crown to coast – Page 3 – backpacking over the hill

A Beautiful Decline

July 11, 2018 From Bussard Mtn to Highway 95.

I woke up at 5:30 and tried to sleep in. It worked a little, but by 6:30 I was too restless.

The fire still had some embers, amazingly. During the night I had to get up once and there was a glow from the fire on the ground and brilliant starlight above. I had not seen the milky way in two years.

I tried to pack slow knowing I had a lot of waiting ahead. I used some of the miracle water to make sure the fire was totally out. I dispersed the fire stones and used forest debris to mask where the fire had been.

Gathering my food hang, I was finally ready to go. It was glorious hiking.

Almost immediately I had views down into the Kootenai valley. There were some low clouds in the valley and the sun shone on the next mountain range to tackle, the Selkirks.

The Kootenai valley was beautiful. Large patches of canola crops made for yellow patchwork.

The other side was beautiful, just without a big valley.

The trail meandered for a few miles. There had been a lot of stabilizing work and trail-raising. I suspect there were motorcycle fees that had been allocated and this trail won. I didn’t mind as long as no motor bikes used it while I was on it :-).

The well-maintained bike trail went right, but my foot trail veered to the left. Of course, the trail sign had misspelled the word Bethlehem.

…and there was no room at the in. Poor baby Jess.

I didn’t mind. As I went down I passed a tree that produced 100s of perfectly shaped pinecones.

There were also some interesting meadows.

These white flowers are about the size of a thumb tip, but can grow in eye-catching clumps.

Finally, a butterfly that would hold still.

This burned tree had about 80% burned through but still stood.

Alas, I arrived at highway 95. I had four hours before the trail angel in town could pick me up. I tried hitchhiking, but it was not an ideal spot. Mostly trucks, family vacation mobiles, and Canadians. After an hour, I gave up, found some shade and waited.

Finally, Sharlene arrived. She was very helpful and thoughtful. She had started section hiking the AT a few years back and found out about the trail angel concept. Coincidentally, after noticing some backpackers in town, she discovered the PNT was in her backyard and desperately needed a trail angel.

I checked in to my motel, the Kootenai Valley Inn. My first reaction was Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, we have a situation. The outside of the office was a decaying mess and the office was a barren room, like a murder had occurredand they had just finished removing the blood-stained carpets and walls.

Ed, the brand new owner, quickly put me at ease. He and his brother had purchased the place as a semi-retirement activity. He was clearly busting his hump and there were some diamonds in this rough. My room was clean and the carpet had been deep cleaned. The bathroom was sparkling.

Next door was a restaurant that both Sharlene and Ed recommended. They both called it the “chicken chop.” I went there. It was “Chic-n-Chop” and while the name made no sense they had classic dinner choices. I don’t know about you, but when I’ve been eating couscous, lentils, and quinoa, I’m jumping all over the special of two pork chops, two broasted chicken pieces, a biscuit and baked potato.

In fairness, I did order a full dinner salad first.

I was asleep by 9:30.

Mount PUD

July 7, 2018

Stealth camp on road to stealth camp near stream.

There is an acronym attributed to hiking the Appalachian Trail: PUD which stands for Pointless Up and Down. Obviously, backpacking through mountains includes a fair amount of going up and down, but today on the Pacific Northwest Trail it went from neccessary to PUD.

The mountain range I am in is called the the Purcells. They all max out around roughly 7,000 feet above sea level and most have rivers between them. They cover the northwestern part of Montana and the eastern part of Idaho’s panhandle. They are not as steep as the mountains between Polebridge and Eureka. This means they are slightly more amenable to forestry. Therefore, a lot of the hiking is through forest that:

could be harvested,
was harvested (30 years ago) or
a burn area.

By far, the “could be harvested” is the most compelling to hike through. Huge trees block out almost all undergrowth with the forest floor mostly old pine needles. This duff almost feels like walking on those really thick shag carpets from 1970s (younger readers use your imagination or Google). It is eerily quiet. And big trees produce big pine cones.

The “was harvested” is okay. It feels like a working forest. While clear cutting was the old method, the newer approach is to leave a few mature trees and let nature runs its course. Impenetrable understory of alder and huckleberries and young conifers battle for space. Except for the conifers, the shrubs top out at five feet, roughly. Unless opened by a landslide or natural meadow, the general feeling is of the understory pushing in. It is very clear why there are so many animal tracks on the trails; these are the only really viable way to get around. Except for moose. There is a lot of moose scat in these woods.

The “previously burned” areas offer some harsh contrasts. Nature abhors a vacuum, so dense stands of young pine and larch grow. On rocky slopes, grasses and flowers make a land grab. The shrubs take what they can. Hiking through these forest offers more vistas, but they can feel a bit claustrophobic walking between dense walls of thousands of tall skinny 15 foot trees.

All of this is backdrop to today. I started in a harvested area. Mostly shaded, the early morning climb was perfect. Except for the mosquitoes who were fast and relentless. (I don’t use bug sprays or headnets when hiking. The chemicals are too harsh and the headnet feels like walking around in shady cheesecloth. At camp, it’s a different story.)

I got up to the first mountaintop and the next several hours were a rolling climb along a ridgeline with ok views. The “highlight” was a climb nearly to the top of Mount Henry which had a lookout tower.

From there it was a kneecap crushing descent from 7,000 to 3,500 feet over 4 miles. It was about 3:30 when I bottomed out at Fish Lakes and stocked up with water. A campsite was available, but the directory noted “rodent problems.” Regardless whether it is eating, sleeping or traveling, my hard and fast rule is to avoid anything with a rodent problem. So, I began a long steady climb up a mountain, in all a seven mile trip gaining 3,000 feet and losing (you’ll never guess… ) 3,000 feet. I was going for Mt. PUD.

About a half hour in to the switchbacks, I saw a trail sign to a forest road. The number seemed familiar. I looked at my map and that road went along the south and west side of the mountain which was where my current trail would connect. Should I stay on the official footpath or take an unknown shortcut? I chose to stay on my current route over what was to become Mount PUD.

Slowly ascending switchbacks through an area that had previously burned, I was in a walled off corridor of conifers for a long time. The trail was losing visibility when it popped out to a grassy area higher up. I got the feeling this trail had not been maintained in the last two years.

While it was nice to be able to have a view, the barely visible trail through knocked down trees suddenly changed gradient. Previously, I had to stop every five minutes from the exertion. Now, the trail designers suddenly must’ve identified a new target market. However, they chose toddlers and seniors as the target. Watching the sun creep lower while making no uphill progress was infuriating.

Eventually I was mostly above tree line. Trails are difficult to see on hard surfaces. Heavily traveled trails will have small stacks of rocks called cairns. Unfortunately, this trail was so forlorn it was hard to tell what was a cairn and what were two random rocks. I was generally able to patch together the trail and reached the zenith where I was to cut through a rock canyon and finally begin my descent.

This rock canyon was v-shaped. As such, all trees that fell on the sides rolled to the bottom. It was blowdown central. Tired, knees aching, light fading and now I have to parkour my way through this.

When I came out the other side of the canyon, my shorts had a new breathing panel where one least expects such a thing. Down to one pair of town shorts.

I surprised many grouse today. Some have no chicks, some have hatched chicks, and some have flying hatched chicks. If you aren’t familiar with grouse, they are primarily land based birds, taking flight just to avoid danger. Agrouse chick flying is the cutest thing in the world, reminiscent of a piglet flying.

The sun was just sliding behind the western mountains. As I was starting to feel some relief, the trail now headed east. Crabby, I cussed the trail designer who created a route to the Pacific Ocean that goes east.

At least it was through ancient forests. It took some stress off these old legs bounding down on a blanket of needles, many years old and many inches thick. The canopy blocked a big chunk of the fading light. I had to get down to a creek at the bottom. Not only for water, but also a flat place to camp.

Around 9:00 I found a relatively open space and cleared a spot. I did not feel hungry, but forced myself to eat. Right after brushing my teeth, I went straight to my tent. Once inside and away from the mosquitoes, I thought I would just drop to sleep. Instead, I listened. There was nothing. The soft ground absorbed any sounds that made it through the silent canopy above. Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping when it is so quiet because even the littlest sound from far away is magnified. Fortunately, a bird somewhere started its evening song and that’s all I needed to fall deeply asleep, ending my adventure on Mount PUD.

A Blue Theme

July 3, 2018. Bluesky Trailhead to Bluebird Lake.

I slept great, there was very little new rain, and I was ready to start a new day. After all, today I was going to climb over Mount Wam.

To start my day, I hiked up two different gravel roads. During the almost five miles, I was only passed by Forest Service and Conservation Corps vehicles. All heading up, hopefully to clear trail for me.

Once again, the damp clouds hung low and periodically dropped rain. On trail, the path was slightly overgrown with huckleberries or, alternately, alders, either of which was glad to drop their accumulated rain onto my shoes.

Last night I had camped at 4,500 elevation. I took a slight break at 6,400 feet to get water and prepare for the steep climb up to Mount Wam. Although I have not seen much wildlife, I was able find two different types of bird nests. Both make their nests on the ground and are very good at camouflage.

This nest was from a plover or sandpiper-like bird.

Like any normal person, I wondered where the name Mount Wam came from. I googled it previously to no avail. By no avail, I mean I couldn’t find anything on the first page of search results. I couldn’t recall a famous Wam, surely a memorable name. As I climbed the steep trail to the 7,000 elevation, I imagined the name came from a Batman comic fan who dreamed of a Mt. Blam and Mt. Pow. Or, it was meant to be an acronym such as What A Mountain or Wait A Minute or Wasted All Memory.

All this helped pass the struggle up. At the top, there is a restored fire lookout with stunning views that can be reserved for overnight stays. It is quite a hard reservation to get, apparently. However, as I struggled to see 30 feet into the clouds surrounding me, I felt bad for the person who hiked 5 miles up hill to a reservation in this weather.

On the way down away from the peak, I came across two guys on the trail. They were a little older than me. I asked if they had reservations and, fortunately, they did not, just out for an overnight trip. They were flabbergasted when I told them I had started in Glacier National Park. They were good guys and I was glad to see a couple buddies taking on a tough trail in tough conditions.

The rest of the trail was going to stay above 6,500 feet. The intermittent rain plus increasing snow on the ground plus blowdowns every hundred feet made the second half of the day a real struggle.

The trail is safely protected with snow.

By late afternoon, about 75% of the trail was under snow. The rythmn was:

Step up on to snow bank
Take two steps
Slip if steep
Sink in to knee
Repeat until end
Walk on visible trail for six feet
Start over

By 5:00, I was exhausted. My quads were aching. I could not feel my toes. Rain was intensifying. My original plan was a 23 mile day to set me up for a shorter walk to town the next day. I had to give that up. I was soaked and getting cranky, warning signs.

I made it to Bluebird Lake. A truly beautiful campsite in better weather. A grassy meadow looks over a small crystal lake at the foot of a huge wall spiked with rugged pine trees at the top.

At first I gathered dry firewood with the intent of building a huge fire to dry out. The drizzle, unfortunately, turned to a heavy downpour. I pitched my tent, put all my necessities in it, and then huddled under a big old spruce tree eating my not-fully-hydrated dinner. Still in downpour, I hung up my food bag and splashed in to my tent.

I was very cold and soaked. My down puffy had gotten wet and both my merino wool layers, too. I only had one thin change of dry clothes. I made the change and then struggled for the next 30 minutes to warm up inside my down quilt and stop the shuddering.

In hindsight, I was a dummy for only bringing a wind shirt versus a full-fledged breathable rain jacket. The wind shirt blocks wind and light drizzle, but eventually soaks through in heavy rain. My brilliant plan was to use my umbrella for heavier rains. But I needed both hands free to catch myself on the snow and thus no umbrella. On top of this, the wind shirt traps body perspiration, essentially soaking from within. Lesson learned.

I fell asleep before darkness as the rain turned to drizzle then to nothing. It was a hard fought 18 miles.

Everything Changes

July 4, 2018. Bluebird Lake to Eureka, MT.

I was stuffed up in the morning. I feared a cold. I have not been sick in years, so this was a little concerning. But today was a special day in two ways: it was the Fourth of July and it was a town day!

I knew that I only had one major climb early on and the rest was literally downhill. Although overcast, the air did not feel like rain. I’m not going to lie; putting on sodden socks, wet shoes, and yesterday’s dank hiking clothes was miserable.

About 100 yards from camp, the trail had been cleared of blowdowns. The unmistakable sight and smell of sawdust told the story. Even better, the early climb did produce body heat that dried out my shirt and hoody.

When I reached the apex, I looked east and was delighted to see Glacier’s peaks, even though the tops were cloud covered. Better yet, looking west to my destination I could see clearing skies.

Snow along the ridgeline almost points directly to Glacier’s peaks in the distance.

The trail clearing magic ended the minute I turned at the next junction. Blowdowns, slippery rocks, and copious amounts of stored rain marked the descent. It was an old mining area and there was abandoned, rusted equipment as well as sealed-off shafts.

At the bottom of the hill, the trail merged on to an old mining road. This generally trended down over the next eight miles. It was transformational. First, the skies began to clear. Then, the blowdowns and trail obstacles stopped. Finally, the forest opened up with a high canopy and just grass on the ground, affording glimpses to the valley and reservoir below. Towards the bottom I stopped by a brook to change into my cleanest clothes (a very low bar) and wash up. I was startled by a couple out for a walk. Perhaps they were startled by the odd looking man cleaning himself up in the woods.

If you look closely, you can see a line reflecting the US / Canadian border where the next peace wall will be built, paid for by the Mexican government.

There was a long road walk at the bottom. First among smallish 10 or 20 acre homesteads, later large ranch and haying operations. I scared up a couple bull elk, their antlers just forming, covered in a brown fuzz. Also, a few deer ran away on the open grassland.

This hayfield was so beautiful, climbing up to the forest edge.

I couldn’t zoom in on this deer at the very top of the hill watching me.

My feet had been hurting from constant downhill walking. Now, walking on pavement was making things worse. I reached the highway for the last three miles into town and my motel. At first, there was no shoulder meaning I had to step down and away as cars approached on the two lane highway. Trucks made a special sound as they barreled by.

I walked past a golf course. There were a few stray balls en route and I grabbed a newish one. My back and hip have been sore, so the thought of rolling a golf ball into tight muscles and tendons brought a smile to my face.

At last, I reached my motel in the northern part of Eureka. It was a small town version of a conglomerate: an Exxon station with a Subway restaurant with a motel with a real estate agent. So, while I was paying for my motel room, a chunky tourist was waiting to pay for his pork rinds and 20 gallons of unleaded while in the other line somebody was buying a meatball sub or closing in an escrow. I didn’t care. I walked into my room and turned on the shower. While taking off my shoes, I noticed the left one had a nasty stain. I couldn’t remember what I stepped in. When I took my sock off, I discovered I had bled quite a bit from a cut.

That shower felt so good. I felt like I washed away the cold, the rain, the ash from the burned forest, and the sweat. A burger, some minor medical procedures and this dude was, ironically, a happy camper.

Not the Finest Day

July 2, 2018. Blue Sky Creek junction with Forest Road 114

I woke up feeling pretty good. I packed quickly and noted the weather was slightly more sunny than cloudy. Today would be up along the ridgetops. These kind of hiking days are love / hate. If the weather is clear, they are lovely with views to the horizon. Stormy and you hate almost every minute.

The snow mounds were limited at first. Limited to trees and northern areas. Indeed, the views were pretty good. Once I came to my first ridge, I could see the trail going up the next ridge in the distance.

I could see the trail climbing the mountain ahead.

On a whim, I turned on my phone and got reception. It is very random how connectivity appears on one mountain and not another. I did the only reasonable thing I could and that was check social media.

I started cruising along the ridges. From the footprints, it looked like two people were about three or four days ahead. That was a relief from a route-finding perspective. The snow became almost continuous on the ridge.

After about 30 minutes, the footprints were overlapped by a more recent traveler: a bear. It was cool to see how the bear used the trail, even following on switchbacks. I presumed it was not stalking the others and it did not seem fresh, so I was not worried.

Although the snow melt made it bigger, here is a comparison to my size 13 shoes.

It started drizzling. The views disappeared. I stopped for a snack and had a hail storm roll over. The hail turned to graupel then snow. I entered an area that had burned the prior year. It felt eerie. The ground was charrred and skeletons stood, half burned, large charcoal logs. The white snow contrasting with the black reminder of what must’ve been a hellacious fire

The weather gets bad over the burned out forest.

It was eerie, almost like walking through a graveyard.

I stopped just short of the top of Mt. Locke, 7,200′. The wind really picked up, driving the snow almost horizontally. I made a sarcastic video about the elements and wondering why more people don’t go backpacking. Within 20 seconds of finishing, a massive lightning strike hit nearby. “Holy Mary Mother of Jesus” ( I’m paraphrasing). I knew this was very bad and I had to get down.

I sprinted the 50 feet to the summit, following a clear trail. However, the trail stopped at a sheer dropoff. There were the obvious remains of a former lookout tower, two sheer sides, and the slope I came up. I was stumped and a little panicky. “Where the f*** is the trail?” Please understand that at that moment I am the tallest living thing around and I am carrying two carbon fiber hiking poles in a backpack with small aluminum stays.

I whipped out my map, but it didn’t help. I ran down the trail, resolving to take my chances in the charred landscape I had just come through. However, out of the corner of my left eye, I caught a small flat spot on the blackened ground. I looked and sure enough it was the trail leading away from the top.

My mind kept up the refrain “This isn’t good. I’ve got to get lower.” For my age, I did a pretty good job running down the foot-wide path. However, the trail was only about 30 feet below the descending ridgeline. In short, while I was losing elevation, I was still relatively exposed to the high point. Soon, I saw a sequence of trees along side the trail. I set my sights on the shortest one. First, I stashed my hiking poles. Next, I dumped my backpack. Then, at last, I assumed the position near the short tree. Supposedly, you should squat down as this creates the least amount of body for a lightning bolt to transit. (Not to be cynical, but I did try to imagine how much chipper I might be if lightning only traversed a three foot squatted me versus a six foot standing me.)

Unfortunately, another bolt struck. It was close. Deafening. It made the air smell weird. You know that thing where you are supposed to count “One Mississippi ” to gauge how far away the bolt struck? Well, this was at “O”.

Considering my age, the fact I was squatting, and the proximity of the strike, I was proud that the only thing to come out of me involuntarily were some swear words.

Hoping that the electrical component would move on, I decided to wait 20 minutes. No more lightening occurred and the storm’s fury eased noticeably. I grabbed my poles, backpack, and pep-stepped down the trail, eventually reaching a junction that would pull me off the ridgeline. Ironically, I was now on the Bluesky Trail.

Leaving the stormy ridgeline to join the Bluesky Trail. Note the Pacific Northwest Trail marker below the trail sign melted in the heat of last year’s fire.

The next two hours were spent descending a steep trail in a slow persistent drizzle. I stopped to put on my rain pants and noticed how scarred and blackened my legs were from climbing over charcoaled trees in the burn area. I also realized I had lost my glasses in my panicked run.

After the steep trail and clambering over blow downs, I came to an abandoned road that was now the trail. Oddly, about 5 miles from the parking lot at the start of this trail, I came across an abandoned wheelbarrow.

Pushing a wheelbarrow five miles uphill was a feat of strength and futility for some soul.

Those last miles were wet and slow, but around 6:00 I reached the parking lot, came back up the trail a bit, and set up a soggy campsite in a meadow. Almost 11 hours to cover a lousy 19 miles, but I was glad to be alive.

Going Solo

July 1, 2018. West Glacier, MT.

We were to meet for breakfast. Ing would get on Amtrak back to the twin cities and my Dad would drop me off at the trail. Amtrak notified us of a massive delay (four hours). So we ate breakfast, then Dad & Ingrid took me to the trail.

We said goodbye on a Forest Service road. I was glad Grandpa and Ing got some bonus time together, but a little sad to be on my own.

Again, the clouds hung low as I walked for a few hours on a gravel road. The mosquitoes were fast. Usually I can out-walk them, but these guys ingeniously drafted me and got the back of my legs pretty good. Eventually, it started drizzling so the little buggers disappeared and I popped open my umbrella.

Amazingly, I saw another backpacker. I caught up to her. Originally from Israel, she has lived several places and hiked some long trails, like the Colorado Trail, which overlaps part of the CDT.

The road eventually turned into an abandoned forest service road. I saw my first official PNT trail marker. Alders and huckleberries grew in from the sides. It was a great way to use an old road. The Forest Service cant afford to maintain all their roads. I read somewhere they were the equivalent of the largest construction in the world.

While this trail was good for me, it was also a highway for bears. Indeed, on one section it seemed like a rest area. Needless to say, there was a lot of “Hey bears” from me along the narrow parts.

It switched to a real trail as I got higher. I stopped at the transition point. Two guys and a pack mule came by, said Hi and went on another trail. A real good cowboy chat that was.

Alders pushed in from the sides as the abandoned road turned to trail.

I descended the narrow trail across and down a steep slope. At the road at the bottom, I still felt strong so I went past the Red Meadow camp and pushed on.

Looking across the valley before Red Meadow

Looking down the valley before Red Meadow Camp

I missed my last creek water supply and settled for a snow melt pond just before I went on a trail again. I immediately encountered snow patches on the trail. Snow patches are a big hassle. You step up on them and, depending on the temperature and consistency, walk across, slide, or sink in to a deep hole. In short, it is slow.

Knowing the trail would soon climb a ridgeline and stay there, I found a flat, snowfree place to camp. I built a little fire to take the damp off the 20 mile day and went to sleep early.

Out the Other Side

June 30, 2018

We were ready on time. There is a rhythm to breaking camp in the morning. Even after just a few days, it becomes comforting. Also, I noticed the lightness from having consumed three days worth of food.

Today we would climb 900 feet through Brown Pass and then descend over 2,000 feet, ending with a six mile hike alongside Bowman Lake. I was leery of another icy pass, but it turned out to be snow free. Before dropping over, we took one last look east into Glacier.

The steep descent was made more challenging by fallen trees across the trail, a reminder of how severe the weather can get over the winter. Ingrid was a natural for choosing from a) under b) over or c) around.

Eventually, we heard chainsaws. Then, we saw the crew. They were working on a huge 3 tree collapse across the trail. I sent Ing down and around to get the chainsaw worker’s attention. Never, ever surprise someone operating a chainsaw.

I took the high route above where a massive tree’s roots had been pulled from the ground. It was about 8 feet of loose rock sharply down to the trail. I took two steps, then both my feet flew out and I landed flat on my backpack on the trail right in front of the trail crew supervisor. He complemented me on my grand entrance.

It drizzled off and on as the gray clouds clung to the mountainsides. We were making good time. In reality, I could not keep up with Ingrid. I think she felt sorry for me and every 30 minutes would stop and wait for me, ostensibly to check the map on my phone.

We had made plans to meet my Dad at the campground at the foot of Bowman Lake. That, combined with the prospect of cooked food, a shower, and a bed was exceedingly motivational. Almost exactly on time, we found him and he was happy to see his granddaughter.

After a snack, we headed first to Polebridge Mercantile for some baked goods and then on to West Glacier for dinner and a motel near the Amtrak stop.

For me, this his has been an incredible trip. Usually, I schlump along and take photos to communicate to others what I saw. However, on this trip I was able to share the experience with my daughter. I hope she enjoyed it enough that one day she will take her son or daughter to watch waterfalls and mountain lakes. Plus, being able to end the trip meeting up with my Dad, who tried to instill an appreciation of nature in me, was an extra blessing.

Stoney Indian Pass

June 28, 2018

(Apologies but my blog vendor, WordPress, has deployed a brilliant business strategy of preventing customers from loading photos remotely. I’ll try to keep Instagram updated with photos. )

The wind at Coseley Lake died down during the night, offering a gorgeous mountain-reflected-in-the-lake view.

We broke camp and started what we knew was going to be a tough day: about 2,200 feet over Stoney Indian Pass.

At first, the trail climbed gently with a lush understory. The weather turned a little overcast, but that actually makes for good hiking. We ran in to a trail crew that had been doing trail maintenance. This was welcome news. Over winter, trees get blown down or avalanches and landslides knock trees across the trail. They are a pain to get around. Thus, we were fortunate to have them clear our way.

We started gaining elevation and encountering waterfalls. Above one we could look down and across the stream and see a huge reddish brown grizzly grazing.

At a higher level, we climbed into a bowl shaped area that had twin waterfalls feeding a crystalline pond.

Climbing still further, the temperature dropped and blotches of snow appeared. We climbed past still another waterfall and just above it we had to cross the ice fed stream. I hike in mesh trail runners and keep them on for stream crossings. Plus, I use a hiking pole to cross facing upstream so I am basically moving a triangle across. I sure as hell don’t link arms. Ingrid wanted to keep her boots and shoes dry and cross barefoot. Reluctantly, I let her do that. I remembeted that Q-tip did that on the CDT. Knowing that in such cold water your feet hurt after 7 seconds and start numbing after 10, I crossed right behind her, downstream. There were definitely some nervous Dad moments as I watched her struggle the last few feet as her feet (and mine) grew numb and had trouble finding the next step with the waterfall only about 20 feet downstream.

We were now entering areas where the snow fields covered almost one third of the trail. It started drizzling and we donned rain gear. Finally, after a rigorous set of switchbacks and a good sized snow field, we reached Stoney Indian Pass.

The views were amazing. As the clouds thickened, they began enveloping the uppermost peaks. The rest of what was visible was gray stone with snow accents. Several hundred feet down from us was Stoney Indian Lake. Clear parts were blue, but a portion was covered with ice and obvious avalanche debris. This was going to be a steep descent on a north-facing wall. Rhonda and David had given us some tobacco and explained a humble ceremony which Ingrid and I performed.

As we started going down, I insisted Ingrid take my ice axe. I broke out my hiking poles. At the top, almost the entire trail was under a steep snow bank. We could barely discern the trail, cobbling together melted snippets and the vague footprints of a couple people who went before us a day or so earlier.

More unnerving than the waterfall, I was seriously concerned about Ingrid slipping and sliding down hill into a tree or rock. So, we eventually came up with a plan to bushwhack our way through the areas barren of snow and intercept the trail further down. After a nerve wracking hour, we eventually found a flatter portion of the trail. About 50 feet before reaching the lake, we did our best shoe skiing down the last slope which was fun and a release from the tension.

After the lake, we crashed down several hundred feet and a good six miles to Kootenai campsite. We were both tired. We opted for an early dinner. Even though campfires were permitted at this site, we both chose to just go to bed. For those of you who know I am a bit of an insomniac, seeing me go to bed by 8:30 would shock you.

Beside a lake with a gentle breeze and a thick, lush forest behind, it was no surprise I fell into a deep sleep right away. Until the sticks started breaking somewhere in the woods.

Day One

June 27, 2018

{NOTE My blog vendor, WordPress, is not allowing me to load photos remotely. I will try Instagram as a way to provide visual interest to the dry, crusty written word in my blog. Will add photos here later. Sorry.}

Yesterday, we made it to Many Glacier ranger station. We hoped to get a permit that matched the online reservation we made months ago. The challenge was that we requested a route over two passes and this was a heavy snow year. The ranger was hesitant to give us our route. However, we finally won her over with our microspikes, ice axes, and experience, plus a full-on charm offensive. I’m sure it was the microspikes.

We had to watch the bear video that also covers other hazards. The Park Service recommends that people ford rivers by linking arms and walking perpendicular to the current. Admittedly I am an amateur, but this seems absolutely daft. First, if the current is strong enough to knock one over, wouldn’t the rest fall like dominoes? Second, if my arms were linked to yours and I fell in, no matter how much I loved you, my fingernails would be two inches deep in your flesh, sealing your fate to mine.

Anyway, they gave us a permit for a route which they said was “not recommended.” I was very tempted to ask whether the ever recommended routes they did not permit.

We were able to check in to our motel early, drop our packs, and take a 10 mile hike. We took a popular out-and-back trip to Iceberg Lake. All shapes and ages and sizes were on the trail, almost all happy. Except for the parents of young kids who were stomping down the trail grumpy with grumpy kids.

As billed, Iceberg Lake had an iceberg. Also, there was that guy. You know, the one who understands that the park rules and several signs saying No Dogs applies to everyone else, not him.

The next day we were picked up by the shuttle taxi. It was very interesting to meet David and Rhonda. They live on the Blackfeet Reservation. They started the shuttle service to transport folks around the Glacier area. In addition to educating us about their culture, challenges on the Reservation, and their business. I was most impressed with how they have adopted four children in their community from parents unable to properly care due to drug or alcohol problems. I felt small next to them. They know full well that each of these kids are prone to the same problems as their birth parents, but Rhonda and David opened their hearts and home to give hope.

Around 11:00 we reached the Canadian border at Chief Mountain. We took the obligatory border photo and then started hiking.

The meadows were full of flowers and the forest was a lush green. We spent the first hour descending to the Belly River. Once there, we encountered several hikers and enjoyed the snow capped peaks. Just before we broke off the main trail we ran into the ranger who issued us our permit. She was hiking off-duty and was helping an on-duty ranger with an injured hiker. She checked our permit. Thorough.

We climbed up out of the valley and reached our destination after eight miles. It was Coseley Lake. As the park name suggests, most lakes here are long and narrow since they fill glacier carved valleys. About 150 feet across from our campsite rose a massive stone mountain. Behind behind us, another. While beautiful, the effect was a bit of a wind tunnel.

To manage bear vs backpacker issues, you must camp in designated campsites and each site has a separate food preparation and storage area. During dinner we met a young couple from Missouri on their second backpacking trip and a local, experienced mother-daughter team. It was great dinner conversation but we turned in early.

All in all, a great first day. Ingrid was a natural at finding the right route. The weather was perfect. A good start.