Starting off the our first full day in the park, Rich and I did a couple 1-2 mile hikes to get acclimated with the park. Big horn sheep and mountain goats would pop up here and there. An occasional marmot would make an appearance. Referencing our map and discussion from the previous night with our camp guide, we decided to pack for the hike to Grinnell Glacier. It was a quick boat ride, a four mile hike round trip, and we'd be back long before sunset.
We departed from the famous Many Glacier Hotel, an historic landmark built in 1914-15 as a series of chalets on Swiftcurrent Lake. It would be impossible to walk into or around the hotel without being reminded of The Overlook Hotel. A beautiful and purposely antiquated space, it seems a great place to sit for a beer or coffee, but feels too much like the Shining. ANYWAY, after a 20 minute or so boat ride, we reached our destination and faced the option of going with the group for a 1.5 mile hike or going on our own for a hike 2-3 times that distance. After being told that a group of four people or more have never been attacked by a grizzly at Glacier, we decided to go on our own.
After about an hour of nothing looking remotely familiar, we began to wonder. Several hours/miles/cliff bars/gallons of sweat later, we discovered that our trail was a solid six miles each way. Every hiker walking the opposite way would give us intel conflicting entirely with the previous passerby. "It's a another 20 minutes from here" followed by, "it's a good 45 minutes from here" and they would all check their watches as if they were positive about the figure. As if to say, "I've been timing this and I know the exact answer." Regardless of timing, they all agreed on the same thing otherwise: It's worth the hike.
And despite our fear of getting stuck in the bear country after sunset, we kept on. And (because we were so far north) the sun hung in the same place, not far off the horizon, for hours. And eventually we reached it - Grinnell Glacier. Just over six miles and another 1,600 feet in altitude, we were there. Seeing a group of weird European tourists stripping down and getting in up to their necks, I took of my shoes, stepped in, and felt nothing. For a few seconds. Then came the excruciating and nearly coronary-inducing pain associated with water below freezing. Painful and beautiful, it was all part of a memory I will never forget.
But now for the hike back.
Rich and I made friends with a couple who didn't value their lives at $50 (bear mace) and instead opted for the $1 bell you tie to your shoe to keep away bears and annoy people that hike alongside you. As we walked, jingling and constantly on the lookout for bears, Jess and Jordan gradually opened up to conversation, although I've got a sneaking suspicion they were using us for our mace, should we need it.
Eventually, we returned to our starting point. Add two more miles because we would miss the last fairy back and have to go on on foot the rest of the way back to camp. I'm not saying 12-14 miles on top of a day where we already hiked a good three or four makes me an ironman, but I don't hike much and we were pushing it.
Double waterfall.
The snowdrifts in the winter are high enough to allow this: years ago, this poor S.O.B. of a big horn sheep walked onto the roof, fell through a skylight and killed itself. It was thereafter stuffed and has remained in the lobby ever since.
That night, at the advice of my travel guru (hey, that's you Casey), we found the Cattle Baron, a steakhouse that nobody in the area could say enough nice things about. A weird and random trashy little joint, every single server/busboy/employee otherwise could not wait for us to see how good the food was. And they were right. It was delicious. And Danny, the busboy pictured below shared a story of living all over the country because his father was a drug dealer who for years now has been in prison for being caught possessing hundreds of pounds of marijuana. So it goes. Needless to say, he was stoned out of his mind.
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