mentioning all this here, of course, is not crass commercialism, just reporting. And, of course, these were all things we knew everyone would want to know, hence our concerted efforts to provide all the information at our disposal.

Likewise, we seldom if ever report on personal family matters, but in the interest of compassion feel it is appropriate to note the sad news that our entire family has run into hard times, and that it would help immensely for all those who can afford to do so to buy both of our books, else this winter our grandchildren might well go barefoot and their wee little tummies might shrivel up to nothing. To help you help us to help our grandchildren, simply click on either Amazon.com or the book section of Shenandoah. Do it and a beam of light will break through the overhead clouds, illuminating you, and throughout the entire day we can assure you that you’ll be suffused with a warm glow.

Because of these sad circumstances, we are here to work, are now going full tilt—and ready to get somewhat serious.

On this trip we’re here to gather material for a magazine story on Shenandoah, and because this park can be enjoyed at any season, we wanted particularly to see the park in late fall—early winter and a time we’ve only seen but briefly. It’s a magical time of year, a season that can sometimes be associated with fog and some rain. But if you persist, late autumn has a splendor all its own, and sounds that are muted in other seasons by the immense cloak of leaves from over 300 species of vegetation that garb these essentially hardwood forest’s are now transmitted.

Listen, then, as you hike for the sound of deer trampling through the leaves; the sounds of squirrels scurrying in fallen leaves, trying frantically to stash acorns.

Listen as well to the sound of streams gurgling and, sometimes, to the sound of water cascading down lengthy cliff faces. That’s what it’s been like in Shenandoah these past few days, particularly on a lone trail down to Dark Hollow Falls, a major cascade in this quiet winter forest, but just one of the park’s 16 (Gildarts’ informative guidebooks) falls.

Of course, there are other splendors, and with the right frame of mind, one of those can be fog. That’s the way it was for us as we drove the Skyline Drive and watched near Mary’s Overlook as a soft wind began whishing in low clouds that soon engulfed the road and sent us scurrying back to our camper.

Next morning, the silence was intense, and about the only sound was that of two white-tailed bucks contesting one another in front of our trailer over the question of which one would emerge victorious and subsequently pass on its genetic vigor to the nearby does. Antlers were a-clashing, and the battle was at times furious—and fluid—for their arena was the entire woods, and with time, they disappeared, though we could still hear the saber-like clacks.

That, of course, is another attraction of late fall, for November can be an intense time for the park’s 5000-7000 (Gildart’s…) deer. I’m referring, of course, to the mating season, and as we hiked we often saw bucks giving chase to coquettish females—their footfalls telegraphed at other times through the dry leaves and the resulting sounds derived from their running, running, running…

Today, we hope to make the four-mile round-trip hike to the Herbert Hoover cabin, something we tried yesterday, but had to turn back a quarter mile from our destination. Once our 30th president had a cabin here, and claimed this isolated spot deep in these dense woods—along a small stream that brimmed (and still does) with brook trout—was one of his favorite places in the entire world. Recent rains, however, had turned the Mill Prong into thigh-high water and I didn’t want to get my boots wet.

Should have carried old tennis shoes, something mentioned in one of the Gildarts’ books, and that I should have read.

PURSUING PHOTOS AND PROSE
With Kayaks, Mountain bikes, Backpacks, Daypacks, Walking Sticks, Fishing Poles—and an Airstream Travel Trailer

This month MotorHome Magazine released my story on the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore. Because the islands have been rated as one of the most pristine units in the National Park System, I’m posting a condensation of that story here. Editors there do a wonderful job of layout, and I was delighted to see the creative jusxtaposition of text and photos.

Despite the pristine nature of the 22 islands, all is not right in paradise, and if you are philanthropically inclined, you might want to consider contributing to the restoration of Raspberry Lighthouse, one of the eight preserved on these islands. And, if you are a kayaker, you’ll be hard pressed to find an area offering greater adventure, regardless of your level of expertise.

APOSTLE ISLANDS NATIONAL LAKESHORE

Pristine unit

©Bert Gildart: According to a park service ranger at the Visitor Center in Bayfield, Wisconsin, the 21 verdant islands now comprising the Apostle Islands National Seashore were once so rundown from excessive commercialization that managers wouldn’t consider including them as a unit in the system of parks.

Because we’d recently hiked along a trail where oaks reached toward the sky, and then on to a marshland where a black bear reared up and bounded off—the 50-year-old image depicting desolation and erosion seemed improbable. But great recovery is what’s happened in the Apostles. Here, nature has so reasserted herself that in 2005, the National Geographic Society proclaimed this national lakeshore to be one of the two most pristine units in the entire National Park Service System.

Artifacts still remain

“That doesn’t mean,” said a VIP (Volunteer In the Park) on Stockton Island, “that if you walk into the woods and probe deeply you won’t find timbers from abandoned homes now almost dissolved. Or evidence of past logging and mining.

“But these are timeless islands, struggling to preserve something of essence. Sure, you’ll see settlements were attempted. But you’ll also see islands as they were when Indians hauled ashore here in birch bark canoes.”

Though we’d only been in the Apostles a few days, we already suspected what the informative lady on remote Stockton Island was trying to help us appreciate. At park headquarters in Bayfield we’d learned about the islands’ early lighthouse keepers. From a campground on Sand Island, which we’d reached by kayaking, we’d watched from a cliff of red rock while distant ocean-going freighters moved across the horizon of Lake Superior as vague anachronisms.

Sea Caves

On another day, we’d attempted to kayak to a series of sea caves, but weather had temporarily turned us back. Now, we were departing the mainland by ferry to Madeline Island—the only island that permits vehicular traffic—to learn more about early day history. Truly these islands located along the southern shore of Hiawatha’s Gitche Gumee (remember Longfellow’s famous poem, The Song of Hiawatha?) embraced so many eras they seemed struggling for definition—like a kaleidoscope of images about to reassemble…

Historic recollection is, of course, a function of the NPS, but in part it is done in conjunction with local concessions, and we took advantage of this arrangement. One day, we purchased tickets for a day-long trip on a cruise boat, and watched as an enchantment of islands paraded by—22 in all. That, of course, goes contrary to the idea that the islands number 13 after the Biblical Apostles, but Lake Superior is often shrouded in fog and so perhaps early settlers initially saw some diminished number.

As the cruise continued, we passed Oak and Sand islands, and then, in the distance, we saw Hermit, made famous by a man with a secret that clouded his life. Some believe the hermit’s name was Wilson and that the man was a lonely fur trader, still longing for a past love. All the islands have stories associated with their names.

As well as just cruising the islands, the excursion boat made two stops, one at Raspberry and another at Stockton. Raspberry Island offered an intimate view of the lighthouses keepers who once operated the Apostles’ six lighthouses. An excerpt from one of the park service logs provides insights, and helped us further appreciate the potential of Lake Superior.

“In the dark” wrote Lighthouse Keeper Francis Jacker, “I missed the point of landing, sailing beyond it [Raspberry]… thus drifting over to Oak Island. The storm did not abate until noon of the third day [and] there would have been no escape for me… were it not for a passing Indian…”

Pitcher plant

At Stockton, we disembarked and joined Naturalist Doug Wekley for a walk through a forest of oak to a deck overlooking a marsh. Wekely pointed out carnivorous pitcher plants and the paw print of one of Stockton’s 26 black bears, tallied through the advances of DNA. Wekley said he thought some of the bears were newcomers, having swum several miles from the mainland across these open, frigid waters.

That night we returned by the boat to our vehicle and then drove back to our campground at Little Sand Bay, where we watched the sun set over the Hokenson Brothers fishery—and over a number of islands we’d seen earlier in the day.

Sand Island was one of those islands, and once it was alive with the buzz of cross-cut saws and the voices of village people. It’s a destination for kayakers, and early one morning we checked with the visitor center and learned the weatherman portended smooth sailing. Temperatures were predicted to be in the mid ‘80s with winds slight, meaning waves should crest at no more than two feet. Weathermen, of course, have been known to be wrong.

As we pushed off we watched a group of kayakers going through all the techniques necessary for emergency rescues. Intentionally they dumped, and then righted the boat. Instructors then made sure they could perform a self rescue and an assisted rescue; simple techniques, sure, but useful only if you’ve practiced them a time or two in these cold, clear waters; something we had done.

Kayaking to Sand Island (3-miles away) required about an hour, and as we swept into the park service dock, we saw an ageless forest that extended to the sandy shore. Prying ourselves from our kayaks, we walked a narrow path, and saw deer bounding from near the weathered remains of an old Model T. The path continued and soon led to a small cabin, which served as the home of Mike and Cherie Reverie, now working here as VIPs.

Mike Reverie

Cherie not only provided tours of an abandoned home, but was researching the history of women who once ran lighthouses. Meanwhile, her husband hiked back and forth each day to the Sand Island Lighthouse, where he worked as an interpreter, recounting tales of seas and ships, and sometimes of tragedies.

Lake Superior, of course, is not a body of water to mess around in. Through the years, She has sunk over a thousand ships, and the cold waters have taken the lives of kayakers. Several years ago, a father and son tipped their boats and the young boy died of hypothermia. The tragedy occurred in the sea caves which we had earlier attempted to reach.

Marvel of creation

Sea caves are a marvel of creation, resulting from the erosive effects of wind and water. You’ll find them on several of the Apostles, but one of the most beautiful series is located along the eight-mile mainland section of beach controlled by the National Park Service. From our time in the Apostles, we’d learned late afternoon was the ideal time to visit this particular set. Typically, the light is great for photographs and the afternoon winds have died. That’s just the way it was for us.

Departing from Meyers Beach (a 5-mile drive from our campground), we paddled two miles to the first of the caves. And then, although park brochures say to enter the caves with caution, they drew us in with all the carefree abandonment endowed in youthful explorers.

Canopy of trees

In one place the cave was hollowed to a depth of 30 or more feet. And what was so lovely is that from this recess, we could then look out at the verdure of several of the other Apostle Islands, islands with names like Gull, Eagle, and Otter; islands with symbolic names projecting this sense of timelessness we had come to feel.

That evening we returned to our trailer and listened as wind blew through the trees, and the sun descended into the Apostles—now remote and distant—lost and obscure in a timeless but meaningful struggle to preserve something of essence.

SandDunes

EXPLORING DEATH VALLEY (From our book, cited below) ©Bert and Jane Gildart: In Death Valley (map), not far from Badwater, California (an expanse of foul-tasting water and dreadful land that is also the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere), there extends a forbidding landscape officially known as the Devil’s Golf Course. Throughout the year there are many days in this area that often are very hot, still and unearthly quiet.

One January day several years ago, we walked into this jagged land and heard sounds during lulls in our conversation. Pausing and cupping our ears, we listened. All around us, the ground spoke: it snapped, it crackled, and it popped.

Badwater

Although the sound emanated from beneath our feet, the cause remained a mystery, and it wasn’t until Ranger/Naturalist Charlie Calligan enlightened us at an evening program that the mystery became apparent. Calligan explained that the sounds were the results of the incredibly dry air sucking every last drip of moisture from the chalky landscape. The friction of salt granule against collapsed salt granule created the snapping, cracking and popping. Intriguing as that phenomenon proved to be, we also learned that it was just one of the park’s many mysteries…

The above was taken from our book: A Falcon Guide, Death Valley, A Guide to Exploring the Great Outdoors. The book was published in 2005 by Globe Pequot Press and is available from them and from the book store operated by the park’s Natural History Association.

Outside of parks in Alaska, Death Valley is the nation’s largest national park, and if you plan to visit it, you’ll benefit from our repeated trips and month’s of research.

Coyote Stalking Food

The park is an ideal place in which to spend a week or two in the fall, winter or spring, and we’ve done so repeatedly. During these trips, we’ve seen coyotes stalking the desert floor, searching perhaps for a careless kangaroo rat. We’ve trailed the Amaragosa River from where it flows with grace and power into the park, and then watched it get sucked dry and literally disappear in a place called Bad Water.Death Valley is a special park and we count ourselves among the fortunate to have spent so much time exploring its 1200-foot high mountains—and its deep desert floor, which descends at one point to -272 feet.

From Bert’s book on the Natchez Trace, available either from us or from American Geographic. (A modified version appeared in Airstream Life magazine.)

Natchez Trace

©Stretching from historic Natchez, Mississippi, to Nashville, Tennessee, is a highway that parallels an old trail, a trail which once was a major thoroughfare for an emerging nation. Stepping from a pull-out on the modern highway, we walked down a short path that ended where the much older trail began. Spanish moss on the trees above drooped over this pathway, while along the ground lay dense carpets of darkening leaves. Deeply eroded, the trail appeared ancient. Here ran the old Natchez Trace highway, a trail of sublime beauty that once had seen the passage of Meriwether Lewis, Andrew Jackson, Aaron Burr… as well as countless others, whose faces remain nameless. Fate smiled kindly on many of these travelers, but not all. One black night Lewis was mortally and mysteriously wounded.

The Old Natchez Trace harbors many serets, and we took a few more steps, to learn about the lives of those who had preceded us and to absorb the path’s pristine beauty…

The Trace is well known for its fishing, antebellum homes, alligators, bicycling and for its superb scenery. Our book will help you to better enjoy your travels; it will reveal some of the wonders we discovered after we took those first tentative steps. Illustrated with many color photographs, the book is available from the National Park Service in Tupelo, Mississippi–or from us.