Pacific Northwest Trail – Page 3 – backpacking over the hill

My Worst Day

July 14, 2018 From Pyramid Lake to stealth camp on Lion Creek.

I woke up way early and forced myself to stay still for a bit. I knew the family wouldn’t be up. I snuck out to get a sunrise pic of the lake and grab my food hang.

Another sunny day. It would start with a climb to two nearby lakes. From there it would be bushwhacking. In case you are wondering, bushwhacking means taking a course between two points with no established trail. As the name implies, you must go through bushes, downed trees, bogs, etc to achieve your goal. Without these obstacles it would be walking or traipsing or strolling or perambulating or something.

The first lake (Upper Ball) was beautiful and I regret not having the daylight or energy to get there the previous day. The second lake (Lower Ball) had families with barking dogs.

I scaled a hill and the first part of the bushwhack began: cross a mountainside. It was a little steep, but manageable. Until the rock slides. Then, I had to edge my way uphill to get above the steep area with no apparent footholds. This happened a second time as well. Falling here would be unpleasant, to say the least.

The only consolation was that some of the rocks at the ending ridgeline appeared to have fossils. It reminded me of Sandia Crest near Albuquerque where I found fossils at 6,500 feet elevation. This old earth sure moves around.

The rock on the left had formations that looked like fossilized sea anemones.

The next installment was to go down a heavily vegetated hillside, veering west slightly to end up in a particular canyon.

At first there was a trail, but after about 100 yards it disappeared. Most of the bushes are alders ( I believe). They grow about 4 to 8 foot branches. The devilish part is they grow in the same manner as crabgrass: the branches shoot out, then up. So, they end up interweaving their branches. This makes for tough hiking.

Downhill, I eventually made my way to the right location. Allegedly, there was an old faint trail. While this was true at times, other times it wasn’t. In fact, the further down Lion Creek I got, the more frequently the “faint” trail disappeared.

The main point is that it is slow and difficult to push your way through shrubs and step over downed trees on a hot day. I reached a point where the guidebook and GPS map said I should be connecting with a real road, but that was simply untrue.

I eventually stumbled out of the woods sweat-soaked, bleeding from lacerated arms and legs and in a foul mood and odor. Immediately I met a family pulling a wheeled igloo cooler in swimsuits. We both looked at each other like WTH?

After several more people passed me in flip flops and swimsuits, I asked a couple what the attraction was. Apparently there is a natural waterslide famous with the locals. This trail eventually turned to a road, but before it did there were several cool streams that provided needed refreshment.

Exhausted, beat up and late in the day, I weighed my options. The official trail climbed a mountain to a….Lookout! And then climbed down to meet the gravel forest road I was now on. Hmmm.

So I stayed on the current forest road, listening to an audiobook. One kind couple stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride. Tempting as it was, I demurred. Near the bottom where the stream I had been following almost all day (Lion Creek) was going to feed into Upper Priest Lake, I found a stealth camp away from the road but near the creek.

I ate dinner and then washed my wounds in the cool creek water. It reminded me of why I always filter water.

* * *

P.S. an obvious question is why don’t I wear pants. The answer is that pants, on me, get sweaty and thus tug and bunch and chafe. None of us are here for an anatomy lesson, but suffice it to say I chose the coolness and flexibility of shorts even if it means scratches.

Rebound to a Good Day

July 15th, 2018. From stealth camp on Lion Creek to Mankato Mountain.

It was warm to start. Normally, camping by a creek can lead to waking up with a damp temp as cold wet air sinks. Not this morning. It was going to be warm.

I cruised past all the RVs and boats and jet skis and ATVs at the campground. When I get home, u want to add up how much America spends on all of these and I will bet it probably ranks in the GDP equivalent of some European countries.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to be self righteous and insist my way of enjoying the outdoors is best or right. Instead, I am concerned that people take so many mechanical distractions with them to the wilderness.

Off of my soap box, I traveled past Upper Priest Lake and some great campsites. Then, without warning, I entered an area that was epic. Recently society has screwed up the word epic by applying it to common things. Thus we lose the true impact of epic when used appropriately.

I entered a land of giants. Cedars. Trunks 12 or 20 feet in circumference. Crowns reaching hundreds of feet high. Walking on a forest floor of decades of fallen needles and cones. A smooth green shag carpet of ferns wherever a ray of sunlight would penetrate. No wind. Once in awhile a whitetail. This went on for several miles. I’ve been to the Sequoias and redwoods, but this was so unexpected and vast that I have to call it epic.

But then hot road walking kicked in. Eventually it switched to trail. Finally, it switched to uphill forested trail.

I climbed up along Jackson Creek. I was very thankful for the tree cover because it was hot. The guidebook suggested collecting a lot of water at the bottom. I did and was lugging five liters which is 10 lbs.

Surprisingly, the mosquitoes were horrendous. At least 20 or 30 around me at all times. I used DEET 100. Some people hate it and I may end with numerous tumors and lesions, but by God did I get relief from the little bastards. Except, of course, when it dropped in my eye along with sweat which is a feeling comparable to someone grinding lemon juice with tobasco into you cornea.

Except for the mosquitoes and passing dozens of streams with plentiful water, I felt good and trudged my way up. I entered a burn area with fantastic views. I had my eye on a saddle between peaks that was level and I could have sunset and sunrise views.

Finally, as I approached, I saw tents. There were three ladies camping there, enjoying their dinner and my view. We chatted a bit, but I pushed off, hoping that the saddle in a half mile would offer similar views.

Upon arrival, I found the Washington Trail Association trail crew. This was great because these were the heroes cutting up blowdowns and making the trail clear. Selfishly, it sucked because the next flat area on my map was a half hour away and it was getting dark.

Out of the blue, I spied a little flat area about 50 feet downhill from the trail. I was able to scratch out an area big enough for my tent. As is my custom, I sent out a satellite note to my family identifying my stopping point. I was surprised to see I was on the slopes of Mount Mankato. In Minnesota, Mankato is a sleepy college town on flat land, so I have no idea how this mountain got named.

Just glad to be laying down, I watched as darkness enveloped the valleys below while the relentless mosquitoes still tried to get in my tent.

A (Not So) Brief Recap of Bonners Ferry

July 12, 2018. Zero Day in Bonners Ferry.

If you have been reading this blog for some time then there are two things: you need to get better reading material and you know I love to hate bad signs. You’ll have to resolve the first thing and I’m not sure where the latter comes from. It could be EOGOG (Early Onset Grumpy Old Guy), but is it really all that much to ask that people who make big, permanent, useful signs take maybe just a second to double check their work?

With that set-up you know exactly what I had to accomplish today: where the hell did the apostrophe go? Edwin Bonner from Walla Walla, Washington ( a town they loved so much they named it twice) had one of the few official licenses to ferry people across the Kootenai River. So, why was it not Bonner’s Ferry?

Until the historical society opened, I first mailed home some extra gear, bought mosquito repellent, and then went to the library to catch up on blog posts, perform some financial stuff, and research the town I was in. I must say librarians, contrary to stereotypes, are generally friendly and extremely helpful.

In case you forgot or are hamstrung by youth, the Ruby Ridge incident occurred here in 1992. Oddly, it happened on Caribou Ridge. Long story short, federal law enforcement agencies had a shoot-out, then a siege, with a reclusive family. The man at the center lost his wife (sniper shot) and son and dog. A US Marshal died as well.

At the time, my simple mind encapsulated it as nut job shoot out with trigger happy feds. More nuanced than that, in the beneficial light of hindsight, it really was a tragedy. Weaver really should’ve just gone with the flow and appeared in court and not escalated things. The feds really made a mountain out of a molehill and got way too aggressive. In short, it was a bunch of guys who wouldn’t back down or compromise.

Back to the hot topic of the day, I noted the time and went to the Historical Society for Boundary County. When I walked in, a bearded fellow who must clearly perform some Santa Claus work in season, put down his browned historical newspaper and greeted me. I explained I am hiking the PNT and like to learn about the towns I visit and asked if he could give me an overview of the museum.

Immediately, I got the sense they tend to get one type of visitor. His smooth opening line explained there was a $2.00 admission fee and the bathrooms were down the hall.

Having cleared that up, he overviewed the following areas / collections

Railroad
Mining
Farming (early, 1930s, today)
Chinese workers
Women’s roles through time
Wooden clock collection
portrait gallery
Saloon
First Doctor
Native Kootenai history
Gun collection

And a whole lot else that I didn’t catch. Fearful he might grab me by the elbow and show me all of it, I broke off to the railroad & farming.

Wouldn’t you know it, one of the first exhibits about farming was a large display contrasting early versus current farming.

I patiently extracted my $2.00 worth of value. They truly had tons of stuff. I’m not sure many people died in Boundary County without naming the historical society as a beneficiary. Indeed, there was a collection of about 30 large wooden clocks. They were all elaborate scroll cut pieces with a generic clock put in it. Clearly these were kits. The blessed retiree obviously spent 1,000s of hours on his hobby. However, I’m sure his long-suffering wife must’ve pleaded like crazy to be sure the entire collection was donated to the historical society to get it out of the house.

The portrait gallery was surprisingly large if not awfully good. One early hero was painted with quite a fetching style.

There was one truly remarkable exhibit. An albino woodland caribou. Native Americans killed it in the late 1800s and a local saloon owner obtained it and made it his mascot.

At last, I returned to the front. I said “I am not an English teacher, but I cannot find an answer to why Bonners Ferry doesn’t have an apostrophe?” He sighed, looked down at the old newspaper and said “For a long time we tried to correct it, but it just became customary to use Bonners.”

I grumbled my way back to the motel. Letting the matter go was cathartic. After all, we have a grocery store back home established by Russell Lund and it is not called Lund’s, just Lunds. I was hungry and just wished this town had a McDonald’s.

On the walk back I noticed a few pickup trucks with Confederate and US flags flying. The ignorant, hopeful part of me tipped my hat to these scholars who were passionate about state’s rights, but the realistic me accepted I was in the heart of Aryan Nation country.

Leaving Bonners Ferry, I was brooding. It is a beautiful town in a sumptuous valley where the untamed Kootenai River created a fertile flood plain. When the river was dammed, the land could be farmed. Mining and lumber come and go. It would be stunning to have a house on one of the local ridges, catching both sunrise and sunset, witnessing the first snowfall on the all-surrounding mountains or the bright yellow canola crops in the summer. However, like many smaller towns, meth is a problem and there is the white supremacists stigma. However, every worker I met from motel owner to the restaurant employees to librarians were all hard working and considerate. Like Montana, people here look you right in the eye. I like that.

In summary, I am glad I spent a whole day in town. A roadtrip here could be in my future. Maybe I’ll get a modified camper van and call it Kevins Van.

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.