Glacier and Waterton Lakes National Park span the border between two countries. The little town of Waterton, Canada swelled with tourists for Labor Day Weekend, the last weekend of the summer, bustling with humanity below the large and stately Prince of Wales Hotel on the hill. Smoke rose from a fire to the north but it was fairly clear to the south. But before the afternoon was over, the pall of smoke in town had thickened, and wind whipped fires in dry forests.
We napped. We checked on boat rides for the next day. We rested. We played tourist. I played Grandma, buying small presents for my grandchildren. Dinner and big ice cream scoops completed the evening. My knee was better than the day before, but still a concern.
Playing tourist one more day, we rode the boat up Waterton Lake to Goat Haunt. The mountains were glorious rising from the lake—layer after layer, both sides of the border beautiful. Returning to Waterton, we drove to the Visitor Center, picked up our permit, and watched the mandatory back-country movie, which we’d seen a couple times before.
The fire in Glacier had now closed Going to the Sun Road, and the fire we saw driving into Waterton had also grown. But all our route and campsites were open. I was a little nervous about this last section with all the fires, and, of course, it was Glacier, and there could be bears, both grizzly and black, though most hikers never see them.
A black bear in the middle of the road near the Visitor Center looked a little confused and overcome at all the cars and people. He just wanted to eat the tender shoots of at the ends of little Aspen trees. The tourists leaped from their cars for pictures; RockStar and I tried for one, too.
I would have felt better about this last hike if my knee had been as good as it had been the rest of 2017. It just didn't feel 100%, or whatever percent an old lady usually had. I drowned my concerns in two large scoops of ice cream. Later, I remembered I had a medication I’d been carrying in my kit for a few years. My doc had told me it wouldn’t expire, and I could use it someday if I needed it to get out of the back country. Now might be the time. The thought gave me reassurance. In the morning the knee felt great. I didn't know if that was due to healing or to the medication I’d decided to take. I was just thankful it felt good enough to hike.
Stopping to take a picture of Cameron Falls, there were no other people in the picture at that hour in the morning. I began walking at the Bertha Lake trailhead. The first folks I saw were a Canadian couple at the trailhead and an older American couple from Nebraska. They were a shade faster than me, but they stopped often enough that I caught them to chat as they stopped for breaks. They and a younger couple went on to Bertha Lake, while I continued toward Goat Haunt.
Others I met included day hikers from or to the boat landing at Goat Haunt. Some were impressed I was traveling alone and were totally freaked out worrying about bears. Others were interested in the CDT, and one group of four from San Francisco had many questions about walking long trails, light-weight equipment, and other trail talk. Four NOBOs were completing the trail that day: Navi, Coach, and Phil and Julia whom I’d met on my birthday a month before below the Pintlers.
The vegetation was very dry. A ranger at Goat Haunt said they’d not had measurable rainfall for 90 days. No wonder fires were burning from lighting strikes. I felt sorry for the bears as there were few berries left for them to eat. At the border obelisks, no one was there to take my picture so I took a selfie. Good-bye Canada. Hello USA.
RockStar, having walked from the boat, was already at the campsite when I arrived, hydrating her dinner in the kitchen area of the campground. Rangers had urged me to go through customs before putting up my tent. I did so, leaving gear with RockStar and fording the river for a shorter trail, then legally in the US as well as physically.
Our permit for campsites assigned by the Park gave us a short second day. As it turned out, that worked well for us, as RockStar could manage a short day. Leaving the campground late in the cold morning, after crossing a suspension bridge, I took the side trail to see Rainbow Falls, which RockStar had seen walking in from the boat. It was a nice little falls cut through rocks tilted on edge, deep blue pools below them. I caught up with RockStar at Goat Haunt, and we off-loaded a little trash in the trash can and visited the real bathroom with running water even though we had to walk an extra tenth of a mile to do so. Old ladies like real bathrooms.
From Goat Haunt, we walked through forest thick with dry thimbleberry undergrowth. Corn lily plants had their tops snapped off by bears and white snowberries lined the trail. According to a ranger I overheard, Native Americans called them ghost berries, saying they were food for the dead, the white berries poisonous to humans. I wondered if they were poisonous to bears, and if so, how would bears know not to eat them? They were the only berries left.
We talked to a couple Border Patrol guys on the way to Kootenai Lake for a day hike, and five other day hikers and a couple women backpackers passed us. A woman ranger walked in with us to Kootenai Lake, checked things out and left. Two cow moose were in the lake along with two swans and numerous ducks.
Kootenai Lake was a lovely spot (except for smoke and flies) at the foot of the Citadel, a portion of the tall spires of rock making up Porcupine Ridge. Smoke had been building all day, and we could only make out the spires’ dim outline. Flies at Kootenai Lake were almost as bad as those near the horse camp on the North Puyallup on the Wonderland Trail many years ago.
Three hikers from Colorado/Germany chatted with us as we ate our dinner, where the group food-prep sites encouraged socializing. After we were in our tents, NOBOs Fainting Goat and Sheriff Woody, whom I’d met south of Bannack Pass, hiked in and said hello. Darkness descending, we listened to the ducks on the lake.
In the morning, thru hikers of the night before were already gone when we woke up, but we enjoyed breakfast with the Colorado/Germany folks. RockStar took a perfect video of a mama moose and her baby in the lake grasses close to shore, perhaps bringing her enough joy to redeem her whole trip.
RockStar turned north, back to Goat Haunt and to the boat to take her to Waterton and her car. I turned south toward Fifty Mountain, in the heart of the high country. Supposedly 50 mountains could be seen from there. Not that day.
After hiking mildly uphill through thick forest with lots of thimbleberry past its prime, I passed hikers coming down from Stoney Indian Pass and then met three guys coming from Fifty Mountain: Gideon, Disco and Star Gazer. They had ultra-light equipment but were not CDT thru hikers that year. Having a long-distance hiker look about them, I thought Disco and Star Gazer might have done the CDT in earlier years. Gideon was excitedly learning about backpacking from the other two, and he did most of the talking, although Sky Gazer told me he was going to the ALDHA-West Gathering in Colorado.
After a snack at the patrol cabin, I started uphill, 2,700 feet of uphill in three miles. Stopping for lunch at a little waterfall, I loaded up with more water. Then the uphill grade increased. It was hot and smoky, and I seemed to crawl up that hill. There should have been beautiful views of many mountains to encourage me, but there was just a gray sea of smoke. It was like hiking in Washington in a cloud, but the smoke wasn’t wet. Vegetation was very dry, huckleberry leaves turning red. As I climbed higher, a few huckleberry plants had berries—not many—but enough to keep my mouth interested as I plodded uphill.
Frank, a NOBO, came running down the trail trying to get to Goat Haunt as a sign said the last boat from Goat Haunt would be the next day at 5:00, and access to Waterton would then be closed due to the fire in Canada. I hoped all would go well for RockStar as she would be in Goat Haunt in the afternoon.
Finally reaching open, high country on the shoulder of a mountain, ground cover was dry browns and reds. A half mile from Fifty Mountain, after passing several dry streambeds, I was surprised by a lovely stream, yellow daisies next to rushing water. Treating my water bottles, I gulped one down right there. A little farther on I arrived at Fifty Mountain.
Setting up my tent, I bathed with a small baggie of w
ater from the last creek. A bear-proof food box meant I didn’t have to hang food. Unfortunately, there were no Fifty Mountains to be seen, and campsites and trails were powdery dust making it difficult to stay clean after my bath and ruining the zipper on my tent. But the company that night was lovely as couples from Seattle, Michigan, and Cleveland exchanged hiking tales, one a fairly harrowing bear tale.
In the morning, the trail went straight to the mountain wall and diagonally up the wall to the first pass. I was up high all day. Well duh, it's called the Highline Trail. I knew I was surrounded by tall and rugged mountains, some with snow, but I could see nothing except the ridge above me, and that dimly.
After the first 6-700 foot climb, the trail went gradually downwards coming to a little stream with a tiny faucet-like waterfall where I decided to treat another bottle of water, but I dropped the Steripen, breaking a filament inside, ending its life. I switched to treating water with Aqua Mira.
Sean and Mathinya, the young couple from Cleveland going to the same campsite, caught up and passed me. We leapfrogged each other during the day, and I enjoyed getting to know them. Sean wasn’t feeling well, or they would have quickly left me in the dust. Joining the wet t-shirt club at the waterfall on Cattle Queen Creek to combat the heat, I reached Ahern Creek quite a bit before Sean and Mathinya, beginning to worry about them. When they arrived, I fed Sean Jolly Ranchers. Getting sugar in him seemed to help.
The bottom fell out of my bear spray holster. It was a good thing I was almost finished. Gear was falling apart: tent zipper, Steripen, and now bear spray holder had croaked. I pretended the smoke was Washington fog and concentrated on beauty nearby and within sight, enjoying huckleberry leaves turning red, corn lilies turning yellow, and a few odd flowers and nearby rock cliffs.
Snow would have covered Ahern Drift early in the season. Wolf’s book talked about the need to cut new paths through snow as gravity and melt pulled the Drift down hill in the summer. Now, very little snow was left, and that high above us. The trail was cut, not through snow, but up the edge of cliffs. A long day for Sean, Mathinya, and me, and we were very ready to reach camp.
The campsite at Granite was down a hole from the trail. Mathinya and I spent almost an hour looking for a supposedly treated water source before we gave up, and she pumped our water from a puddle left in the streambed. We were tired and dirty, but it was my last night on the CDT. After a long unfolding quest, the next day I would be a Triple Crowner.
I started the descent from Swift Current Pass. I’d hoped smoke would be cleared. Other hikers had told me it was clear from Many Glacier to the pass, but they’d left Many Glacier two days earlier. Today, smoke from the fire, which had consumed the Sperry Chalet, had spread even over Swift Current Pass. Smoke also followed me from the Canadian fire near Waterton. Still, the haze was slightly less than the day before.
I wanted to take it all in. Who knew how many more trails I would be able to walk? I intentionally looked at everything, trying to soak it all into my vision and memory.
In spite of smoke, the high country was still beautiful, all shades of brown, yellow, and red ground cover on that very dry September day. I could still see a few banks of snow and rocky crags gradually became more visible as I neared them. Smoky haze didn’t obscure everything, though no pictures I took would show the clear beauty of a blue sky. Trees, bushes, rocky crags, ground cover, everything was grayed with smoky haze.
As I descended, I could see two moving white dots on the opposite hill. Goats. Mountain goats. As I got a little closer I could make out heads too, reaching down to graze, barely seen legs moving across dry forage between rocky cliffs. Seeing goats made me excited and happy, a special gift on my last trail day.
The best was yet to come. Turning a corner of the trail around the shoulder of a ridge, singing old Girl Scout songs at the top of my lungs as a warning to bears, WOW. A grizzly bear popped out of the trees on the lower side of the trail, 50-75 feet in front of me. The griz didn’t even glance at the walking singer, just lumbered across the trail, powerful yet graceful, as he moved up through the gulley of rocks. Magnificent.
I stood in awe watching, the bear in no way interested in me or a threat of any kind. I also saw another griz farther up the gulley. These were not small bears. They were mature grizzlies. Two of them. I’d seen no grizzlies ever before, though I’d been walking in grizzly country ever since Northern Colorado five years ago. I was thrilled.
It was amazing how quickly the griz covered ground, though he seemed in no particular hurry. Big boulders and a few trees kept getting in the way of a clear camera shot, and I didn’t want to spend precious moments trying to focus. I only wanted to see all I could see, until they turned the corner out of sight in a rocky cleft above the trail.
What an amazing gift for my last day on the Continental Divide Trail.
After the grizzlies disappeared, I continued down the trail, turned another corner, and Swift Current Basin opened before me, trail cut along cliffs, switch-backing down to the valley below. Four thin waterfalls plunged hundreds of feet from cliffs forming the high mountain bowl. Even through smoky haze, I could look above waterfalls to glaciers. Yes, there was smoke. No, the pictures wouldn’t be as spectacular as they would have been without smoke. But even a smoke-filled valley couldn’t completely obscure the grandeur of the view. In the valley below, I could see the outline of Bullhead Lake.
Smoke or no smoke, it was an awesome way to end the Continental Divide Trail. I walked the rest of the way to Many Glacier on a personal high: Last day on the trail and two magnificent grizzly bears. Pretty hard for a 76-year-old lady to find any way to beat that.
Chapter 48 Walk As You Can
“Medicare Pastor, when people suggest that I’m getting too old to thru hike, I mention you. They don’t argue after that.” Transient, August, 8, 1015
If you are an older hiker, you are not finished unless you or your body truly says you are. It is perfectly all right to say so. No one has to hike. But if you wish to extend joys and challenges of the trail, and your body agrees, get some light-weight equipment to extend your hiking life.
Do not compare yourself negatively with younger, more able hikers. You are the person you are now and, at any age, you are probably capable of more than you realize. If you are in your 70s, you won’t hike the same way you did in your 20s, 30s, 40s, or even 60s. Still, a guy named Cimmaron hiked most of the AT in his 90s in 2013. He wasn’t the hiker he had been in his younger years, but he was on the trail. Billy Goat, four years my senior, still walks long trails, though he has had heart bypass surgery. He too, walks differently than he did in younger years. Perhaps you can, too.
My friend Grapevine Kate and I took a walk around Deep Lake near Enumclaw several months ago. It wasn’t a long walk, but it went through a small patch of forest wilderness around a lake. We met another walker, who shared with us her recovery from severe injuries sustained in an automobile accident. That she could walk at all was a miracle. But by dint of the marvels of medicine plus determination and effort on her part, she was on a hike. Her son had told her Deep Lake couldn’t be called a real hike. We emphatically contradicted her son. Of course it was a hike. It was the perfect hike for her. It was the perfect hike for my friend, Kathy, too. She now has extensive back fusions and knees that complain. Her dog carries what she needs for a day hike. Yet while she can walk at all, she loves to be out in woods and mountains, and I love walking with her. It was a hike for us.
Find a hike that fits your abilities and interests. Get outdoors. See the beauty around you. Walk in whatever way you can. There will come a time for each of us when we can no longer walk. Walk while you can.
I am still able to get up and down from the ground. That means I can still get in and out of a tent. I am blessed to be able to walk at 76. My story of the Triple Crown ends here. I need to plan my next long hike.
“Medicare Pastor…keep on going until you find the edge of the Earth. It is out there somewhere next to
the horizon.” Transient - August 8, 2015
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Acknowledgements
Acknowledgements are difficult to write, not because I have no gratitude for so many people having helped me on my journeys and with the publication of this book. It is difficult to know where to start and where to stop,
Should I start at the creation itself? Without such an incredibly beautiful and captivating world to explore, I would never have begun hiking trails. Without the trails themselves I could not have traversed the miles. Without the vision of those who imagined National Scenic Trails and the work of hundreds of thousands of people who work to create, preserve and maintain them, this old lady would not have walked them. Without other hikers and trail angels to encourage and support me over the years I would not have been able to hike these miles. I am especially grateful for my friends Kathy O’Toole and Karen Keller who walked with me many miles and other friends and total strangers who walked with me for shorter times or supported me along the way. Many are named in this book.
I know, acknowledgements are primarily for those who have helped make the book possible. But the book was not possible without first having trails through creation and friends along the way.
The book was sparked by people along the years who said I should write one and specifically those who talked to me that last day hiking into Many Glacier. Those who signed my trail journals along the way kept me writing them and their comments made me think perhaps I could tell the story to a broader audience.
One winter of intense work resulted in a draft of a book. Many thanks to my friend, Kathy O’Toole, who helped me see that a draft is only a beginning as she ruthlessly made editing suggestions and filled some pages with red ink. Five edits of my own later, I searched for a professional editor.
Old Lady on the Trail- Triple Crown at 76 Page 50