Boiling River

Morning came, and Phil wanted to cook the steaks. The steaks had been cooked the previous evening. Little Bird had made him a plate, put it in front of him, and instructed him to eat. This morning, however, Phil had no memory of these events.

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I made coffee, eggs and bacon, and heated up the steak. I packed up Walden, Little Bird and Ox put their packs in the back and we headed out to Boiling River.

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Boiling river is a place where a pretty big hot spring falls into a cold river. Little dams have been made with rocks and there are pools of warm water.

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It was fantastic.

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Cool water comes in from the stream. Hot water comes in from the waterfall. By moving one way or the other you get different temperatures.

It was fantastic.

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I planned to come again in the evening, stay in Gardiner, and come back in the morning. We stayed for at least an hour, then started to leave. Then we stopped again in another little pool. At this point we were pretty wrinkly. At last, we managed to drag ourselves away from Boiling River. Knowing that we’d be back later that day made it easier.

Little Bird, Ox, and I enjoyed Boiling River so much that for the rest of our time together it was a measure for every experience. If something bad happened one might say “This is no Boiling River!” or “Golly, that may not have been Boiling River, but it was lots of fun.”

We made the walk back to Walden and headed on down to Gardiner. We did a quick tour of the town, hoping to find somewhere comfy and convenient to hang out and get caught up on getting stuff posted. We finally landed at a place that said it had Wifi, but they wanted fifteen cents a minute. Gardiner was looking less and less attractive. Staying there, even to visit Boiling River again, was not seeming like much fun.

We loaded back up and headed to Bozeman. I had some desire to visit Bozeman because it had been where the professor in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance had worked.

After a quick tour down what seemed to be the main drag, we found Sunrise Campground, paid, located our spot, and headed in to town to see what was there. We pulled into the brewery I’d scoped earlier and found that it didn’t open for nearly an hour.

Google said it knew where to find another, so we headed out. On the way there was a sporting good store that was having a sale. There I looked at sleeping bags and talked to one of the women who worked there about things to do in Glacier National Park. She wrote a long list of things to do. I couldn’t decide on a sleeping bag, and headed on out to Walden. By this time Little Bird and Ox had returned with a pizza, which they had devoured, saving one piece, which they insisted I eat.

We talked some about sleeping bags and I made them go in with me to look at them again. They convinced me that one of the few bags the place had available was a good idea, and I bought it.

We had a snack at the brewery and went back to the campground. There we all showered, and hit the hay.

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2 Responses to Boiling River

  1. jeneria says:

    I earned my MA from Montana State in Bozeman.  Spanish Peaks is a bit disappointing, but Ale Works is the bomb. (if it’s still there, I haven’t been back since bugging out of Montana in 2002.  I grew up there and couldn’t wait to get out of Montana).  Best meatloaf ever.  If you’re feeling adventurous head to Bozeman Hot Springs at Four Corners or Norris Hot Springs north of Ennis.

  2. jeneria says:

    Oh, I grew up in Whitefish near Glacier National Park.  You must go to GNP.  There is nothing quite like it in the lower 48.  My grandfather helped build the Going to the Sun highway.

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