Crossing a border and finding more winter: Cardston to Salmon, ID

    

  Sunday morning in Arco, Idaho. The sun is shining through my window at the DK Motel, but the already considerable layer of snow has grown again overnight.

It's a good thing that we didn't expect to leave winter behind anytime soon when we left home not even three days ago – hard to believe that it hasn't been longer than that – because it is very much with us still. This morning it is -10, yesterday morning in Salmon it was -12. But I better start where I left off last time.

We checked out of our motel in Cardston early: we had several stops before our arrival in Salmon, Idaho, a drive of about 650 km. The wind had lessened, and it was a beautiful drive through the foothills to the Carway border crossing. We met hardly a car, and the road was reasonably clear, though there were more icy patches than on the last stretch before Cardston. No wonder: we were climbing higher, after all. In the distance the impressive blocky shape of Chief Mountain invited to stop for a photo.

This border crossing is tiny, and I don't know if it was because it was still early morning, or because the border guards are happy about every traveller who interrupts their quiet (I assume) day, but everyone was very friendly. Upon hearing that our friend was visiting from Germany, the first young officer asked her from where, and when he heard 'Frankfurt' his face lit up: “My family is from Nuremberg.” (Not that these two cities are exactly close together!). He told us that his grandmother had married a GI, and they had started a family in Texas. “That's where I grew up,” he told us proudly. We could hear it, too. :-) We briefly had to complete a few formalities inside, again were met with exemplary courtesy by another young officer, and we were on our way.

The first thing we saw after leaving the border station was a huge herd of buffalo, some close by the road, many, many more just dots in the distance, blending into the habitat where they once thrived. Part of the herd that was close to the road were white buffalo, an amazing sight. This area is Niitsitapi (Blackfoot) tribal land, and white buffalo are considered to be sacred by several indigenous tribes. They are extremely rare, only about one out of 10 million births, but selective breeding has led to higher birthrates, and this is what must have happened here.

The magnificent empty landscape stretching as far as the eye could see cast its spell on us. We happily remarked on the fact that there were so few cars, how easy the driving was, but this was soon to change. The icy patches grew larger and more frequent, and the wind picked up. We drove through Babb, a place that seemed utterly deserted, the windows of the motel, store and fuel station boarded up. Our GPS told us we should turn off onto Hwy 464 from US 89 shortly after Babb. By now veils of snow were blowing across the road, making it difficult to see at times. When we turned onto Hwy. 464 the first thing we saw was a sign, completely covered in snow, in the middle of the road. We had immediately had the nagging suspicion that this was what it turned out to be once Johann brushed off the snow: ROAD CLOSED. Now what? According to our GPS this would have been the better of the two roads, or at least that's what we thought. In retrospect Google and also our Garmin GPS might have suggested this route because it was the shorter of the two, but that idea didn't occur to us then. What to do? We needed to find out if any road going to Browning and on to Missoula was passable. We turned around, thinking we might find someone to ask in Babb after all. It didn't take long until two pickups came from the direction of the border. One of them had a snow blade, which was a reassuring sign already – or was it? Johann flagged down the first pickup which turned out to be a border control vehicle. We heard that we should take US 89, snow-covered but passable, and later turn onto Hwy. 2. The road had been newly plowed already that morning, so the surface was less of a problem than the drifting and blowing snow which made it almost impossible where the wind had free access, a scary situation. Here again we were glad for the sparse traffic, although on the other hand every vehicle coming from the other side was an encouraging sight: the road was still open. 

 By the time we reached Browning, our chosen destination for breakfast, it was 10:15. The restaurants listed for Browning on the internet seemed to be mostly closed, probably not surprising in the off-season, but thankfully this town, like so many others here, has a casino, and we got a good breakfast there. Thus fortified we could now make our way to West Glacier – more poor driving conditions through magnificent country – and continued along huge Flathead Lake south of Kalispell, now on good roads, after stopping for groceries at the Polson Walmart. The fruit orchards along this road which had so surprised us last time we drove here – who would have expected them this far north? - were covered with a thick blanket of snow, but it looked as if some spring work had been started before the last snowfall: branches from pruning poked out here and there.

Our next stop was Costco in Missoula for gas. Another 2 1/2 hours to go, and Chief Joseph Pass to cross still. This scenic route is among our favourites for the whole trip south, and it didn't disappoint this time either. The roads were fine even on the pass, but there sure was a lot of snow! Sharp edges of drifts ran nearly vertical at times on the steep slopes beside the road. 

Dusk was approaching, and hundreds of deer grazing along the way required close attention by the driver. At times they were right among the cattle, sharing in their hay. One more time we stopped along the way, at the same spot where we had stopped last time, to get a close look at the Salmon River. We had never seen it like this before: a small channel of running water between huge ice floes that had likely piled up during a warmer period a little while ago. The waxing moon floated high above Red Rock: half an hour more, and we finally reached our Super 8 motel in Salmon.