CDT: Day 8, Atlantic Creek to Two Medicine, 18 miles (GNP)

My sleep was horrible. The alicoop was cocked to the side and I slumped into a corner. My neuropathy was on fire and I still felt awful even after flipping the mattress.

But, I’m up with the birds and on my way towards another pass, deep in shade, yelling, “Hi, Mr. Bear!” over and over. I round a corner and a brown rump scurries into the brush. A bear?! Another bend and there’s a mama moose following that little rump. Sweet.

The valley is long and slender, trees marching up and up next to a massive river. I can see exactly where I’m headed, a low, humpy point amidst towering rock. Spirea, pink and upright, lines the way.

I pass gorgeous Morning Star Lake lined with last winter’s snow melting in curves. The orange-lit mountains above reflect in it and it’s my last flat walking for a while as I fly straight up now, still in trees, but walking on long sections of snow. It feels like stepping up on a slippery platform. There’s no dangerous falls, but it’s slippery and awkward, sometime collapsing under my feet – once up above my knee.

I double check notes on the location of the last water source and see it’s a lake draining into a stream above. I continue up, slipping and sliding with a noticeable difference when I momentarily hit the dirt path. The birds flute whistle and sun finally arrives.

I find a wee bit of shade at the final lake. It’s a bit muddy, but I balance on a rock and eat granola with dried blueberries. I dried them from a frozen bag and they’re as hard as rock. Note for next time to use freeze dried.

But it still tastes good, and the view of Pitamakin Lake, a deep almost black blue with a few tiny icebergs drifting atop bright blue, is breathtaking. My pass is directly above, though I can’t see the switchbacks.

I take two liters with me because the alternate is all rock and they’re won’t be water for hours, then hump up the mountain, breathing steady and even as I rise above the lake, another coming into view, an iceberg like a tall ship all alone in the deep.

Switchbacks out of treeline usually make an ascent easy and this is no exception. But at the pass, I’m directed straight up nearly another mile on one long ramp toward an alternate pass. It was recommended to take this because the views from a balcony walk are exquisite.

I round a corner and there they are – mountain after mountain encrusted with glaciers like pearls. A chasm thousands of feet deep separates us and it’s all wilderness made up of waterfalls, lakes and emerald green land. Imagine living in that, Mr. Bear and Mrs. Moose!

Just then, a fat marmot pops over to visit, his gray chest fur like a too tight sweater around his plump rolls. I mentioned that I’m walking at alternate. The official CDT goes left down to Oldman Lake and along the valley floor ending at Two Medicine. This alternate takes the hiker there from Dawson Pass, so people often walk it as a loop. I imagine this marmot is well fed.

He poses for pictures, seeming to look out at the stunning view. What actually goes through the mind of a marmot? I don’t feed him and he doesn’t beg. I have some water, then step out onto the narrow path.

The rock is shattered in triangles and rectangles, crunching and pinging beneath my feet. I’m not too concerned about falling, but the trail is just a narrow path sidling the mountain and like a steep roller coaster, the slope seems to curl under itself. I put the wrist straps from poles on and watch my step. It’s like a movie as the mountains roll past, black and pointed ahead, more tan closer by.

My trail is mostly flat with small ups and downs leading me to Mt. Morgan, a triangle atop a V. Here I venture out onto the broken, crumbly rock in one stack after another. A young woman arrives just then, a trail runner who takes my picture and me, hers before she runs off towards a mountain uplifted then seemingly given a snap so it lays somewhat curled. A huge rock fall like an explosion avalanches leaving a plume of dust.

I hang around a long time enjoying this space all to myself, but the air heats up fast and I still have a long wag to go so I follow the runner along a mountain then onto a ridge where I spy Oldman far below.

Eventually I reach the pass and look for shade to sit and look, but it’s just broken bits of rock reflecting the intense sun. I see Two Medicine Lake far away and know I’ll need to walk around it to get to my camp spot tonight.

It’s a hot, dry walk with no breeze whatsoever. Wildflowers burst forth from crevices, the most positive and life affirming thing out here. Two people come up the pass and point to a mountain they plan to climb. “Take lots of water,” I tell them, stating the obvious.

At a small saddle, I meet more tourists and talk to a couple hoping to walk the circuit. I warn them it’s a long way still but well worth it, and don’t delay their progress by asking another couple to take my photo. The man knows the area and tells Pitamakan is an Indian name pronounced pih-TAM-ih-kin. He asks if I’m walking the CDT end to end and I answer of course – I think.

I continue down, loving seeing Pumpelly Pillar up close, the massive wall and my balcony walk’s mountains from a different vantage. But it is hot to the extreme. I’m covered head to toe and not getting burned, just enervated. I sion enter the trees, but they’re sparse, so just as hot.

I stop to drink more water and chat with a man about getting more water. Just as he leaves, an older woman arrives. I ask her if she’s from Montana. When she says she is, I ask if this heat is usual. “No, it’s climate change in action.”

We speak more about the crazy politics in Montana and she tells me she’s a state legislator. “Too much is run by old whit men!” Though we’re both married to old white men, I get her drift. She then gives me her phone number and tells me to look her up if I need a place to stay when I get to Bozeman. You bet! That will be a trip talking to a firecracker like her.

I continue on through forest, the trail steep and relentless. A sign points the way to No Name Lake and I head over for water and a thigh soak in the iciness. Oceana, Austin, Emily and Andrea arrive (I always forget their trail names) and set up on a beach across the lake. My spot is exquisite with shade and easily accessed water, but I put everything back on, lured in by their laughter.

It turns out to be a muddy, overgrown walk to a rocky beach with smell algae and swarms of mayflies – oh, and in direct sun. A good lesson in the grass is always greener.

I’m cooler and my bottles are full, so I press on, walking more steep switchbacks in the scorching heat. I’m happy and singing for a while, but begin to feel enervated and exhausted. I’m getting a hear rash on my legs and my feet are pruning.

The trail follows the lake, bit there’s no access. I try to keep moving a grab my water bottle. It’s a success just hard to put away. Finally I see a long building, presumably the camp store and my spirits lift. That’s until the trail keeps going past it and following a kind of extension of the lake.

I’m not woozy, just tired and ready to stop. But everywhere is sunshine and heat. The trail dumps me at the end of the campground and there’s the camp host’s trailer. I walk over, sit on their picnic table in the shade and begin to cry.

First Scotty comes out and brings me a Pepsi. “Should I call the ranger?” I tell him no, I’m just exhausted. Next his wife, Becky and daughter Davi come out and cheer me up. She reserves a spot for me in the ‘backcountry permit’ area with a tiny spot of shade, but doesn’t rush me away. Rather we talk, especially about the fact that they’re from Minnesota and come here to escape the heat – but not this year!

Eventually I cool down and set my tent, soak in the lake and make dinner. It’s a spectacular view into the mountains I walked from here and several hikers congregate. Oceana and Bunny decide to skip tomorrow’s walk and get a ride to town. Emily and Austin join them just to get food, including beers to share.

Weird clouds form in the mountains and a big wind builds. We all head outside to stake our tents as thunder rumbles. Kimmy and Scotty tell me they were really suffering today, their knees sore both going up and down. I’m always surprised when other people have problems, feeling ashamed that I struggled so much. I think Glacier beat us all up in its own way, even if the views were stunning and our journey filled with incredible moments to remember.

Austin tells me that the ranger who brought them to down is part of the Blackfeet Nation. When Austin thanked him for the ride, he said it’s important to do good things. I’ll take that beer with me tomorrow to my final high point in Glacier and toast this extraordinary week,