Thursday, September 9

DAY ZERO: Travel (ugh.) and DAY ONE: Mt. Brown Lookout




[ DAY ONE PHOTOS ]


We met in Missoula, a detour of over an hour from the "beaten path" to Glacier National Park. My flight from Traverse City, Michigan was more than on time, it was (gasp) early and still, less than ten minutes after deplaning and fishing my stash of bags from the belt, I was met at the curb by Justin, UO Llama comrades, Micah and Rachel, and a car full o' shit. Nevertheless, because we(?) felt it was necessary to shop organic, we loaded up on whole food groceries in Missoula, things like Annie's Naturals Goddess Dressing and free-range ground buffalo, that would not be available in Columbia Falls.

So here we were, loaded into a car so heavy the tires barely avoided the wheel wells, with three hours left to drive. Fun times, I'll tell ya.

The first night, we did what we always do after a ten-hour-plus drive; we crashed hard. In the tradition of "second days," (after the 2001 failed Siyeh Mt. climb), we got up late and decided to hike something that would kick our asses but not require too much mental exertion. HAH.

We thought, as we were all in peak shape, that a "strenuous" lookout hike with a summit peak within a mile-and-a-half might provide ample opportunity for some altitude gain. We'd done the lookout hike before in 2001 and, needless to say, had forgotten just HOW strenuous it was. Starting at lake level, we hiked about four-and-a-half miles, gaining 4,700 vertical feet with over thirty switchbacks in the last two miles. Phew.

This hike is notorious for being the ONLY hike I've ever heard Justin complain on.

Near the top, and one of the switchbacks overlooking the lake, we met two smokers, dressed more for a college drag than for hiking. They seemed silent and reserved but after some joking banter amongst ourselves, we decided it was better that Goths were hiking in the park at all. When we got to the lookout we saw them again, when they met with two friends at the top. This time the girl smoker took out a bright burgundy, crushed velvet bag. Was this her version of a hiking pack, I wondered?

"Nice bag, is it velvet?" I asked.

"Yes." she said. With no further response to initiate the conversation and without really thinking, I spat out, "What's in it?"

There was a long pause and I wonded why I asked. The look on her face said that the there was something secret and almost shameful in the bag's content. What could it be? I'd have bet it wasn't a hiking pack any more.

�Stuff?� I said, trying to give her an easy out.

Her reply, slow, guarded, and daring: �My husband."

For a moment, my mind raced. How did her husband fit into the bag? Was she joking? Then the secret look and the answer locked into place.

�You�re up here to scatter his ashes?�

She nodded, on the verge of tears, and one of her friends moved in to put his hand on her shoulder. For a moment there was a very full and awkward silence, then I apologized for asking such a loaded question so casually.

Justin�s father wants his ashes scattered over the park. My grandfather wants his scattered in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Someday I hope to have some part of myself left in the summit winds. Later, we found out from one of the three others in her party that she had lost her husband a few months earlier to cancer and that they two had been to the park four years earlier, and were so moved by what they saw that she had returned with three friends to grant his last request.

The man who relayed the story, dressed in a Pink Floyd tee-shirt, ripped shorts and sneakers, told us that he had spent all his years in Wisconsin, completely unaware that places like Glacier Park even existed. �My God,� he said, �I had no idea. When I get home, I�m gonna quit my job and go see the world.� When I laughed (my way of affirmation, which many mistake for amusement), he said, �I�m serious. I never even knew.� This park changes more lives than I can even imagine.