Been berry, berry good to me

These are just a few things that bears like to eat instead of me.

A Walk In the Park, Part One

By this point in the trip, I had successfully managed to ward off any long (or even short) hikes through the park. It's not that I am against rigorous physical exercise, my friends; indeed, I revel in the occassional jumping jack or a swift nighttime run, though it's usually from the couch to the potty during a commercial for "Wife Swap." I am not sure you have a complete understanding about just how dangerous nature can be. Every single time we entered the park, we got a newsletter that told us about mountain lions stalking, bears mauling, mountain goats butting, elk goring, or bighorn sheep baah-ing, which can be chilling if you are caught unawares. Advice is offered to protect tourists; things like: "Don't scream!", which is not really an issue if your throat is being ripped out, or, "Don't get between a mother and her cubs," advice which would be much easier to follow if bears and cubs didn't act like they owned the whole forest. They frolic and play in culverts and behind trees, concealed in foliage and bent over behind shrubs, so, I ask you, how would a person with limited senses of sight, smell and sound even know where the bear families are hanging out? Glacier isn't like a WalMart, you know, with brightly lit aisles and well-marked stations; this is the woods, baby, dark, mysterious and scary, the kind that Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel get lost in! It's like a JUNGLE out there, I tell ya! Needless to say, while I was enchanted by the beauty that surrounded me,

I was not altogether eager to foray in the forest.

At first, it was pretty easy to coerce McAdams into doing my bidding. "Yeah, today is a great day for a hike," I would coo. "But it is kind of hot and dusty. Let's swing by Lake McDonald for a little dip first. Say, why don't I treat us to a six-pack of Huckleberry brew?" From time to time I would insist upon a huge, starchy lunch that would make us logy, or ask to be driven up the Road to the Sun just one more time. Once I feigned diarrhea. I'm not proud, but you do what you have to in order to survive in the wild.
Finally McAdams said it was now or never. She chose a hike she knew that was 14 miles; seven miles in, seven out. We'd have to leave early and pack a lunch. We were in a part of the park called Many Glacier, and we would be hiking the Grinnell Complex. That's right. Not just a small mountain, a hillock perhaps, but a whole complex of mountains. In the backwoods. Where no one could hear you scream. I pictured a scene from my future: two foolish and intrepid hikers make it to one of the lakes on Mount Grinnell and stop to skinny dip in the crystal clear waters. It's cold, and they cavort and then cling together to stay warm, talking and laughing, giddy on the glory of the nature that surrounds them. Something touches the foot of the lady hiker, and, still giggling, she reaches down to see what has floated downstream to gently nudge her. It's my femur, bleached white and worn smooth by the lake, but still bearing the evidence of what must have been a valiant struggle; the teeth and claw marks of both a mountain lion and a grizz, etched into the bone. Nothing kills a mood like a human carcass, campers. Take heed: this could be you!




McAdams has stories of when she has come into contact with bears. She once narrowly escaped with her life, when, running headlong down a steep hill, she came unexpectedly upon a mama grizzly bent over in the woods, eating some berries, maybe taking a poo. Bears really do shit in the woods, ya know. She tells this tale with seriousness, but also with a sense of thrill and reverence that leads me to infer that she would not be too horrified to see another bear; indeed, she would welcome the sighting. She spoke of the things tourists do in order to warn bears of a human presence. Bear spray is popular. It's a cayenne pepper concoction that McAdams says is good only to turn the tourist into a tasty salsa treat. Bells that one ties onto ones shoes to make noise she dubbed "dinner bells." "Nope," she said, "the only way to be safe is to yell 'Yo, Bear' at regular intervals. They pretty much leave you alone if you do that."
I was not comforted.


We went to the little store to buy our lunch. I tried to choose foods that smelled like plastic or pesticide. We filled up on water that came from a tube stuck in a limestone mountain. I wasn't sure if it was potable - a sign said I'd have to drink at my own risk - but since my chances of surviving in the backwoods were minimal, I decided to throw caution to the wind.

We sat down to a hearty breakfast, though, truly, I was feeling a bit nauseous. The nineteen year old kid who was our waiter in Montana this summer, but a California surfer kid the rest of the year started to chat McAdams up.

"Where are you guys headed this morning? It's an awesome day for a hike!"

"Up Grinnell! Gonna go to the top!"

Cheerful idiots, I thought. Fools. Shut the hell up and serve me my last breakfast.

"Oh wow, yeah, right on! Only, like it's closed. Been closed all week. You can only go up halfway."

"Closed!" McAdams was visibly shaken. "Why?"

"Bear activity, dude. Elk carcasses on the path. Gnarly bear feast, for sure."

I felt like Mr.Burns from the Simpsons. My fingers steepled together. "Excellent," I hissed.

Fire on the mountain

Eden, Wyoming

a poem

Eden, Wyoming

Population 220

Tiny houses, big land

One room, log cabin church

Driveway of dirt

Flat, but the mountains,

Like beckoning ghosts,

Always calling from just over the horizon

One Sinclair gas station

No dinosaur

And then,

Farms, cows, dust

Scraggly tree and bored crow

Miles and miles of camoflauge countryside

Not my idea of paradise, really.

Hi there. It's me again. I'm back.

Eduardo said he'd like me to continue the blog. I like Eduardo, and sometimes he handles my legal affairs on the cheap, so I've decided to oblige his request. I'm cool like that.

So, after Polebridge, we began to make the long trek back home. We cut across Montana, through Idaho, and into Washington. We travelled scenic byways and highways, through forests, down coasts, over bridges, under big sky, on the occasional dirt road, and up several driveways.




So, when we were in Monatana, the Bob Marshall Wilderness Reserve was on fire, and that was visible for over 300 miles (Holy Smokes!); there was a big fire near the Idaho border, which we saw from the highway. Helicopters that looked like determined blue-bottle flies would hover over enormous plumes of smoke and drop gallons of water below. The water gushed out, like rain through a funnel, but it never seemed nearly enough to stem the flames or even break through the smoke. The air was acrid and our eyes got squinty. It was a bad scene, blogstahs. We figured it was probably the fault of people, as opposed to lightning strike. As Smokey, says, "Remember: only you can prevent forest fires." After this we learned a valuable lesson and pee-peed out the window for the rest of our trip.

Oh my goodness! I just realized how ahead of myself I have gotten! I have completely omitted what may have been my favorite day in Glacier; the day of the hike! It was fabulous! Pretend like you aven't read this post, then read the next one, then come back. Damn linear time! Cursed natural progression!