Glacier National Park is a murky bust

more smoke and fires make our visit disappointing

I’d taken five days off from traveling to return to San Francisco to visit our daughter and grandchildren, while Mike did some man-style fishing (namely, dawn to dusk on the water with little hygiene between) in nearby Idaho. 

Koa stayed at Cousin Wanda’s Pet Sitting in Spokane for the duration, and was duly picked up, healthy and intact, by Mike when he fetched me from the airport.

But the fires of that summer had caught up with us again. Descending into Spokane into smoke so heavy it looked like brown fog made me wish I could turn the plane around and fly right out again.

The Bay Area itself had been subject to some of the worst fires in history since we’d moved there. Just because the skies were clear in San Francisco didn’t mean they wouldn’t be terrible again before the rains came. It didn’t mean our house on the Russian River wouldn’t be in danger before fire season was over.

Mike was coughing when I got into the SUV, greeted by a rapturous Koa who was delighted to be reunited.  His voice was hoarse as we talked while driving back to the campsite outside Spokane where he’d set up the trailer for the night.

“Guess I’ve been breathing gunk for a few days,” he croaked, when I commented on it. “The air was as bad in Idaho as it is here. Hopefully the smoke will be lighter in Glacier National Park.”