My cabin in the aspens.  The poor man’s Fortress of Solitude.

Origin: May-Sept 2026

Every May, after doing the mandatory employee onboarding and some catch-up training, I always get butterflies in my stomach when MT Hwy 406 makes the dogleg at the northern edge of the Great Plains. Those old familiar mountains of the east side of Glacier Park start coming into view.

But I added a dash camera to my travels this year. I happened to be playing my favorite cover of Carmina Burana by Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Timing was perfect.

When I get the key and turn the lock for the first time, the cabin always seems so forlorn. Lonely. Abandoned just a little too long. And commonly pretty chilly. But the water is on, and I’ve got power, so it’s time to make it my own again for the better part of four months.

I love this cabin. Why? Because I know where all of the hooks are. How all the pieces of the furniture fit together like a giant Tetris puzzle for maximum floor space. Most importantly, I know the wiring!

And I have a method for just how to set up my nightstand for the summer. So that it is the ideal reflection of a seasoned Red Bus driver’s calm, precise, and perfectly organized mindset.

The view from the front covered front porch is comfortable and familiar. And by the time those aspens in the distance take away my view of the mountains, the state will probably be taking away my driver’s license anyway as well.

Every year, I make new friends. And I find the best roommates are the ones who sleep outside and don’t come into the cabin at all. Unfortunately, this didn’t last. I’ll call him Mothman in training.

Actually, the BEST roommates don’t even talk to you. Or stay on your front porch for long. They just wander from cabin to cabin for handouts and occasionally offer a little canine love fix. But not too much. Don’t get greedy.

These four-legged acquaintances not only love walks, but are proven bear deterrents. Old Max chased away more than his fair share of Ursa Major out of the Beargrass Complex perimeter this year. He actually did more work than some Red Bus drivers over the summer (and was more respected for it).

Summer storms are so fun to watch from this little cabin. Because of the western exposure and the prevailing wind direction, I can sit in my deck chair with my feet up and never get wet.

No matter how hard it blows or how torrential the rain is. Or hail, as in prior summers (this storm cost State Farm $4500).

When the weather comes in over the mountains and the Continental Divide, it brings a lot of water. But stays a little on the tame side.

When it comes in from the Northern Great Plains, they pack a LOT of energy. The light shows can be incredible to watch (cross your fingers for no fires).

Sometimes the storms can be just all show and stay fairly dry. You never know what the skies will do. But I enjoy having a place to watch whatever is on my own version of the Weather Channel.  

 

Speaking of the weather, I brought along a meteorological station this year. I didn’t know if it would stay when I left, so I wasn’t inclined to climb up on the roof and mess around with some kind of all-season mounting.

The Beargrass community actually liked it. Someone set some chairs out in the field, and occasionally I hear a guitar strumming. Not everyone has a GoatBoy view of the Park.

It was fun hanging the display console on the wall next to the door. It was never as hot, or cold, or wet, or dry as my Red Bus guests would complain about all day and every day. There was ALWAYS something to complain about in the most beautiful place on earth!

The numbers that really surprised me were the rainfall. When you pick up two inches of water in a couple of days (when the average is .85 for the entire month), you really notice it. That happened several times over the summer. Explains the amazing wildflower bloom I came across when I hiked Piegan Pass this season.

The other interesting thing was when the fall colors started. Lots of gold, even at the lower elevations. I could trace it back to this reading on this day. Nothing like a 60-day “summer.” Damn. That’s blink-of-the-eye kind of short.

One of my favorite things about Cabin #4 is watching the many moods of Stone Head Mountain (the Blackfeet name for Singleshot). His demeanor seems to mirror mine. Sometimes, I too feel pretty beat as I prepare to retire for the night, resting for the next grueling day in the sun.

Sometimes, I also have to get up way too early for my liking. But that is what a tall glass of crappy iced coffee is for.

Then sometimes, even I don’t want to get out of bed at all. Just bury my face in the pillows and throw something heavy (and sharp) at my snoring roommate.

Yes, there are those moments I as well just want the day to end. And cry. Only a little. And smother my melancholy.

Most importantly, every now and then, I too just want to be left alone. Let me deal with my s*** in my own way, and make my own peace with it. Not all problems are meant to be solved.

But the dark is really when things come alive. And my cabin is a great place to experience the night. You generally don’t have to stray too far to find a blood moon rising in the early evening skies.

Or maybe catch the 2am moonrise off the front deck on a chilly August night. While something is clearly walking thru the grass in front of you.

Just a couple of days before I head home at the end of my season, I’m given a sensational September Harvest Moon. A befitting farewell. And time to get a long-overdue haircut.

But I said the night comes alive. Not sure how I was able to capture so many of them without editing the video. But two of my favorite evening pastimes now during my Montana summers: watching bats come out to feed on mosquitoes, and rocking the night to Trans Siberian Orchestra. Better when the overlap!

And with that, it’s time again to leave my bed by the window (and the air conditioner!). There is a lot to be said for ventilation when you share a space with a potential stranger for this long. The Irish goodbye was created for moments like this.

To leave as found it, without a trace. My indoor gear from under the bed. Then my outdoor gear from the porch.

Then I pull my OTHER outdoor gear from the back and sides of the cabin (clearly too many activities follow me to Glacier).

Fold up all of the seats in the Deli, which at the end of the season becomes nothing more than a glorified toy box.

I never played much Tetris as a kid, but I can see how those game skills would actually be worth something in real life. As if you can call my summer in Glacier anything close to real life….

But at the end of the day, everything fits like a glove. And I didn’t even have to strap anything to the roof rack. After all, this van is all about wind drag and mileage! 🙂

You know it’s been a good season when the end-of-summer gift for completing your contract is actually something you can not only use, but can never break. Although the silicon in the Sili Cup did make that first beer taste funny.

Fortunately, whiskey was unaffected. So what keeps bringing me back to Glacier Park to do seasonal work for the past five years? Hiking? Climbing? Kayaking? Red Bus Driving? Maybe none of those.

Maybe they are all just excuses. Deep down, I know when I can’t do anything anymore and have become just a broken-up old man, there is always washing dishes. And my little cabin in the aspens. Not a fortress of solitude. Just ….. a home.

GoatBoy out!

And still Patrick sucks. I hear as a roommate as well. Ask him about Jeff (Namaste, to his friends). At least I have never picked a fight with a skeleton (except accidentally once at a Halloween party in college).