Mile 100 to 177, on a grizzly quest.

Glacier gone not-so-wild

I climb over the hiker burritos spread out over the floor as quiet as possible. Most of them are gonna start their CDT Sobo adventure in just a few days. But I’m done with the park.

As beautiful as glacier was, I’m itching to get really out there. No permits, no fixed itineraries, no man-made campsites.

Time to taste the freedom of thru hiking: how far will my legs carry me today? Or will I be compelled by some beautiful spot to drop by pack early?

The flexibility, the freedom, that’s what I missed the last 6 months when I wasn’t hiking. It’s what my heart is aching for. Time to go.

I quickly pack my things and then I’m trail bound. 16 miles to the highway and then I’ll soon enter the Bob Marshall wilderness.

„That’s where they put the crazy grizzlies“ I’ve overheard a girl in the hostel say. What does that mean, crazy grizzlies? I wonder, eager to find out and explore this mystical place, commonly named „the Bob“.

Ring of fire

But first: crossing a burn zone. Which means climbing over blowdowns, lots of them. My pack gets stuck in branches, I scratch my shins, fall off a trunk. It’s fun, this wilderness.

And after a long day,  I struggle to find a camp site safe from the notorious widowmakers and end up on an uneven patch of grass.

(As you might have noticed, English isn’t my first language. So only on the pct I learned the beautifully morbid term widowmaker, describing a dead tree that might fall and kill ya‘)

The second day I must have brushed some poison oak. My thighs turn fire red and burn like hell. My medical kit bears nothing to treat the rash. I try to ignore the pain as best as I can. What did I say about glacier again? Is this the wilderness I dreamed of?

The bog Marshall wilderness 💧

My feet are ankle deep in mud when I pass the official Bob Marshall Wilderness sign. A place I’ve dreamed of, heard stories about. Mainly about the many grizzlies here, instead of scared, I feel excitement rush through my body and giving me a lil bump after 2 rough days.

An hour later I’ve gotten so lost, I end up wading through hip deep murky water. That feels surprisingly soothing on my poison oak rash. Is it bog or Bob Marshall? Are the grizzlies taking a mud bath somewhere?

In the afternoon I pass a few bones spread cross the trail. Grizzly lunch left over.

I scan the woods for movement, scan the trail for bear scat and signs they’ve dug for critters. Nothing. No bear, no human.

I thought the sierra was empty last year, but it’s nothing compared to this.

An unexpected surprise

After camping in glacier and two sub-par camps since, I decided to treat myself: Levale Lake.

Just hike 16 miles, bypass the spotted bear alternate and enjoy a short day by the lake. Soak in the sun. Make most of the solitude.

But that morning, it suddenly starts raining. I pull out my thin rain jacket. Then temperatures drop. I pull out my puffy.

My lake dreams go bust quickly. With disappointed, I march on.

I look up to the sky and realize it’s not raining anymore. It’s sleet.

I think of my friends up in glacier and shiver. It must be snowing up there.

20 minutes later, thick fluffy snow flakes are landing on the trail. Ufff. How high was the campsite again? I pull out my maps, over 7,000 feet. Tonight will be cold then.

I reconsider, should I go farther but further up and then hike down to sleep lower? The snow is only getting heavier.

By the time I reach the junction with a few flat spots to camp, my decision is clear: I can’t feel my toes. I want the comfort and warmth of my tent and I want it now. 

Just as I pitched my tent and threw my things inside, the wind picks up. Quickly I craw into the small shelter. I grab a pair of dry socks, my merino and wrap my quilt around me tightly.

What June is this? I wonder.

I spent the afternoon reading a crime novel on my e-reader. The wind keeps blowing snowflakes under the rain fly on my face.

I read until the cold drains the battery of my e-reader. Before falling asleep, I tuck my water filter and phone under my quilt to protect them from freezing.

Over night, the snow continues, laying wet and heavy on my tent walls. The wind tugs on my lines all night. But I have no worries, this is my safe space. My quilt is warm. All is well.

By the time I wake up, it had all stopped. My tent was to my surprise: dry.

The storm had passed and outside was covered in a fresh dusting of white. Quite beautiful.

But the worst was yet to come.