Glacier National Park: The Disney World of Mountains

No that is not a compliment.

We have a new contestant in the most not-worth-it thing I've ever done competition.  Driving to Glacier National Park.  The drive is long, ugly, boring, and into the middle of nowhere.  Global warming has severely damaged the park.  So have pine beetles.  And fires.  West Glacier you will hear is a beautiful heavily forested area of rolling hills with views into the rocky peaks to the west.  That is probably a good quote, but read the year its attached to. Probably someone like John Muir from about 1917.  Lot of old quotes of old dead famous people are posted in parts of Glacier.  You know, back when there were glaciers and only a few lodges.  Well I drove through West Glacier and saw a lot of scorched trees, then I hiked it, and went through many miles of pine beetle feasting grounds.  The same sort I posted pics of for my Elegy for the Uintas.  Don't ask me for any more pics of dead pine trees.  You see 5 million, you've seen them all.  West Glacier is lousy and ugly and will be for at least the next decade.  Probably the next millenia.  However, if you want to stay during peak season within 100 miles of any part of Glacier you'd like to be, the West Glacier Lodge is a good choice.  Its cute, cheap (by National Park lodge standards), quiet, and access to the public shuttle system along "Going to the Sun Road" is divided somewhat nonsensically into East and West, with a transfer at the top at "Logan Pass".  So if you want to try that shuttle, start from the West or you will have long waits, long lines, and little time to do anything or see anything all day other than the backs of other bored and frustrated people and the dark clouds swooping in to soak you or blast you with wind.

Ah Glacier- you know all those pictures you see of fields of flowers, staggeringly bright sparkling towers of rock, horns, elegant spires, and the like?  Endless brilliant emerald fields of grass?  Sparkling lakes?  Yeah, that happens probably 3 days per year now.  Most of those pictures are old.  The best Glacier picks I've seen are from before 2002, which concerned me- it certainly did- but which I wrote off.  Well, just to warn you, you need to know that it rained or was cloudy somewhere in the park every single day I was there, and especially at Logan Pass, the most popular part of the park.  Also know that Logan Pass is surrounded and sheltered by peaks and will only bloom for a few weeks each year.  Good luck not living locally and timing your trip right.  Most of the park was starting to dry out and the snow was all gone in my week there, but Logan Pass was still an ugly mess, barely thawing.  So it was a double jip.  And of the 3 times I visited Logan Pass, one I was inside a cloud, one time horrifying black clouds were coming, which caused flash flooding 2 hours later and washed away much of the "Going to the Sun" road, trapping people or making them take an extra 100 miles to get back to West Glacier.  And the third trip up was beautiful, sort of, but hazy, with a dull sunset, bear threats, baby goats galore, and all in all, it was worth the hike.  Even though the hiking there is on board walks and is astonishingly crowded with annoying people out of their element, peeing themselves at every wind or bird call, with shouts of "bear!  Dad a bear!"  and such.  It is usually not a bear, though a mother was denning up for the summer with her cubs near Hidden Lake, a premium destination of Logan Pass, and did threaten some idiots taking photos of the babies and getting to close.  I had to explain to a few people the behavior of bears: if a den isn't secret, its useless.  Its a trap and a slaughter ground.  So that's why she kept charging you when all you wanted was to see where they were living."  God people scare me.  I missed these wild bears and some fighting marmots due to my car issues.  Sigh.  All I got was baby goats on camera.

"Going to the Sun" road is an engineering marvel and well worth seeing.  Good luck with that.  In peak season and middle day especially you will lose hours sitting on steep slopes with your engine overheating waiting for mile long lines of tourists, and dangerous construction at the edge of lovely abysses.  Its a mixed experience.  Avoid middle of the day, and do not take the shuttle.  A word on the shuttle- I tried it once after my radiator leaked, dried out, overflowed, blew, and cracked (which apparently was entirely my fault by the way as I was spoken to like a pathetic idiot by rangers and everyone employed by Glacier who I bothered talking to- personally I felt pretty bad-ass for having extra coolant with me, like I always do, a funnel to pour it without spilling, duct tape to patch the crack- okay Bar's Leak would have been more useful, but still- and for then being able to drive with the heater on for 100 miles to the nearest car repair center- more on that later, with no further problems and without once panicking or raising my voice)- and I am convinced the budget is kept low to make the shuttle intentionally bad.  Now you may call me a cynic, but Glacier operates a paid tour-bus system called the "Red Bus" line; cool old-fashioned Rolls Royce stretch limo things that are bright red and cost $17 and fill up fast.  They are driven by nice people in bow-ties and vests who say things over to you on a microphone, such as "here is Jackson Glacier...which Montana's congressmen are presently spending millions of dollars to debate over as to whether it is a glacier or a seasonal snow-field due to climate change not related to global warming or local mining in any way."  Charming.  And rather expensive if a decent free shuttle were available.  Do you see why it might be in the interests of the park to offer a free shuttle, but not a good one?  One hour waits at bus stops and then being told: "yes there are 22 seats, but I am required to keep 11 open at all times when I leave this first stop to allow for others at later stops to come aboard" is not good business.  I spoke with the director of the system who was annoyed he gets negative reviews.  His opinion was mostly that people are whiny, entitled, and unrealistic.  Its a VERY narrow, busy road under construction and thousands of people daily are going to the same small parking lot on the side of a high mountain to hike the same 3 trails.  There will be problems, especially when storms move in and everyone wants to leave at the same instant.  Fair enough.  But I got to the bus station at 8:45 am- too late I know, and had to wait until 9:15 for a bus to show, until 9:30 for the driver to be ready to roll, until 9:40 for 9 people to volunteer to wait for the next bus because 11 seats had to be left open for other passengers...um?  Strange, when standing is allowed.  It took 1 hour to travel 20 miles due to lots of stops where no one got on or off.  Then once at Logan Pass we could not see 3 feet before our faces, so everyone wanted to go down, and guess what?  I had to wait 90 minutes to be able to, and it took another hour to get back.  That is not good public transit.  You might as well not offer it.  And I'm sure the Red Bus line could not agree more.  They do take credit cards, by the way.

The above photo is Hidden Lake overlook at Logan Pass, with the fabulous and frequently climbed Mt Reynolds at left- a climb I wanted to do- and rarely climbed Bear Hat to the right- an amazing mountain I've had earmarked for 2 years.  And still do.  Rangers I asked not only were unwilling to register me to climb it, but did not even know how to as they had no idea what peak I was talking about.  Seriously.

So there are probably 3 good days of weather per year.  Logan Pass is especially unpredictable and you could never pay me to drive that road again.  My friend who directs the bus line got in a fever when I back-hand complimented the construction along the road, saying, "I was amazed not only by the road but that construction can be done while thousands of cars pass inches away without even looking because the road curves, they are scared or distracted (nice views) and probably texting and taking pics, and are incompetent at driving anyway to begin with in normal situations."  This is apparently a sore spot as road construction recently took a PR hit when a worker fell 200 some feet and nearly died, and because this is year 7 in a $800,000,000 project that was originally supposed to take 3 years and cost $200,000,000 but was violently opposed by the local businesses who said having only sections of the road open would destroy tourism and ruin their lives.  That is probably true, though my friend did not agree.  Trust me I thought, no one is driving all the hell of the way through Montana to visit this place if only 66% of the park is open.  No way.  Tourists want to see it all.  While sipping a soda, at 100 miles per hour.  So I understand why they are doing it the way they are.  I do.  But I fully expect it is being done wrong enough that the construction will never end.  And more cars will blow up near Logan Pass idling on hills, like the blonde girls I saw on my first day at the park, when I thought, "this day is going bad, but at least my car did not explode at the top of Logan Pass".  They by the way had a parade of men helping them.  When mine blew?  Cars pulled up next to me and took pictures of animals through me.  Clearly, no one cared.  They did not care, squared.  So luckily for me, I was prepared enough.  I mean I didn't have a spare radiator in the trunk, which the rangers seemed to think I ought to have had, but I managed alone.  Screw all of you who were in Glacier the same week as me.  I hate you all, by the way.  How about asking if I'm fine, or offering to follow me down?  Or suggesting to me where I need to go for car repairs, you locals?  Global warming makes the sky hazy, really hazy on good days now, at least in summer with all the car fumes, and its hot, and the mountains are dry and ugly with tiny little snow patches comically still called glaciers.  But it is damn pretty if you aren't being struck by lightning, none the less.

Glacier is now on the whole pretty much an amusement park.  Lines, waits, lines to wait to park, (seriously after 10 am do not expect to park without the help of a surly cocky ranger in sunglasses and on a walkie talkie with another surly cocky ranger who will then waive cones at you to direct you to your parking space).  This will go on until 5 pm or so when every restaurant of mediocre Montana cooking will fill up for 500 miles if you are hungry, which I hope you are not.  Probably you won't be because you'll have spent most of the day even if starting at 6 am, looking for parking, rather than hiking, or waiting for a shuttle.  Because if you start a trail at 6, finish around 11, and want to start another, guess what- you can't.  The rest of the day is useless.  So you should probably have good lodging.  Camping is useless, difficult, and expensive, at $20 per day if you want water, or $10 in primitive grounds, where you fend for yourself and need a purifier.  Reservations are not generally taken for the campgrounds (2 take them up to a year in advance) and if you want a site you may have to visit several, driving in circles looking for an open one.  I spent 2 hours my first day there doing this, got the last spot in the last circle I checked, put 100 miles on the car driving between all these awful grounds, and got flooded because it started to pour immediately.  The people next to me came back from a hike to find their tent in 6 inches of water as a pond had formed.  Sucks for them, but luckily they were already wet as the wife blamed the husband for all of it.  He must have been one of those rain gods Doug Adams wrote about in his books.  I covered West Glacier, so here is your guide to the east: There is East Glacier, an adorable town consisting of 3 diners, 2 lodges, all charming, and 5 billboards that range in their subject from "huckleberry pie" to "Huck!" with a painting of some huckleberries and a pie slicer.  I kid you not.  Also if you stay there you will have a 50 mile drive to get to the popular regions of the park where hiking semi-exists, and this will take you near an hour.

Two Medicine is a cool sort of sub park that gets low notes for "being just park" as the rangers say.  They don't have any amenities or touristy stuff at all!  Can you believe it?  Gasp with horror.  All they have is a 1 hour boat tour of the lake (expensive as hell even by expensive as hell boat tour standards), and its a small lake by the way.  And a campground with flush toilets, electricity, running water, noise galore, fishing, and 400 signs warning you bears will ruin your life if you set down your piece of huckleberry pie for even a second- and $50 citations which apparently pay the salaries of aggressive campground managers.  Also a little restaurant and a huge general store, and a boat dock, and a parking lot guarded by armed rangers on walkie talkies.  But that's it!  The rangers practically told half the people coming to leave with a chuckle.  "Oh you won't like Two Medicine," they assured cars of the curious.  "There's virtually nothing here but forest.  You don't look rugged enough to last here."  You can't make this stuff up.  Why would I even try?  There is excellent hiking here however, with lots of lakes, cool peaks, windy passes, wildlife, flowers, less crowds, and awesome hazy views.  That will be a separate post where I go over the trails I tried.  Running Eagle, or Trick Falls, is handicapped accessible in Two Medicine and along a very short trail.  It is sometimes a double falls and sometimes a single.  Pictured above.

On an annoyingly winding road through savage burn areas is the Cut Bank region of the park, down a 5 mile dirt road (passable from what I saw to 2 wheel drive vehicles, with primitive camping that usually will not fill up.  Water is available nearby at a creek and hiking has several options with Amphitheatre Mountain (hard to reach but amazing views from what I've seen of an amazing peak called Split Mountain), Mount James (easy as far as Glacier goes according to my climber's book, but still with rotten rock and scree and danger and annoyance) and the fabulous Triple Divide Peak I looked forward to for years and am bitter to not climb on this trip, as it is a special mountain.  If you pour water out on top, it will flow in three directions because the summit is on the Continental Divide and actually feeds into 3 different continental watersheds.  No other peak I have heard of can claim this.  The climb is said to be tedious, dangerous, and on awful rock, though mostly just a steep walk.  There are a few lakes but not much else I noticed on the map.  Only the rugged need go.  One backcountry campsite is located strategically to attack those 3 peaks, but otherwise you are looking at a 20+ mile roundtrip day to Cut Bank campground, and few would be up to it, honestly.  The back-country site fills up regularly as it is central on a long several day hike route that is popular.  Also those kind of backpackers take priority to one-night-stand campers, so I was basically laughed at when I inquired about getting a pass there.  The message I took home from this is what most serious mountain people I know have already decided for themselves: if going to Glacier, go rogue, because dealing with the infrastructure and the rangers is not worth it.  And Glacier does not want you there anyway.  Right near Cut Bank road I came on a crowd of photographers setting up tripods to snap pics of wild horses in front of Mt James and Triple Divide Peak.  It was amusing as 50 cars came out of nowhere with that photographer's sense of doing what the competition is.  They all parked in a rush, staked a spot, and fought for those hazy pics of horses in a field of scorched flowers.  Hey I did too.  The best pic is below and the central peak is Triple Divide.  Mt James looms large just near the edge on the right.  The two share a pass, where they are climbed from.

Near the "Going to the Sun Road" is St Mary, a town whose motto is, according to several locals I spoke with, "if you want it, you'll pay for it."  This is a 2 month per year town that shuts down from October through late June, with a gas station, some stores, many lodges and campgrounds, and prices that make gougers proud.  Hey it is middle of nowhere, so cut them some slack.  Not in St Mary however is: decent food, a single person who knows the area at all, any towing or automotive service whatsoever.  Strange, if you ask me.  I would avoid St Mary personally.  However, if you want to camp outside the park, this is the best option.  Johnson's is about on par with the park itself; $20 per night, though they fill up only after the official campgrounds do in general.  And you pay taxes so its a bit more.  Locally owned.  And there is a KOA for $33 plus tax, with a pool, hot tub, and all the entertainment that drunken University of Washington students can bring while having all male chicken fights in a pool during a rainstorm.  If you are into that sort of thing.  The pool is a very nice feature.  I thought the hot tub would help my legs hold up to the rigours of hiking, but instead, I used both to ease my epic boredom while not hiking, due to weather, car, and crowd problems.

Many Glacier is the most popular east side option I hear.  2 hotels, one reasonable, and one outlandish, a campground that you couldn't get into if your parents had tried to make reservations before you were born during peak season, popular trails, secret goat trails, famous peaks, eating, bus tours, and all that.  I never got there this trip, due to the car.  An expensive shuttle does go there a few times a day from St Mary but its expensive even by rip-off national park standards.  However, it will at least show up at set times.  The nearby town of Babb is a moderny piece of trash thrown up to look old fashioned like if the Old West were made of cardboard and stucco.  I'm not sure why its there, actually.  Near Babb you can, if desperate, go camping at Duck Lake, a few miles further from the park.

Other nearby towns are on the West: Whitefish or Kalispell.  Kalispell is actually a year-round city, with several grocery stores and multiple streets.  If you have car trouble, get here if you can.  Its 30 miles from the West end of the park, meaning 60 or so from Logan Pass, mostly downhill or flat.  But if your tent is over on East Glacier, you're boned as they say, because the two nearest towns are Browning, and Cut Bank.  Browning is terrifying.  Though one of the highlights of my trip sadly was hearing a creepy old man try to flirt with a whorish woman by asking for a light.  He expected her to walk across the gas station to light him up, while she insisted he take the 10 steps to her to get a light.  I got the hell out of there quickly, and had to, as there is no car service in Browning either.  Unless you want your oil changed in someone's backyard.  The town is mostly silver bullet trailers dumped at strange angles and half sunk into mud like ships going under in a huge plain.  Cut Bank has a small mall, 75 casinos, a movie theatre which is extremely clean with good seats, a few hotels, most of them owned by one family, a well-stocked, sparkling grocery store with reasonable prices and excellent selection, a McDonald's, a freight train passing through every hour, a fun center that had rollerskate disco taking place my Saturday in town, and one hell of a big creepy penguin statue.

I was sent on local advice to Cut Bank to pick up a radiator that was overnighted at darn good price ($104) from I assume, Great Falls, 100 miles south.  Unfortunately, the same stupid locals did not mention I was picking this up at a store, not a store/garage, and that every garage (12!!!!) in town would be closed until Monday.  So I wasted a weekend sitting in a motel room with ants on the wall in Cut Bank, Montana, being annoyed with Montanians.  More on this in the next post because this is getting very long. To close, here are some pics of flowers up close, which came out good.  More pics and stories in the next blog about Glacier.  And lots more on Cut Bank Montana.

Feather Lakes

Of all the things I've ever done, the Feather Lakes were the most... not worth it.

Feather Lakes were one of my main reasons for wanting to go back to the Sawtooths.  I've seen pictures, I've read about how great and beautiful they are.  I've imagined how fun it would be to find them, seeing as so few get there.  And they are a great camping place to make a run at the Warbonnet, one of the world's most impressive mountains, or at least, best named.  The only problem with the Feather Lakes is their main appeal too, probably: they're danged hard to find, or get to.  They are in fact, a pain.  They are a wilderness within a wilderness, hard to attain even by the standards of long approaches and even compared with other rugged places.  Locked in an inner maze of peaks and ridges, above other mountain passes, with no trail possible to them, and no easy way in, they have to be worth it right?  I've never read any word as to the opposite.

Well, so I was going to get to the Feather Lakes, or at least, to look down on them.  Problem was that I had been hiking most of the past week, had already done over 30 miles, 5 peaks, and was getting tired.  Yes I am a machine designed to do hard things, I have a tolerance for pain that makes tough men and blackbelts inch back from me at parties (true story actually, though I think this blackbelt would have whipped me; I had the same kind of deference paid me by an army psycho who wanted no part of me even in play and even while drunk), I can punch myself in the solar plexus for 2 minutes straight without pain, and so forth, blah blah blah, in the Mark Twain style of comic boasting, but there are limits.  However, late in the afternoon I decided to not spend time resting on a warm day, but rather to bushwhack a mile through thick forest to the gully I thought was the way up over a ridge of steep peaks to the Feather Lakes.

I picked the gully I picked because it was the only one that looked conceivable to me, in a "people with a heavy pack might do this each year" sort of way.  The way was covered with snow, so I had to use crampons.  Also it was storming again, all around me, with darkish clouds coming seemingly right over my pass.  Actually they seemed made for me, as blue skies were to my left, and to my right, though there were storms behind.  But it sure seemed like Zeus, Oden, Jupiter, and other lightning gods were determined to make me turn back after some jokes earlier this year about wanting to die by being struck by lightning because in the old world it meant that one was chosen and favored.  Yes the unlucky are sure unlucky these days- considered cursed when they once would have been made silver-haired kings for the same stroke of fate.  The way was steep, long, brutal, and hard.  I had my pack so I could camp at the Feathers, and it took me over an hour I am sure.  Though I don't use watches in the wilderness.  I was gasping and using the slowest of all crampon techniques: the sword in the stone double-hand plunge, where one reaches the axe overhead, stabs it with both arms into the steep snow, then take a big step with each foot, and repeat.  About a thousand times.  Its even more fun than pulling a sword out of a stone once, actually.  With magic.  But not once did it occurr to me to turn around.  I was doing it, you know.  The less fun I started having, the more obstinent I became.  It was one of those moods you know?

Well eventually I reached the pass, looked down and saw: exactly nothing that should be there.  There were 3 lakes together where there should have been 4, and one tiny lake where two Warbonnet Lakes should have been, and all were out of the places they should be.  Also the mountains were wrong.  So I had two things to conclude: the map was wrong, or I was in the wrong place.  First, I blamed the map, and then I modified that and climbed a peak to get a better view.  The views were majestic and magnificent, and I loved the peak I was on, a fun ridge walk, but I was furious with the world for being turned around.  I let out some earth-shaking screams that echoed for miles all around me and probably sounded like some beast from hell, not manlike at all to any few below me.  I think the lodge might have heard them.  Clearly, the problem could not be me.  However, I was also not proceeding to frozen lakes and missing lakes and mystery changeling lakes, so I went back down the snow, as the storms, gone, returned, and with vengeance.

On the way up, I apologized to every thunder and lightning god I could think of, for keeping them waiting in the goal of striking me.  Now, as I was retreating, I was in no mood for these antics, or for being zapped, so I flipped off the sky and about jogged down this glacier.  Then I bushwhacked speedily through the forest, making straight for Alpine Lake and ignoring the idea of finding the trail again.  Finding a trail in a forest after a mile's bushwhack is generally a bad idea, though it is hard to miss a lake.  One needs real skills to be able to lose a lake.  How could you have gotten to it or past it in the first place if you are greenhorned enough to not get back to it?  Drop me in the middle of a prairie with a bldinfold, and I can find my way back to a starting point the size of a lake.  So that was quick work.  And I slept and ate well.  But I was still annoyed and frustrated.  I did not drive hundreds of miles just for mountains.  I wanted the Feather Lakes.  I was determined to see them at least.

So I slept in till I felt I could move again- maybe 12 hours, rose, ate, took my small day pack of about 4 pounds weight, plus crampons and the ice axe- which i hesitated to take, as the snow was patchy and its a pain to have things in hand when climbing on rock, when hands are, if not necessary, then at least, desirable.  I made quick work of the bushwhack, ignoring the creek and following a wall of cliffs now, sure to find the right spot.  I proceeded steadily up and gained a pass in blazing time, with haze all around and a smell of smoke- there was a fire somewhere, and as I climbed it seemed to be near where my car might be parked.  That caused me some consternation, but I had business to attend to- my pass.  This pass also turned out wrong, I found.  I was on the North of peak 9769 and needed to, apparently be, south.  So now I had to climb a sketchy steep rickety mountain with no hands, as I had this ice axe and cleats in each.  So I could move only like a tripod 3 legged beast, which does not exist in nature, for good reason probably.  Try that logic next time a geometry nut brags about the strength of triangles to you.

Well the peak was pleasant enough excepting a few moves on scree, steep, with overhanging rocks that I would have appreciated the use of hands on.  But I made it, looked down, and saw at last, the elusive Warbonnet and Feather Lakes.  Only trouble was, I now had to descend to them, and even without the heavy pack and with a third leg, this was going to be a challenge.  I picked what looked like my best option and probably turned out to be the worst, though I find with bushwhacking and trailblazing that I always think I have by some bout of idiocy found the very worst possible route, only to decide on the return trip that is even worse, that I had it right to begin with and should have not strayed.  The same is true with different surfaces while climbing; on ice, I think man do I hate ice, I wish I were on rock, and on rock, or scree, I think, boy ice sure would be pleasant quick moving right about now.  The secret truth is this: all mountains are  a challenge so its always hard and kind of grueling.

Well I managed to find the true worst terrain in the known universe, a kind of cliff of quicksand, where I sunk in up to my ankles with every step, starting rock slides, slid and twisted, tried going down backwards,direct, traversing- nothing worked.  It took me an hour to reach the Warbonnet Lakes.  And all around me the sky was full of disgusting haze ruining all my shots, the few I took.  But I was going to make it to Feather Lakes.  That took only a few minutes more once hitting the Warbonnets.  They might be pretty at sunrise for a few minutes, but mostly I think they are overated.  All lakes in the Sawtooths have jagged peaks nearby.  So why spend a day and a half killing yourself to reach these ones?  Unless you are after a supreme challenge.  Or going to climb Warbonnet, an idea of mine.  Warbonnet was still miles off though, with more lakes to go, more hills of granite, more scree after, and then the actual climb.  I was neither inclined nor in shape for it.  So I walked the sides of the Feathers, and snacked and rested by Warbonnet Lakes, which I found more impressive, and then headed up...again.

Below are the Mayan Temple and several other peaks along the Feather Lakes on the less photogenic side.  The haze is visible again.

I still, after all this climbing and knowing where I was at last, nearly picked the wrong pass to climb to.  Again the reason was: the actual way seemed inconceivably bad.  It was a terrible trip down, though not so bad getting up from the Warbonnet Lakes.  But then I spent more hours nearly breaking ankles and tripping and sliding and having rocks tumble after me down steep dry and wet nasty slopes.  I let out some roars or pure alchemic rage which again shook the mountains and were only half-formed syllables, something like the letter "G", and if I had the energy, the next sound may have been close to "Zeus".  But I was too out of breath to finish the curse, or the expression of amazement.  How could terrain be so crummy so consistently and still be travelled by people willingly every year?  The ice was better.  The whole result was a disaster for me.  I can't imagine ever going back, though there are amazing pics of the area.  I think it would be better earlier in season when the peaks were more snow-covered.  Ice is more stable than the rock in the area, if that is believable.  But still, I got there, and that is something.

Back at Alpine Lake, I was ready to leave.  I had a whole day plus half more to stay in Idaho if I wanted, but what else would I do?  At this point I had done about 40 miles, lots of it up and down, had climbed 7 peaks, most of them impressive but not jaw-dropping, and chased storms, fled storms, been sun-bleached, been rained on, been spooked by animals, been amazed, let down, and everything inbetween.  And with a month more hiking coming up, I figured, it was about time to head for home.  But I was good and wise and rested 2 hours, eating, chugging fluids, and enjoying the idle pleasure of the Alpine Lake views.  Packing slowly, stretching, prowling about in my muckluck slippers to let my shoes air out and give my feet a rest.  I felt like a god, or a demi-god at least, who had escaped all of the modern world, like a time traveller who had not heard a phone or a horn or a car motor in a week.  I was dirty, and glad to be done with all the hard stuff.

The pack was light on the way down now as most of my food was eaten and I wanted to make quick work to the boat shuttle.  I decided to aim for the 7 pm and if I missed it, to camp near the dock for the 9 am next morning.  I started at a little before 4.  At 6, I was at the dock.  I moved pretty shockingly fast for it being the end of the week, though it was all down hill, not pausing much and taking few pictures, though I did stop at some scenic falls and to view the creek a few times, as well as an impressive balanced rock.  The sky was still hazy but more blue, and I began to doubt whether there were any fire actually.  I made my boat and no one was panicking or said anything to me about a fire.  When I got home, I found there were a few in the area, though nothing big or which started the night before.  So that is still a mystery to me.  Oh well.  I ate a good dinner, got cleaned up a little and changed into clean non-hiking clothes, and then drove home starting at twilight.

More destiny of a rough sort seemed due me, as deer were trotting across the road at every bend, barely visible.  I drove well under the speed limit or would have met any of five or so more personally than I wanted to.  I had to stop at the Idaho border 4 hours later to sleep in the car for a bit.  I woke the next morning after sunrise with a stiff neck, curled up in the backseat, happy, and laughing.  Guess I needed the sleep. 

Well that wrapped up a mostly good trip.  But its funny how a little rest changes perspective.  Suddenly I was questioning myself as to why I did so little on the trip.  Why did I let a mere 45-50 miles and 7 smallish peaks tucker me out and keep me off the good peaks and cliffs around the Feather Lakes?  How did I get so lost?  Am I really so clueless?  Why did I not do more peaks, push through the fatigue?  Depression came on as I drove home and ditzy people in big vehicles began swerving into my lane and making angry gestures at me for being there, as if I should know better and leave them the road.  I did not like coming back to Utah where it was 80 F at 7 am.  Where everything was even more hazy and had a scorched look.  Coming back to the reality that is modern life with cars, electronics and all that.  But its only for a week, and a good meal and a good rest put me in a better mood.  I will just have to go back to the Sawtooths someday, and I have the rest of the summer to hike and hopefully will have fun doing so.  The Feather Lakes I think I will skip though.  That was a once in a lifetime experience I think.  I had all the fun I could stand with them.  But go find them if you want some grief or a challenge.

Larger versions of some pics, as well as others, including panoramas, are available for print or perusal at thestillwildwest.com.  More stories will come when I am back from my next adventures.  Thanks for reading.

Redfish Inlet Trail and Area

Redfish Lake area offers great camping, trails, food, and adventure.

As always, prints are available over at the stillwildwest.com, and more pictures of Idaho and the Sawtooths are there in the galleries.

After my Alice-Toxaway Loop I was beat.  I was very dehydrated, though that came on quikly and my legs were spent from the big rig and heavy pack and I was sick of mountains and wet feet, and dry forests, so I decided to spend a half day at the marina beach of Redfish Lake near the lodge and rest up.  The review of the food is on my other blog about food and cooking, youngbrokeandclueless.blogspot.com, which is shared, sort of, with a friend of mine, who no longer posts and rarely talks to me.  She's busy, and I'm probably a bit too much of a jerk to stand in person for long, so that's that.

The marina was fun.  I loosened my legs by swimming in the cold waist-high waters and running forward, backward, and sideways.  And I enjoyed the views of mountains and fit people, or at least, people who were not morbidly obese and disgusting to themselves and the dignity of the human form.  Congratulations Idaho, that was the least waddling I've seen in a crowd in a long time.  Probably it is a coincidence that I saw only one fast food restaurant in a 150 mile stretch.  That can't have anything to do with it.

I camped the night and made some decisions for the gear on the next trip.  Mostly I decided my green thin sleeping bag is too thin to bother with taking into the mountains.  Sure I save 2 pounds and lots of space in the pack, but I also run a risk of freezing to death.  So its for summer only now.  Sleeping in it by the lake, in a tent, was awful.  I was very comfortable until morning, then got bad chills.  The moon in the Sawtooths was so bright that the night held off until around 10:30 pm, and when I awoke multiple times to run to the outhouse- I drank near a gallon of fluids to refresh myself- I patted the sand thinking it had snowed.  The whole world was white and glowing.  Very neat.

I felt strong in morning, and packed, and ate and tried not to forget anything for once.  I took ice axe and crampons and rock shoes this time, along with the marine bag, and no tent, which traded about 6 new lbs of stuff for about 12 lbs of stuff I left behind.  Then I made for the 12 pm shuttle boat across the lake.  Round trip is $16.00, and many climbers complain about the price and the time of the runs- 9 am, 12 pm, 3, 5, and 7 pm.  But I think that is pretty reasonable.  Your alternative is to hike 5 miles each way extra around the long dry hilly sides of the lake, through pine forests touched by that scourge, the asian beetle.  Not worth it, I say.  I chose the boat.

As for the trail, it is hot, though shaded, and doable any time of day.  It is hilly, but pretty, not ravaged by beetles in most spots, with 21 long switchbacks to Alpine Lake- a beautiful spot, though the forest is badly thinned and the trees are all dying- shown above from the south and north shores.  Mosquitoes are plentiful and other hikers will abound, but still, its a great destination for a day.  I took 3+ hours to get up there, and made it down in 2+.  Elephant's Perch is another popular spot where you can probably find climbers gearing up and heading up the huge walls.  On my first day, starting at noon, I decided to press on and over Baron Pass, where I wanted to finish at Baron Lakes.  I did that pretty easy, getting there at 7 pm just as some rain started to fall and having climbed one peak at the pass- the dark interesting peak with clouds all around me.  I took a panoramic movie to show how silly it was probably to be up there, though I read the clouds perfect and got down the pass just as the rain started.  It was a challenging climb, with several tricky and exposed moves, and most people should not try it, at least without a spotter, though you do not need rope, and I did it without the climbing shoes, though those would have been safer, and smarter.

Baron Lake was pretty, though crossing the spring creek was a trick, and I got my feet a little wet as the log bridges were all unsteady and part submerged.  I got eating and found shelter under some trees that stopped most of the raindrops, and munched away as a distracted deer came sniffling right up to me with only a large boulder between us and starting licking my sweaty socks I had laid out as I watched.  She looked up and about jumped all off the ground to see me there.  This was one emaciated deer.  I wanted to throw her a cookie, or a dorito, but what she really needed was salt.  That night she and a friend kept coming around and eating within 5 feet of my ears, tearing up the ground for roots and shrubs.  They are ready for summer and blooming I am sure!  Deer are not very quiet creatures, nor very alert ones, when you are used to the woods.  I always wondered how Indians could shoot them with arrows, as they are skittish.  But I generally know they are there long before they know I am near nowadays.  They crunch leaves and branches, clop around gracelessly on their hooves with a kind of shuffling amble when not fleeing, and walk with their noses to the ground.  Unless the wind carries your scent to them, they really will walk right into you.  And I can sneak up on them when I want.  Deer are also hard on a forest, much worse with their hooves than a good hiker is in boots on the soil and mud and vegetation and they dig and tear and chew anything.  Its easy to see why population density with deer will destroy a forest and they must be hunted.  They are also noisy eaters and kept waking me, and for starving beasts, they wasted a lot of energy running a mile away in a panic every time I grunted or stirred when they woke me, then ambling back to eat leaves again.  Its easy to see with that kind of energy trade off, why they were starving!  So there goes the myth about deer being the gentle majestic queens of the forest.

Morning brought the usual Sawtooth specialty: a 5 minute red light spectacular to the cliffs before it disappeared.  You have to catch it at just the right moment or it will think the whole day was ugly and the cliffs washed out the whole time!  I was looking at a waterfall and had a lake on the map that I wanted to try bushwhacking to, and thinking the waterfall must lead me to it, and seeing a shelf up above the fall, I made for it.  There was a trail leading me much of the way, and I passed a stock tie up, so I guess this little shelf I was on between lakes is meant to be accessed by the riders, and that did make things easier.  I found the falls and followed them getting lots of good shots and making for a wild peak up above me, which I thought for a while was the famous Warbonnet, but finding I was wrong as I closed in. Also I picked the wrong shelf for the raised hanging lake.  I did some ice climbing and eventually found the lake, though only from a distance, as I did not climb further.  The lake was near frozen completely anyway and looked about like the ice field I had been on.  I was disappointed to waste half a hard morning, so I decided to get to a peak up above me.

I worked my way up hard scree, with some small slides going below me, and made glacially slow moves- the kind that are safe but tedious, and which carved out these peaks originally.  I slowly gained the ridge, and made my way to a peak, not one of the highest on the famous Monte Verita, but jagged enough and tricky enough to sort of make the time worth it.  Plus I didn't want to head back down the long swerving route I'd taken yet and was dawdling.  I should have used the rock shoes as I had them and had carried the weight, but I only made 4 moves that needed them.  The exposure was terrific, as I had to go sideways across some very narrow vertical-ish boulders stacked together, and could only slap the final rock, as it was overhanging, but it was something.  Several hours of about the same got me back down, though I nearly cliffed-out twice (where going down further is impossible) trying to save time and make short cuts.

I snacked and dried off at my lake, and mulled over going back up another route of Monte Verita to the highest point on the ridge, overlooking the Feather Lakes.  The route was cool, but mostly a walk, and it was high noon, and would have taken the whole afternoon, been hot, and left me with very bleached photos.  I decided against it.  I wanted to save energy for Feather Lakes and had to go back over the pass that day.  Baron Pass was similar to the Pass near Snowyside Peak on my other route: the North side was snowbound and slippery and melting fast, making for danger and not much fun.  So I took my time, and kept water near at hand.

In the above pics, you can see the actual Warbonnet- is there a more aptly named mountain in this world?  And on the right, is the final "ledge"/ridge over to the tilted pointy stone that I slapped and was my summit for the morning.

For the afternoon I planned to head to the Feather Lakes, hidden lakes located in a maze of high peaks surrounded by other high peaks, by going over the ridge near Alpine Lake.  There is no pass, no trail, and none is possible, as the ridge is nasty, steep, and rotten.  I will save all that for the next post, coming soon.

Alice Toxaway Loop

15 miles around lots of beautiful peaks and lakes in Idaho's Sawtooths.  As always, prints are available at thestillwildwest.com, and more photos of Idaho and the Sawtooths are or will be posted there soon.

Starting at Payette Lake in Idaho, near the South end of the Sawtooths is a popular loop hike going to Alice and Toxaway Lakes, primarily.  Those are the traditional stopping points for camping, and are where I stopped.  You also see the Twin Lakes, and a few others, if you want to go to them.  The map is deceiving as the trail appears to go along the shore of every possible lake but is often hundreds of feet above them.  I mention this so that you can plan accordingly with water.  Don't skip a creek if you need water and are a mile from a lake.  You may have to bushwhack down to it!

The road to Payette Lake is a bit bad, pretty rutted, but only 2 miles long.  The trail can be hiked in either direction of course, and I started for Alice Lake, as I was not sold completely on the idea of the loop.  Mostly I wanted to climb some peaks I had seen around Alice Lake which look amazing.  And I knew I would go to the Snowyside Peak Pass at least up above the Twin Lakes, but I was not sure I would go beyond that.  So day one I drove from Salt Lake to the trailhead, about 6 hours.  The last 2 hours to the Sawtooths is always brutal because you have to pass through a half dozen spaced out little tourist trap towns, mostly cute, but darned annoying with 25 mile per hour Main streets when you are eager to be moving.  The Sawtooths are pretty cool, usually sun-bleached with bright blue skies, white peaks reflecting you to blindness, but air temperatures no more than 80 degrees at your starting elevation of around 7000 feet.  So afternoon hikes are definitely doable.  This was my second trip to the Tooths and both times I spent the morning driving and the afternoon speed hiking in.  The speed hiking has not been necessary in either case, but its hard to judge the time a trail will take until you've done it.  I got a little late start as I felt sick and unmotivated- left at 10 am instead of 3 am or then 7 am, after sleeping badly, and started hiking at 4:30 pm.  I took the tent and my big rig for this trip as I expected bad mosquitoes and night lows of around 32 F.

The trip to Alice Lake is 6 miles roughly, and harder than the map looks.  Earthenware Press makes a decent map, but just know the company does not attempt in the least to accurately represent switchbacks.  5 switchbacks on a map may mean anything from 5 to 100,000 switchback on trail.  So just estimate based on elevation.  I had to go up 1,800 feet, but did not read clearly that I would be dropping and climbing a lot and so the hike was a little grueling.  But still it only took 3 hours and a few minutes, giving me plenty of time to set up.  Most of the campsites were flooded and muddy, and the best option for me was a lovely charming peninsula near the east tip of Alice Lake, with perfect views.  The waters were choppy at sunrise and ruined my photos, but El Capitan to the South is a famous peak of the Tooths and I got wonderful shadow effects on it.  It looked so great I had to climb it next morning.

Below are El Capitan, looking different from every side- a true shape shifter, and my orange tent just peaking out from the trees on a lovely peninsula in Alice Lake.

The night was intense.  Listening to an Ipod as the sun went down, I swore I heard a Looney Tunes red hairy monster sort of breathing outside the tent (you know the hair beast Bugs battles in a haunted castle).  So I shut off my great classic short stories and sure enough there was a sniffling as if a basset hound the size of an elephant was outside.  I tapped the tent a few times while digging out my 13 inch bowie knife, saying to myself, I am going down slashing bear!  Just know that!  I will rip open your belly before I die!

The beast outside stopped snuffling around the edges of the tent and neither of us breathed.  He must have wondered what he had inside this strange shelter.  I knew he wanted my Snickers Bar, and with two layers of nylon up, I could not see outside.  So I made some relaxed neutral noises and heard a clattering of heavy feet- almost hooved.  So possibly it was a mountain goat.  Whatever it was, it came back after I switched a light on- apparently more curious than scared, as I expected.  So I gave up on the light and reading and slept with my knife on my chest.  Turns out, I do still have some fear- unseen large animals outside a canvas "shelter" with possible aggressive intentions do spook me.  I slept fitfully trying to keep away from the edges so the first claw blow wouldn't land on my head and I could go out like a warrior.  I was planning to win actually if the monster didn't get me with the first swipe.

Morning came and I snapped some marvelous pics, then went looking for tracks.  No bears.  Mountain goat was my guess, though in hindsight, deer is likely too, as every other campsite I stayed at I saw at least 1 deer.  A majestic laconic bored buck once, and 2 does eating near my ears while I slept another night, and a deer who walked right up to me a third and was limping.  The bears may still be asleep.  But Snowyside Peak, according to the summit diary is home to a mountain goat who shares its perch atop the peak with climbers often- though not me, sadly.  So possibly, it was a goat this time.

Without eating I made for the log bridge I had scouted out the night before to El Capitan.  The peak was easily obtained, on mostly good solid scree of large boulders, with plenty of exposure, but easy climbing.  A nice warmup.  The views were great but I started too late to make the best of the perch.  The light was blinding in most photos.  Sharing a saddle with the Captain was a nasty steep smooth run which was too exposed to be believed.  I had to climb it I decided, as I think few do.  Wishing I had my climber shoes, rather than just thick hiking boots I had chosen for ankle support, I did quick work, including a nice corner and a knife blade saddle swap (sort of like climbing over a horse and sitting in the saddle at the middle of the move, only if the horse were as thin as a blade on the top), all with a thousand foot drop to the lake below me.  It was fun, and probably the most dangerous thing I've ever done- to that point.  I thought so while doing it, and generally, I don't think I do anything dangerous- ever.  It would be dangerous for other people, but I know my limits.  Well, I named this little sub-peak "The First Mate", and if you run up the Captain, grab it while there, if you dare.  Only takes an extra 20 minutes or so.  The run on First Mate is pictured below: right along the sloping edge, so one slip equals a big fall in either direction.  El Capitan is pictured above with the bottom of a very still lake still visible. 

The above pic shows El Capitan from First Mate, with the run also near the edge, but easier climbing, though I did take a rock spear to the leg that left quite a bruise.  My pack I left at the saddle between the two.

Back at camp, my tent had not been torn to shreds by animals, which was nice.  I ate another candy bar, drank a bit of water and headed to the Twin Lakes.  The trail was easy going and not terribly steep, but hot and it did not pass the Twin Lakes, which crimped my water plans.  I would have had to go out of my way and back downhill then uphill again for water and I chose to pass.  Had I gone down, I'd have spent the afternoon climbing an easy enough ridge of smooth rock to Perfect Peak, one of the only practicable peaks to reach around Alice Lake, other than El Capitan, due to sheer and unstable walls around the lake- no shores at all.  Probably a bad idea not to go down for water, but oh well.  Climbing that peak would have meant I had to sleep another night on the South side of the pass by the Twin Lakes and since I could not grab a whole mess of peaks, I didn't want to do that.

I made the pass quickly and decided I had to nab Snowyside Peak, the tallest in the area, and one of the taller in the whole mountain range, though it was far away and I was not dead set on it coming in.  But up close the peak had the same profile of King's Peak in the Uintas, which I failed to reach last trip, you may remember.  And its been tugging at my sense of machismo and manhood ever since.  This peak also like King's, gets smaller as you approach- if that makes sense.  It has the feeling of moving farther away.  I felt about 2 miles away now that I was right under it.  Or maybe I actually was 2 miles away because the climb involved a lot of work.  First there is a pleasant ridge walk to the very high point of the pass and then up some terrible scree and loose soil and rocks, with slides easy and plentiful.  Then you gain a jagged ridge- bring gloves!  And a messy scramble begins.  If you have ice axe, and are there early in season, another option is to try some steep ice slopes which will be dangerous, but probably no more so than the rock, and you could skip the horrible tedious scree ledges that took me 45 minutes- all without water, at height of daylight, recall.

Ridgeline time: there are 3 false summits before gaining the real one.  And each gets worse.  The rock was so rotten it came off in my hands and I never felt that I had a good hold.  I kept planning to turn around but talked myself into the next point, and the next.  The views were becoming stunning, and so I finally made the ridge, never so proud.  Lakes were all below me.  I could see the whole of the loop I was climbing: around this peak in the center of this photo below:

There were partly frozen lakes, snowy peaks, beautiful cottony clouds.  It was one of the most rewarding and grueling and horrible mountains I have done.  Storms were swirling, rain was evident near the end of of my ridgeline, and I still had to go down, which I was dreading.  So I did the only sensible thing: I tarried.  Down actually, was not so bad.  I knew what to expect and made quicker work of it.  I was hot and flushed and had a North side of a pass to descend now though and after mouthfuls of snow for 2 hours, was dry inside and shaking in the legs.  Plus, the whole pass to Toxaway Lake was snowed in.  So now I faced a decision: retreat, or go on?  I went on, falling and tumbling, and possibly spraining my wrist.  The trail had to cross under a falls at one point, and I could not see trail, so I wound up in the creek, falling through ice, but only up to the ankles, soaking my boots.

Hard to say if I made the right call or no.  I got water and Toxaway Lake was gorgeous, as shown from my first sight of it above, and some below, and I saw waterfalls, but I could have done Perfect Peak and stayed at the Twins had I retreated.  There were 3 peaks easy to reach around Toxaway, with one having a magnificent and devilish ramp run for a half a mile that would be nasty and awesome, all at once.  Also, I met a friend, a young college lady travelling alone, and probably unarmed- which was brave and terrific to meet- and we talked trails and mountains and the like.  However, I would have met her the next night at Alice Lake, had I climbed Perfect Peak and maybe jaunted over to some others the next day.  And the final leg after Toxaway involved a barefoot up to the waist stream crossing on sharp stones, and a dry, beetle-singed stretch of forest up a brutal climb where the air got so dusty and I was so dried out, that my nose gushed blood for half a mile, and I could hardly keep from bleeding over all my gear- which is a great way to meet bears!  I am sure.  I could have done without that.  And I wish I had climbed the peaks around Toxaway, and I could have skipped the lightly sprained left wrist- after several breaks, it doesn't take much to damage it.  But I am glad to have done the whole loop, I think.  And it was wise to save energy for the next leg of my trip, though that worked out poorly in hindsight too, as I preferred the peaks I could have climbed to those I did. But that is always true.

As for gear, the tent was not necessary I decided.  Its hard to move on snow with a heavy pack, and my shoulders were getting raw burns and scrapes from the weight, and it was warm enough at night to go without the tent.  Plus that way I could see bears coming, if I positioned my head in shelter of trees and rocks.  I just don't want anything getting me from the back.  As long as I can see what is coming, I say come what may.  All that will be in the next post though.

The last two photos are near where I fell through ice into the creek- yes I was being careful and was aware the ice was not solid due to the pic I had just taken, but did not have the ice axe along, as on the drive in, no snow was visible on any peaks and I did not expect any.  So I also lacked ice cleats.  The mountains are above Toxaway Lake, with two easily walkable- I should have done those at least, and in the center, is one heck of a ridge climb, which I'd have done, had I not been too tired to climb around trees for the first half of it.