Road Trip Series, Chapter 5.1

September 7, Day 17. I haven’t written the past two nights, so I’ll try to recall the past days’ adventures in this entry, including today’s.

So. Wow. Where to begin? This place has the most amazing landscapes I’ve yet seen. Every time I get a glimpse of one of Glacier’s magnificent views, all I can think of are questions exclaimed in disbelief—either what?! Are you kidding me?? Or, how??

My mind blanks, my eyes widen, jaw drops; and I stop, stunned, exultant.

September 5-7, Days 15-17

Glacier National Park, MT

First Day here in Glacier, September 5. I drove along Going-to-the-Sun Road, a 50-mile road that runs across the park, crossing the Continental Divide. I drove through about half of it, at least. More than half of the west part of the road, and almost the whole west half of Glacier national park was closed because of some fire in the Lake McDonald area. I was really excited to drive this road because they say it’s one of the most scenic roads here in the US. But of course, the unexpected happened and I only got to drive about less than half of it, and going from an east-to-west route rather than the planned and typical west-to-east. Plans almost always don’t go as planned. Still, even with all those sections closed, I had a perfect day.

I got here early and set up camp. Then went on to the visitor center to ask for maps and ask rangers about general conditions/restrictions in the park. Then I was set for the scenic drive. Only thing left to do was to press play on my awesome playlist, then drive off. But I was compelled to step out of my car again so I could clean the windshield a bit more—for a better viewing experience, of course. Coming from the east, I drove all the way up to Logan Pass which was the western most point open to visitors at the time. Throughout the drive (throughout almost all the drives here, really), you are surrounded by just sheer beauty: Towering peaks surrounded by serene lakes and wide-open prairies. When I got to the Logan Pass Visitor Center, I waited for about half an hour driving around the parking lot, looking for a spot. It was a busy day. But all the wait was worth it. I hiked up to Hidden Lake overlook which was about 3 miles roundtrip (and later when I got back I would find out that you could actually hike all the way down to the lake itself. Damn.). The trail was amazing, and I got to see mountain goats! They were eating plants beside the trail. Also got to see a big horn sheep, resting in the distance.

When I got to the overlook, I just stopped and tried to take everything in; I sat on a rock ledge along the trail, overlooking the shimmering blue lake. The color of the lake reminded me of the pastel-blue color of Crater Lake that one morning; it was cool to the eye. The weather was sunny with scattered clouds; the temperature, just right. Surrounding me are giants of a different scale—mountains, ancient and still. To the front of me, across the lake, are peaks covered in patches of snow; they span most of my view. To the left of me are mountains carpeted in evergreens; and to my far left and behind me are bare, towering rocks, showing off their layered sediments, a reminder of their seniority in these lands. I hear the subtle passing of winds, the occasional calls of birds, and the sounds of small critters like the clacking of grasshoppers. Everything is just perfect.

I found myself thinking about the texture of our world—a thought to ponder that has never left me since reading it from a book. The texture of our world isn’t as round and smooth as I’ve always pictured a model Earth would be in my head. But it is rough and bumpy with mountains, spiky with trees, tickly with grass, smooth with ice and silky with water. Imagine your hand, scaled to a cosmic size, and run it through the surface of the Earth; maybe that’s what you’ll feel.

After Hidden Lake, I walked part of the Highline trail, went to Sun Point—which had amazing views—then went back to camp.

Second Day at Glacier, September 6. The night prior, maybe close to or past midnight, I was half-awakened to the sounds of something brushing against my tent. I raised my heavy head from my sleeping bag, trying to gather my senses from slumber. What could that be? I stayed still, head propped up, suspended in the pale filtered moonlight inside the tent, partially panicked, partially indifferent. I can make out from my half-opened eyes some passing of a shadow; this thing was circling my tent! I’m sure now it’s a bear. I felt around for my bear spray, armed myself to attack, and faced the door of my tent. Would it even bother going through the door? Nothing moved for a minute or more. I went back to sleep.

Woke up in the morning with my limbs intact. I was alive. Thank God. I got up early to snag a spot in the Many Glacier campground. The drive going there was unexpectedly stunning. I managed to be one of the last three to get a campsite. I guess my luck’s not always against me after all. Today was the day I decided—after much pondering whether I should still do it because it was late, it’s a long hike, and there were grizzly bears in the area—to hike up to Grinnell Glacier. I just had to do it. I had to see one of the last remaining glaciers in the park (about 25 more remaining compared to about 150 when the park was established in 1910; they are predicting that by 2030, all the glaciers here will be gone).

I started the trail around 11:00am. The parking lot for the trailhead was full but it was quiet. Almost everyone who planned to do this hike started early. Because of the fire in the west, bears have been moving to the east side and were seen frequenting an area of this trail; they closed that section of trail, and are directing hikers to bypass it using a longer route. So I stood there at the trailhead, looking at the map, still a bit hesitant. I looked around; nobody else seemed to be heading this way. I went in the trail on my own. After about 2 minutes of walking the trail, there it was—bear scat! A pile of bear poop in the middle of the trail. I took out my bear spray and walked on. After a few minutes, to my delight, there was a couple coming up from behind me, doing the trail too. I let them pass and discreetly tried to follow them from behind. They looked like they were veterans on hiking thru bear country. I acknowledge and accept that this was very unmanly, but it would have been more of a shame if I didn’t get to finish the trail because I got eaten by a grizzly. I lost them after a few minutes. They took a different route and I was on my own again. And what a bad time it was to be alone.

I got to a junction and was unsure which path to take. I couldn’t identify the junction on the map. Standing there, deciding which path to take, I could see that both trails were littered with bear poop. I stood there, looking around, hoping for somebody, anybody, to pass by. None. I couldn’t see or hear anyone. I was still in the woods and lining the trails were tall bushes and plants, making it hard for me to see if there were any impending danger lurking where I would be passing. Slightly panicked, I took my best guess and headed right. I walked fast and made noise to let the bears know I was there so as not to startle them. I knew I was supposed to follow the trail along the north shore of the lake, but I couldn’t even see the lake. I kept on walking; kept on seeing bear poop. Walked more, and yet even more bear poop. You knew it was fresh because it smelled. By this point, I was certain they were there, lurking behind the bushes. I stopped, hesitant, and reconsidered my steps. Should I continue along this trail? I couldn’t see the end of it and couldn’t see or hear anybody. Or should I turn around and consider the other trail at the junction? It was quite a long way back by this point. I turned back. And was relieved when I encountered the couple again. OK, let’s be honest here, I wasn’t just relieved; I was thankfully, profoundly relieved when I saw them. I asked whether they knew which way was to Grinnell Glacier, trying not to let them hear the great relief in my voice. They did. Turns out I did manage to pick the right path. We again split up at another junction. They headed to Grinnell Lake and I started my ascent up Mt Grinnell.

The hardest, or should I say the scariest part of the trail—passing through grizzly country—was over, and by this point there were already more people on the trail. Apparently, I caught up with them. The hike up to the glacier was tiring, ascending steeply approximately 1,600 ft. (490m.) The remainder of the trail didn’t have much shade; the sun was beating down on us. All of that was worth it. After switching to low gear and climbing up the last steep ascent, I made it.

I stared with disbelief and had the biggest grin on my face. I wasn’t prepared for the beauty that lay before me. To the front of me, on the left side, was Grinnell glacier (only a small part of what it once was, but still magnificent). In front of me, higher up in the mountain and nestled in a shelf, was Salamander glacier, bearing down its melted parts over the rocky ledge as a thin, steady flowing waterfall. Both glaciers contributing to a turquoise blue gem of a lake which now lay in front of me, shimmering in the afternoon light. Its cool, calm demeanor resisted the sun’s heat. Chunks of ice, big and small, floated on its surface like islands on a calm sea. I walked to the shore and touched the waters; it was cold. The air, refreshing. From time to time you can hear the rumble of the glaciers, restless from the afternoon heat, as if wanting to break away. But they don’t. I was completely blown away by this scenery. I stayed there a little over an hour, just enjoying my time.

I bid my farewell to the waters of the lake, the glaciers, rocky shores, and started my long way back. The hike was a total of over 13 miles (21km.) round trip with an elevation gain of 1,600 ft. and took me about 7.5 hours total. Got back to camp around 6:30pm, rested my tired but happy feet, had dinner, shower, and a good night’s sleep.