The Big Adventure!: 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.