Bale Mountains National Park is Ethiopia's premier biodiversity hotspot, protecting vast afro-alpine plateaus, glacial lakes and lush forests, while sheltering rare endemic species including the Ethiopian wolf, mountain nyala and Bale monkey across dramatically varied volcanic highland terrain.
Montana: Glacier National Park
🏔️ Glacier National Park – Big Sky, Biblical Rain, and a Brush with a Religious Cult
We left Butte and pointed the nose of the van north, up towards Glacier National Park, which sits hard against the Canadian border in the far north-west corner of Montana. It is, by any measure, a serious chunk of wilderness – established as a National Park back in 1910, covering over a million acres, and sharing a border with Canada’s Waterton Lakes National Park to form what is grandly called the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, the first of its kind in the world when it was designated back in 1932. All very impressive. The weather, however, was not playing ball.
We followed US Route 93 north out of Missoula, and whatever the heavens were throwing at us, the scenery still managed to be quite staggering. To the west, the Cabinet Mountains. To the east, the Mission Range, their upper reaches dusted white. It is, frankly, the sort of landscape that makes you feel slightly inadequate. We are English, of course, which means complaining about the weather is not just a pastime – it is practically a constitutional right, and on this particular day, it was more than warranted.
The route circles around the western shore of Flathead Lake, and if you have not heard of Flathead Lake, you should have. It is the largest natural freshwater lake west of the Mississippi, covering around 200 square miles and boasting some 160 miles of shoreline. It sits within the Flathead Indian Reservation, home to the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes, who have lived in this region for thousands of years and still manage the reservation today under a 1855 treaty that, unusually for the era, gave them rather more than the usual raw deal. The lake itself is extraordinary – glacially cold, almost impossibly clear, and ringed by snow-capped peaks and rolling foothills that made it look like someone had assembled a very ambitious postcard. Even through the murk of the weather, it was spectacular.
Our base for the couple of days we were spending in the Glacier area was the KOA – Kampgrounds of America, for those not yet inducted into the cult of the beige gravel pitch – in West Glacier. Regular readers of this blog will have noticed we stop at rather a lot of KOAs. There is a reason for this. They are reliable, they take bookings, and when you are rolling into a new town in a large American motorhome, reliability counts for a great deal. This particular one was unusually attractive, set among trees and with rather more character than most. It was also reasonably full, which made sense given it was Memorial Day weekend.
Memorial Day, for those unfamiliar, falls on the last Monday of May and is the American equivalent of Remembrance Sunday – a federal holiday honouring military personnel who have died in service. Since 1971 it has been a fixed long weekend, and like all long weekends, it is now largely an occasion for camping, barbecues, and – in this case – one very large church group.
The religious contingent had clearly descended en masse and seemed oddly reluctant to talk about their beliefs, which told us everything we needed to know. They were not, shall we say, mainstream. We were fairly confident of this when we observed a group of them gathering solemnly to pray for forgiveness after one of the other campers – a perfectly cheerful woman called Cindy – played some Billy Joel from her pitch. Piano Man is, as far as we are aware, not listed among the seven deadly sins, but apparently standards differ. To their credit, apart from monopolising the play area with what appeared to be an inexhaustible supply of children, they largely kept themselves to themselves.
Jack and Emily, thankfully, swerved the religious recruitment drive entirely and instead fell in with a nine-year-old called Ryan, who turned out to be Cindy’s son – yes, the very woman whose Billy Joel had so offended the righteous. Ryan was a good lad. Cindy, for her part, was a thoroughly decent sort and seemed blissfully unbothered by her apparent status as a spiritual threat to the campsite.
The following morning we drove into Glacier National Park itself to assess the situation. This far north, and at elevation, things were still very much in the grip of late winter. The park’s most famous route – the Going-to-the-Sun Road – was closed. It is, when open, one of the great drives in North America: a 50-mile transmountain road completed in 1932 after eleven years of construction, climbing to Logan Pass at 6,646 feet above sea level, threading through some of the most dramatic alpine scenery on the continent. In late May, however, it is typically still buried under several feet of snow, and park crews spend weeks digging it out before the summer season. We were a few weeks too early.
The Rangers at the Visitor Centre in Apgar Village – a small cluster of buildings at the southern tip of Lake McDonald, established in the early twentieth century as one of the park’s original tourist hubs – were cheerful and helpful and pointed us towards Avalanche Creek, where the Going-to-the-Sun Road was blocked and a trail led up to Avalanche Lake. We set off.
Almost as soon as we were moving, the weather began to lift. The cloud broke, the light shifted, and by the time we were winding our way along the shore of Lake McDonald the transformation was remarkable. Lake McDonald is the largest lake within the park – about ten miles long – and in the right conditions it behaves less like a lake and more like a mirror, lying so flat and still that the mountains surrounding it are reflected with almost eerie precision in its surface. Those were exactly the conditions we found ourselves in. The cameras came out. More than once
🥾 Squelching Our Way to Avalanche Lake
By the time we rolled into the Avalanche Creek trailhead — having stopped rather too many times along the Going-to-the-Sun Road to take photographs of things that were admittedly very photogenic — the sun had actually come out. This was, frankly, a minor miracle. The forecast had been deeply pessimistic, the sort of grey-skied prediction that makes you consider whether a day in the car park eating sandwiches might be perfectly acceptable. But there it was: actual sunshine, in Glacier National Park, in the part of the trip where we’d mentally budgeted for drizzle.
Suitably encouraged, we set off up the Avalanche Lake Trail — a roughly 2-mile hike from the trailhead to the lake itself, which sounds perfectly manageable until you actually do it.
The trail starts pleasantly enough, following Avalanche Creek as it charges down the valley in a state of considerable urgency. The creek was swollen with snowmelt — Glacier receives an enormous amount of annual snowfall, and by late spring that snow is very much on its way somewhere else, usually downhill and fast. The creek has cut a rather spectacular gorge through the red argillite rock — some of the oldest exposed rock in North America, laid down around 1.5 billion years ago, give or take an aeon — and the water tears through it in a series of turquoise pools and small cascades. It’s the sort of thing you’d pay good money to see at a garden centre water feature, except here it’s free and considerably more impressive.
Then the trail turns upward, and things get serious.
The climb to Avalanche Lake gains somewhere north of 1,000 feet over those 2 miles, which is the kind of statistic that sounds modest on paper but feels considerably less modest in practice, particularly when you’re wearing hiking boots that are approximately ten years old and your knees have opinions. What made it all the more character-building was the state of the trail underfoot. I described it at the time as “boggy,” which, on reflection, was being rather generous. “Swampy” is closer. In several places, the trail had been enthusiastically adopted by the meltwater as its preferred route down the mountain, meaning we were essentially hiking up a stream. Not beside a stream. Up one. There were sections where the path had entirely given up the pretence of being a path and was simply water with footprints in it.
Near the top, the snow hadn’t fully cleared, which meant picking our way across patches of the stuff — not dramatic mountaineering, more the kind of undignified scrambling that looks considerably less heroic in photographs than you’d hope.
But then you arrive, and all is forgiven.
Avalanche Lake sits in a glacially carved cirque — a bowl-shaped valley scooped out over thousands of years by the slow, grinding action of ice. Glacier National Park takes its name seriously: at the park’s peak in the mid-19th century, there were around 150 named glaciers here. Today, thanks to a warming climate, there are fewer than 30, and the scientists tracking them are not optimistic. The evidence of their former industry, however, is spectacular. The walls of the cirque rise thousands of feet almost vertically from the lake’s edge — sheer, grey rock faces draped with ribbons of waterfall fed by the remaining snowpack above.
We stood there catching our breath — a process that took longer than any of us cared to admit — and looked up to see Mountain Goats. Actual Mountain Goats, picking their way along ledges that, from our position, appeared to offer approximately no foothold whatsoever. These animals have hooves with hard outer edges and soft, rubbery pads inside that grip like climbing shoes, and they were treating thousand-foot cliff faces with the casual indifference of someone nipping to the kitchen for a biscuit. Remarkable creatures. Makes you feel quite inadequate, frankly, given that we’d found a muddy path challenging.
After a suitable period of standing about feeling awed and slightly damp, we headed back down. The return journey was, as gravity tends to arrange, considerably more cheerful. What had felt like a genuine ordeal going up became almost pleasant on the way down, and we arrived back at the trailhead in considerably better spirits than we’d left it.
There is something about a hike like that — a proper one, with actual effort and actual reward at the end — that does something genuinely restorative. By the time we reached the car park, the gloom of the earlier forecast felt like ancient history. The feelgood batteries, as I put it at the time, were fully charged.
Which left only one pressing question: where was the nearest ice cream?
Planning your visit to Glacier National Park
📍 Location
Glacier National Park sits in the north-west corner of Montana, USA, bordering Canada’s Waterton Lakes National Park. Together they form the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The park spans more than one million acres of breathtaking terrain, encompassing glacially carved peaks, alpine meadows, ancient cedar forests, and some of the clearest lakes in North America. The nearest gateway communities are West Glacier on the western side and St. Mary on the eastern side.
Mailing Address: Glacier National Park PO Box 128 West Glacier, MT 59936 USA
🌐 Website
📞 Contact
Phone: +1 (406) 888-7800 TDD (for the hearing impaired): +1 (406) 888-7806 Email: glac_questions@nps.gov
🕐 Opening Times
Glacier National Park is open year-round, though accessible areas and available services vary considerably by season.
Summer (late May–September): This is the park’s primary visitor season. Most facilities, visitor centres, and park services are fully operational. The famous Going-to-the-Sun Road is typically fully open by late June or early July, once snow-clearing has been completed — a process that can take two to four months. Visitor centres at Logan Pass and St. Mary are generally open daily from mid-May or mid-June through to late September, from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Spring (March–late May): Services are limited and visitors are advised to plan ahead and be self-sufficient. Higher-elevation trails may remain snow-covered and dangerous until late June. The Going-to-the-Sun Road is often open to hikers and cyclists only during snow-clearing operations.
Autumn (October–November): The park becomes quieter and wildlife activity increases. Going-to-the-Sun Road typically remains fully open until the third Monday in October, after which access is reduced depending on weather conditions. Visitor centres generally close in late September or early October.
Winter (November–April): The park remains open, but facilities and road access are significantly reduced. Primitive camping is available year-round at Apgar and St. Mary Campgrounds. Snowshoeing and quiet forest walks are popular winter pursuits.
🎟️ Entry Fees
The park does not accept cash — all payments must be made by card.
Private Vehicle (Summer Rate): $35.00 USD — valid for 7 days, covering all occupants of a single non-commercial vehicle. Private Vehicle (Winter Rate, 1 November–30 April): $25.00 USD
Motorcycle (Summer Rate): $30.00 USD — valid for 7 days, admits up to two motorcycles with up to four passengers total. Motorcycle (Winter Rate): $20.00 USD
Per Person on foot or bicycle (16 and over, Summer Rate): $20.00 USD — valid for 7 days. Per Person (Winter Rate): $15.00 USD. Children under 16 do not require an entrance pass.
Annual Park Pass: $70.00 USD — valid for one year from the month of purchase, covering the passholder and passengers in a single private vehicle.
America the Beautiful Pass: $80.00 USD — covers entry to all US national parks and federal recreation sites for one year.
Non-US Residents: International visitors aged 16 and over must pay an additional $100.00 USD per person on top of the standard entrance fee, unless they hold an Annual or America the Beautiful Pass. A dedicated Non-Resident America the Beautiful Pass is available for $250.00 USD, covering one private vehicle or up to the passholder and three additional adults.
Commercial Vehicles: Fees are based on vehicle seating capacity, ranging from $25.00 USD for a sedan (1–6 seats) to $200.00 USD for a motor coach (26+ seats).
In 2026, no vehicle reservation system is in operation — visitors may enter the park by personal vehicle at any time.
🧭 Getting There
The park is accessible by road via US Highway 2, which runs along the southern boundary, and US Highway 89 on the eastern side. The closest airports are Glacier Park International Airport (FCA) near Kalispell, approximately 30 miles from the west entrance, and Great Falls International Airport (GTF), roughly 150 miles to the south-east. Amtrak’s Empire Builder train service stops at the historic Belton Depot in West Glacier and at East Glacier, making rail travel a scenic and practical option for visitors.
Best time to visit Montana
Montana — the “Big Sky Country” — is a state of extraordinary scale and seasonal drama. From glacier-capped peaks to sweeping prairies, each season brings a radically different experience. Whether you are drawn to powder-filled ski slopes, wildflower-strewn meadows, or golden autumn forests, there is a perfect window for every type of traveller.
🌸 Spring (March–May)
Spring in Montana is a season of renewal and unpredictability. Snow lingers at higher elevations well into May, but lower valleys begin to thaw, rivers swell with snowmelt, and the first wildflowers push through the soil. It is one of the quietest times to visit, meaning fewer crowds and lower prices — though some mountain roads and park entrances remain closed until late May or early June.
Wildlife is particularly active in spring. Bears emerge from hibernation, bison calves are born on the plains, and migratory birds return to the wetlands. Glacier National Park begins opening its lower trails by May, though the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road typically does not open fully until late June. Towns like Missoula and Bozeman are lively year-round, and spring is an excellent time to explore them without the summer rush.
Rivers such as the Yellowstone and Madison run high and fast, making whitewater rafting exhilarating but challenging. Fly fishing improves significantly by late May as water temperatures rise.
What to Pack: Waterproof hiking boots, layered clothing (thermals, fleece, and a windproof shell), gloves and a warm hat, waterproof trousers, sunscreen (UV is strong even in cool weather), and a compact rain jacket. Pack both mid-layers and a light down jacket, as temperatures can shift rapidly between warm afternoons and near-freezing evenings.
☀️ Summer (June–August)
Summer is Montana’s peak season and the most popular time to visit — for good reason. The days are long, the skies are a vivid blue, and virtually every corner of the state is accessible. Glacier National Park is at its finest from mid-July through August, with the Going-to-the-Sun Road open in full and alpine wildflowers blooming in abundance.
Temperatures in the valleys typically reach the mid-20s°C (mid-70s°F), though the mountains remain cooler and the air is always fresh. Outdoor activities are virtually limitless: hiking, white-water rafting, kayaking, mountain biking, horse riding, and wildlife safaris all come into their own. Yellowstone National Park, which straddles the Montana–Wyoming border, draws enormous crowds in July and August, so booking accommodation months in advance is essential.
Summer is also festival season, with events including the Crow Fair (one of the largest Native American gatherings in North America) and various rodeos celebrating Montana’s cowboy heritage. It is worth noting that afternoon thunderstorms are common in July and August, so early starts on hikes are wise.
What to Pack: Lightweight breathable hiking clothes, sturdy hiking boots, a waterproof shell for afternoon storms, a warm mid-layer for evenings and high-altitude days, sun hat and high-factor sunscreen, insect repellent (mosquitoes are present near water), a reusable water bottle, bear spray (mandatory for backcountry hiking), and swimwear for lakes and rivers.
🍂 Autumn (September–November)
Autumn is arguably Montana’s most spectacular season and something of a hidden gem among seasoned travellers. September in particular offers the perfect balance: summer crowds have thinned, the golden aspen and larch trees are ablaze with colour, temperatures are pleasantly cool, and wildlife activity intensifies as animals prepare for winter.
The elk rut takes place in September and October, filling the mountain valleys with the haunting bugling of bulls — a wildlife spectacle to rival anything in North America. Glacier National Park is stunning in September; the Going-to-the-Sun Road remains open through most of the month, and the park feels almost serene compared to July. The fishing, particularly for brown trout, reaches its peak in autumn.
Snow begins returning to higher elevations by October, and by November much of the north and west of the state has entered full winter mode. Late October and November are quieter still, with some services and lodges closing for the season, but the rewards for hardy travellers — dusting of fresh snow on golden larch, the possibility of the northern lights — can be remarkable.
What to Pack: Warm layers including a fleece and a quality insulated jacket, waterproof hiking boots, gloves, a woolly hat, waterproof trousers, hand warmers for early mornings, and binoculars for wildlife viewing. A compact tripod is handy if you plan to photograph the autumn light or night skies.
❄️ Winter (December–February)
Montana winters are serious and deeply rewarding for those who embrace them. Snowfall is heavy across the mountains, and the state boasts some of North America’s finest ski resorts, including Big Sky Resort (one of the largest ski areas on the continent), Whitefish Mountain Resort, and Bridger Bowl. December through February offers prime conditions for skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, and dog sledding.
Temperatures regularly drop well below freezing — Fahrenheit readings in the teens are common, which is around −10°C — and blizzards can close mountain passes with little warning. That said, winter also brings a magical stillness to Montana. Yellowstone is transformed into a snow-capped wonderland, best explored via snowcoach or snowshoe. The clear, dark skies of the Northern Rockies make winter one of the best times to witness the aurora borealis.
Crowds are almost non-existent outside ski resort towns, and rates at many lodges drop considerably. The Flathead Valley around Whitefish is particularly beautiful in winter, with frozen lakes, pine forests draped in snow, and a charming town centre full of warm cafés and restaurants.
What to Pack: Heavyweight thermal base layers, a quality insulated waterproof ski jacket and trousers, wool or thermal socks, waterproof insulated boots rated for below-freezing temperatures, a balaclava, neck gaiter, fleece-lined gloves or ski mittens, hand and foot warmers, and UV-protective ski goggles. Pack a car emergency kit if you plan to drive mountain routes
🏆 Overall Best Time to Visit
For most travellers, July to early September represents the sweet spot for visiting Montana. The weather is at its most reliable, all roads and facilities are open, and the full range of outdoor experiences is available — from glacier walks to river rafting to wildlife watching. That said, September deserves special mention as perhaps the finest month of all for those who can manage it: the summer crowds have largely departed, the autumn colours are sensational, and the wildlife encounters — particularly elk rutting season — are genuinely world-class. Shoulder-season visitors will also benefit from lower accommodation costs and a more intimate experience of Montana’s vast and humbling landscapes. Whatever time of year you choose, Montana rewards those who come with curiosity, a sense of adventure, and a willingness to be surprised by a state that consistently exceeds all expectations.
Where to stay near Glacier National Park
1. Staying Inside the Park
The classic lodges of Glacier National Park still reflect the character of their early 20th-century heritage. Set within the incredible scenery of the park, the lodging options range from historic grand hotels and mid-century “motor inns” to rustic cabins. Wherever you stay, you’ll have the Crown of the Continent just out your door.
These charming lodges are a quaint departure from everyday life – a step back in time and a step closer to the rugged elements that define the American West.
2. Outlook Inn Bed & Breakfast
3. Coyote Bluff Estate
Coyote Bluff Estate sits on 32 acres above Somers, Montana, with views across Flathead Lake, the Mission Mountains, and the Flathead Valley. It’s an adults-only property, so it draws mainly couples looking for a quieter alternative to a standard hotel. The main building is a custom-built, 10,000 sq ft lodge using more than 17 species of timber, giving it a genuinely rustic character without feeling rough around the edges. Suites have private hot tubs, large decks, quality bedding, and flat-screen TVs. Shared facilities include an outdoor fire pit, a complimentary whisky and scotch bar, and an evening wine reception. Hosts Eric and Rita run the place with evident care, and guest reviews consistently pick out their attentiveness as a highlight. Glacier National Park is about 40 minutes away by car, making this a practical base for anyone exploring the area, as well as a destination in its own right for those who simply want to sit and take in the scenery.
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