adventure

Granite Chalet with the Great-Grandmothers

/ Lisa Poe / 1 Comment

This summer was busy. But not my normal busy. I had two more grandchildren, Henry Poe and Roan Honey. I lost a friend and spent a lot of the summer supporting my good friend, his wife. The backpacking trips were few but good, and included different people. Through all of this, I knew the first weekend in September I would be spending two nights in Granite Chalet in Glacier National Park.

The crew included Carol, Other Lisa, Debbie, and me. Our room was for six. Debbie obtained the permit and invited her daughter-in-law, Mandi, and her friend, Tiffany.

The logistics were mostly worked out, and not really worked out. It was a challenge for me, who prefers excel spreadsheets, timelines, and itineraries. I was traveling with three people I didn’t even know, Debbie, Mandi, and Tiffany; I felt like I was hiking with the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. They were far from that image, and they were the three who were packing pistols and knew how to use them. Yes, you can pack a gun in a national park. I was packing bear spray, which I did not know how to use, and normally don’t pack except in Glacier National Park.

Carol, Other Lisa, Debbie, and I spent the first night in Hungry Horse at a locally owned motel. We found an amazing place to eat, The Sunflower Cafe and BBQ, an outdoor pavilion located in a campground. I had the Jamaican Jerk Tofu bowl which came with black beans, rice, and fried plantains. Yum. I highly recommend The Sunflower Cafe and BBQ located on highway 2 between Hungry Horse and the west entrance to Glacier National Park.

That night, we decided we’d like to see the sunrise at Logan Pass, which was also the High Line trailhead to Granite Chalet. Up at 5:00 a.m., some more packing and repacking of our backpacks, a quick breakfast and hot drinks, and we were through the entrance at 6:00. It was still dark. We arrived at the Logan Pass parking lot and visitor center at 7:00 a.m. AND the parking lot was full. The whole world decided to see the sunrise at Logan Pass. There was humanity everywhere. Port-a-pots with lines, cars circling for an open parking spot, this was not the experience I had imagined. Debbie got out of the car to take photos. Other Lisa got out to puke. Carol and I went back the way we came to see if there were any open spots in the overflow lot.

We found a spot and walked back to Logan Pass to retrieve the others and stand in the port-a-pot line. We all walked back to the car to get our backpacks on, but other Lisa was still feeling sick, so we hung out by the car for her to feel better before we started our 7.5-mile hike. By 8:30 we put on our backpacks, locked up the car, and headed to the trail cut-off to the actual trail. The trail cut-off turned out to not be a trail. There were ropes and multiple signs saying not to use the cut-off. Carol didn’t care. She was done walking the road with all of the traffic. I said I’m walking the road. Debbie agreed. Other Lisa was in a conundrum. I told Carol she was going to end up in federal prison. They all followed me up the road to the real trailhead for The Highline Trail.

The trail was amazing. The views and the geographical features were outstanding. The number of people out hiking this trail on a beautiful sunny Saturday in September was mind-blowing. The trail runners were on their way back, the day hikers were perfumed and freshly groomed. There were lots of passing people on the trail, and everyone was polite. We got to know the groups that we kept hopscotching with along the way. Carol and Other Lisa don’t know a stranger and struck up conversations with them all. Other Lisa was starting to feel better. We were in no hurry.

We arrived at the Chalet and once again, there were people fucking everywhere. The smell from the pit toilet was strong from all of the usage and the heat of the day. The chalet was on a stunning vista and is over 100 years old. There is no electricity or running water. We were given a tour of our room by the chalet worker, directions to the water source a quarter-mile walk from the chalet, and told where to keep our food in the community kitchen. We had to sign up for a cooking time, and were informed that the kitchen opened back up at 7:00 the next morning. Debbie asked if we could use our backpacking stoves, and they said yes, but only outside. Quiet time was from 10:00 to 7:00, and the walls were thin. More like they were built to hear everything, from your snoring neighbors to the cards being shuffled two doors down, or what sounded like a bowling alley full of drunks from the dining area.

There were three bunk beds in our room; it was tight quarters when all six of us were in the room.

We ate our backpacking meals outside, the crowd lessened as the evening wore on, and the day hikers trekked back to their cars. Forty-four people were staying at the chalet that night. The sunset was stellar, there were lots of photos, but nothing captures actually being there “for real life,” as my granddaughter likes to say. Carol, Debbie, and Other Lisa went to bed, and I stayed up for the moon rise. This was the night before the full moon. It rose perfectly in the V formed by two mountains. Absolutely NO picture captures the magic of the moon rising with it’s own light silhouetting the mountains that form the western continental divide. I took one last trip to the outhouse in hopes of not having to get up in the night. I had my headlamp and bear spray; the chalet grounds were nearly empty now, and the headlamp was only required for inside the outhouse.

I was up early the next morning, and I’d already packed my day pack with my backpacking stove, fuel, tea, mug, breakfast, my chair, and my titanium long-handled spork. I set up on the picnic table as other early risers joined me for breakfast and tea.

We prepped for our morning day hike to the Swift Current Fire Lookout, trekked to the fresh water, packed snacks and some warm clothes in anticipation of the cooler high elevation. And that’s when we saw the grizzlies. A momma and two cubs were playing on the hillside, just above the chalet. The people piled out of the chalet as word spread of the grizzly sighting. Once the workers heard of the bears, they came outside with metal pots and pans, banging and yelling, “hey bear.” They didn’t want the bears to think this was a safe place to play or look for food. It took a while, but the momma finally got the picture and scooted her cubs along.

The Swift Current Fire Lookout gave another stunning view. We looked down on the chalet, could see the trail we came in on, and looked down into Many Glacier in the east entrance of the Park. We could also see the trail to our chosen afternoon hike to Grinnell Glacier Overlook. There were no other people on our morning hike, and we had a nice rest at the lookout as we ate our snacks. Carol picked up rocks to take home. I told her she can’t take stuff out of a national park; she’d end up in federal prison. Carol replaced the rocks.

The afternoon hike was much more popular. We had people join us who enjoyed our pace and the conversation with Other Lisa and Carol. We passed people who were coming back down and gave us words of encouragement, telling us we were almost there.

“We must really look old,” said Other Lisa.

“I mean, you and Carol are both great-grandmothers,” I replied.

The Grinnell Glacier Overlook hike felt way more intense, but perhaps it was due to the order in which we hiked them.

Both days were hot and smoky. Forest fire smoke had settled into the park. You could smell it, feel it in your lungs. We were excited for the chance of rain the next day.

Back at the chalet, a couple was watching an NFL football game on their phone with no earphones. The service was barely there, but it was there. The sound of the announcers calling the game took away from the wilderness experience. There was an amazing number of all-women groups in the chalet that night. One group had set up on a picnic table and was determined not to pack out all of the alcoholic beverages they had packed in. Just before dinner time, I heard the sound of pots and pans being banged upon. You would think people would seek shelter when they knew that a grizzly was in the area. No. We grabbed our phones and head to the excitement. This male grizzly was basically at the chalet. He was so close that when the pots and pans and yelling did not invoke any response, one of the workers suggested throwing rocks at him. That’s how close he was. He was busy chowing down on something and gave us zero attention. The Fish Wildlife and parks guy, Hank had left the day before. He was patrolling the area with his uniform and shotgun when we arrived. The grizzlies clearly recognized him and stayed away while he walked the grounds. The work’s called out to the grizzly, “Don’t make me call Hank.”

The maintenance woman who worked at the chalet said she had some flares she could shoot off. They sent the rest of us into the chalet, as no one knew which way the bear would run once the flare was shot. It took three loud flares to scare this massive grizzly down the mountain. He slowly perused the trail that we would take out the next morning.

It rained hard that night and into the morning. I was excited for the rain to clear out the smoke for our hike out. Once again, I woke up first, but I was in a conundrum now. Where would I have my early breakfast? It was raining and cold. I decided I could bundle up and set up on the patio downstairs which was covered by the deck on the upper level. As I reached the downstairs, I realized it rained right through the deck and there weren’t any dry spots outside. I knew the front door was open from going in the day before to get my food out of the kitchen. I set up on one of the long dining room tables with my headlamp and book, and I wanted a hot cup of tea. The kitchen didn’t open for another 45 minutes. I took out my self contained backpacking stove, a Jetboil, poured water into the insulated container, attached it to the heating element, then attached it to the small fuel container. I took out the lighter, rolled my thumb across the small grooved wheel with one hand, and turned the fuel knob with the other hand. Even with the rain pounding outside, the sound of the stove was a distinct and loud “whoosh” in the large empty dining room. Within half of a second of lighting the stove, a door opened and there stood a man in his underwear, hair disheveled, “You can’t use that in here!” I turned it off. Fuck, I’m going to federal prison I thought.

“This building is over one hundred years old,” he explained as he went back to his room and shut the door.

I’m a rule follower. Now I was going to feel bad about this for the rest of the day. This is always what happens. Breaking a rule has never ever worked out for me. I’m always just half a second away from a man standing in his underwear calling me out.

The rain was slowing, the smoke had cleared, and the clouds hung low on the mountains. We walked out on the Loop Trail, which was how Mandi and Tiffany had come in. A four-mile, downhill, huckleberry-filled walk out. The closer we got to the car, the more people appeared. There was a plethora of group photos as we stopped everyone going up to take another. As if we could freeze the moment forever, as if the experience would be forgotten or was surreal. The photo never actually caught my guilt for using the stove inside. Although, probably catching my impatience with the number of group photos for which I was being asked to smile.

Would I do it again? I was grateful for the experience, the views, the sunsets, and the moon rises. I’m grateful this majestic natural wonder is accessible for so many people to enjoy and feel ownership and responsibility. I’m grateful for my friends, the great-grandmothers, for including me in this adventure. I’m grateful Carol and I did not end up in federal prison. I’m even grateful for the group photos. Would I do it again? Yep.

More adventures, as well as book recommendations, can be found at Wild About Books.

Summer Camps

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

When you are backpacking there needs to be a plan. Finding a flat, open campsite that has access to water is non-negotiable.

‘Can’t you just stop and camp anywhere?’; people will assume.

Um…… No. Twice this summer I hiked well into dinner time looking for the flat open spot with access to water. On our Tin Cup to Boulder 55 mile hike we missed the outfitter camp we planned to stay at on day two. It was off the main trail and this was our first time doing this particular hike. We will know next time.

It had been a long day, a big climb, hot, smokey from the numerous forest fires. We were ready for dinner. We almost camped on a large moss covered rock, large, as in football field large. Everywhere else was too brushy. We continued until we found a place next to the creek, sort of flat, and maybe a little bit not too brushy, but mostly too brushy; uneven. The trek down to the water was treacherous in our camp sandals. Luckily, Heidi had brought the backpacking solar shower for a handwashing station which we ended up using as our gravity fed water source which resulted in fewer fewer trips to the creek.

There was too much brush to build a fire but it was a warm night so we were good.

A campfire is more than a source of warmth. A campfire gives you a reason to hang out. It gives you a focus when the conversation wanes. Watch a group of people sitting in the forest without a fire and the waning conversation results in an awkwardness that sends everyone to bed early. I have a fire pit in my yard. The home fire pit was like adding a room to the house. An evening by the home campfire is a signal that my granddaughter will get to eat marshmallows until the bag is empty. It limits the screen time by all being out by the campfire. It connects you to the earth and the trees and each other. It is like a cozy comforter or a warm matcha latte. Setting up camp in a brushy area is not conducive to a campfire. We went to bed early.

On another trip we had hiked in for an overnight. It was a very warm morning. The breeze felt like we were at the beach instead of in the Rocky Mountains. When we were only a mile from our camp at Elk Lake we started hearing loud crashing. Was it thunder? Were boulders dislodging and crashing through boulder fields? It was random. Distinct yet unknown. We were distracted by the huge ripe huckleberries, picking, eating, hiking, distant crashing.

We got to camp and found a flat, open, well used camp with a rock fire ring. But where was the water. We need water to drink, to rehydrate our backpacking meals, for evening tea and morning tea, and even; wait for it………..even to rehydrate our dehydrate toilet paper. Yep. The best invention ever. Toilet paper tabs. Gone are the days of hauling half rolls of TP, stuffing all of the hollow spots in your pack with ass wipe, always questioning if you have brought the correct amount. My poop kit is now a small bag with an aluminum trowel with serrated edges for roots, my toilet paper tabs and mycelium tabs to speed up the composting process in the cat hole. Small and light. Game changer.

We walked around the lake trying to find a better spot closer to water. What we did find was a forest fire. It was up on the ridge. We could see the flames as they torched entire trees. The smoke was rolling into our camp, you could smell it in the air. We did not find a better camp. We came back to the original spot, filled up the solar shower and called it good. We did question if we should go back due to the fire. We were eleven miles from the trailhead. Then it started to rain. It sprinkled for the next 30 minutes as we set up our tents, sleeping pads, sleeping bags, pillows. The rain stopped, there was a slight breeze but it stopped too. We made a campfire and laughed at Juno the yellow lab as she dragged Ernie the Yorkie around camp by her warm vest until the said vest was ultimately removed, like a magician on stage, from Ernie. Juno drug Ernie all through the forest and they’d come running back; Ernie naked and Juno so proud of removing Ernie’s outfit, prancing up to Scott with the dog vest in her mouth.

The next morning we woke to wet ash stuck to our tents. We made our hot drinks, rehydrated our breakfast and TP, packed up and headed back down. This is where is got weird. We munched on fresh huckleberries for the first mile. So hard to pass up a juicy ripe huckleberry. As we got more into the forested part of the hike we had to get around a huge tree down in the trail. Scott commented that he did not remember this tree. We’d been super lucky going in with the lack of downed trees on the trail. We climbed over more trees, we hiked off the trail for the downed trees that were impossible to climb over. We crawled on hands and knees, we threw our packs over first in the tight fitting crawl throughs. The smell of pine was strong in the air. Giant trees hundreds of years old had been uprooted taking out everything around it as it had crashed to the ground. What the heck had happened? This was clearly the mysterious noise we had heard while hiking in. We must have been just in front of this wind storm. A wind storm that never reached our camp. People in the Bitterroot Valley lost power, lost trees, an event was canceled at the Marcus Daly mansion due to the destruction of the massive trees on the property. All while we were tucked in our little oasis.

Back to the Tin Cup Hike. We had planned to hike the 55 miles in 6 days. That was one day more than my max I’m able to pack for and carry on my back. I took my most light weight set up and still weighed in at 30.2 pounds; 5.2 pounds over my comfort level. On our second to the last night we camped on Canyon Creek on the Idaho side of the pass that leads into Boulder Creek. The camp was flat, a little over grown and next to the creek. Perfect. It had been a long day, the trail was not well used. There were trees down that may never be cleaned up it was such a maze. We set up camp, made a rock fire ring, collected dry firewood and congregated around the fire with our one pound chairs, jet boil stoves and dinners. That’s when the rain started. From 5:00 to 8:00 it rained like I’ve never seen rain before. At 6:00 Heidi yelled; “we’re going to eat in our tent”. When you set up the rain fly on your tent, it is designed to create a nice vestibule on both sides. I was able to heat water in the vestibule for my tea and dinner. The rain had also brought a considerable drop in temperature. I was in my sleeping bag, with my hat and gloves on reading “Of Mice and Men”. I was going to burn the pages of my book as I read this small paperback, making my pack lighter, but we had not had a fire since the first night and tonight’s fire was put out as soon as it was started. I read, ate dinner, drink several cups of tea. Could I pee in the vestibule? I think so. As I was thinking trough the logistics of peeing in the vestibule, the rain slowed. It slowed enough that I could hear the voices of Scott and Heidi. Oh wait. Let’s back up. I had two things going on that was frowned upon in this bear country we were camping in. One; I just ate in my tent. Two; I had not hung my bear bag that contained the rest of my food. With the slow down of the rain, I was able to put on my rain coat, rain pants and camp sandals and go outside for a pee and to hang my bear bag. Scott and Heidi were doing the same. My bear bag is an Ursack. A bag made of kevlar. You put your food in a smell proof inner bag, put that in the Ursack, hang it on a tree above a branch at a level that is reachable but above the ground. You use a square knot to tie up the bag and a figure eight knot to tie it to the tree. Done. Scott and Heidi hung their bag the old fashioned way, using a parachute cord and a rock, throwing the rock high up onto a branch, then pulling the bag up into the tree way above the ground and far enough out from the tree that it would not be reachable if a bear climbed the tree. The only trees available are pine trees and the pine trees at this elevation were thick with needles and the branches all tilted down. They were like giant tree gods wearing big god like robes. It was impossible. And a real study in marital relationships. They did finally manage to hang their food and have since bought an Ursack as well.

It rained all night and into the next morning. I ate breakfast in my tent. I was able to pack up everything while in the tent. Then, I disassembled the interior of the tent. I packed everything except the rainfly and tent poles, used the backpack as a back rest and sat in my shelter watching Scott and Heidi finish packing up their gear.

The trail was brushy, the brush was wet. We were soaked to the bone. It continued to rain. There was nothing dry. Parts of the trail were more like a creek than a trail. We climbed for two miles. Snow spit on us as we neared the summit. We’d experienced three seasons in this multiple day hike. The forest fire smoke had been replaced by low hanging clouds. We reached our camp for the night on the other side of the pass. The original plan was to camp at Pickle’s Puddle, a less then three mile day, more of a layover day. Then do a side hike to Boulder Lake. We blew right past that camp.

We’d been in contact with my husband for the whole trip using a Garmin Inreach to text him. We had plans A, B, and C in case the trail became impassable. The night before he informed us that the high temperature at Pickle’s Puddle would be 37 that day. We had already decided our last night would be at Boulder Falls with an easy five mile hike out on the final day. When we arrived at Boulder Falls our boots were squishy on the inside. Our rain gear had gone past its intended capabilities. Everything was more soaked than before. We never stopped, we were dehydrated from not drinking enough, we ate protein bars as we walked. Stopping was not an option because we would get cold. Making a fire was going to be virtually impossible as every piece of wood was saturated. When we got to Boulder Falls we texted Brett and told him we were coming out today. Could he pick us up at the trailhead in a few hours?

I call it a death march. We hiked two days in one day. We didn’t stop for a break. Scott and Heidi used their long, strong legs and and desire to be in warm, dry clothes to drive their pace. I was dragging behind. We were half a mile from the trailhead when I saw Brett coming my way.

“Why don’t you have your hood on?” he asked.

“It’s not raining”.

“It is raining”.

“Ok.”

Before we left for this expedition, I had asked Brett to bring us cold drinks and potato chips when he picked us up. Luckily Brett brought us hot camomile tea, mugs and chips. We climbed into the truck smelling like wet dogs. We blamed the dogs; but it was all of us.

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