The next morning we were up shortly after dawn. Smith drove the first leg. Where antelope brush used to play, now the irrigated rows of grape vines. Too early for the fruit stands to be open. People in that area seem to want to remind travelers that they are not in a national park, as there were several signs, red lettering on white background, reading "No National Park."
The institute climbed through high passes, to descend again just as far into the next valley, just to climb once more. Around Salmo, the terrain began to turn towards my liking, and it reminded me of my younger days in the Rockies.
Lunch in Creston, located in a lush wide and windy valley. Supplies in Cranbrook. A dinner of sushi in Fernie. Then out onto the prairie sentineled by a company of windmills. We vered south. The sky touched the ground, erasing the mountains that would have been to our right. Past Twin Butte.
Smith received a warm welcome at the gate of Waterton National Park: "Oh, we were waiting for you!"
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