I am a one on the enneagram, The Perfectionist, The Reformer, The Critic, The Idealist, The Follower of Rules. I tell you this upfront so you feel my trepidation on our last river trip on the main Salmon.
The trip was quickly thrown together at the end of July. Five of us, three boats, two dogs. The plan was to go after permit season, as obtaining a permit in the era of the World Wide Web proves to be virtually impossible.
In the end, we arrived at the put-in with four of us, two boats, and still, two dogs.
We rigged the boats on the ramp at Corn Creek, along with several other groups. The sound of electric pumps made it difficult to communicate with each other. We’d all done enough river trips to communicate non-verbally. The dogs sat in the safety of the truck and watched so they wouldn’t get run over by a boat trailer.
The boat ramp ranger came to check us in before we packed everything onto the boats. The boat ramp ranger checks that we have all the proper equipment for our seven-day river trip. A toilet system for packing out our poop, a strainer for straining the extraneous bits of food in the dirty dish water, a trash system, a fire pan (no open fires on the beaches), an ash can to haul out the ash from our fires, and a shovel to shovel the ash from the fire pan to the ash can. The five-foot boat ramp ranger sounded like she had a megaphone in her throat. Her voice projected over all of the noisy electric air pumps. Her rehearsed speech did not miss any detail. And that’s when she said it.
“You must pack out all of your ashes.”
Oh no, I thought. We’re all going to end up in federal prison. I wanted to confess that we were bringing ashes in, I wanted to raise my hand and say, “But wait……” I didn’t say anything. I was going to go on this river trip and break the rules.
We camped at Corn Creek, as our launch date was not until the following day. The mood was good, better than expected. Considering.
The morning of our launch, Heidi and I decided we would hike the first four miles on the Salmon River trail to Horse Creek. Brett and Shannon would finish rigging their boats and pick us up. Horse Creek would be where we would leave the ashes.
The morning went as planned. We beat Brett and Shannon to the pickup point and flagged them down at the small beach upstream of Horse Creek. Heidi grabbed the ashes off Shannon’s boat. The four of us walked solemnly to the confluence of Horse Creek and the Salmon River.
The fifth person who was supposed to come on the river was now in a tube. Ashes. Heidi uncapped the tube and let the ashes of her husband fall into the water. We watched Scott float down the river. His happy place.
The day before, we had also decided that we would meditate twice a day, for ten minutes, as a group. Each day’s meditation would have an intention. Surrender was the intention for today.
We watched Scott’s ashes float away, and Brett suggested we meditate here. We all agreed. As we got set and found a comfortable place among the river rock, a jet boat went by, creating waves that lapped up on the rocks. Towards the end of our meditation, another jet boat went by, more waves. We quietly got up. We all hugged each other, happy that the ash dump was done on the first day. That’s when Heidi yelled, “Shannon! Your boat!
There it went. A boat with no rower, floating down the Salmon River on its own. The jet boats’ wake had dislodged Shannon’s cataraft from its perch on the sandy beach.
“Scott never did like it when things got serious,” Heidi said as we ran across the rocks to see if the other boat was still on the beach. “He did this!” she hollered.
Shannon headed down the trail to see if he could catch the boat downriver. The rest of us and the dogs jumped into Brett’s boat and started rowing after Shannon’s boat. It was stuck just below us on a rock by a fast-flowing eddy on the opposite side of the river. Brett tried to bump it, but the current was too fast, and we quickly floated right on by. Just below the rock was a huge sandy beach. We were able to pull over. Brett walked over the huge boulders where Shannon’s boat was hidden from our sight. He managed to jump from the rock and into the boat. He struggled to free the boat from the massive current. Just as Heidi was headed up to check on him, he came around the back side of the massive boulder. Brett crossed the river to pick up Shannon then crossed again to the beach where Heidi, the dogs, and I waited.
The whole trip, I was reading the book “Living Untethered: Beyond the Human Predicament” by Michael Singer. A spiritual book. A follow-up to the book “The Untethered Soul”, more like a procedural sequel. I finished the book, and as planned, went right back to page one and started it again. This book is a bible to spirituality.
“One of the most amazing things you will ever realize is that the moment in front of you is not bothering you – you are bothering yourself about the moment in front of you. It’s not personal – you are making it personal.”
My takeaway: It has taken billions of years of serendipitous events to reach this moment. You are merely an observer. Don’t take it personally.
The author, Michael Singer, gives realistic examples and analogies. Watch yourself when you are driving. Do you tend to get upset at drivers that you have no control over? Let it go. Don’t let this event control you and your thoughts. You are merely an observer.
I often think about the morning of August 2nd. Sitting on the bedroom floor with Heidi, watching Scott, who had died in his sleep that night. Billions of years of serendipitous events had brought us to this moment. I am merely an observer.
I highly recommend the book “Living Untethered” by Michael Singer. Read it once to get the gist. Read it twice for it to absorb into your unconscious mind. I also highly recommend the healing powers of the river, close friends, and meditation.
More book recommendations and adventures can be found at Wild About Books.
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.
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