Day 6, July 24: Grinnell Glacier Hike

Day 6, July 24: Grinnell Glacier Hike

Where do I begin today? In Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley,” he talks about how he realized, somewhere along his journey, that a person has to become discriminating in the experiences she comes across. That there comes a time you must decide to forego an experience, a view, a sensation, simply because you’re so full from what you’ve seen, experienced, and felt already.

Only six days into my journey, and I realize this trip is like an all-you-can-see buffet. The sights, sounds, smells, even textures and tastes, become overwhelming to the senses. For instance, as I drove back to camp tonight on the Going to the Sun Road, I suddenly realized I wasn’t looking at the mountains, at the trees, at all the things I’ve been captivated by. Of course, this is after stopping to photograph the same mountains (I’m sure) that I photographed on the way over to the east side of Glacier this morning, but still, I realized I am in danger of becoming so desensitized to the beauty of this world that I quit seeing it.

But perhaps that is because of the richness of the day that was coming to a close. Each of the days preceding this one has been rich. But today, I feel as saturated as I can tolerate. This is not a complaint; it’s simply an observation.

The view of the sunrise this morning

I began the day with the two and a half hour drive across Glacier from west to east. I was, in fact, going to the sun on this well-known and celebrated road of that name. In order to start what was to be a 10-mile hike to one of the park’s fading glaciers, I awoke at 5:30 and was on the road by 6:15. The temperature at 5:30 was a cool 42 degrees, but I had been cozy in my tent. The crisp air felt lovely and seemed appropriate for hiking to a glacier. I didn’t take the time to make coffee or breakfast; instead I had a trail mix bar and stopped for a coffee to go from the Lake McDonald Lodge on the way.

Leaving so early on what is usually a crowded road, afforded me the luxury of a solitary drive for the first half of the trip. It wasn’t until we were halted for road construction that others gathered around.  Sitting waiting for construction on The Going to the Sun Road is not quite the same as waiting for the pilot car on an oil road in the Midwest. Or at least it’s easier to feel joy in the delay.

The trail head for the Grinnell Glacier hike is just off the parking lot of the Many Glacier Hotel, the farthest east and north of all the Park’s lodges. It’s a beautiful old building, evoking feelings of an era long past of genteel men and women vacationing for the summer with their families (think Dirty Dancing), and it sits on a green lake. The lakes here are the most lovely shade of green/blue. I’ve tried to capture the hue in the photos I’ve taken, but I confess I’ve failed to pick it up. I need my friend Deb here to take some photos – now she can capture color!

All bundled up and ready to go.

East Glacier is known for its wind, and today didn’t disappoint. I layered up with two jackets and a long-sleeved shirt, and even wore my stocking cap for the first part of the hike. Once I got moving, and was out of the wind, protected by tall pines and bushy undergrowth, I quickly shed my outer jacket and cap. There were others beginning the hike at the same time, and we introduced ourselves. I quickly took off, not wanting to join their group of seven or eight even though they’d invited me. There’s something about being out there by yourself that adds an extra dimension to the hike.  I have come to realize, however, that hiking is a solitary activity, even when you do it with a group. But that is a discussion for another day.

So I moved down the trail, calling out to bears occasionally to avoid surprising any, and quickly covered a few miles. I was thinking what an easy hike this was compared to the day before, and realized I can enjoy hikes even if they aren’t difficult and challenging. I also realized, rather quickly after that thought, that those first two, mostly flat, miles were part of a bait and switch offer. As I rounded a  turn after crossing a rushing river, I noticed the trail led uphill rather steeply. Then, as I checked my GPS, I did the math. I had climbed virtually no elevation in those first two miles, and the trail climbs 1650 feet altogether. That meant, I deduced, that all that rise in elevation was in the last 3 miles of the hike. Pretty much like the day before.

Grinnell Lake

Up the garden path...

The views along the way not only included a variety of those green blue lakes, with Lake Grinnell sitting almost circular and the greenest bluest of all, but colorful wildflowers. One part of the hike made me think of Japanese tea gardens. A winding path surrounded with lush undergrowth, wild flowers, and waterfalls. The more time I spend in nature, the more I realize all landscapers are trying to do is recreate what Mother Nature already has done so well. The symmetry and design I encounter continually astound me.

Knowing this was the longest hike I’ve attempted (although it’s about the same length as that last day climbing out of the Grand Canyon), I tried to pace myself once the climb began. I stopped after a few hours to have a little lunch and enjoy the view. What I didn’t realize is that it’s still early in the season for Glacier National Park, and there are snowfields that impede progress on some of these trails. Grinnell Glacier trail is one of those. About three and a half miles in I came to a sign strung across the path warning that the trail has dangerous snowfields and one needs to be cautious and prepared to cross these snowfields or turn around.  I decided to go on, and read the situation as it arose.

Climbed over this sign

The trail goes just above where the hikers on the snowfield are.

A bit farther down the trail, I came to a stream running across the trail from a small waterfall, and along side of it was a small snowfield. I had to step through the water and then on the snow to stay on the trail. I thought, rather smugly, “That wasn’t so bad,” and hiked on. By this time, I began to see more people on the trail, both coming and going. I met up again with the people I saw at the start, and we hiked together for a while. Then, around a bend, I found out what the sign really meant by snow field.

Across the path, probably 30 feet wide and stretching high up the mountain, was a snow field. To continue on the trail, I had to leave the trail, climbing down a steep embankment and then across loose rock below the snowfield. Then I had to climb back up to the trail on wet, muddy ground, littered with loose rock. There is a bit of climbing involved, and the rock that has to be climbed is wet and slick. I tried not to imagine what would happen if I lost my footing, but I couldn’t help but realize I would fall quite a ways on rock, and I was not sure where I would quit sliding. And about halfway up that precarious, slippery slope, I thought, “I have to come back down this.” But, I haven’t come this far to quit at the first sign of difficulty. And I was really REALLY glad I had taken those rock climbing lessons. The skills I learned there allowed me to climb carefully and slowly, finding the holds I needed and not panicking when they seemed elusive or impossible. This worked on the way down too, by the way. (Thank you Emilie for taking that class with me.)

You can see some hikers climbing up the far side of the snowfield. Doing that climb was one of the most at-risk I've felt in any of the adventures I've had yet. The slick,shifting rock was very precarious.d.

 

Unfortunately, after about another mile I encountered another snowfield. This one was bigger and an experienced hiker who was just in front of us had slipped down the field and had to climb back up. Fortunately she wasn’t injured. And as I looked down the trail, I could see at least two more places where there were large snowfields blocking the way. I decided at that point it was time to turn around. I think I was only about a half to three-quarters of a mile from the glacier, but I didn’t want to risk it. If I’d had crampons and an ice axe and more than no experience on snowfields, I would have gone on. But with three weeks left of this adventure, I didn’t want it to end today.

So I turned back, along with the group I’d started the day with, and we made our way back the five miles we’d come. I didn’t see them much on the hike back, but I appreciated their companionship and presence during those tense moments. One of the men, Rob, made sure I made it up that slippery climb, and his older son hiked probably a quarter mile with me on the way back, visiting about parks he’d been to and other hikes he’d taken. There was a younger son too with the group, probably around 14, whose smile was sweet enough to make some of those tired miles more enjoyable.

I made it back in one piece – no slipping down snowfields to rocky valleys below, and still no bear sightings – and I’m enriched by the experience of the hike, the people I met, and the difficulties conquered. I also feel good that I knew when to turn back. I realize I have nothing to prove, only life to experience.