“If the bear starts to eat you, fight for your life.” -Glacier National Park’s backcountry safety video.
My buddy Dave* and I go hiking in the backcountry of a different western state each summer. We have been close since college. As our lives and attitudes about them have diverged, these summer trips have remained a constant source of connection.
This year we are in Glacier National Park trying to wing it. Most years we come in over-prepared but this year there has been no time for planning. We know the risks and are experienced backcountry hikers. In over a decade of hiking together, we have never been asked to watch a video dramatizing such risks.
Glacier is serious about safety. A lot of things can kill you in the backcountry, the video warns. Hypothermia, falling, drowning, ticks, and most important bears. The video makes it seem like bears are sitting around fires together at night, rubbing their paws together and scheming to eat humans.
It appears there are bears hanging from every tree and hiding behind every bush like villains in a video game. As for us, we are 2D Marioesque characters from the original Nintendo. We can go forward or backward, and jump an inch or two, but otherwise are sitting ducks for ravenous monsters.
Dave does not fear death in the way I do, but we both can’t help erupting in nervous laughter when the announcement about getting eaten enters the video. Dave’s a practicing Christian. He believes in heaven and does not find its existence terrifying.
To know what is going to happen when you die and not be frightened by the thought is an enviable position. I once thought the same way except it scared me beyond belief. I would lay awake at night having what I now recognize as panic attacks thinking of eternal life on “streets paved with gold.” Dave, who is a genius, still maintains what I see as cognitive dissonance about the nature of existence.
The ranger is a young guy built like a second baseman. His eyes teem with excitement as he relays that we are in luck. It’s almost impossible to get this hike, the most sought after in the park, late on a Saturday afternoon with no reservations. We need to be flexible and willing to put in some extra miles but he can get us on some incredible trails.
Our campsite on night one is in the front country. It’s a luxurious space. Even has showers.
Sleeping is always fitful that first night. The excitement and wonder of what’s ahead. The fact that you are going from sleeping in a bed the night before to crashing on the ground with just an inch or so of inflated plastic as a cushion. And the danger.
In this writer’s experience, the most honest version of oneself comes out in the backcountry. Death is an ever-present spectre in my life. It is the source of all fear and anxiety. Thus, backcountry hiking is some of the strongest medicine for my mental health.
When a person is scared to die. And, we are all so disposed whether we admit it or not. The fear of what comes next can be all-consuming when we are mired in the day-to-day machinations of our existence.
The backcountry strips away any distraction aside from existing. Moving, eating, finding and creating shelter. In the wilderness, the battle is between your doubts and fears. You are the referee in this fight. There is no promoter or sponsor. You have control over your next move but are powerless against factors well outside your control.
We are about five miles into what could be a near sixty mile hike and the sole of my right boot has fallen off. These boots were on their last legs but it seemed like they had at least one more trip in them. About a mile ago a young guy and his horrified date on her first overnight camping trip reported a sow with her two cubs bluff charged the pair to within seven feet.
Nature is wasting no time in reminding us who is boss. Dave has a little duct tape. I have some athletic tape in my first aid kit. One step at a time is the motto.
Our campsite for night two is in one of the most stunning places I have seen in my life. The sun seems to split out like a neon hula hoop around the horizon as it sets. Everyone here at 50 Mountain knows Glacier like the back of their hand.
Where are we headed? We don’t know. Something lake through something or other pass. Everyone else has their shit in a neat package.
Most of the folks camping here are from West Texas. They know something or other lake. Must be Mokawanis Junction and Elizabeth Lake. The patriarch of the group just turned forty. He charmed sixty friends and family into going back to Glacier for the umpteenth time. The women stayed back with the young kids.
Day one was some of the hardest hiking Dave and I have done in over a decade hiking together. We could use some trail magic. Day two is not forthcoming. We have been hiking for what feels like twelve days. Dave’s heels are a wreck. He has quarter sized blisters on the back of each. They shine like the sun from last night.
A blister is not just a blister. It changes your gait. Challenges your spirit. Picture walking one way your entire life and then being forced to change that pattern while stepping on and over rocks and roots while gaining thousands of feet in elevation.
We are looking up at a pass between peaks. There seems to be no way out. A group of three is enjoying a late afternoon picnic along the bank of perhaps the most gorgeous lake these eyes have seen.
*Dave is not his real name. He’s one of my best friends but does not have an online presence. I want to respect that.
Part II of this story is on the way in this space.
