Wherein Moominmama sprains an ankle whitewater rafting, but not before she hikes to the Continental Divide...

While camping at Glacier National Park, one of Moominmama's goals was to stand athwart the Continental Divide, where a raindrop on one side descends toward the Pacific and a raindrop on the other descends toward the Atlantic.

The plan was to do this the easy way, by driving up the renowned "Going to the Sun Road" and parking near the Logan Pass trailhead for an easy walk. But getting a ticket  -- a Park Service addition this year to control the overwhelming traffic -- to drive the "Sun" road proved impossible. As I learned, however, the entrance booths are unmanned until 6 a.m. so I was advised to drive into the park under cover of darkness.

Once inside the park, I waited for the sun to illuminate the spectacular scenery, squeezing in a dawn hike to a waterfall. Then I drove to Logan Pass. It was 8 a.m. and already, parking was impossible! In fact, the rest of my time along the road was spent scouring for parking spots that put Boston to shame! I snuck in a brief hike at "Trail of the Cedars" by parking halfway under a bush.

But the upshot was -- if I wanted to walk on the Continental Divide, my best hope was to hike there from Two Medicine Lake. Now, Two Medicine Lake is already at an elevation of 5,164 feet. And Dawson Pass, the closest place on the divide was at 7,598 feet. So just over 2,400 feet of elevation and about eight miles there and back.

Well, let me just say Moominmama felt her age on that hike. But I did make it! I took the boat across Two Medicine Lake to cut out a few miles I'd previously traversed around the lake. Then I set out around Pompelly Pillar, pictured here.

At least the views were spectacular when I stopped to catch my breath. Little creeks were plentiful at the start.

In the shade of the trees, the breeze kept me cool so it wasn't until I got above tree line, that the sun got hot and the going got tough.

Unlike New Hampshire, the mountains here are not granite but sedimentary rock. It made for less scrambling up boulders but more slipping on sand and stones. It was slow going for my worn-out legs and lungs at the end, but I made it. 

Pictures, of course, do not do the views justice but it still felt like I was standing on top of the world. And it "topped" off a great week in Glacier National Park before I headed for Missoula and some whitewater rafting. 

I wonder if there's a prize for anyone who manages to sprain an ankle while sitting down. My raft held seven people including our guide. We were briefly trained on what to do if we were thrown from the raft but no one expected it to actually happen. 

The Alberton Gorge is west of Missoula on the Clark Fork, a river feeding into the Columbia River and named (you guessed it) for William Clark of Lewis & Clark fame. Lewis is actually the one who traveled this river in 1806 on his way back from from the Pacific. Mostly calm, it has a couple class II and class III whitewater sections where the river narrows. 

As I learned later, in a rapids called Tumbleweed, our boat executed what's known as a "dump truck." As in we all got dumped. Partway into the rapids, for reasons unknown, the boat started to flip, dunking me fully under water. And as I kicked loose, I must have wrenched my ankle on a loop I was using to anchor my foot to the raft. After the boat offloaded its starboard passengers, the change in weight distribution dumped the port-side sitters on the other side, including our guide. 

Once I got my head above water and rejoiced that my glasses remained on my face, I saw a whole collection of us swiftly floating downstream. As instructed, I got my feet downriver, tapped the top of my helmet to signal I was ok and used my arms to collect a missing shoe, the guide's water bottle and an errant paddle as we zipped down the river.

It was no big deal, and the cold water meant I had no idea my ankle was any worse for wear until later. The boats behind us collected other items lost in the dump truck and we all got back on board in a quieter section of the river.

Our guide said this was her first dump truck of the season, and her colleagues would require her to drink a beer from a neoprene bootie when the day was done! In addition, all seven of us were made honorary members of the facetious Alberton Gorge Swim Club.

Tonight, I'm off to see a rodeo (safely, from the sidelines), knowing that after today, I can finally say to whatever life throws at me next: You know, this isn't my first rodeo...

(topmost photo taken by Mike Malament of Montana River Photography. And I'm actually in that boat: front left with a red helmet over my white baseball cap.)