CDT: Day 9, Two Medicine to East Glacier, 11 miles (GNP)

I wake again at dawn to Andrea’s frantic pounding. I used her exact tent on both the PCT and Te Araroa and also had trouble keeping it upright in wind. I must say the ‘alicoop 2’ is a dream in wind, not moving an inch.

A few hikers arrived around midnight and kept chatting with their light on my tent. It was in low tones, but I’m ready for some quiet. Maybe I’ll find it in East Glacier?

This section ends today and I head to “The Bob” tomorrow. Of course unless today wipes me out. The Bob Marshall Wilderness is remote and wild and I need to feel confident and strong.

I’m well this morning, packing up then taking breakfast to a bench at the lake. There’s no water for many miles after the top of Signal Mountain, so I want to carry two full liters up with me.

It’s overcast and cool as I walk through the campground towards the trailhead. A father and son are just ahead of me, yelling out, “Hey bear!” as they ascend. We’re out of the trees quickly and into a barren and rocky section where Bristlecone pines and their long dead shells hang on in twisted and gnarled poses. It adds to the lonely mood, but I am not alone as young Brent comes up behind me – another hiker who prefers morning.

I was warned about the long and frequent switchbacks, the number 16 thrown around – also that there’s a heat advisory for the entire day. It’s still cool now, and these switchbacks are long, crawling slowly up on the side of the mountain. I’m breathing hard, but feel good. Wildflowers cling to the rocky path.

I count 19 switchbacks before crossing a kind of hump that shoots me straight out on a balcony walk looking back into the huge mountains. Ahead is a bit of uplift in a sharp point with a sign pointing towards a ‘scenic view.’

I debate about going and decide I must and so glad I did because the view is stunning of the park and reservoir. I have to watch my step as it’s a cliff and the wind is howling. Finally, I think to myself, some cool air! The dad takes my picture and they both wish me luck before they head out of the cold. I call Richard because I have service at last.

It’s steep down on ball bearing rocks. The sun streams in like a Christian conversion painting over the prairie and I see East Glacier in the distance.

I descend to a river, then straight back up steeply to an open meadow. It’s here that the clouds burn off and the sun comes out, hot and enervating, the air suddenly humid. I’m grateful I didn’t climb Signal Mountain in this heat.

The rest of the walk takes me on a forest road, rutted and puddly, through quaking Aspen. A bull frog leaps out if my way swimming quickly into shade where he hangs, suspended in mid-kick.

I pass a farmhouse and a vacation house, two boys near a golf course point me in the direction of the Post Office. They tell me to take the ‘concrete road’ to the railroad tunnel, then hang a left. It’s beastly hot but I’m ok trudging along.

Just as I reach the road, a man walks by carrying a pile of books. I ask if he’s a teacher and he says no, just creating a library. Then he asks if I have tarptent, and i sah no, just loving the cap. Greg is his name and I wonder how he knows do much about niche teng companies. Turns out, he hiked most of the California section of the PCT. We get to chatting and soon to my inviting myself to rent a room in his family’s house. T

his is just what I dreamed of on trail – a change from trail talk, an interesting person and somewhere quiet to catch up on work. First, I need to walk to town to send home by microspikes and warm clothes, then pick up my resupply box of food at Brownie’s Hostel.

I meet all sorts of people in town – Misty a native woman at the post who tells me about her dogs. and shows me scratches on her forearms. A man touring on his motorcycle all the way from North Carolina. A mother and daughter curious about my tinted sunscreen, and lots and lots of thru-hikers wishing they had some of my sunscreen.

At Brownies, I work out giving up space in my room to Andrea, Kimmy and Scotty – making Greg taking me in a kind of trail angeling once removed. It’s hot and so I stick out my thumb for a ride from two Chinese tourists who chat about the heat as I squish on top of mu backpack, the seatbelt warning sound going full blast.

Greg is sitting on his porch reading and zapping mosquitos with his ‘Executioner’ racket. It’s a grotesque pop when a mosquito hits the electrified strings, but it’s quick and satisfying.

I write and record through the afternoon, wash clothes and myself and then we make a feast. I’m up way too late, but love how this all worked out. The Bob is long, so Greg offers to let me slackpack and meet me later in the day at the campground 15 miles away.

I am so lucky and so grateful.