Where the hell is everybody?
It was Sunday in Glacier National Park on the shore of Lake McDonald. Canada Day was the next day. The Fourth of July “weekend” would be kicking off mid-week. The weather—too hot if you ask locals—felt perfect as the sun started its descend for the evening.
Paddle board under my arm, I followed the trail through the trees to the shore. My first view of the lake stopped me in my tracks: 10 miles long and nearly a mile wide, Lake McDonald stretched in front of me with its glassy surface reflecting the setting sun and the surrounding mountains, begging me to jump in. … Not a soul to be seen.
My paddle cutting into the water was the only sound I could hear besides the low hum of cars on the road miles away. I headed north across the middle of the lake, my sights on the signature peaks that guard McDonald’s far end. Still, not a soul to be seen.
With no reason to rush and nowhere to be, I sat down on my board with my feet dangling in the clear, cool water and enjoyed the sun’s final rays as it dropped over the Apgar Mountains.