Misty mountain tops and the quest for Hill’s lost cabins.

Origin: 7/27/25

Back to St Mary Lake. Yes, I will log about 150 miles on its teeming waters this summer. Hmmm. But it is ten miles long, twenty-five plus miles of shore, and north of six square miles of paddling surface. And one of these days, I need to go past the boat dock and explore the bottom half of the lake.

But every trip is different. On this particular paddle, I have a quest to find something lost to history. Or has it been? We shall see.

The story of the Chalet system that the Great Northern built in Glacier Park is truly a tale of the deep pockets of the Gilded Age and lavish corporate indulgence at the turn of the century.

In 1910, Glacier Park was mostly a million-acre wilderness. Not a place to build high-end Swiss-style hotels. Upscale palatial rustic lodging, with all the modern amenities of the day.

The small things that we take for granted today. Like electric power, steam heat, hot water, and even a swimming pool in the basement. In a time when the horse was still a common mode of transportation, and so many miles from anything that could vaguely be called civilization.

Those giant “Parkhitecture” lodges were nice and all, but let’s address the elephant in the ballroom. People needed something to do other than midnight Soirées, cigars, and seven-course meals to keep them occupied. Right. So why not build mini chalet-style hotels even deeper into the vast wilderness of the newly formed Glacier Park?

Louie Hill of the GNRR took this solution to heart. And started literally building an exclusive wilderness experience, where you felt like you never left the luxury of the big fancy hotel. And the deeper in the wilderness, the harder to reach, the more immersive it becomes.

There were to be just over a dozen chalet complexes (and seasonal tent accommodations). The most popular nickname is The Oasis (of civilization) in the Wilderness. Every breathtaking site was personally picked by Hill. It was up to his engineers to figure out the infrastructure. And the guest would need to travel in comfort.

Glacier has over 700 miles of hiking trails. A real backpacker’s dream. But people were not backpacking in 1915. They were on vacation and rich. And here to relax. And horses were still the norm at the turn of the century (although the automobile was catching up fast).

All of those paths and trails that these new adventure tourists played on were originally cut into the mountainsides for our domesticated four-legged friends (the ones we generally don’t eat). And the Glacier Pack Saddle Company was the largest of its kind on the continent until it folded in the 1930s.

Dare to dream of traveling through this amazing land of lakes and mountains on a multi-day excursion. And all you had to do was sit on a horse. Your bags were packed for you. Boxed lunches provided. Probably even had a guy who could wipe your nose if you got the top-tier package.

Between major anchor hotels, rustic chalets, and many seasonal tent camps, it’s been said you could book a two-week trip and not stay at the same location twice. Talk about a change of scenery!

I know, I know. The rich could still have all the fun a hundred years ago as they can today. Glacier was known as the Rich Man’s Playground for the first 20 years of its existence. I can imagine that the 1920s truly roared here.

The high cost of staying in newly born Glacier Park wasn’t just about lodging and meals (although the GNRR did introduce the “American Plan,” in which food was included with lodging). A big cost factor was TIME. Montana was pretty remote from its target audience.

Hill was quoted as saying he wanted to attract “The well-heeled adventure traveler from the elite East Coast and industrial Midwest.” I would say that his clientele was pretty specific. The richies.

The math is pretty simple. Coming to Montana by rail would take a better part of a week. And then a combination of horse, boat, or primitive automobile to your final destination. With such great effort expended on travel, you would want to stay for a week or two. At least.

How many of the middle class (and none of the poor) folks at the turn of the century could not only take a month off, but spend what would equate to a year’s salary on a summer vacation? Yep. Hill’s advertising was to hook the upper class that would normally go on vacation in Europe.

And his timing was perfect. Who’s going across the pond when Archduke Ferdinand takes a bullet on a back street in Sarajevo in 1914? Creating a domino effect with European treaty alliances, and suddenly, WW1 starts decimating an entire continent? Not me.

Mysterious and distant Montana sounds like the place to be. And remote comes with exclusivity. Which equates to status. Nothing better than spending money in front of other people with money.

The Going to the Sun Chalet (named after the mountain it flanks) was the crown jewel of this backcountry travel system. At its peak, this complex could accommodate over 200 guests throughout its several buildings.

Amenities included a seamstress, barber, laundry, and a place for artists to commune with the natural surroundings and perfect their craft. A place so peaceful and tranquil, for those who could afford such civilization in the wilderness.

Funny that the NPS didn’t rein Hill in on some of these major projects and their environmental impacts. Until you realize there was no NPS until 1914, and it would take them a bit to figure out how to apply policy. So for the first five years of the Park’s existence, Louie had carte blanche to build whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted.

As for the Sun Colony (common shorthand for the Going to the Sun Chalet complex), it was forever expanding. Hill wanted to extend it beyond the picturesque rocky outcrop, where the NPS preferred to see it happily (and safely) contained.

Without formal approval, he built a couple of structures on that rocky little peninsula across St Mary Lake from the main colony. These were accommodations for artists, consisting of two cabins. One is a sleeping dorm, and the other is a dining hall. They stood out like a sore thumb.

But the NPS tolerated them. Until something odd came out when they reviewed the interior furniture requisition invoices (the Fed still had to approve everything, even if they didn’t build or buy it).

And guess what? The sleeping cabin was short a pillow. And it was well known that Hill always traveled with his own pillow. Artists never stayed in these cabins. They were for Hill, his family, and friends.

The NPS ordered them removed. But the stock market crash of 1929 kept the world busy with more pressing issues for a few years. They were removed when the Sun Colony was dismantled, razed, and the site sterilized just after WWII.

My quest was to find the old site of those cabins and look for the remains! Yeah, I looked but couldn’t find anything. Thick brush. No boots. Just wasn’t into hiking around those rocky cliffs. Oh well. Maybe next time. But it was a glorious day on the water, and I’ve had more of my fair share!

GoatBoy out!

And Patrick sucks. He could probably find the cabin site if he ran out there, but would likely step on a board with a 100-year-old nail sticking out and ruin an expensive pair of running shoes.