What a glorious and unexpected gift to spend the night at Greg’s. He gave me the ‘master suite’ with my own bathroom and I slept deeply, popping awake at the appointed time before dawn to pack and go with only the essentials needed for the day.
I had a bit of trouble orienting myself at first to find the exit, a road leading to a gravel road then a dirt track and finally a trail through thick foliage. The air is still cool and the sun has yet to hit me, but it’s buggy, mosquitos in a fog about my face and arms.
I put on my bug net, then a hat and finally the full kit pulling my hood over my head and putting on gloves. I keep from burning, that’s for sure, but it’s muggy and plants push into the trail, most taller than my head.
I yell out for bears and my voice echoes. There are peaks above me as I am still walking in Glacier National Park, but I never come close to them, rather I work my way up and down, over stream beds and around folds in the land. It’s a jungle as the trail disappears under the plants. It’s not like I ever lose it, just that I can’t see if a rock or hole lurks beneath.
So I am very careful where I step.
Two large streams converge, crashing through the brush and trees. I am in forest, but it never really feels shady. Lupine and mountain paintbrush line my walk. St. John’s Wort and yellow daisies smile in the heat.
Two backpackers approach as I pass the sign for Ole Lake. They’re sweaty too and take the turn. The trail they just left improves to plants only at knee high. I walk faster.
Greg gave me a couple of sodas and I need to stop often to drink and rest. It’s much harder to get down and especially back up. I don’t know if I’m swollen from walking or the surgeries. Probably both. I lumber on and on after a pause, finding this patch of forest relentless in its sameness.
Two hikers approach. running. It’s Austin and Andrea slackpacking from the other side. They tell me all of our group was dropped off and is walking this way. Andrea mentions my big hill coming this way and I’m not sure I remember any specific hill.
I wish them luck then see the others, Oceana suggesting a good first day’s walk tomorrow. We’ll enter “The Bob,” notorious for blowdowns. Apparently they’re worse closer to the start, just when my pack will be at its heaviest.
I’m game to try for that spot, though there is plenty of water en route and hopefully plenty of flat spots. Kimmie and Scotty take a different approach. In it for ‘the long haul,’ they’re moving slowly to preserve their bodies which really hurt right now.
I am tired too and wonder how I’ll manage this remote section with a long food carry. It’s such a challenge to manage the long hours on the feet, the distance and how that affects us physically, as well as the mental challenge, especially when our minds scream stop.
And this spot is not particularly lovely or inviting as the water is tricky to access for wading, the sun is intense and the bugs are ever present.
I see a sign ahead which should be for my final turn off. I haven’t paid precise attention to my distance, so I decide if it’s still five miles, I’m going to need to have a real conversation with myself.
It’s .9
I come to Marias Pass, important to the Blackfeet as well as the Great Northern Railroad, which sent a scout to search for it in the middle of winter. The reason being it’s the shortest link from Minneapolis to the Pacific.
I think of something Greg said, that a lot of Minnesotans end up here because the railroad brought them, they fell in love with the land a the locals, and stayed.
I linger at the sign designating the Continental Divide at 521 feet (someone crossed out a zero) A BMSF locomotive dragging a load of cars is moving towards me slowly and I realize I’ll probably have to wait or end up being a statistic.
The conductor yells out asking if I need to pass.
“Yes, I do!”
“I’ll wait.” he tells me, holding the line for this lone slackpacker to stumble across.
“Thanks!” I yell over the din with a wave, to which he toots twice.
At the parking lot I read about the stunning rock I’ve walked under all day. It’s called the Lewis Overthrust Fault and is made up of precambrian age sendiments a mile thick thrust up above newer rock, all metamorphosed from ancient seabeds. The argalite up there is 14 billion years old!
Another sign honors George Grinnell who drew attention to this remote corner of Northeast Montana where “lies an area of unparralleled scenic beauty.” That would be Glacier which became our seventh national park in 1890.
Funny how we assume these wild lands have always been with us, but it takes an advocate to preserve them for future generations, so we can have the pleasure of scenery, but also birdsong, wildflowers and, yep, insects. I hate ‘em but the ecology needs ‘em.
I want to eat my lunch and realize I packed my spoon with the gear I left with Greg. So I approach a truck towing an RV and a cute woman in a red mini skirt pops out laughing, “You need a fork to eat your hiker food!”
She disappears in the back and reappears with a beer – and a fork. She and her husband are former ski bums who spend every weekend biking and hiking with their dogs. We chat about Montana politics and where to live in the state before she piles me up with more food.
“Do you need anything else?”
“How about a ride to Mexico?”
At the campground, I meet Evie the camp host who invites me to set in her area. Within minutes Greg and his Aunt Mary arrive with my gear and I’m able to offer them some of my booty – Milano cookies and spicy peanuts.
An older hiker named John arrives and I realize they’ve met when Greg shuttled him to the border. Mary is a social worker and John a counselor, so they chat while we share a few more cold beers Greg packed, plus the lunch I can now eat with a plastic fork.
They tell me to call if I need anything and leave just as a young and fast hiker named Mike arrives. Mike ends up being my cheerleader when I notice a large tear in my Thermarest and need to repair it.
So far, it’s just us here tonight preparing to head into the longest section of the hike. John nervously plans out each day and parses his food. Mike starts to hike, hits a blowdown and feels a muscle pull, so returns to rest and start fresh.
I call Richard and he urges me on – to be careful about bears and move slow and methodically, but to keep moving. I’m not nervous so much as uncertain. I have my SOS should things go badly. I wish it was cooler and the bugs not so awful, but I feel I can get through if I take lots of breaks and drink – and soak in – plenty of water.
It’s 8:00, Hiker Midnight and my bedtime. Adventures and their stories await beginning tomorrow.
