The Survey of the Going-to-the-Sun Highway, 1924

THE SURVEY OF THE GOING-TO-THE-SUN HIGHWAY, 1924

By Frank A. Kittredge Chief Engineer, National Park Service (then Locating Engineer, Bureau Public Roads)

Stephen T. Mather used to say that one and only one road should be built into typical scenery of each national park so that the old and the young, the sick and the well, could all see and enjoy the typical beauty and grandeur of that park. That is how the Going-to-the Sun Highway came into existence. Mr. Mather was a great one to enjoy the wilderness areas on horseback. He wanted to keep the great majority of the present wilderness areas in the national parks in their natural condition, but he realized also the great value of the wilderness scenery and its inspiration to those people who were unable to either hike or ride horseback.

Putting his thoughts into immediate action, he asked Thomas H. MacDonald, Chief, Bureau of Public Roads, to arrange for a survey of that road. Mr. MacDonald, in turn, handed the project over to Dr. L. I. Hewes, Regional Engineer for the Western United States, and he assigned the task to the writer.

On a beautiful fall day (September 16, 1924), Superintendent Charles Kraebel drove me to the beginning of the proposed operations--along the shores of beautiful Lake MacDonald fringed with dense forests of evergreens interspersed with the stately tamarac and clusters of already coloring quaken aspen; thence, along MacDonald Creek with its falls and tumbling white water as it cascaded through the canyon. And rounding a bend in the road there, squarely across the canyon, stood the great wall, the backbone of the Continental Divide, here called "The Garden Wall".

Although I had thrilled to these same views immediately after returning from some of the French and German scenery during World War I, it was an even greater thrill to see it now in its fall dress and to know that I was privileged and honored to be a part in making this great handiwork of the Creator accessible for the inspiration of people.

Schooled in the engineering practicality of things and in the planning and building, nevertheless, this park and this job seemed to me to be the culmination--even after years on railroad and highway work in the wilds of Alaska, the searching out and planning of highways in the most rugged and isolated portions of the Western United States. This great project in Glacier Park seemed to develop more of the exuberance and the challenge of conquest, of pioneering with nature. And I'll have to confess that again--as I had so often thought while engaged upon engineering in the wilds of our glorious country--how fortunate I was to be here in this, one of the choicest, wildest, and most beautiful areas, and incidentally to be paid for being a part of it.

But with the thrill of the country and the job, there was the feeling of awe and humility over the great responsibility of searching out, surveying and recommending the route which would mar the least the stupendous beauty of the Garden Wall, the mountains and the canyons while making available to people the most and best of Nature's creation. Although the engineer was inarticulate; nevertheless, the trees sang to him; the cascading streams thundered a story of the pure, lifegiving water; the ageless rocks in the Lewis Overthrust told him a story of earthmaking. How to carry into the roadbuilding these great, intangible values for the inspiration of people without sacrificing the very values we came for was the problem of the engineer.

The task was a little bit terrifying, inasmuch as it was already fall and the winter closes in very early in this high altitude and far northern climate. But neither Director Mather nor Dr. Hewes said anything about wanting the survey if convenient. I was sent there to make the survey period. Mr. Mather wanted a survey which would enable the Park Service to let a contract for construction the following spring.

The complications of the season and the difficulties of the job were made easier by the complete and wholehearted cooperation of Chief Engineer George Goodwin and Superintendent Charles Kraebel.

The writer immediately commenced reconnaissance while the crews, camp and mess equipment and survey instruments were being gathered by the Park service. The elements were with us for the first two weeks and during the early reconnaissance period.

A camp was being established at the Trapper Ranger Station cabin. It afforded shelter for the cook and his very important operations. Tents were erected to serve for housing and office, come sun or come storm. The camp on the east side of the Pass was established at Baring Falls a half-mile west of Going-to-the-Sun Chalet. (This chalet at Going-to-the-Sun Point was razed in 1948.)

There had been an earlier survey of a portion of the route, which led by a very tortuous line up Logan Creek to Logan Pass. Reconnaissance indicated that such a route would not be particularly scenic, would always be slow and dangerous, would be buried in snow until early summer and the avalanches from the precipitous mountains on both sides would pile the snow deep in the canyon and over the proposed road and no place for the snowplows to throw it in the spring. Furthermore, with so many sharp hairpin turns, the road would never be capable of future improvement.

To make a long story short, with the fulfillment of Stephen T. Mather's requirements in mind and under the pressure of Dr. Hewes' instructions to do the job, the present route following the Garden Wall over cliffs, along rock ledges, across deep canyons, was determined upon. The cost obviously would be heavy but there appeared to be no other route which would adequately show to the public the tremendous spectacle of mountains and canyons, forests and streams, and no other route which would be capable of improvement of alignment and width of roadway if and when traffic should require improvement.

At this point I should mention the help and the cheer brought to the work by the "Poet of the Rockies," the tourist guide, and the lion catcher, all grouped together in the personality of Jim Wilt, who was rodman and assistant and helper in the clambering over mountainsides, clinging to cliffs, all through the reconnaissance period until completion of survey.

The reconnaissance having been completed, the decision made as to route, the two camps established, and thirty-two men employed, we were then ready to undertake the labors of survey.

At the beginning of the survey every man not only had to walk several miles to work but had to climb about 2,700 feet vertically every morning before starting the actual work. This would be equivalent to climbing the Washington Monument five times before getting down to the job at hand every morning. If it happened to be snowy or wet with no good footing and perhaps slipping back or falling down every now and then, it was equivalent in fatigue to several more climbs of the Monument.

And then the walking along and clinging to the steep mountainside was not easy for anyone and extremely difficult and dangerous for some. Having to cut one's way with axes through brush and make one's way along cliffs, as the case might be, was an undertaking to put even the mountain sheep to shame. And by the way we had the pleasure of seeing several of these beautiful animals with magnificent curved horns standing close to our path--and unafraid.

One day an axe man returned to headquarters in midday. He said he "couldn't take it"; that, while on the line, he looked down immediately below him and saw the tree tops going round and round in the breeze; and he began to go round and round; so he got down on his hands and knees and crawled back to where the slopes were not so steep and just came right on in for his pay.

By way of illustration of some of the trials and tribulations the men had to put up with, a reported incident of the following year will bear repeating. The engineering crew was working along these same cliffs and the resident engineer appealed to his chief for an increase in pay for his assistants because of the unusual hardships and dangers of the job. The reply was no, that engineers were supposed to be hardy and to be able to take the dangers of such jobs. A few weeks later, this man made an inspection of the project and was taken over the cleared survey trail. At one point, the resident engineer walked along the cliff path as was his custom, but his chief called for help. Upon turning around, the resident engineer observed his boss clinging to the wall, knees trembing (and I know from personal experience how that feels), and in fear of falling. This seemed liked a psychological opportunity, so the resident engineer--while steadying his chief--quietly remarked, "How about that raise for the boys?" The response from the boss--grand man that he was--was quick and effective, "Give them anything you want."

But with it all, there was the thrill of doing things and accomplishing things; and those men who could take it took a real pride in their accomplishment. However, in the seven week's time--September 16 to November 5--there were really three crews: one coming, one working, and one going. In order to keep thirty-two men on the job continuously, 135 were employed during that period.

The survey proceeded regardless of rain, sunshine, or snow--within limits, until early November when four feet of snow fell on the east side of Logan Pass and enough on the west side to severely handicap the work.

An effort was made to cross Logan Pass to reach the camp on the east side, but the recent storm had packed the crust so hard that Jim Wilt and I could not kick our heels into it to make our way across the slide area. Inasmuch as one misstep would have meant a tobogganing down a steep, snow-covered mountain face for about a thousand feet, we decided that discretion was the better part of valor and returned the way we came. However, we couldn't help stopping at the Pass long enough to absorb the grandeur and beauty of the many mountain peaks in their winter snows. It was a sight never to be forgotten.

In order to reach the men who were marooned, on the east side, we returned to camp, then to Belton, then by train to Glacier Park station, then by bobsled to St. Mary's Chalet. (This chalet, located at east end of St. Mary's Lake, was razed in 1941.) Here we stayed overnight with the company's watchman who knew the temperament of the country. As we left in the bright sun of early morning, the watchman's parting advice was that if we felt any wind to pull for the shore at once; that the storms came up suddenly and the lake could be very rough and dangerous in a few minutes.

It was a superb boat ride through a rugged winter setting, we taking turns at rowing and steering. We rowed past the narrows and past the little island and within perhaps two miles of our destination (Going-to-the-Sun Chalet) when all of a sudden I, being warm from rowing, felt a cool breath of air on the back of my neck. I remarked to Jim that I felt a little puff of air and he had better steer us toward the shore. We took a diagonal course, but it wasn't five minutes before we were shipping water from the waves. We knew we could not get into the trough without being swamped. We knew we could not go straight forward against the obviously increasing wind without being swamped. Our only choice was to try to turn and go with the wind and hope that we could reach the shelter of the island and then the headlands of the narrows. This we tried to do by rowing as hard as I could and Jim bailing water as fast as he could and by good fortune we reached the shelter of the island, and then made the promontory at the narrows.

Then began the long laborious task of floundering along the water's edge through snow, rowing the boat at times in quieter bays, until finally in late afternoon we arrived at the landing place. One can imagine that, after such a day, floundering through four feet of snow to the winter cabin at Going-to-the-Sun Chalet was something of an undertaking. However, the cabin and its winter stock of firewood and food looked all the better for the ordeal of the day.

The next day we wallowed on through the snow to our camp and all hands commenced the laborious task of dismantling camp, leaving most of the supplies and equipment stored for the winter, and then by several trips boated the men "back to civilization" as they called it.

Fortunately, we had accomplished the essential features in the location of the proposed highway, so that we could return to the Portland headquarters of the Park Service with a clear conscience. We had made the survey and had obtained the necessary data for preparing the plans and specifications for a spring contract on the west side of Logan Pass.

A contract was awarded in the spring of 1925, which amounted before completion to nearly a million dollars, covering the section lying on the west side of Logan Pass. In the following years, other contracts were awarded and work carried on by the Bureau of Public Roads for the National Park Service.

Although the entire road across the park from Belton to St. Mary's, a distance of 50 miles, has been in use for many years, it is not yet completed. Approximately $400,000 is necessary to improve, widen and pave the section constructed a quarter of a century ago, and this added to the sum already expended will amount to nearly four and a quarter million dollars for the Going-to-the-Sun Highway. It is an expensive highway, but it serves a great public need and gives people the view and the inspiration which many would never otherwise be able to enjoy.