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The
snow clung to the edge of the mountains with swirls and
curls, sculptured by the never-ending wind at the top. It seemed
so pure, so innocent, that it was difficult to believe avalanches
did occasionally occur.
Before
long I reached Meadow Creek Lodge on the Idaho side;
not that it seemed to make much difference to the terrain whether
I was in Montana or Idaho. The log cabin was home to the Enget
and Buster families, and a welcome spot for visitors. The Lodge,
like the mountains around it, was snowed in for the winter.
Louise
Enget made her weekly trip out for groceries with a snow
machine-knowing that made the lettuce and tomato on my hamburger
taste even more delicious.
Louise's
family has owned the property around the Lodge since her
ancestors homesteaded it in 1898. The winter's mountain explorers
offered them an ideal way to not only make a living there in
the winter, but to also provide a much-appreciated service for
visitors.
A
large stone fireplace filled the room. I imagined winter nights
in front of the crackling fire, with snow falling from the sky-how
would it feel to know there was no road out. No nice warm car
or four-wheel-drive truck to plow through to stores or hospitals.
No roads at all, just trails. For Louise, her brother Bill,
and nephew Hal and his wife, Kaye, it was the best place on
earth. For me-I wasn't at all sure I was that kind of adventurer!
A
squirrel dashed across the yard, taking refuge in one of the
trees
as I returned to the snowmobile. Overhead a raven, large and
black, swooped out of the wide expanse of blue, then pivoted
back towards the sky, its wings flapping. Other explorers, like
me, pulled up in front of the Lodge, happy to find an oasis
in the snow.
Big
Springs was only a fifteen minute ride away. Other snowmobiles
were stopped on the bridge, with half a dozen parents and kids
pointing at the flowing water below. Joining them, I watched
trout
swim by in the clear mountain water, their rippling bodies escaping
quickly from view, racing downstream. (CONTINUE...)
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