Rocka Rolla: Dawson Pass Loop Day 2 - Glacier National Park

Not long after we left the moose behind, it started raining.  The forecast actually looked really good, calling for a chance of rain Thursday but partly cloudy Saturday and Sunday with highs in the 70’s.  Despite all the times the weather forecast has been wrong, I believed it like a fool, and packed accordingly.  So you can imagine the look on my face a couple hours earlier at the Ranger station when I stood bemused while the Ranger was contacted by radio and informed right in front of us that an arctic storm blowing across Canada would hit the park that night and last for two damn days.  Here it was early August and Glacier Park was expecting 2 inches of snow…

 So when the rain started, all I had for protection was a pack cover and a rain jacket, which usually would be fine in a regular rain storm… But it rained hard and never stopped.  By the time we got to camp at No Name Lake I was soaked. My feet were soaked through waterproof boots, my whole upper body was soaked through a waterproof jacket, and my pants were so wet I could wring them out like a dish rag. I’ll be honest; it made me rethink the quality of my gear.  The really crappy part was that because fires are illegal in most of Glacier Parks backcountry, we didn't build one. We sat in the rain and made dinner, and the first time the rain broke, we hurriedly pitched our tents.

Finally the rain did let up and we all went down to the water and did some fishing. The dreary overcast sky was darkening with the coming of twilight, and as we fished at the waters edge a thunderclap exploded in the sky overhead.  It boomed like a howitzer and the violent crash of rolling thunder stampeded from the mountain side onto our beach and shook the ground beneath our feet. And there it remained, unwavering, beating against our courage and filling our bones with dread. Our eyes were fixed on a massive sheer cliff towering over our beach like Point du Hoc, and with eyes wide open we could see stones and boulders violently tumbling down its doom lit face and smashing into the rocks below.  It was a sight to behold, the raw power of nature. Jesse looked at me and for the second time today asked, “Should we be standing here?”

Luke fly-fishing No Name Lake

It rained all night and the next morning.  At breakfast we discussed our course of action. Luke and I were so sick of the rain. We have been rained on every backpacking trip since April. It seemed we couldn't escape it and we were both feeling like we just wanted to be dry. But Jesse came to the rescue with words of wisdom that really got moral turned back around, “Overcoming adversity like this is what makes you a better and stronger man, we need to finish what we started.” Of course he was right, and a half hour later we were packed up and heading west toward the continental divide.

Bear Bait: Dawson Pass Loop Day 1 - Glacier National Park

Within 30 minutes of walking we ran into a group of hikers going the opposite way, who warned us of a black bear ahead of us on the trail…

I kind of slowed down, and was intently scanning the forest in front of me looking for it, trying to make sure that we wouldn't surprise each other. The woods were thick with spruce, and pine, and fir, and even aspen, and all I could see were a thousand shades of green and brown.  Two Medicine Lake, I knew, was maybe a couple hundred feet from my left shoulder, but I couldn't even see it through the trees. I couldn't see squat. I felt like the point-man on a U.S.  Special Forces team in some southeast Asian jungle, trying spot the enemy first before I stumbled into an ambush.

 I know the bear isn't my enemy, but  frankly I didn't want to surprise the hell out of it and get attacked by the damn thing. I kept thinking about that poor hiker in Kentucky last June who was almost eaten by a black bear. If he hadn't been rescued by another group of hikers he would have been dinner. But I had some companions with me, so I wasn't too worried.

We were being loud. We sang some Tom Petty. We clapped our hands. We called out “hey bear” and “coming through bear”, or even the occasional enticement “people steaks” and “Special tonight, leg-of-Larson, come and get it”. It was pretty amusing coming up with funny little quips to yell into the woods to ward off bears…  And in this particular instant it didn't even work.

I had just about given up. I thought the bear must be gone and I wasn't going to see it.  I glanced to my left and my eyes locked with the eyes of a bear that was standing about 15 feet just off the trail in front of me. He was staring right at me, watching me coming, and I didn't see him until I was nearly right on top of him. The instant I saw him, I was startled, which in turn startled the bear, who jumped just as a person would when you scare the crap out of them, did a lightning  fast 180 degree turn, and took off into the woods. He got about 30 feet before he ran into some huckleberry bushes and sat down for lunch.

He was big and black and the light gleaming off his manicured coat looked like something a rich woman would have worn back in the day. He paid no attention to us at all, just sat there eating like we weren't even there.  I took some pics, and soon we were on our way again. I couldn't help but wonder how the outcome might have been different if it was a 500 pound grizzly instead of a 150 pound black bear (that’s what it looked like to me). Not that 150 pounds is small. I remember Luke remarking that it was just the size of a big dog.  Well 150 pounds is a huge dog (and coincidentally also the size of the bear that mauled that dude in Kentucky).  I remember my old dog Bruener (who I compare all big dogs too), he was about 110 and scared the holy crap out of everybody, and could have killed just about anyone if he wanted to. Seeing the bear up close like that was surreal, but it wasn't scary. I realized 5 minutes after we left him that I didn't even reach for the bear spray I had on my hip.

About 15 minutes later we had another encounter that truly did scare me.  Jesse was up front, and somehow spotted a bull moose off the trail to our left about 60 feet or so into the woods. I t was by far the biggest animal I have ever seen in the wild. His rack was 5 feet long from end-to-end it looked like a damn school bus. I know that I’m exaggerating, but I was kind of freaked. It just stood there holding its ground staring. It’s like it was sizing us up. I remarked to the guys, “That thing is gigantic and it’s staring right at us” and Jesse goes, “Yeah, should we be standing here? Let’s go!” I took a couple heart pounding (it was so huge) pictures and we boogied.

Olympic Coast Backpacking

One more month until my Olympic coast adventure. 4 days and 3 nights in Olympic National Park on the wildest (and most beautiful) coast in the lower 48 states. Me, Luke, Steve and Steve, into the wild. I have been planning this trip since November and it hasn't been simple.

I have never backpacked on an ocean beach before, and I have heard that the changing tide can cause a lot of problems for people. For one, a high tide can bring your progress to a complete halt if your route is blocked by water. Worse, if you are caught in the high tide with no means to escape to higher ground, you can be swept out to sea. So I bought a "Custom Correct" map which shows me every point on the coast that will be impassible at high tide, and any possible alternate routes. Coupled with a "Tide Table" that actually predicts the changing tide, I am confident we will overcome. From what I gather, it will simply be a race against time. In other words, we will have to race to the locations that are impassable at high tide in order to beat the tide.

The weather is another major concern. The Olympic peninsula is the wettest location in the United States. April is the wettest month. We will be in the rainiest place during the rainiest time. Should be interesting. I have taken, I believe, every necessary precaution. Waterproof (but breathable) jacket and pants, boots and gators, and a pack cover. I have even bought waterproof stuff sacks for my gear. My biggest concern in this regard is my new camera. It is a big SLR with a big lens. Figuring out how to pack it, and how to keep it dry will be challenging.

In camp our biggest concern will be the wildlife. It seems that the raccoons living at the forest edge on the coast are ultra-aggressive. They will steal your food and ransack your gear if you are not paying attention. The park is also full of black bears, who are notorious food thieves. As a result the park requires all backcountry campers to carry bear canisters. I have never seen one in person but from the pictures they look like large hard-plastic can like cylinders. All food must be stored in the canisters at all times. We have to pick them up at the ranger station, and as of now we aren't sure how many we will need for 4 people, or how we will pack them.

Our last problem that we still haven't actually solved yet, is how we will be shuttled from trailhead to trail's end. The route goes from south to north straight up the coast for about 20 miles and then cuts almost due east another three miles to the Ozette Lake ranger station, which will still be closed during our trip. I had planned on using a shuttle service that would allow us to drop the truck off at the trail's end, and drop us off at the trailhead. Sadly, I learned that the woman who ran the shuttle service has passed away, and as of this writing (as far as I know) there is no shuttle service at all along the coast. I guess we will have to simply call a cab at the nearest town which I think is Port Angeles and hope they will drive into the park. I am really keeping my fingers crossed on this one.

These and a slew of smaller issues such as catching a ferry across the sound, picking Steve Keller up in Port Townsend, the long drive there and back, and the dozens of other intangibles, should make for one hell of a trip. I have geared up and kept fit by hiking all winter long, so I am ready. I say, "bring it on." I know it will be the trip of a lifetime.