Mischief and Hitchhiking: The Empire Builder from Portland to Glacier National Park

Glacier National Park, June 2001. Photo by Vincent Gragnani.

As the eastbound Empire Builder chugged across the desert landscape of Eastern Washington and into Idaho, my eyes grew heavy and I finally drifted off to sleep, not an easy feat while sitting in an Amtrak coach.

The much-needed sleep was short lived.

Within minutes, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Vince. Did I wake you up?”

“Um yes,” I said to myself.

I was running on maybe four hours of sleep total for the past two nights.

“I want you to see something.”

***

The voice was that of a fellow passenger I had met the previous day.

Just outside of Portland, Oregon, I offered to lend my telephone calling card to a man traveling with his wife and children, whose bags had been lost by Amtrak. Before everyone carried a phone, making a call to Canada from a train station pay phone would have meant fumbling with a massive amount of quarters.

Jeff was thankful for my generosity, and we spent much of the evening in conversation. He worked for the city of Orange, California. I was a recent college graduate spending three weeks on the rails before starting my first full-time job.

Having nudged me out of my much-needed sleep, he led me to the lower level of the Amtrak view liner car—a level that held nothing but restrooms, baggage racks and doors to exit the train.

Disobeying the signs, he pulled open the window of the exit door.

“Now look out,” he said.

I put my head out the window and saw that the desert of eastern Washington had given way to more fertile Idaho fields. Far from civilization, we were cruising at a gentle 40 mph, along the Pend Orielle River, and despite the early hour, we were far enough North that the first signs of summer dawn began to illuminate the land.

This is why I travel by train.

For the next hour, we took turns sticking our heads out the window, watching our train cut across the Idaho landscape, inhaling the cool, fresh air—with an occasional whiff of diesel train exhaust—while the other kept watch for Amtrak employees

Daylight soon covered the land, and as we approached the next stop, Sandpoint, Idaho, we brought our surreptitious predawn mischief to an end.

Amtrak’s Empire Builder making a morning stop in western Montana. Photo by Vincent Gragnani.

Idaho gave way to Montana, and as we entered Glacier National Park, Jeff and I exchanged addresses, said goodbyes and—as too often happened while meeting friends on the road before the age of social media—never spoke again.

***

Montana is Big Sky Country, and I expected to find flat plains spreading as far as I could see. What I found after we emerged from a 7-mile long tunnel was the opposite: a lush landscape of mountains, rivers and waterfalls.

This was Glacier National Park.

I checked into a hostel in East Glacier at the same time as another fellow Amtrak traveler, a Library Science major from Seattle named Scott. We had met briefly on the train, and within minutes of checking in, we accepted a ride to a visitor’s center about 8 miles out from the hostel, where we would complete a 11-mile hike through the park.

Looking back, it’s nearly impossible for me to imagine hiking through the wilderness without GPS. But somehow we completed the round trip hike without getting lost. Mist hung in the air, and I swatted mosquitoes constantly.

We gave little thought to the return trip to the hostel. Running on less than an hour of sleep the previous night and no more than three hours of sleep the night before, maybe I thought we would walk the 8 miles back, after our 11-mile hike?

Back at the visitors center, Scott, perhaps thinking more—or less—clearly than I, began to approach strangers for rides, without any success. At his suggestion, I stood at a distance. His thinking was that the countless couples and families he was approaching would be hesitant to take two young men into their cars—but perhaps they would say yes to one, and then I could tag along.

I watched as he approached a single male who didn’t respond, or even acknowledge the request. Three minutes later, this silent visitor pulled up in his Jeep and motioned for us to get in.

Scott took the front seat, and I took the back. We told him where we were going. He heard, but he never once spoke.

I looked around his car wondering what I had gotten myself into. I was 1,000 miles from home, in a strange landscape far from any city, in a car being driven by someone who didn’t speak a word.

What if he kept driving?

Could I pop open the back door and jump out?

What if it had child locks?

What if we were being kidnapped?

My fears were natural, but unfounded. The mute driver followed our directions and dropped us at our hostel.

Scott and I split a 6-pack of a much-needed local beer that evening.

And we, too, never spoke again.

***

Looking ahead to the next few days, I wrote this in my journal at 8 pm, Sunday, June 24, 2001

We hiked about 11 miles—seemed like more. Mountains, lakes, streams, waterfalls, even snow. I actually walked on snow today.

I’m pretty tired—only slept an hour last night, about 2-3 hours the night before. Tomorrow I’m taking a tour that leaves at 8 am. It’ll take me all over the park and last until 4:30. Then my train leaves around 6:45 pm. Apparently all the trains have been running on time or almost on time through here. That will put me into Seattle around 10:30 am. Not sure what I’ll do there—maybe get a haircut. I think I’ll develop my photos in Vancouver—that should be cheaper. I’ll do it first thing when I get in.

I was tempted to go to Seattle tonight. Not sure I could top what I’ve seen here today. Also not sure I want to spend $40 on a tour. But I’m told it’s well worth it and I have no clue when I’ll be back here again. I still wish I was on that train, but hopefully after tomorrow I’ll have changed my mind.

Still can’t believe all this beauty in the state of Montana. I seriously can’t believe that’s where I am. Seems more like California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, etc. Not what I expected to see here.

***

The next day, I did in fact see the park in a more conventional manner: on the Going-to-the-Sun Road van tour with tourists. It was June 24, and snow fell as we had lunch. I stood on the Continental Divide.

Snow in June, elevation 6,680 feet. Photo by Vincent Gragnani.

By sunset, I was back on the Empire Builder, this time westbound. And at Spokane, when the train split in two, with one half bound for Portland and the other half for Seattle, I would stay on the Seattle-bound half.

The Empire Builder approaches the station at East Glacier. Photo by Vincent Gragnani.

That Idaho morning remains among my fondest of train memories, while the ride with the silent stranger remains one of my oddest.