HEALTH Strings Under the Big Sky - Explore Big Sky

38 June 29, 2012
outdoors
Digging for asphalt
unearthing glacier’s going to the sun road
by marCie hahn-knoFF
big Sky weekly contributor
GLACIER NATIONAL PARK –
Soft rain patters against the window.
A glance outside reveals darkness,
streaked by beads of water.
Cloaked in thermals and Gore-Tex,
the avalanche forecasters walk to
the office. There is a heavy, ancient
feeling to the pre-dawn air. Thick
coffee offers warmth and a tether of
friendly comfort.
Once inside the computer is fired
up and the data gathering commences.
Rain continues to knock against
the roof of the tiny cottage turned
research facility. Weather at this
low elevation rarely mimics what’s
happening 4,000 feet higher, and
the remote weather station gauges
show temperatures cooling steadily
in the peaks, but still hovering
above freezing at 6,600 foot Logan
Pass.
Rain on snow: This is Glacier National
Park in the springtime.
Avalanche forecasting for the Going
to the Sun Road plow crew is a
unique seasonal Montana occupation.
The GTSR roadway, a feat of
early 20th century engineering,
cuts across numerous avalanche
paths and is closed during winter.
Each spring the crews start a pilgrimage
toward Logan Pass, clearing
a winter’s worth of snow from
the narrow and winding roadbed.
The operation takes months to
complete, with two plow crews,
one from the east and one from
the west, attacking snow drifts up
to 70-feet thick. The avalanche
forecasters are responsible for issuing
a daily forecast for the crews
and other park employees traveling
along the road.
Compiling current weather data
and observations from the previous
day’s mission, the team assembles
the forecast for the day. It’s looking
like the snow should stay put as
long as the sun stays at bay and the
temperatures remain cool.
Ski gear, rain jacket and extra layers
at the ready, fresh coffee brewed
and dawn breaking, it’s time to meet
the road crew and begin the trek up
the roadway.
Lake MacDonald, already free of
ice, mirrors the hanging clouds that
continue to spit alternating soft and
drenching rounds of rain. The team
snakes through the gated closure
at Avalanche Lake, which is as far
as the public may drive until the
whole road is open.
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Cedars line the road, rooted amid
dense velvet carpets of moss. The
rain turns to mist, lifting occasionally
to reveal glimpses of the rock
sentinels looming above. A moose
wanders along the edge of Mac-
Donald Creek, its large body and
spindly legs somehow awkward and
graceful all at once. A grizzly bear
family was seen in this same area
yesterday.
Past the creek the road begins to
climb. Water streams down the cliff
walls and along the sides of the
road, through culverts and drainage
channels. The plow crew was
attacking this section only a few
weeks ago, and already the snowline
has receded 1,000 feet higher.
Ahead, the black asphalt disappears
under a cocoon of white. The plow
machinery is parked here, at the
snow’s edge. The road crew climbs
into their equipment and, avalanche
spotter in place, begin attacking
the layers of snow that encase the
roadway.
Skis on, the forecast team climbs
above the roadway, headed 3,000
vertical feet into the clouds. Tracks
of rabbits, mountain goats and the
lone wolverine that’s been frequenting
the area scatter the skin track.
At higher elevations, the precipitation
has manifested as a layer of
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thick new snow that’s adhering
nicely to the yesterday’s sun crust.
The forecasters radio the plow crew
to let them know it looks like a
good day to make headway.
Climbing higher, the clouds begin
to break. Patchy views open up
across the Garden Wall, showing
that the glide avalanche cracks
haven’t moved significantly since
yesterday—another good sign.
Rays of light illuminate Heaven’s
Peak, which dominates the views
to the west. The 20-foot crown
lines above glide avalanches that
failed there during last week’s rain
event bend the sunlight and garner
respect.
Reaching a sub-ridge, the forecasters
strip their skins from their skis
and begin the descent. Light snow
falls as the machinery comes into
view—the yellow equipment scooping,
pushing and digesting last
winter’s snow one bite at a time.
Marcie Hahn-Knoff is married to
a GTSR avalanche forecaster and
has had a 20-year love affair with
Glacier National Park. A real estate
broker by trade, she has recently
signed with Winter and Company
Real Estate, based in Big Sky. Find
her at mtwinter.com