Jane and the Grizzly

As this person summited the hill our eyes met. They said in a low guttural voice, panting,”There’s a bear….coming…run….for your liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiives….”

They drug the word ‘lives’ out way to long and in such a deep way I could tell they were hyperventilating. There was this person. The giant mob of tourists, and I thought of Jane. This was a very serious situation. Scary. And very funny.

I remember it well. Mainly because I have told so many people this story. Nearly every group I lead on a hiking trip. Why do I tell it? Because I am called a hero in the end of the story? No, far from it. On most trips a guide is as much a hero as a hobo is to a conductor jumping on a their late night freight train looking for a free ride. I tell this story because it illustrates the intelligence of animals—grizzly bears in particular. 

I remember it well…

My boss was smiling as she told me about the wonderful people. I immediately knew she was lying. She was only nice to me when she was giving me a challenging trip to lead. Still, I know I have to stay on her good side. Because Judith, one of several bosses, is the person who assigns us guides our trips. She stands before me, rocking from side to side biting her lower lip, her big bushy blonde hair bounding side to side on top of her six foot tall Swiss frame. She is a terrible liar. 

“This was going to be a wonderful set of hikes with really wonderful and interesting people, “ she says, and “Would you be OK with taking them out even though they didn't want to go anywhere there were bears?” 

An odd question to ask a guide. Especially because Glacier has so many bears. 

I knew she thought they were crazy.

Because I know she thinks I am crazy. 

It sounded like a interesting challenge. And I wasn’t worried so much about the people. I try not to have any preconceived notions about guests ever. In the end of my career, I didn’t even look at their ages, weights, or personal information anymore. Just showed up and started the party. 

The little information I had: a couple and a young woman, from Tennesee, had called multiple times insisting on not seeing any bears, but hiking in wilderness in Glacier National Park—the highest concentration of grizzly bears in the lower 48. Not the MOST—thats Yellowstone, a place I would later guide wolf viewing trips in the winter. This is Glacier National Park. Where we have the most crammed into one spot. 

Standard stuff for a day hiking guide in a place like this. Really, all I thought was “they” and this trip will be “interesting” to say the least. Something to break up the monotony of routine random boring albeit beautiful day hikes. 

It would end up being one of the most exhilarating wildlife encounters in my life up to that point. 

I laughed and said, “Sure I will take the people out, no bears, got it. Happy to help.” Like you have a choice in the guiding industry.

It would actually be a set of custom day hikes. They were coming from Nashville. Near my home turf of Louisville, Kentucky, where I was born and rasied. It was a couple and their grand daughter. I would be hiking with them a few days. There would be a break in the middle while they stayed on the east side of the park and explored by themselves.

I packed my fancy lunches (best ones in the park at that time, I was told). 

Double checked my personal gear.

Prepped the vehicle and waited for my guests to arrive. Who were a little late—which never bothered me a bit. 

The guests were wonderful people! An amazing couple from Nashville and their 16 year old granddaughter, for whom the trip was a birthday gift. Out of all the places she could go in the world for her 16th bday gift, she chose Glacier. What a cool kid!

The grand parents were thrilled. As was I to finally get in the vehicle and start the trip. 

They did have some concerns. Really, only one concern. A huge debilitating unexplainable fear.

Their one concern: bears. Grizzly bears in particular. Man eating, blood thirsty, 700 pound killing machines. 

I laughed in their face when they voiced their concern. Not out of disrespect! I couldn't help myself. Seriously. Laughed out loud—some of them belly laughs. It was truly hysterical. They were in hysterics. Way over the top.

“Our bears here are not the killers of the interior of Alaska. Our bears are largely vegetarian. They eat berries and bugs most of the year. They avoid us like the plague. Because thats what we are to them. If we see a bear, we will be lucky! Just take pictures and stay behind me,“ I say smiling and still chuckling, not fully understanding the depth of their fear, Jane’s fear in particular. Rather, nearly exclusively it seemed. 

“You don't understand, Jeremy. We are paying you to NOT see a bear. What ever we have to do. Wherever we have to go. I just don't want to encounter a bear.”

I stared in silence. Half smiling. Not sure if she was serious. Thinking, ‘lady, you have just come to one of the grizzly bear capitals of the lower 48, and you demand no bears?’ Its kind of like going to the Indy 500 and demanding to not see older men with mullets. It could happen.

I said I would do my best and winked at her husband and granddaughter who did not share her concern.

Our first day we did the deadly Avalanche Lake hike. It is extreme if you are an infant or of failing health. It is a beautiful hike. And on this HOT day the shade of the old growth forest was welcome. I was actually able to hike without a wide brimmed hat. (Until we got to the lake where it was more open. Then the hat came out, and I doubled up again on sunscreen.)

The terminus of the hike is Avalanche Lake. A huge, turquoise, glacially fed lake located in a huge circular bowl formed by a rocky, but green ridge-line around the backside. Above it a massive and beautiful hanging valley with the shrinking Sperry Glacier. It sits aside the continental divide. Wolverines chase grizzly bears off of their kills there. It is a special place, even with the relentless crowds and tame chipmunks. 

On the hike up I got to know my hiking partners as people. One of my favorite things about this job. Getting to know the people who choose to have me take them out into the middle of nowhere, keep them safe and show them stuff. It’s a self selecting crowd. And it’s a good one.

They are top quality people: smart, kind, sophisticated individuals. I reflect as I walk on the hike back down from the lake through the shoulder high thimbleberry bushes before it opens up into the old growth how lucky I am to meet amazing people and take them out walking for money. 

The old growth here forms a cathedral like experience. Walking through those soft trails, it is hard not to be enchanted; over five hundred years of unburned old growth cedar, larch, and a multitude of diversity in the understory where there is often a forest mist. The forest is sparse all around you so you can see one to two hundred yards in all directions. The branches of these trees fall off at the bottom as the trees age (to protect from small fires—for they are fire friendly trees and need it eventually!). Here the branches are all dead around you and gone. The thick branched and heavily needled top layer of these trees do not start until far over head. They all reach as high as they can for the sun in their brief warm summer. Leaving the understory dark. Quiet. A perfect place for people to hike silently, or with a screaming toddler. A place for deer to forage. For the mountain lion to lounge and dine on the deer. A place of diffused light for the ferns and the diverse ecosystem only present in old growth forests. Flowers, bugs, moose, bears. Moss so thick on glacially deposited bus size boulders it has become soil and small trees are growing out of the top it. Go there. Ignore the throngs of people. Sit and wait for a break in the crowds and allow yourself to be moved by the wilderness that is your birthright. 

We leisurely descended back down to the boardwalk entrance, hoards of people and gridlock traffic. I promised our next hike would be a bit more remote and idyllic. The prime of what Glacier has to offer. Jane cut me off, “No bears right.”

I laughed again and said I doubt it. She repeated, “Seriously, your tip is riding on us seeing no bears.”

Things got real serious when the “T word” was dropped. 

“Now listen Jane. I have told you a dozen times. A bear can inhabit every square inch of this park. I cannot guarantee you we will not see one when we meet to hike or when you hike by yourselves. I will say this. The trail we are going to hike is extremely popular and so crowded I cannot imagine us encountering a bear. And on top of that, its supposed to be hot again, and no smart bear is going to be out in the middle of the day. They are all wearing a giant fur coat—think about it. BUT, it is possible. Although, I would bet a lot of money on us not seeing a bear.”

“Good”, she responded. “You’re betting your tip on it.”

I squinted my eyes and stared straight mouthed for a few seconds when the tip was brought up again. It’s not so much the money as it is a symbol. To threaten to reduce or mess with a tip in any service industry situation is a classist statement and should be avoided at all ‘costs’. It’s a big elephant in the room, and it is NOT to be discussed and threatened. Or you can count on someone fantasizing about kicking you to the curb and you have no taxi or spitting in your food at an eatery. Or feeding a family to a grizzly bear in the middle of a forest. 

We said our goodbyes with smiles and handshakes. Despite our different views on bears and the service industry. And despite these differences—I really loved this family. 

I did not see my new best friends for two whole days. They stayed on the East Side of the park and did things solo. How they ventured out of their hotel room onto the trail without a guide to ‘protect them’ from bears I have no idea.

A few days later I was supposed to meet them at the St. Mary Visitor Center parking lot at 9AM. Thats on the east side of Glacier National Park. The Glacier Guides guide camp (Camp Winnakee—old word meaning place to dump trash) is on the West side of the park. There are two ways to get to the east side. Crossing the Going to the Sun Road (GTTSR) or driving around the park. Driving around the park is a bit faster and easier. Going through the park however is a thrill. I drove the Going to the Sun Road as usual. I always drive the road. Always! If its possible. Early. The earlier the better. Better wildlife. Saw a small Black Bear near the Bird Woman Falls overlook. And if you leave early enough you can get a quick bite to eat at a small restaurant before meeting guests. Younger co guides NEVER wanted to do this. Preferring to sleep in as late as possible. I had two poached eggs and GF toast. What other National Park can you get a poached egg for a $1? Rising Sun Motor Inn Restaurant used to deliver. They switched up the menu and I have not returned since.

After 20 minutes of blissful waiting in a tourist information center parking lot, the meeting point, I drove the few minutes into St. Mary and used the phone at the hotel & gas station to call the Glacier Guides head office to check on the guests. This is before Bill and Denni installed the satellite computers in the day hiking guide vehicles, and electric coolers running off of a second battery in each vehicle, state of the art stuff! Of course they told me the guests were running late. I didn't mind. Except for the fact that traffic would be horrible headed back into the park Because of the road construction. And it was hot already, and getting hotter. No way we were seeing a bear today I thought to myself. WAY to hot. It would be possible for a bear to have to relocate DUE to the extreme heat. Say, because they are feeding in the open now on Glacier Lilly bulbs. Could even use our trails. Could even do it in the middle of the day because he started at 6 AM after his (or her—but most males migrate farther than females throughout a range) best feeding time is over: nighttime. These are nocturnal creatures. Its possible that this could happen. But so unlikely it’s not even worth thinking about. And definitely not a topic of conversation when discussing bear biology with my new best friends from Nashville. 

Shortly after 9:45 they arrived. Like I said, I never mind waiting for guests. Breaks up the monotony of day in and day out hiking and gives me a chance to actually sit down and relax. Guide seasons are brutal long hours, like a war deployment.

We quickly disembark, driving with only a few mentions of the word bear and assurances we would not see one. I did not respond, just stared forward. I felt like they knew my stance on bear possibilities and it wasn't worth repeating the same conversation. I was just thinking about the road crews I saw staging earlier on my drive over the Going to the Sun Road. I knew we could be in for some traffic.

Some have postulated that the east side of the park is the most beautiful. The Blackfeet Indians definitely think so. They have called this sacred land home for at least ten thousand years. ‘Hundreds of generations of our ancestors blood is beneath our feet here on this land’, I have heard them say.

Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park (the first of its kind championed into existence by the Women’s Rotary Club in 1931. Thank you ladies!) is such a special place. 

Glacier National Park itself on the U.S. side is sixty miles wide, by 90 miles tall. About a million acres. Surrounded on all sides by National Forest, connected to the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex. This with the surrounding Canadian State lands makes it a huge multi million acre wildlife corridor capable of supporting every species that originally was supposed to be there. Only thing missing is the migrating bison and small group of migrating caribou. And the Blackfeet Indians are working really hard to bring the Bison back. 

Glacier is a geographical anomaly. A massive piece of Earth, shifted and abducted onto the surface. This means the Earth split and a massive piece of old rock came up and is resting on newer rocks. Some if this rock is so old it predates life on Earth. Predates the oxygenated atmosphere. These old rocks have been pounded by precipitation since they began rising from the Earth. One geologist told me at the rate of speed your fingernails grow. As they grew, these massive Earth fingernails have been shaped by wind and water. But mostly by snow, and what would become ice, forming glaciers. Hence the name: Glacier National Park. These Glaciers carved out beautiful valleys. Massive ancient rock spires, cracking, thin ridged mountains, and massive round hulking beast mountains like Gable and Cleveland (the Parks highest at 10, 466 feet). The mountains are quite unique due to their origin. Their shape, right next to the prairie with little or no foothills still makes them one of the most breathtaking places I have been fortunate enough to visit and live. And since this particular place is on the continental divide, it all goes downhill from here. Glacier is actually one of only a few places on the planet known as a triple divide. Water goes not only to the west and east, to the Pacific and Atlantic. It also flows north to the Hudson Bay. That means its as clean as the day the Earth took its first breath. Despite our best efforts to mine it and put cattle on it before it was a park. Thank goodness it wasn’t profitable for either. There are still active mining claims in Glacier National Park that could be worked if the owners chose.

The Going to the Sun Road is the only road to go through the park. 

My fears about the road construction were founded. We waited in two spots for a long time. The first: road construction. The second: a near hour long bear jam! A grizzly, which we did not see. Nearly a quarter of a mile ahead of us near our trailhead. The guy working construction said it was the biggest one he had ever seen in 20 years of working in the park. A big cinnamon male. The unique off colors, my favorite. The rangers were just loading their shotguns back into their car, disappointed they didn't get to shoot a defenseless berry and bug eating animal with bean bags or cracker shells(or worse).

I was excited to hear the news about the bear sighting. Always hoping to see one myself.  Always! Despite Janes best wishes. And I would have LOVED to show the 16 year old a big beautiful griz and how amazing they are to watch move. All that hair bristling. Hiding their gaunt human like frames. 

This bear jam was not met with positivity. Even the grandfather and the grand daughter made a few jokes about how I was lying about there being little chance to see a bear.

In the van before we parked I defused the situation as much as I could. All of us sweating. Some from the heat. 

At the trailhead we lucked into a parking space immediately! Unbelievable, truly. The park visitation has set records for years in a row now. Parking is abysmal typically at this hour. It was hot, the sun was screaming at us. We prepared to leave and were all quickly ready to go. All except for one of us: Jane. She refused to get out of the van. Demanding assurances that there would be no bears in sight.

For several minutes I laughed and joked refusing to say we would NOT see a bear. Just messing with her. Frustrated, yet, for some reason—on this day I did not give in. I did not lie(I never “lie” while guiding—but sometimes I might say something to make someone happier—sugar coat it a little—for safety reasons…). I did not sugar coat it. Still a little upset at being chastised in the van due to the recent bear siting, I said plainly, “Bears inhabit every square inch of this park. Although highly unlikely! It is possible we can see a bear today. Although I will do everything I can to prevent it.” Having no idea what that would be. I am just glad I did not give in. You can guess where this is going…

The terminus of todays hike would be Virginia Falls, passing by St. Mary Falls. St. Mary and Virginia falls as a hike is every bit as dangerous as Avalanche Lake. Toddlers and the immobile struggle here. For everyone else its pretty much a walk in the park. And they come to walk. Boy do they come to St. Mary and Virginia Falls. 

Every type of person is possible to be seen on this trail. Ranger led hikes, families from Ohio, Continental Divide Trail Hikers (its on the CDT), Mennonites, Amish, Native Americans from the local Blackfeet Nation, toddlers and people with mobility issues. To say it is backcountry wilderness would invite debate by more than a few of the people familiar with it. But it is.

As we hike and the guests see the other trail users, I reassure them chances of seeing a bear on this trail are very close to zero. I continue, “ And besides, look at these people. We can easily outrun most of them.” 

And this IS true! We can outrun most of these people. But that is the last thing we would want to do. If you run from a non threatening bear you can actually trigger its predatory instinct and CAUSE it to run after you—maybe worse. I tell them this. And I assure them of our safety because I also know that a bear has never attacked four or more people hiking in a group on the trail in this park. Encouraging them to stay close. And on this day. I will end up saying these exact words many more times…

From the road and trailhead you see beautiful Virginia Falls. Its displacement of air in the form of a strong wind from its eighty foot lush early summer runoff waterfall can blast your hat off of your body. The mist can soak you in seconds even at forty to fifty feet away. It’s quite powerful to approach. It’s impressive. Go there in early July. You will feel its power. Flowers live in that spray zone nurtured by its gentle and constant watering. I always point out some of my favorite flowers to guests there: tiny purple shooting stars and others at the pool near the base of the falls. Also nearby at the fork in the trail to the lower observation point One Leaf Wintergreen can be found. Flowering in the early July at this spot, its single tiny flower points down. I love this flower for multiple reasons. Its tiny size, only a few inches. Its small flower, both beautiful and incredibly unique. The center of it jutting out, shaped, reminding me of cast iron designs of industrial tools from the turn of the century. It can also grow in near complete darkness, under logs and rocks if need be, but doesn’t have to. It also boasts one of the tiniest seeds on the planet of any flower. It is quite common in the Sierras on the west coast. Far rarer here.

The hike to get there is about a three quarter mile hike down to St. Mary Falls and then back up a three quarter of a mile hike to Virginia Falls. You hike down and then back up a few hundred feet each way. It’s a little taxing if its summer, full sun, and little to no wind. Which is what today is exactly. The heat does not phase me. And I love this hike. I used to really very much enjoy many other hikes far more that St. Mary Virginia Falls, (as we call it). Frankly, I used to not like this hike at all if you can believe that. It used to be a complete treed green tunnel hike. You couldn’t see anything. And you were hiking under canopy nearly the whole time. It was buggy and boring. But after the Reynolds Creek Fire of 2015, there is a massive sweeping view of the entire east side of the park. It is stunning. Going to the Sun Mountain, Dusty Star Mountain, and several other vault all around you. The creek rushing by drowns out the faint whisper of the traffic on the road. Its breeze is cooling in the high heat of the day. At the creek you can see moose, rare swifts and ducks.

We stop at St. Mary Falls and I wonder as I always do when I visit it how I would attempt to descend it in a kayak. I still have not come up with a safe route.

We opt to eat lunch later on the hike somewhere in the shade and with less people. I am starving. The poached eggs and toast were tiny. And my little hangover I was convincing myself I was not feeling was convincing me otherwise. Guiding is hard on you in many ways.

We continued on up the trail. Passing the small shelves of waterfalls which are so beautiful people actually think THEY are Virginia Falls and turn around to go back to the trailhead, missing the 80 foot cascade. These little falls are stunning. And fun to climb on. I see several families letting their kids do just that. I remember back to my childhood how my father would prioritize taking us to different parks and letting us run a muck in the wilderness. I always accredit him for my love of the outdoors because of it. 

We make our way up the trail ascending now towards Virginia. Named after somebodies daughter. Not a native name. 

We stop to take a break. It is VERY hot. Jane and her husband are in great shape. But they are from low elevation and feeling it. I am feeling it. It’s the point in the day where even the trees seem to be still, trying to wait out the heat. Trees can get sunburned also. We stop in the shade just off the trail. A bend in the trail at the top of a small rise. A dried up creek bed offers several shaded seats comfortably raised off the ground. A family of four sits silently there eating PB&J’s. We respect their space and silence and try not to bother them. 

My troop sits down not to far from the PB&Jer’s to cool off. I stand close to the trail trying to identify what I think is Lewis’ Monkey Flower which is bearing no flowers yet when a strange noise floats in on the faintest of dry hot winds. 

Screaming. 

Distant at first. 

But, shortly, as if they turned a corner immediately audible.  

The calm and serenity of the park is shattered for me immediately. 

I turn to the guests who are unaware of anything. I look at the family of four eating PB&Js in the shade with us and say, “You hear that?” I pause, cocking my head to one side for a better sound, “Someone screaming?”

No-one hears it but me at first. 

It gets a little louder.

Everything that is about to happen takes place in under 90 seconds. From the time I start speaking until I turn and say “Wasn’t that awesome!”

“Listen”, I continue. 

The noise can be heard by everyone now. It is definitely a person screaming.

Everyone perks up at this point curious. What is this person yelling about?

I ask everyone to be quite. Afraid a child has fallen off of one of the shelves we sped by a few minutes ago. I always hate to see visitors get injured in the park. As a guide in Glacier I felt a deep and profound obligation to assist anyone in need in the backcountry. Although I would obviously prefer to not have to deal with it. Unfortunately I have been involved in numerous backcountry medical situations—nearly all were NOT guests on my trip. All survived and are well today. 

Holding up my finger for quite as I try to discern what is being screamed, I drop my hand and start shaking my head. 

I am actually a little relieved when I hear a crazy person huffing the word “bear” loudly. I turn to the family of four we have interrupted and to my guests sitting in the shade and say, “Sorry. False alarm. It’s a crazy person yelling ‘bear’ on the trail trying to announce their presence and scare animals away.” 

And thats what it did indeed sounded like. We all agreed. 

Everyone relaxes back into vacation mode. Tired, hot and or enjoying a PB&J.

Jane glares at me. I am too hot to care and turn smiling a little.

The yelling gets louder. And it’s disturbing. 

I meander back towards the trail and warn everyone, “Just want to let you know, when this crazy person walks by I am going to demand that they not yell bear like this. They are going to freak people out. This is crazy.”

We stand in silence a few moments longer. A tension builds in the air. Even the still trees, trying to avoid the heat of the sun seem to fidget—the yelling getting louder. A mans head crests the trail. The yelling from far behind him all of a sudden even louder, crazier, and more off-putting, disturbingly guttural. 

The man is rushing. His two children hands clasped tightly in his giant hands pulling them forward, as fast as he can walk. 

When I see the look on the children’s faces I know EXACTLY what is happening. I start laughing in disbelief and shoot a wide eyed look at my new best friends. Then I spring into action:

I say “Sir, are you OK? Is there a bear? Has it contacted anyone, or is it running?” as I loosen my 1st bear spray canister from its holster.

He gasps, out of breath and panicking, “There is a bear chasing us up the trail. It has not harmed anyone.”

I go through my schtick. I rifle out as quickly as it can be said:

“A bear has never attacked 4 or more people in Glacier National Park. If you run from this bear it could trigger its predatory instinct to attack and actually tcasue it to make contact. Stay with us, get into a group, pull out your camera and get ready for an awesome photo!”

I say this 10 plus more times as families from Minnesota, old couples from North Carolina, and Amish from Michigan all gather into a terrified and helpless group behind me. They all waddled up the trail together staying in a group as best they could, being driven by an out of shape, extremely overwhelmed park visitor who was in fear for their life. I will refer to them as a genderless, ageless individual to not further any stereotypes. 

And shortly behind this lone individual evidently was a bear. Which we have not seen yet.

ALL of this is unfolding in front of Jane. I almost forget. I look at her. She is beside herself. I loosen my second can of bear spray and hand it to her husband. I say what I tell everyone when I hand them my second can, “Listen to my instructions completely. And if you spray this, try NOT to spray me in the face, if you can help it.”

I calm everyone in this newly formed group of 20 people down, repeating: “we are in no danger and to get ready to witness an amazing animal up close and personal.” 

At this moment the only dangerous component of the scenario appears: the crazed person yelling “bear”. 

As this park patron crests the trail we lock eyes. If you have never encountered a person in complete hysterics it can be both funny and terrifying at the same time. Funny, because they are out of their mind. Terrifying, because they are out of their mind—and can do very dangerous things.

As soon as this person saw me our eyes met and they said in a low guttural voice, panting,”There’s a bear….coming…run….for your liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiives….” 

They drug the word ‘lives’ out way to long and in such a deep way I could tell they were hyperventilating. This was a very serious situation. Scary. And very funny.

I yelled a few things followed by, “…yer freaking everybody out! Stop screaming! A bear has never attacked four or more people…yotta yotta…get into a group. IF you run you can trigger a predatory…you know the spiel.

This person did not respond, although I do believe they heard deep down, because they ran to our protective group and continued past our group of 20 plus ‘survivors’ and continued up the dry creek bed coming to rest after tripping & injuring themselves quite badly. I was aware of this but focused elsewhere.

I knew the bear was at hand. I stared into Jane’s horrified and helpless eyes and smiled one last time telling her and everyone “It’s OK. This is no big deal. Happens all the time. And please try to get a picture of me and the bear.” 

I trembled wondering what was about to happen. I quickly wished one of my family members was here to witness this. THEY would have thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen in their life. Not the situation. ME being ‘in charge’ of the situation…

I stood in front of the group. In between them and sure danger. Feet from them, and feet from the trail at a slight angle. 

I said “Silence.” Raised my one can of bear spray, now with the safety off and pointed it towards the trail. We all held our breath.

I stood tall. Laughing on the inside, honestly, thinking, “I wish my family were here to see this. They would laugh their ass off.”

And then the bear crested the trail. Its light brown hair beautiful and oily. I could see only its giant head. I breathed deeply taking in its beauty. I turned my head slightly to the crowd trying one last time to calm them saying, “Oh he's just a little…”

My words trailed off into humble silence. I shrank back turning away from the bear in submission, covering my groin for some reason. 

I tried to say, “Oh, he’s just a little guy”. But I couldn’t. The head and ears looked normal for a grizzly. Big, but normal. The body however was like a VW bug automobile covered with fur. A beautiful massive cinnamon bear. Most likely the same one from the bear jam earlier. Just a few feet away from me. Maybe 6 feet at the most. My heart fluttered. My knees were wobbly. The 20 plus terrified people just a few feet behind me: silent. Jane: out of her mind. The family of four who just 70 seconds ago was sitting in peaceful silence eating peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches: opened mouthed & stunned. ALL OF US WAY TO CLOSE TO THIS BEAR!

I shrank in silence. pointing the bear spray more at the head of the massive beast only a few feet away. 

The bear silently approached us on the trail. Followed the trail around the little corner close to us. And disappeared around the corner up the trail. Its eyes passed over us as it made the turn for the corner and did not make eye contact. It didn't even change focus. Didn't even seem to acknowledge we were there. It made almost no sound except for the sound of large breaths being taken as it lumbered closely by. One of the most exhilarating noises you can hear. I promise you. Please take my word for it and do not attempt to put yourself in this type of position. 

I snapped back to reality and into character. Turning to the crowd of dumbstruck horrified people. “Wasn’t that awesome!”

Trying one last time to calm the petrified children, the sweating parents, Jane and her family, the Amish and the family sitting gaping mouthed, their PB&J unchewed, dangling.

I say only a few words, “Now it is safe to return to the parking lot, but—“

A thundering herd of tourists descends the trail from which they just lumbered up in terror, towards home and perceived safety. The way they had all just been “chased up” by the bear. Leaving me with Jane literally hitting me in the arm and a family struggling to make sense of what just happened forgetting about their PB&J’s. 

As Jane hit me. I laughed hard. I told her, “See, this is safe! You got to witness how safe it was! See. Nothing to be afraid of. And I was here with you to keep you safe the whole time. Wasn’t that AMAZING! What a story you have now!”

And it was true. We were never in any danger. Except for the panicking person who fell and injured themselves. 

These types of experiences only happen a few times in ones life. And we were lucky to all be together at that moment. And Jane, I think knew it deep down.

As she continued to hit me, her granddaughter seemed to take her side and start to become apprehensive about continuing.

As I am saying, “…now this sounds crazy. But I am going to recommend we wait a few minutes and continue. The bear is gone and he is just traveling to his summer feeding grounds.” 

As I am stating my case, and laughing, and being hit, children descend the trail from the direction the bear had just disappeared on. No joke. I swear on my favorite pair of lightweight low top hiking shoes. Now keep in mind this is less than a minute after this six to seven hundred pound behemoth beast just lumbered by. Children. 8-10 of them walk playfully by from that direction.

We are all taken aback. Jane, myself, the PB&J eaters. We cannot believe what we are seeing. 

Stunned, I say, “Kids! Kids, where are your adults?”

The oldest, around 12 says, “back there.” Motioning behind her.

I stammer out, “uh…did you guys see a bear?”

She responds, “YEAH! A big one!”

“What happened? I ask quietly in disbelief.

The kid said, “It was walking on the trail, and we saw it and stopped. And it looked at us.” She motioned like someone looking over both shoulders of a person in front of you, “and it turned and went into the woods.”

And the kids walked on. Their parents walking a minute behind them. Not understanding what Jane or the PB&J family blurt out as they pass about there being a bear on the trail, but gone already, and you need to hike with your kids.

And of course, no one got a picture of me and the bear. People shot either the bear or me. But not both of us together. But thats how those instances always go.

I say this story to almost every group I take out. Not because it’s especially entertaining, or especially exciting and dangerous. DEFINITELY not because it makes me out to be some sort of hero. I tell this story to everyone I take out because it is a perfect illustration of the genius of these animals. That bear chased 20 plus people up that trail. I like to think it was amused a little. But when it encountered 8-10 kids, it took a second look and decided not to mess with the human cubs and disappeared into the brush.

It KNEW better! Or, didn't want to risk hurting the young ones. It was not dangerous. And it knew far more than we give it credit for. (Not all bears are like this—but there is a much longer explanation there having to do with range size and migrating prey species and bears access to them—thats another story…)

And with this knowledge. I convinced my new best friends from Nashville to continue up the trail to Virginia Falls. And we did. 

Just a minute up the trail we encountered a photographer. He and his wife were looking at his camera and beaming. I did not ask what they were looking at, just asked to see. It was exactly what I was hoping for. Two beautiful pictures of the grizzly. Massive claws visible in one of the photos. 

Later, I kicked myself for not asking for his contact information. Those are rare photos indeed to get.

The rest of the hike was uneventful except for the astoundingly beautiful panoramic in every direction and the massive thundering Virginia Falls. We returned to the van. And I was to drive them back to the Glacier Guides lodge. The nicest place to stay in West Glacier. On our way back up and over the pass I had to stop in the Logan Pass Ranger Station and see if any friends were working to share my funny afternoon. When I got there a good ranger friend was working behind the information desk with someone I loosely knew. She said, “Oh my gosh, Jeremy, how’s it going. I was just thinking of you and the other guides. Crazy day! We have reports of a bear chasing and attacking like twenty people and a guy, evidently some guide, jumped in front of them and fought it off!”

My Nashville friends looked at me wide eyed. I smiled and said, “Let me tell you what really happened…” With witnesses to confirm the story. 

We had a magical day. Pushed some boundaries. Had a beautiful, albeit hot hike. A family bonded and a 16 year old girl fulfilled her wish of seeing the majesty and the wildness that is Glacier National Park. It was one of those days you don't want to end. Which is why I found myself at their hotel saying goodbye, hugging, promising to keep in touch. All of us happy. And more than one of us a little choked up. I loved these guys. Just as I was about to get into my vehicle and drive back to the office a car rolled into the small Glacier Guides Hotel parking lot. It parked next to me. We all stared in shock as the photographer and his wife we had encountered on the trail got out of the car. 

I begged him for copies of the photos of the grizzly. He agreed to give me the images of the bear on a jump drive. And he told us once again what had happened to him and his wife:

“They were on the trail walking back from the falls when he looked up and spotted the bear. He was a well traveled photographer and knew how rare this instance was. He pulled out his camera and started shooting. Assuring his wife the bear would be scared off by their presence and get off the trail. They stayed put shooting. The bear approached and did not stop. At the last second the photographer dropped his camera from his eye and just stepped off the trail nudging his wife to do the same. The bear walked right by, only a foot or two away.”

Smart bears, most of them. Dumb people, most of us. And a questionable guy from Kentucky getting paid to lead a trip into the wilderness.

I was tipped handsomely. 

My hiking companions were happy with their experience. Jane most of all. I like to think Jane was really so happy because she realized I was right about these bears and about wilderness in general. It sounds a little cheesy. But it’s true. And I firmly believe its what drives us to visit natural spaces. Nature, animals, bugs and snakes are not our enemy—the wilderness is our refuge and place of learning. IF you know how, where and when to go. But you only learn this from going out there! And sometimes, in some places, you need somebody to show you the way. Then you can learn how and go forth to design your own adventures safely.

The next day my boss called me to the office from my campsite(normally, not a good thing). 

I was not working that day, a rarity. Convalescing in my tent. I apprehensively approached and opened the door to the office. 

My friends from Nashville were waiting in the lobby. The bosses, and office staff were all standing with big smiles on their faces. 

“Your hiking companions here are just telling us the story of how you saved a bunch of people from a bear and how you are a big hero! Also brought by more tip money (another $100). What exactly happened out there—Hero?”

I laughed and smiled and said, “Ah, it was nothing. Just another day on the trail for a guide…”

We all laughed as they retold the story a few more times and then left to catch their flight home to Tennessee.

My bosses all laughed and joked with me. And for about 3 hours a few people called me “Hero” around Camp Winnakee, our guide camp. But those types of nicknames don't last in this industry. Our egos are already big enough. 

The Most DANGEROUS Trip I Have Guided: no joke. Although it is kind of funny…

I am not one to say that I am a tough guy. I don't base jump off of big cliffs. I don't go down the craziest rapids in a kayak (although I do in big rubber boats). And I don't wrestle wild animals (though I have stood toe to toe with more than a few). I am an outdoor wilderness guide. I try to keep things from getting too exiting most of the time. 

But, I do deal with a lot of discomfort. The cold, heat and long hours are enough to drive you crazy. And it is a hard job on top of that. Both physically and mentally. Entertaining people and keeping them safe. I have already admitted that I don’t think I am a “tough” person. When it comes to being tough. The toughest thing I have to deal with are the people. And these people, the really challenging guests on a trip, the crazy, the sick, or the just plain overwhelmed can and do send even the toughest kayakers, rock climbers and mountaineers running for their smelly vans and favorite hole in the wall bars to hide. This is a story of one such person…

The first morning of the trip started out as all of my trips do. Sleep deprived. Confused. Trying to convince myself I am not hungover. I am frantically running around doing last minute stuff with only three or four hours of sleep the last few nights. I have been working twenty plus hour days. It’s my own fault. Too many fancy meals and sandwiches for guests, and WAY to long on the trail hiking. Most guides are in camp by 4 and done with dinner cleanup before my crew and I even make it to camp. But our day cannot be compared to the other trips. And neither can our food. 

A happy nervous excitement rings in my and the guests voices. We are going on a 4 day backpacking trip. Its beautiful, clear, and hot as hell! We are all scared, though for different reasons. They think we are walking into a bear-muda triangle of man eating monsters, from which a few of us may not return. I am just afraid the cucumber is going to go bad due to the heat and we wont have a good lunch on day 4. The cucumber really pairs well with the instant hummus and tortillas. And it’s a gourmet end to my culinary backpacking adventure I orchestrate for these people.

I have a great set of guests. Two awesome husband & wife couples, a father and son, and a solo fifty year old blonde mother of two, happily married to a doctor and researcher from a town in the midwest. This mother of two would be the problem. She would be my Everest. My Dawn Wall. My Fitz Roy Traverse…

Her name (for this story) is Jackie. 

Aside from Jackie, let me describe the other guests more. Aged father and adult son. Overachieving corporate lawyer types. One, a corporate type, the other, a railroad lawyer. Although they fought a good portion of the trip, and the son hinted in front of the entire group his father wasn’t exactly “around” when he was young, they had a special bond. The son following and exceeding his fathers desires, yet not acknowledging it. And the father, secretly confiding to me that his son was VERY successful. And he is so proud it makes him cry. Which he did in front of me as we hiked spilling his inner most feelings.

Good guides are part time, untrained psychiatrists. And for this part of the job we do not get paid enough.   

The two couples. A young male barista and female grade school teacher. From Chicago. Absolutely great human beings. My age—thirties. We could have been best friends. The other couple: my favorite on the trip. An amazingly wonderful and beautiful middle aged couple from Columbia. A tech executive and his wife, a New York Times best selling children’s book author. We would all wait excitedly for these darling people to emerge smiling and quite from their tents in the morning and in the evening after we hiked. The appeared typically intimately holding hands without a hair misplaced. Several of us commented on how we all looked horrible and seemed haggard, yet the Columbians seemed as if they were headed to Sunday brunch. They were amazing. Beautiful, kind, funny, they really brought the entire group together. And I wanted them to adopt me. They are also the ones who set in motion a gigantic shit storm for the entire trip because… they did not have a visa to go through Canada!

Which is how our perfectly scheduled hike is supposed to exit the Park. 

Glacier National Park is only one name for this place. It is also known as Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park. 

“The animals and plants know no borders, so a park shall not know international borders route.” Said the Rotary Club in 1931 and their efforts created the first of its kind: a national park crossing two nations borders. 

We are supposed to start on the west side of Glacier National Park and traverse about 40 miles across and then head north on a boat into Waterton Lakes National Park located in Canada. Most people do not know that Glacier Waterton International Peace Park even exists. The first national park of its kind to cross the border of two sovereign nations. Due to the strict policy on Columbians traveling to Canada, my favorite couple cannot cross the border.

And of course, I don't discover this until we are 25 minutes away from when we are supposed to be getting in the van and driving to the trailhead. In my sleep deprived state it seems normal. 

I rush to inform the office. The owner of our company drives over and does some fast footwork at the permit office to actually make a trip possible for us. It wasn't ideal. But it was a awe inspiring itinerary:Bowman Lake to Browns Pass, then around Hole in the Wall and up and over Boulder Pass to Kinta Lake. A more stunning backpacking trip is hard to find anywhere on the planet. Really. I challenge you… But our particular itinerary had a seventeen mile day up and over Boulder Pass, 2500 feet up, and then 3500 feet down. A burly feat for even a seasoned veteran guide or athlete, which I am neither. I am just a guy from Kentucky with a Masters In Art. A painter and photographer who enjoys cooking fancy meals for people in the backcountry. I want to reiterate its hot as hell! And have you realized yet I have bunch of middle aged, low elevation dwelling non hikers staring at me thinking, “I hope we don’t see a bear”. I don’t think we did. Honestly, I can’t remember because so much other crazy shit happened. 

Being tough is not always paddling a kayak or boat over a thirty-five foot waterfall. Skiing off a forty foot cliff, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. But those things might be smarter than what we were about to try to do…

This is why I call being a guide ‘Toughness Training’.

The road there is a two hour long bumpy road. While trying to convince myself I am not hungover and several B.R.B’s while staring out the window ease dropping on guests, something caught my ear:

I heard from the back of the van, “…no, I don't drink near that amount of water. My husband does research and he publishes all sorts of data outlining how Americans are all over hydrated. I drink less than a liter of water a day.”

I forgot about my B.R.B and mild hangover and turned around, “Sorry to interrupt conversation everybody. But I just happened to hear someone say something about I only drink a liter of water a day?” I look into the optimistic yet apprehensive faces of people about to embark into the unknown. 

I continue, “Understand this, you will all exhale out a liter of water a day in these mountains. Your lungs are two large wet towels and your breath dries you out each inhale and exhale. Aim to drink two to three nalgenes of water a day and use the electrolytes I have given all of you. If you aren't stopping to use the green latrine every hour you are dehydrated. Does everyone understand that?” 

There was awkward silence, some weak head bobbing and then Jackie asserted herself as the crazy person on the trip (there isn't one every time, and they aren't all bad), “That isn't going to happen.”

I turned back around to concentrate on my mild hangover and said, “We’ll talk about this at the trailhead.” 

I knew one of two things was going to happen shortly: she would agree to drink the prescribed amount of water in front of everyone, or she would be riding three and a half hours back to the office and won’t be joining this trip. 

Bowman Lake: picture a pristine mountain lake in between two glacially carved ridgelines. The u-shaped valley and crystal clear emerald waters are intoxicating. It hides in the northwest section of the park. Near the Canadian Border. Bowman Lake would be our entry point. There aren’t too many people willing to make the trip up the several hours of bumpy, poor dirt roads to a secluded sparse campground. You won’t find RV’s and generators here. Not yet. It’s a place wolves and wolverines roam free. 

Normally, on a one way drop off the van driver would drop us and our packs and be out of there in two to three minutes. I told the driver within ear shot of everyone, “You have to stick around because a guest may be riding back with you if they don’t agree to drink more water.” 

I planned what I was going to say and I was resolute.

Everyone smiled and quickened the pace of prepping their gear—excited to see how the drama would play out. I felt like I was about to climb in the ring. She approached and demanded an extra water bottle and said she felt violated by being forced to drink more water.

I said, “The only violation is going to be when our trip is cut short because you have to be medivaced out due to injury. Dehydration is not always the injury. But a dehydrated stumble and fall. You get the picture. Anything is possible out there. This is absolute remote wilderness. Like nothing most people have ever experienced before.”

“I have done this exact route”, snaps Jackie. “Except we came from Canada.”

“Thats awesome Jackie, when did you do this?” I ask as positively as possible.

“A long time ago when I was a college kid,” she smiled.

I did not feel like I had to respond. Although an attractive fifty-ish mother of two. She was no college kid.

And we were off. I said goodbye to our driver, the super amazing “Crazy Julia” (thats what some people called her—I loved her), and we started into the wilderness. 

We hike for two long days. It is hot. We are sweaty. The bugs are more than a little annoying. And I have never done this particular stretch of trail and am acting like I know what I am talking about the entire time. I hate this. It’s my least favorite part of my job, ALWAYS! The boss says, “Go here, lead these people on a trip.”

Even if you have never been there. 

If you are good. Its not an issue. Thats all I am going to say about that. 

I am not good. They don’t teach you this in Art School. So I have to make it up.

At one point someone asks me what the name of a uniquely stunning waterfall pouring out of the side of a mountain is and I say, “Oh yeah—that one. Hold on it’s been four years since I have been here…” 

Thats my famous line when I have to look it up. As I fumbled over the map I happened on the text “Hole in the Wall”. I stand astonished. Before me stands a massive half carved beautiful hanging mountain valley. Suspended above another valley. All of the water from the top hanging valley seeps down through the ancient fractured rock that makes up these mountains. It converged coming out of a single hole in the mountain wall over a thousand feet off of the valley floor. I point and say quietly, “That is Hole in the Wall. Thats why they call it Hole in the Wall…I think…If I remember correctly.”

We are all moved. 

We start to gel as a group. Friendships are formed. 

Only one of us has done this hike before. And it is not me the guide. Jackie, the water denier did this hike when she worked in Glacier as a college student some twenty plus years ago. Jackie opens up and talks about how her husband asked her to marry him and she came out to glacier to think about it for that summer and did this hike. She did marry him. Had two kids and lived an entire life. And now she was coming back to do it again. 

Jackie is visibly irritated and angry. She is not happy that every single break I look at water bottles and make sure people are finishing them. I am not a weirdo about it. I am just really checking in on her. For her own safety. I have never checked peoples water bottle levels in my life and never will again. I catch her once pouring hers out. More than once we have to wait for fifteen minutes for her to finish a water bottle before we can carry on because I am afraid she won’t be able to make it up Browns Pass—our next campsite. A place world famous for mosquitoes. It’s reputation proves itself to be true. I thank Jen Bowls for recommending I bring mosquito head nets for everyone. 

We make it to the top of the pass struggling. Just as it starts to downpour as we crest the pass and head the last quarter mile to camp. Everyone is excited to get their tent setup and get into their sleeping bag and dry clothes except me. Because I can’t. I have to set up dinner and cook and then clean before I can take care of myself.

As I sit pouting in the rain. I count over thirty mosquitoes which have landed on the front of my bug net mask. A cloud of them behind that buzzing looking for a place to land or for exposed flesh to feast on. I make another gourmet meal and as I am almost done cleaning, the young school teacher and the barista approach, “um, can you sleep next to our tent tonight. I didn't sleep at all last night because I thought every noise was a bear.”

I say “sure.” Happy to oblige these wonderful people. 

After an eternity of dealing with dinner cleanup I finally am done stashing food so bears (or anything else) can’t get to it. I think Browns Pass has a bear box. The easiest to deal with. If I remember—which I cannot . I finally head up to the school teachers campsite to set up my tarp and sleeping bag in the rain. I step into their campsite. It is the third in a line of four. The other two campsites are filled by our guests. The fourth one is unoccupied. I turn my headlamp on as I talk to my new friends in their tent. I struggle not to gasp in conversation. Before me on the ground is a set of the most massive moose tracks I have seen in a while. Pie plates embedded in the ground going across the campsite. The thought of being stepped on in the middle of the night by one of these giants made me shudder. I immediately switched gears. 

“Really, if you are concerned about bears, I should move up to the fourth campsite and spread out our scent. It will also draw any bears away from you.” This may actually true, but right now is a bold faced lie. It was really because I had already looked at the fourth campsite and there were no moose tracks in the mud there. 

They surprisingly immediately agree. Thankful their guide is willing to ‘fall on this sword’. I march over for another solitary night on the ground under a thin tarp strung across some para cord. In grizzly country. With a giant moose stomping around. In the rain. Myself covered in food smell from the food I just cooked for them. At this time of night it is now so cold the mosquitoes lay around in inert piles on everything. One bonus. 

I sleep soundly and wake up before my alarm. As I always do on trips. I have no idea what this day would hold in store for me.

I begin making breakfast. It’s just past sunrise. This is late for me. Browns Pass is a double edged sword. The mosquitos are SO bad you can’t really enjoy eating there. So we opt for coffee, tea, and some granola bars and I agree to make a wonderful brunch in a few hours on a ridge-line where there will be far fewer bugs. I gently wake the guest by whistling the morning bugle song. The first guests down alert me to the fact that all of the toilet paper we had near the outhouse got wet last night. I was shocked. It was double bagged and tucked under a ledge. And I had gone over this protocol several times. How to unwrap it, use it, then rewrap it and store it safely so as not to get wet. 

How could this have happened? Leaving us with only two partial rolls. Simple I find out: the schoolteacher and the barista took the bags to set their boots on in the tent. To keep mud out. I have to do yoga breathing exercises to not get angry. Toilet paper in the backcountry is more valuable than money. Even though it grows on trees throughout the back country. Rather in thickets: thimbleberry leaves or if you are really lucky some big nice fuzzy mullein leaves. Homesteader toilet paper. 

I remind everyone of toilet paper procedure and am quite curt letting everyone know I am upset. I continue making breakfast drinks. It’s warmed up and the bugs are excruciating. The lawyers are drinking their coffee by placing the mug inside their bug mask. The rest of us eat our granola bars and snacks inside our head nets. We are all covered head to toe in long sleeve shirts, sun gloves, pants tucked into socks. 

Jackie is wearing a small tank top, short running shorts and no hat or gloves. It takes me a while to notice this as I am in mid story and trying to be a cordial back country barista. We are all stunned and ask how she can stand the bugs. She replies, “I am covered in so much deet they won’t come near me.” She stares into the pathetic smoky fire I have going with a little smile and continues, “I put so much on I think I am feeling a little sick to my stomach and dizzy.”

My spirit sinks: both symptoms she attributes to over-deeting are signs of dehydration. 

“You should drink as much water and eat something,” I say cheerfully. 

She scowls at me. This song and dance we have been performing for the last few days is getting old. Not just for me and Jackie. The other guests have slowly started to come to Jackies defense. As I walk up to groups or hear people whispering I can hear them saying little snippets like, “…he jus won’t drop the water thing with her…” and “…I wish he would leave that poor woman alone, she’s fine…”

I am painfully aware of the political climate. Every guide worth their salt is. It’s actually one of the most important skill sets a trip leader can possess. So I have been dropping little statements myself. Saying things like, “My friends, I thank you for your patience with me and the water talk. I promise you this is a very dangerous situation and we have to make sure everyone is safe. I remind you, the instant someone has an issue due to dehydration this trip is immediately canceled and turns into a rescue operation.” 

I say this as gently as possible. Worked into conversation however and whenever I can. Because I know what today is. I know what we are about to do. And even though I have been mentally preparing myself and the guests for this for days. We are about to hike seventeen miles with twenty-five hundred feet of vertical gain up to the top of Boulder Pass, then down thirty-five hundred feet to Lower Kintla Lake Campground, where we are staying tonight.

And even though its just after seven in the morning its also starting to get hot. Combined with the humidity of the rain last night it feels like a muggy morning in the Amazon. I tell jokes and stories to lighten the mood. And my life is about to change. I am about to lose some naive innocence…

I forget the dehydrated person. I forget the ruined toilet paper from this morning. Now I concentrate on everyone having a good time. I go into vacation mode. Laughing, joking, just being in Glacier, in this wilderness, with my new friends. Really I am just trying to raise spirits. The bugs, arguing, weather, and physical exhaustion have taken their toll on us. And I just wanted to remind everyone we were still in party mode and on vacation. But we weren’t the only ones there!

I am cleaning up breakfast snacks, in mid story, regaling everyone with stories of past trips when I turn around to lock eyes with a few guests happily sipping coffee in their head net when I stop mid sentence. Stunned into silence and tremble.

I straighten my back and my eyes widen as a take in a huge loud breath. The sudden break in the story has everyone lean in hanging on my next words which no one believes or even understands.

I quietly whisper intensely,“THERE IS A GIANT MOOSE BEHIND YOU ALL. JUST A FEW FEET AWAY. Slowly, stand up and get behind me.” The guests stare at me, smiles getting bigger, thinking this is some strange part of the story I have interjected that they are not understanding until I slowly raise my hand close to my chest and point just behind them. 

One of the woman starts laughing out loud and looks behind her and gasps so loud the entire group moves in a panicked unison to the other side of the camp kitchen. 

Vacation mode is over!

Party mode is over!

Worrying about the bugs, toilet paper and water fights are over!

We are now terrified for our safety and our lives!

We are all in disbelief. A massive thousand plus pound bull moose with a monstrous set of antlers stands less than fifteen feet away from us. He is broadside and dead silent. How did he get there without us hearing him? My guess is one part because wild animals are ninjas. Rather, wild animals that survive predators roaming around their territory have to be ninjas. That and my story had been really entertaining and the guests were actually enjoying themselves despite the heat, arguing over water rights, soaked toilet paper and the bugs.

The moose barely moved. Its massive frame as long as the rail road tie benches we were just seated on. This broadside posturing the moose is doing is a warning. I have seen this before. He is saying, “Look at how big I am, you should take off before I get upset.” 

We all stand still for a few moments. I snap back into my role as guide bolstered by the seven people looking at me asking me what to do. I grab the bear spray and take the safety off. I speak calmly, slowly and in a low volume, “Everyone slowly move away from the kitchen area. Find a tree to put in between you and the moose and maybe even one you can climb. Run if it approaches. This is not like a bear…” 

And then I go into “Hero Mode”. Which I promise only happens when three or more paid guests are with me or if a girl I have a crush on is around. 

At first I talk calmly to the moose. His head slowly moves back and forth. I can tell he is curious about what my intentions are and concentrating on me even more. It appears the moose is surveying the kitchen, our food and supplies in particular. This also, I have seen animals do before. And it’s a big deal. This means this moose is conditioned to human food. A ‘habituated’ animal is one which has lost its fear of humans, clearly this moose had. But a ‘conditioned’ animal has not only lost its fear of people, but they also have grown accustomed and even dependent on human food. Think of bears getting into trash cans or deer eating your garden. Moose are the largest member of the deer family. And I am not about to let some giant deer wreck our camp and my gourmet food I have laid out for a late brunch.

After a little gentle pillow talk with the moose it is time to change tactics: tough love.

“OK moose, time to move on! GET OUT OF HERE!” I yell. The moose shudders at the sudden change in tone and readjusts its footing, back stepping a little. 

I sense his fear, point the bear spray at his head and point with my other hand a single finger in the direction i want to him travel and hoarsely scream very low “GO!”

The horse size beast with a few gigantic antlers trots away from us and the kitchen. Right towards where all of our tents are still setup. A new problem. I follow the animal up the small trail yelling, clapping and throwing rocks into the woods to make noise. My scare tactic works and the moose disappears silently and shockingly fast for such a huge animal.

I turn to look at everyones shocked faces. They are thrilled. This is what they came for! 

“Everybody de rig your campsites asap and meet me back in the kitchen area asap! Do not pack your backpacks, do not change clothes, simply grab your stuff and let’s get the hell out of here!”

There is a lot of commotion. I make piles of stuff in the kitchen. Everyone is laughing and carrying on. The crisis is over. The beast thwarted. People are retelling the heroic story. Laughing about how they all just sat there silently with the moose just a few feet behind them not believing me just a few moments ago. Everyone was already rehearsing how they were going to tell the story to friends and family. I was concentrating on the edge of the forest. I knew this situation might not be over just yet. And I was right. 

The lawyers were the first to be finished with their tent de rigging. Self reliant, efficient, looking out for themselves—they were good lawyers. I put them on first watch. They were to stand up trail in the direction I saw the moose head last. They were to immediately tell me of course if they saw anything. Another few guests started to make there way to the kitchen packs laden with gear spilling out of every opening, smiling, laughing, high fiveing almost. The mood was good. Victorious. The beast had threatened us. And we scared it off. Thats what happens. Thats what people do. The forward march of Post Modernism Industrial Revolution continues. Except, no one told that to this moose!

I heard a lawyer, the dad, “Uh, Jeremy. Um…” His voice far to calm to be letting me know about the moose, and besides, I have way to much stuff still to pack. 

Then the other lawyer sounded off, and I could see them both walking backwards towards the kitchen area. 

“Everyone, grab everything you have that you can carry and come to the kitchen. THE MOOSE IS BACK. I REPEAT, STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND GRAB WHAT YOU CAN AND COME HERE NOW!” I scream into the bullhorn I have made with my hands. I get out my second can of bear spray and take the safety off. I smile a little and wonder how this is going to play out. However it goes down, I think the same thing I always do when I square off against a giant wild animal: “I really wish my family was here to watch this, they would laugh their asses off.” Their artist brother in charge of people in the wilds of the Rockies.

Packs hustle by me. People stand in a line somewhere behind me on the other side of our kitchen space. I can see the moose moving behind a wall of smaller thin trees and small shrubs. It is coming down the trail towards us in between the tent sites and the kitchen. I move closer to intercept it and ward off an attempt for him to freely walk into the kitchen and start grazing on granola bars and sweaty backpack straps. I am confident me making noise and pointing bearspray at the moose will drive him back and away. After all these are timid creatures. Most of the time. 

This moose was undeterred. I am sure he had done this in the past to other groups. Not just to ours. 

The gigantic moose continues to approach. Our eyes locked onto one another.

I stood in the trail holding my ground. I yelled to the guests,  “Scatter and climb a tree! Get far away! But stay within yelling distance!” 

They retreated and started yelling along with me trying to scare the moose away. It was quite disturbing actually. Eight adults yelling at a thousand pounds of meat and fur on the spine of the continent. Yelling crazy things. Like you are yelling at a dog, a thief breaking into your car, a potentially violent entity. That’s exactly what we were dealing with. We were in fight or flight mode. And right now we were concentrating on the ‘fight’ part. Once that button is switched on people change. And sometimes it’s disturbing. 

The moose stared at me. Switching its gaze from me to the area where the guests were yelling from. But edging closer inch by inch. Like a giant mischievous puppy. A thousand pound puppy which can stomp a person into a coma in seconds. I know someone who the happened to. The possibility is definitely lurking in the recesses of my mind. But mainly I am laser beam focused on every twitch, eye flick and head turn of this colossal nuisance. 

I am screaming as if I am in hand to hand combat with a sword. A fierceness which is grotesque comes over me. I am not the only person yelling like this. The lawyers sound dangerous, the tech executive has turned into a gladiator, his wife, a slightly quitter assassin, the school teacher and barista gruff urban community watchers, and Jackie screams like a privileged white person who has been wronged in some checkout line by an insolent or inept register clerk. 

All of us barraging this war horse with small trees for antlers. It edges closer. Each pie plate size undulating hoof step I can feel them settling into the dirt when he puts his weight on them. I withdraw on the trail as he approaches. Every foot he comes closer I step back half that distance. Until I am just a few feet away from the ring of benches that is the edge of our camp kitchen. The distance between us is scary, just twelve to fifteen feet at this point. I can smell the hulking mountain of fur. It smells like a wet animal, not bad, but hints of stagnant water and decomposing nastiness that no doubt he has rubbed himself in which are pungent. I can hear his breathing. His breathing is quite, but labored. His eyes dart from me to the screaming guests and to our packs and the kitchen. He is scared. 

I have stepped off the trail which curves behind me barely fifteen feet to our gear. I seek the only cover which is available. Small saplings one to two and a half inches thick at the most. They are sparse and offer little cover at all. The behemoth could easily charge through them. But at least its something. I am no longer controlled and professional. I am no longer a guide and these people my guests. I am now an animal, rather part of a group of animals fighting another animal which is much larger than us. And by all accounts we are loosing, or about to loose. Still, no one, not I or the moose, or my guests are injured. Except for Jackie who is severely dehydrated.

All is nearly lost. If the moose continues edging forward at this pace he will be in our gear within seconds. I prepare myself mentally to spray one of my two cans of bear spray. I am starting to shake. I imagine its kind of like the first shot in a gunfight. A gunfight where we are severely outgunned, out moosed and out classed. After all we are just visitors here. 

I snap and loose ties to reality. 

I become so outrageously angry I loose my mind. I go berserk. I start yelling knowing that what would happen next could change or end my life significantly all because of this moose, and this trip, and the stupid campsite and the fact that all wilderness is gone in the U.S. because we mined it, tilled it up, shot it, sold it, or just plain killed it for the hell of it and all of those reasons led me and these people and this moose to this negative interaction and I step towards the moose to fight it. The rage coursing through my veins feels far more dangerous than the bear spray which I am about to deploy. I take the first swing at the bully. And that is exactly what this moose is like: he is like a giant bully. 

I am crazed and move towards the moose to spray it and choke the life from its body if I have to. I blame the sleep deprivation, exhaustion, possible dehydration and my upbringing.

And like most bullies who are scary as hell on the outside but terrified on the inside he immediately becomes wide eyed and stumbles back a few awkward steps. 

Don’t ever do this, please! Unless you are being paid to. 

I tell the moose I am going to kill him. And I mean it. I stomp on the ground so hard it hurts my foot. Instead of kicking the moose I kick the Earth in anger, irate. The moose stumbles back once more just a few inches. I stomp one more time out of blind rage for every poor decision the human race has made before which caused this to happen, campers leaving food out for moose, trail crew thinking this is funny, the park not hazing this moose out of here (god knows they have no problem hazing animals along roads), the office for not catching the Columbian Passport mixup and at myself for quitting my cushy office job at University of Oregon in Eugene where I worked in the Sculpture Department. 

My foot crashed down and the moose made a few frantic quick steps back. And then he spoke. He made several noises which were impossible to misunderstand. First he shook his head quickly side to side, like a dog which just smelled pepper spilled on the floor while moaning, “Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh.”

A low moan like a man from the midwest would make if his favorite team misses a critical shot in a college basketball game. 

I stomped again, “I will kill you and this mountain you walked in on!”

He shrieked, “Ooooouuueeeeehhhhhhh!”

This time much louder, the noise that same man would make if his team missed a shot at the buzzer causing them to loose the game and him a tremendous amount of money. A life altering amount of money. A divorce and move out of the house amount of money. 

The moose shrieked like a sulking moody teenager, its long freakishly shaped head and face looked far left one more time and then dropped swinging and leaning far to the right. His whole body leaned, I braced myself for battle gritted my teeth between one final threat. The moose stretched out his massive incredible legs and galloped its thousand pound plus frame through tall shrub and semi thick forest crashing through like an elephant throwing dirt and mud twenty feet behind it like a Kentucky Derby Thoroughbred. And with the same speed, agility and beauty. Running by me and vanishing. 

I turned to the guests, and mustered the best smile I could after all of that.

They were all in stunned silence. 

I and they had just screamed like deranged lunatics for several minutes. 

I turned sheepsihly, all anger and ‘bravery’ draining out of me like hot water circling the drain in your sink and said with a big inhale, “Don’t EVER get this close to a moose,” looking at the short distance which had just separated me from this potential triple crown winner.

We all stand quietly for a moment listening to the last few crashing sounds made as the moose exits the forest east of us and heads down the trail in the direction we have to leave.

Reality crashes down upon us. We are victorious. 

But we had paid a price. 

We lost a little naive innocence there in that campsite. And maybe in more than one of my guests pants—but that was never confirmed. 

I scream, “Grab everything you can, do not pack anything, we are out of here in sixty seconds. I need two people to stand watch while we gather everything and I need some hands to grab some of this kitchen stuff while we hike. We are going to hike for ten to fifteen minutes and stop and repack in an open area I seem to remember coming through four years ago.”

And of course I have no Earthly idea if such a place exists. But we are near tree line. And I am sure it will open up ahead which would be a good spot to stop and regain our composure. 

Hopefully the moose doesn’t have a similar plan. It didn’t. 

We scooped up everything we could. Wet tent flies, dishes, food bags not yet stowed in their bags. As we were about to depart the Browns Pass Camp kitchen only a few among us had a free hand. We wearily departed east, towards Boulder Pass, the general direction our foe had travelled and the unknown.

At one point we followed our ‘moose thoroughbreds’ tracks. His tracks visible in snow and freshly melted out patches which were muddy. And then we lost him. Never to be seen or heard from again. Within five minutes of there being no moose tracks we all started laughing, high fiveing, and recounting different parts of our encounter. I was still nervous. And still very angry. And more than a little shaken.

We stopped in a lightly forested sunny meadow with hardly any mosquitoes to celebrate by finishing granola bars, mugs of coffee still warm and to just plain catch our breath and calm down. We were bonded in battle. We had faced a wild beast and emerged victorious. I believe we left little bit of our civilized selves there on that mountain side. We lost our cultural innocence. We were reminded of just how weak we are. And we had screamed and yelled some awful things. Once you turn this part of your brain on it does not just shut off. The darkness and dirt stains your mind for a little while afterward. We all looked at one another differently after that. I feel like we all bonded more than a little there on that mountain pass camp. We respected one another a little more. Like we had been through an intense long combat situation during an otherwise routinely non dangerous short campaign. 

We all accepted one another more as individuals and really gelled as a small community. 

There in those meadows filled with stunning alpine flowers and a vista that can melt even the hardest of hearts. It was a good place to recover from staring the darkest part of ones soul in the mirror.

And this is why I think Jackie took it upon herself to drink as little water as she damn well pleased for the rest of the day. Despite my begging and pleading. After what we had just gone through it was hard for me to be gruff with her anymore. She was my sister now. And that love would do all of us a disfavor…

We had 17 miles of high elevation hiking to go. Twenty-five hundred up to Boulder Pass. Then Thirty Five Hundred down to Lower Kintla Lake Campground where I had a bitchin’ rice and beans dinner with pistachio pudding as a dessert. I even had shelled some pistachios back in West Glacier at our headquarters to put on the pudding. 

Shortly after we got underway we ran into a backcountry ranger, Kelsey. She is such a nice and wonderful person I feel so bad about what I said, “Hey Kelsey. Hows it going? We just came from Browns Pass Campground. Had a close encounter with a moose—it was terrifying. You hear anything about this spot or particular animal?” 

She said she had, and then she smiled and laughed!

And I lost my shit on her! 

“What do you mean you have heard about this. Trail crew has reported it and other campers! You haze a bear on the Going to the sun Road in 2 minutes if it is too close to people! And nearly the same in Many Glacier. And the rangers high five afterwards. I have seen them! And you can’t do something about a known problem animal on a major trail which you all patrol regularly!?” I yell talked for about 30 seconds before her horrified demeanor snapped me back to reality. I regained my composure and was trying to rationally explain why she needed to immediately go get a shotgun and shoot rubber bullets, bean bags or cracker shells at that moose. 

After two or three minutes I noticed the guests watching me talk to the ranger. 

It was no use. It wasn’t her job. She was just a nice young woman thru hiking to make sure everything was semi OK and probably to clean the bathrooms. I shut my stupid mouth. Apologized as much as I could and we left. I still feel bad about it. She never treated me the same after that. And I don’t blame her. These types of experiences change you. And she was encountering me just minutes after it happened adrenaline still coursing through our veins.

The hike from Browns Pass up and around Hole in the Wall is thrilling and gorgeous. It is a giant cirque: a glacially carved out bowl which has craggy mountains surrounding it on all sides. The steep narrow trail curls around the northern side of the bowl (cirque). You gaze down on the Hole in the Wall campsite and the small valley which funnels all of the water into its broken rocked maze of channels which funnel water to the majestic ‘Hole in the Wall’ it pours out of. The same one we had all discovered together as we took a break before starting our ascent to Browns Pass. 

The entire massive bowl which precedes Boulder Pass is so massive in scale you get to walk along it gazing into the cirque for several hours. Its like gazing into an atrium or aquarium. Its hard to tell if trees in the distance are three or thirty feet until you approach them. We have brunch on the trail. Then Second Lunch at a drainage before continuing the long slog up hill to Boulder Pass. We meet a Frenchman who has been living on a sailboat on the Pacific side of Mexico for twenty years. He says he lives off of private charter voyages. The people you meet in places like this highlight the extreme uniqueness of the place. I wonder what stories of Central American pirates and drug smugglers he has. He talks about his love of Grizzlies. Says, “Thats why I come out here. I try to stay for a few weeks at a time. The animals are like no where else I have found.”

He wears short shorts. He puts his trekking poles behind his lower glutes(butt) and sit stands on them. I do this for the rest of my life after I see him do it. Try it. It’s a wonderful way to rest without expending the energy to sit, stand and remount your pack.

We say, “Au revoir” to the short shorted Captain and begin the steep climb up Boulder. We have to pass several dangerous snowy portions of the trail. We see fresh wolverine tracks. We are where wolverines and grizzlies call home!

A lone mountain goat clings to the cliff side high above us. It’s ability to cling to the tiny precipice shocks all of us. A majority of my co-hikers do not actually believe it is a goat until we look with my monocular.

“I would be hanging on to the cliffs if wolverines were trying to eat me alive”, I say.

This trail had actually just opened up the week or two before. Most of these trails are nearly completely open far earlier in the season but remained closed. They are closed because of what we now see: two large avalanche shoots which cover the trail. Both have boot packed trails across them. But they have melted out and refrozen several times and hiking on them is difficult, unpleasant and a little more dangerous than just digging your feet in and going for it. You have to fully commit. Honestly, it’s not dangerous unless you did a running cartwheel onto it and slipped. Everyone is up for the challenge and soldiers forward. Jackie is terrified and starts to have a meltdown. This is understandable. I also make a mental note because irritability and emotional breakdowns further my diagnosis of dehydration. Believe me, I am concerned. Not about the snow. 

After several minutes of me attempting to coax Jackie onto the snow by jumping up and down on it with my pack. Intentionally falling on it several times to demonstrate you just slide an inch or two in the slushy mess and offering to take her pack across then double back and hold her hand or arm we decide to hike the few hundred feet down to the base of it and back up the other side to avoid the snow altogether. We have to scramble over large boulders and it is tedious. I take her pack and in a few uncomfortable minutes we are back on the trail and enjoying calendar-esque views like no other. In times like this, when I am away from the guests I myself am moved to the point of tears. Getting choked up a little while hiking alone can be a sign of dehydration. But it can also be a sign of your are living life as best a person can. And you are fully aware of it. Those of us lucky enough to have that type of experience know how affirming it can be. And truly it can be one of the most gratifying aspects of this type of adventure. 

Boulder Pass is amazing. Mount Cleveland, Glacier National Parks highest peak at 10,644 feet is clearly and dominatingly visible from the pass. So is Canada. So are several other glaciers. So is a wilderness the likes of which we had never imagined. Jagged mountains. Hanging waterfalls. Alpine flowers. Meadows out of a calendar. And we just kept turning the page of that calendar. Each section of the trail more mind blowing than the last. 

We summit the pass, throw some small stone on the cairn and head for Boulder Campground. I am eager to see it. It has a pit toilet which was voted in the “Top Ten Pit Toilets to Use in the Backcountry” by Adventure journal online (look it up). And in A Loo with a View, a book by Luke Barclay. As well as in several other publications. 

It is nice. I don’t want to ruin it for you. So I will barely describe it. You have to go and check it out for yourself. I will say this. Its open. Just an exposed toilet with a lid. Some mountains and a glacier in your view. Go there. Wake up in the morning. Stay long enough to use the bathroom. You may have a revelation that could spiral your life in a completely different direction. It has happened to me elsewhere, and I have heard of it happening to others.

We descended the rocky shelves of Boulder pass. The huge pebbly moraines. The alpine lakes. Heaven. The group and I were in such great spirits because of the beauty it was almost hard to remember that we were not even half way to our campsite. I was exhausted. I know the guests were feeling it as well. The good thing was—it was all downhill from here. Turns out that was both literal and figurative. Things start to spiral downward rather quickly at this point. Keep in mind. each downhill step is a controlled fall. Exhaustion and dehydration can lead to a misstep which can have tragic consequences. I caution everyone to go as slowly as they need to stay in complete control and hike safely. I am scared. 

Jackie was hungry again. And quiet. Two signs I was aware of. I thought to myself in all this bliss the entire time: I cannot make an adult drink water.

I made Jackie two extra lunches. On top of the two lunches we had already had. 

We were all in ecstasy, stumbling downhill, which is the hardest way to walk, and we were happy. Except for Jackie. Who was growing more irritable. I begged her to drink water, let me make her electrolyte drink mixes. Anything. The other guests scowled at me for challenging our war veteran comrade. I crossed my fingers and prayed they were right. And we would make it to camp tonight and eat before midnight. And that the cucumber which was looking questionable for our hummus and tortilla lunch tomorrow was safe. It’s a good finish to a trip like this. It really pairs well. I fantasize about alfalfa sprouts. Maybe next trip. One which wasn’t so hot. Mid September I bet I could pull it off. Years later I do!

We dropped down the backside of the pass for what seemed like hours. Monotonous treed steep downhill. The worst kind of hiking if you asked me. I wasn’t worried about the trail though. I was worried about Jackie. She had grown more belligerent about not drinking water, was talking low volume gibberish seemed as if she was starting to stumble and she very obviously was annoyed by me because every time I was within close proximity I brought up drinking water. The entire group had actually stopped talking to me. Thinking I was harassing one of the team. They hiked ahead. I waited for Jackie. 

I was between a rock and a hard place. 

I knew what was about to happen. 

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Jackie and I caught up to the group stopped in the trail ahead looking south silently. I approached. When the trees opened up and I could see what they were looking at my heart melted: Agassiz Glacier. It was as beautiful as the topo map had promised. I had told the guests in an effort to regain speaking status with them to “Keep a lookout for a large ice and or rock and or cliff object. It should look pretty weird. If I remember correctly from four years ago. That will be Agassiz Glacier.”

I had stared at it many times on the Glacier National Park topo map. So many lines, so close together and in such a strange pattern. What would it look like in real life I always wondered? Well—it looked kind of EXACTLY like the topo map itslef! 

It did not disappoint. It is colossal. The receding ice mass gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew when I gazed at it climate change was real in a different way than I had ever felt before. And I knew deep down people were causing it. And it made me feel sick. The glacier itself is receding leaving the heavily carved out rock slab which is supposed to thermally insulate it. The broken and craggy slopped rock under the glaciers exposed by warming temperatures always looks like a topographical map to me. Ironic. 

I glance back up the trail at Jackie and I inhale deeply. Not long now. About two hours ago I started telling the guests we would hike until Jackie fell down. Then our vacation is over and our trip is officially a rescue. This was not a popular statement I could tell. They thought I was being mean. I was not joking. 

As she stumbled down the trail she looked like a twenty year old raft guide who had too much to drink off of the free keg at guide night. Believe me, I have seen this more than a few times sadly at different guide camps. But never on the trail. I looked forward at the glacier trying to calm myself for what I was pretty sure was going to be an unpleasant evening. 

“Do you want to tell them what you told me!?!” Jackie said in a slurred and drunken voice as she stumbled up to the group.

We all stared at her stunned. 

Me most stunned of all!

“Go ahead. Tell them. What you said back there!” Her voice getting louder.  

I being closest to her looked towards the rest of the guests. Thinking, “Oh my gosh, one of these old men said something to this woman that was inappropriate and she is going to out him right here and now in front of Agassiz Glacier. I can’t wait to see how this turns out. What a story I will have for Judith and the office!” I look back at Jackie wide eyed with anticipation.

She continues, “Go ahead, Jeremy! Tell them what you said back there…”

I am dumbstruck. I drop my back pack and look at the rest of the dumbfounded guests who are also dropping their packs. I say, “Jackie, the last thing I said to you was ’did you like the last food I made for you, let me know if you want any more’.

“No you didn’t!" she screams, “You said if I couldn’t keep up with you, you were going to leave me out here to die!”

My horrified look when I make eye contact with the guests explains everything. We all fall into primitive rolls again, albeit different than our primitive regression earlier that day with the moose. 

Vacation was over for the moment. Sadly, I WAS vindicated. And the rescue of our injured comrade begins. 

A history professor I had in undergraduate school, the late Joseph Fuhrman (a true intellectual) once started his class with a story about a Russian subway train which broke down in a dark tunnel. They lost power. Some people panicked. Before a formal rescue started the entire group self assigned roles of how to begin their self rescue. Psychologists site this instance as a mechanism for how we fall into primitive unspoken roles in times of crisis. I witnessed this on that hot afternoon in front of Agassiz Glacier. 

We did not plan or speak about what we would do. We just acted. 

The women coddled Jackie, offered her cold compresses, snacks, fanned her and reassured her. The men pooled water and waited to be told if they should start to contract a litter to carry her out. 

Still she would not drink. Only sips. And that was even a struggle. Obscene anger from Jackie, was all the communication I would get if I approached the group of girls.

It is not dark, but it is getting late. We SHOULD be at camp making dinner right now. That is hours away at this point, if we even make it to camp tonight. 

Most of us met in a circle. They all apologized for not backing me up on the water thing. No one could believe how fast she went downhill mentally. I was vindicated and they were there to do whatever I told them. I even had volunteers to hike out that night to get help if need be.

How do you get a crazed, delusional, belligerent person to drink water to save their life?

Really. Think about it. We can’t sedate her. We have no I.V. We can’t hold her down and poor it in her mouth.

I could only think of one thing, “What if we all just stand around and talk about how great water is and why we like to drink it? She is out of her mind. We just might be able to trick her into thinking water is good to drink. Like we maybe can reprogram her brain. Brainwash her. A group think kind of thing…”

Someone snorted and laughed at the idea. I said, “Please, I am all ears here. Any idea is a good one at this point.”

A guest spoke up,” So what you are saying is we should be like, I like drinking water. You should to? Thats a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?”

I inhaled deeply and spoke as the idea formed, “No, more like tell a story and have water in it and say you drank it for a reason and it was really gratifying or something. For instance, you could say, ‘One time, I went to my brothers house for a Derby Party. When the horses all ran around the track we all raised glasses of water and cheered and drank them and it felt good in the afternoon sun—you know, something like that.”

Silence, shaking heads darting glances were all I received. 

“Seriously,”I continue, “I am open to any other Ideas, lets just try this. Kind of like a hypnosis or group consciousness experiment type thing. I can’t think of anything else.”

We all hike slowly, taking breaks every few minutes. We remain jovial and enact our plan.

Jackie regards me as an evil person so I cannot start this little “Water Party”.

The school teacher starts, “I love water so much. Of all the things I can choose to drink I always choose water. Makes me feel good. Satiated. Strong.” She looks at me and shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘was that good?’.  Jackie scowls.

Someone interjects,”One time I went to a friends party. It was so much fun. Lots of people laughing and joking. We all just drank a bunch of water?” They look at me for affirmation I nod feverishly. They continue. 

We all continue. I don’t know how long we continue. I do remember we were by a bridge over a small trickle of a stream. And morale was low again. I filter everyone water. Jackie was stumbling. Talking gibberish mixed with high school angst towards me, far better than the obscene violence treatment of earlier. She stares at us through slitted eyes. 

“I know what you are trying to do,” she slurs at the bridge. “It’s not going to work.”

I swallowed hard hoping she was wrong. 

In a few minutes she was laughing with a few of the girls. And drinking freely. Forgetting in all the tomfoolery and carrying on that she was drinking far more water than normal. How could she not? She had just received repeated subliminal messages to do just that.

The gamble had worked! 

She is still angry and incredibly irritable. But she seemed to sober up just enough to hike safely. 

It gets dark.

It is still beautiful.

We all realize we might just make it out of this day in one piece. It invigorates us. So much so, around 9:30 I stop everyone and insist we eat dinner right then and there on the trail, rest for about an hour during the process and carry on. They would have nothing of it! 

“We can carry on Jeremy! We want dinner at camp, so we can rest our feet and eat in sandals.”

I could not argue. So we trudged on. Slow, delicate steps with Jackie who was having extreme cramping in her arms and legs. 

I hike without a headlamp on. You can actually see more most of the time this way. Try it. Just turn it on every few minutes if there is questionable terrain. And of course using the red light on your headlamp will preserve your night vision. Allowing the rhodopsin to build up in your eye to facilitate better viewing. It takes about fifteen to forty-five minutes for this to fully occur. 

We stumble into camp just before 11:30. I tell them,”Set up tents, slip into something a little more comfortable and meet me back at the kitchen whenever you are ready. I will make whatever I have that is the fastest so you can have something when you get there.”

I greeted them with pistachio pudding as an appetizer. I had even shelled a bunch of pistachios (back in our guide kitchen days before) to put on top as a garnish. Everyone scarfed it down right away without questioning it. The main entree followed dessert. Our feet throbbed, our bodies hurt, it was a miracle Jackie made it down upright and we had started the day with a close encounter of the moose kind. 

Truly days like this are rare in ones life. We all knew this as we sat around our dinner quietly. Smiling. Happy. War buddies enjoying a meal knowing how lucky they are to be alive. We were there for one another and had proven it in the field. One by one they slipped off to bed. I cleaned the dishes and stowed our food safely from bears and sat in the dark for a long while, too exhausted to move. Rocky Mountain Kangaroo mice hopped about on their back legs. I teared up. Not just from the exhaustion. It had been an intense day. On several different levels.

We awoke sore. Jackie sober and humiliated. Face in hands apologizing.

We hike like champions the last seven to eight miles out to the trailhead. We are actually beyond sore and exhausted, but you cannot pay for the high that we felt. The guests because we had just completed a trip of a lifetime, and me because that trip was almost over.

We arrive at the trailhead and there is a van waiting for us. It was dropped several days before. It has a huge cooler full of fresh fruit, vegetables, sandwich makings and everything else you could want at a decadent picnic. We gorge and laugh hysterically recounting our adventures  and exploits. The dehydration incident is kind of a ‘no go’ zone. Although it’s on everyones mind. 

We finish our feast. 

A few of us soak our legs in the strikingly beautiful Lower Kinta Lakes emerald green  waters. There, just a few miles from Canada, in still, unadulterated wilderness we stood. 

We realized our trip was over. 

We turned and headed for the vehicle which was already packed with the cooler and all of our backpacks and gear. A few people milled about the side doors. No one was up front. I had made a few close friends on this trip and I had a three hour drive back to our office. I say, “Who wants shotgun?” Thinking one of my new buddies would jump up there and we would laugh all the way back to Camp Winakkee. 

“I’ll take it!” Jackie says smiling and jumps in the front seat. Everyones head whirls to stare at me and the van. We are all shocked! Me most of all!

Everyone gets in the van. I pace behind it for a few moments wondering how this is going to play out. I take a deep breath and climb in the drivers seat for one hell of a long trip down a dusty bumpy pothole covered dirt road. 

We drive two to three minutes out of the trailhead parking lot. We are all silent. Its always odd to get back into a car after multiple days of sleeping out under the stars. You realize how foreign this type of environment actually is which we climb into daily for our mandatory commutes. The most strange is how still the air is inside a car. No natural breeze or buzzing insects. It always reminds me of putting on a wetsuit. 

Why had Jackie wanted to ride up front we all wondered? And then we got our answer… Suddenly the silence and everyones curiosity is broken all at once.

“I am so thirsty, does anyone have any extra water I can have?” she announces holding up her empty water bottle for everyone to see.

I look in the rear view mirror with wide eyes and see six peoples arms thrusting forward offering their water bottles. I catch a few peoples eyes and we wink at one another.

Jackie and I have the BEST conversations on the way back to the office. She tells me about her life, her children, her theory on education. She is a brilliant and beautiful person. We laugh and she asks me questions fascinated by a life so different than hers. 

The drive back is a flash.

Its always a little bitter sweet as guests are parting from a trip like this. Tips are awkwardly exchanged. Phone numbers and emails sometimes. Some people just simply vanish. Leaving the tip with the main office. Too powerful an event for words I tell myself in those situations. And I don’t judge anyone at all. I understand.

I see Jackie talking with Judith my boss. My heart flutters a little. What is she telling her about our trip? Is she ratting me out for giving her a hard time about the water. We did basically just fight for several days straight. 

Judith approaches with Jackie and says, “Jackie is staying en route to my house back in town and I can drop her off. That way she doesn’t have to wait so long for a shuttle.”

I am very uneasy about this. And thank Jackie repeatedly for a wonderful trip. 

Before Judith walks out of ear shot I say, “Judith, I need to talk to you about a thing, a later, uh, i’l just talk to you later.”

She looks puzzeled at me and I motion for her to just leave with the guest.

I call her about forty-five minutes later. She had dropped Jackie off at her hotel a few minutes prior.

“Before I say anything. What did she say about the trip? Anything special? Anything strange happen?”

Judith replied, “No. She just talked a little bit about that moose incident which sounded really exciting. And she went on and on about how you did a superb job and you are an excellent guide who should be promoted and rewarded.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Yip. In fact, I don’t think I have heard a guest brag about a guide that much in a really long time. Sounds like you did a great job and they had a great trip.”

I belly laughed and said, “Let me tell you what really happened…”

I regale her with the dehydration incident and a day by day breakdown of what led up to it. She can barely believe it. Hell, I can barely believe it. 

Despite all the trials and hardships on this trip. Despite how sore, tired and thankless a job like this can often be. Despite the fact that I haven’t led a commercial backpacking trip for a few years now because I swore off of it. I miss it. More than I can tell you. I miss this exact moment. Sore. Exhausted. Trip over. Dishes cleaned and stowed in their places at our guide kitchen. Showered. Wearing clean clothes. Sitting in the evening reflecting on what just happened. And knowing I and the guests had a wonderful time. It is truly one of the most rewarding and gratifying occupations you can EVER be lucky enough to serve in. 

I say this is the most dangerous trip I have ever guided not because of the moose incident—the dehydration scenario was the danger. We luckily all made it out OK, and with some good stories. The hike was amazing. WE made that hike dangerous by allowing someone in our group to become severely dehydrated. She could have fallen, gotten lost, or simply collapsed and lost consciousness. It was a close call. This is another story I tell almost every group I take out in the backcountry. And that is why I have never had to check peoples water bottles ever again. Because I make sure everyone hears this story. And nobody wants to be a Jackie. And if you go out in the Rockies. And it’s hot. And sunny. And you don’t drink! You aren’t a Jackie—you’re a Jackass!

Was I scared? Hell yes I was! Scared shitless during that moose encounter and the medical incident with Jackie. 

Do I think I am a tough guy for leading trips like this? Hard no!

I was just an artist from Kentucky who wanted to show some good people an amazing place. My favorite place. And I wanted all of us to enjoy it. 

Tough guy? Hardly. Honestly, most of the time I was just worried about the cucumber going bad before our last days trail lunch. It was fine. And it REALLY DID pair well with the hummus and tortilla. 

A Bear Between Us: 3 Stories

The first time I sprayed a charging bear!

I would never approach a bear. There is absolutely no sensible reason to do so under normal circumstances. ‘Normal’ being the important word here. Leading a guided wilderness experience is anything but normal. 

The guide should be waiting on everyone hand and foot. Regaling them with entertaining and informative banter. Comforting them as well as encouraging them in times of hardship on the trail. A trip is designed and executed. Not like a personal trip. So this is not real life so to speak. Not ‘normal’.

Under ‘normal’ conditions I would never approach or try to threaten a bear. 

But, remember, guiding isn’t ‘normal’—although it is real life—very real life!

My bosses at Montana Raft and Glacier Guides loved me. I was one of the most successful and highly rated guides in the history of their company. But that is not what I think they loved me. I think their real value in me was giving me difficult trips, and I would normally always come back with elated guests and with an entertaining story. And they found they could spice things up a bit by giving me extra challenging and undesirable trips.

That’s how I found myself shocked and staring into the eyes of six angry baby boomers and a sherpa. All of them arguing with me, “The office told us that since this is called the ‘Boomer Backpacking Trip”, we would not have to carry any group weight. All that stuff is to be carried by the guide and sherpa. You know, we’re old, like baby boomers. Thats the name of the trip…”

I shoot a look over to the sherpa, “That’s what Judith told me also.”

No one had told me this. Let me break it all down briefly: normally on a backpacking trip  here in Glacier, the guide would split up group supplies between the guests so the guide isn’t laden with 25-30lbs of food. Since this is a trip designed for old, out of shape people and their expectation was to be coddled and to carry zero group gear.

I run into the office not to confirm it. I knew at this point from their faces it was true. I ran into the office to thank them for not telling me. I think someone actually said, “Well, looks like you have the start of a pretty funny story already. Can’t wait to hear how this whole thing turns out.”

Already it is a very not funny story to me. I take a minute or two to calm down and do some yoga breaths before returning to the pavilion to repack eight bags of backpacking supplies neatly packed and separated—downsizing them into three big bags and a few small ones. I would be carrying it all. Me and the four foot ten inch ninety-five pound female sherpa who would be sharing the load. It was her first trip out. She has worked in the office for a few years. Our own tiny little office version of Tenzing Norgay.

How can this be funny I wonder? 

Right now I have a non stop dribble of curse words going in my head. 

I do not look forward to the next three days. 

Yet, I cannot wait to get out on the trail. 

It makes everything tolerable. 

What actually happens on this trip has nothing to do with the boomers, the sherpa, my bosses or the heavy load I have to bare, hand carrying two bags of food in on the trail the first day. 

We head to Logging Lake. A wonderful treed hike with a few lakeside campgrounds with loons, possible howling wolves and a few breathtaking small mountains close by. Its subtle beauty for the Glacier area. But its nice. And on this trip the lake is nice to swim in. An amazing break and chance to cool off. Everyone just gets in up to there knees. I swim out farther into the lake than I have ever swam out before. The guests are terrified for me. This entertains me. And being alone in this vast body of water directly in the middle of it staring at the perfect blanket of lodgepole, doug fir and larch leading up to the west side of the Livingston Range. A massive and beautiful wall of peaks made by ancient glaciers long extinct. When this glaciation party happened nearly this entire mountain range was supposedly under an ice sheet with only a few craggy peaks protruding. Like the glacial ice sheets of Western coastal Alaska. Immense. Powerful. Formative. Unadulterated white vastness. Perfect. What is left are these beautiful mountains. A testament to that flawless smooth white skin it once had, hiding the massive chainsaw of ice that is a moving glacier.

It turns out to be a good trip. These people are characters. What Boomers wouldn’t be who chose to do a trip like this? They are truly wonderful people. Much like nearly everyone who seeks out these holy places. Are they wonderful as a result of coming to places like this? Or are they wonderful to begin with and thats why they seek these places out? Either way, I am lucky to be with them in this wilderness. 

Our second night we hike deeper into the park. We hike around a bit and visit a small alpine lake which is rumored to be very good for fishing. I long for my fishing gear in these moments. But a guide should never put his or her desires above waiting on the guests. And I devote nearly all my energy to them. 

We have a decadent and amazing trip in the park. Stories are told. Moments of contemplation are contemplated. Silence quiets us all. Mostly the loon makes noises the last night. 

The second to last morning is always exciting for me. It is our last full day. And this little magic show is about to finish and tomorrow the curtain will drop. I always start to feel a bit of sadness. This wild stage is where I truly feel alive. But I accept it to finish the show for a rounding set of applause—and tips. That last morning I ready my granola bar jackalope shit (to be explained later), and I send the guests ahead on the trail with the sherpa to hike at their own pace and I would catch up. This is an excuse to give me more time to finish dishes. But it’s really an excuse to rest after three hours of cooking and waiting on people. One more push I think as I exhale out and filter another bottle of water. How many god damn bottles of water have I filtered in my life I wonder? And smile. Chuckling to myself in acknowledgement of how lucky I am to be pissed about filtering in a place like this. But I do always end up with a sore shoulder and wrist each season from it. 

The guests have been gone for at least thirty minutes. I reluctantly cram the last of the awkward sacks into my seventy five lbs pack and hoist it onto my shoulder. ‘The Pain Machine’ is what I call this pack. Nice work Osprey. No matter what I do to this pack, it just keeps on going—and causing me tremendous amounts of pain. Both at the time of wearing it, and for a few months after the season. It took me over twenty years to break my first Osprey pack. This one will most likely out live me. I finally gave it to my sister. I told her only her husband is allowed to wear it. Sorry Gary.

I get on the trail and all the worlds problems disappear. Despite ‘The Pain Machine’, it’s a beautiful day. Hot, but not too hot. Clear, yet we are hiking mostly in covered forest so we won’t get sunburned. And not much traffic on the trail. Except for someone who may need to be medivaced and a menacing wild animal which I am about to have an encounter with. 

It is known, and I have heard about the black bear at Logging Lake. A troublesome pouty animal who sometimes gives hikers trouble. I have heard about this from rangers in the area. Naturally I am skeptical because the only person in this park I trust less than a ranger is one of my guests. But this was told to me from an old backcountry ranger. So I gave it some stock. If they were young, or worked in the office I would have dismissed it completely. Since it came from a backcountry ranger, it was, however, on my radar. And I had warned the guests, “hike with at least one other person in earshot of at least two other people.” 

Safety in numbers. I am the only one to hike alone.

And when you tell that to people who pay you a large sum of money to guide them through bear country, generally they comply. And these awesome Boomers did. And they were in a good mood this morning. I could tell because after about forty-five minutes of hiking I had still not caught up to them. And that was OK with me.

So I slowed my pace and started into trying to remember this summers project: ‘Hello I Said’ by Neil Diamond. It’s a little known fact bears disdain Neil Diamond. So I try to remember and sing the songs from my childhood while hiking. Last year it was Harry Chapin, this year largely one song. I was nearly through all of the verses. This was not for me. It was to scare off the bears and to keep myself company. 

In between Neil’s genius verse “Did you ever hear about a frog who dreamed of being a king? And then became one,” in perfect key and tempo I looked up and less than twenty feet away was a very large black bear standing halfway out on the trail with its body exposed. If I had walked a few more steps I would have run right smack into it. 

There is a hissing and a popping sound coming from the bears head. Although it barely seems to be moving. Like bad animatronics. It is very surreal. 

My heart sinks and all of the air is vacuumed out of my body in a gasp. 

Training helps in these situations. Before I know what has happened I have two cans of bear spray out, safeties off, pointed at the bear and a Go pro is recording and strapped to my chest. 

“It’s OK, bear. It’s OK,” I say soothingly backing up while continually raising and lowering my hands extended out from my belly button towards the bear. Like a mini version of someone bowing with their arms—the interspecies universal sign for “I mean you no harm, you are totally OK. We are OK. And I am leaving.” It has always worked for me. 

I back up as far as I can to still be able to see the bear, 20-25 yards. The bear doesn’t move. 

These types of situations are very strange when you encounter them alone. It is a very unique experience unless you live in an area with a massive bear population. Even then, locals will go their entire life without seeing a bear. Others, will have ten bears a year walk through their backyard. And a very few unlucky blessed people will come far too close to a bear—both walking away without any contact. I am hoping this is that type of situation.

I wait patiently. Talking soothingly to the bear and the Gopro. I can hear my speech and breathing calm down in the tape. The bear is a seemingly distant black shadow. The wide angle of a Gopro does not lend itself to wildlife photography. Unless your intent is to get great first hand footage of a mauling. And that is not my intent whatsoever. So I wait patiently with a bear blocking the trail. Six Baby Boomers and a tiny sherpa walk ahead of me towards the parking lot, civilization and perceived safety. Not knowing that there is a bear between us!

This is not the first time this has happened. Although this is a far more intense and lasting situation than the others. 

The summer before this on a trip just north of here I found myself in a microcosm of this event. We were coming all the way from Waterton National Park to Lower KIntla on our last day of a 4 day traverse of the park. Only about 45 minutes from the parking lot, with a feast waiting for us in several coolers in the back of our van I was hiking only 30 to 40 feet ahead of the guests who were strung out in a group ranging from a few feet to a dozen feet apart. We were walking along Lower Kintla Lake. The trail winds along the north side of the beautiful lake for its entirety with trees and shrubby vegetation partially covering the lake as we hike. The emerald waters are crystal clear and you can see large trout on its edge if you approach the waters edge slyly enough. 

As we walk along I am talking. I am almost always talking. I apologize to the guests for this. But it is my job. I also do this to scare away the bears. Sadly it is very affective. And I know we see less bears because of it. But it is far safer than startling a brown, black, adult or cub. It’s nothing you want to mess around with. So I tell stories about the trees, rocks, animals, trails, cultural history and myself. Almost all of the stories in this book have been told many times on the trail. 

Because we are nearing the car I trail off in my stories. I like to end the trip in a very subtle but special way. On the last day I take all the extra weight from the guests that I can. I tell them to hike with as little water as possible. Stopping to fill it a few times to rest by a small stream or alpine lake. I encourage everyone to be quite and reflect on the trip. Think about what it means to be in wilderness. Think about what it means to be in ‘civilization’. And then I encourage them to leave some of the ‘civilized’ emotional baggage you brought with you, and take some of the ‘self affirming wilderness baggage’ back with you. I normally choke up when I say this little speech. So I say it quietly with sunglasses on with my gaze cast down. My attempt to hide my emotions drives the message home more seriously. Generally people are moved. Think about it. We are all exhausted. Sore from head to toe. Our bodies are exerting more energy on a daily basis than a normal week in our ‘regular’ lives. We are worn emotionally thin by lack of sleep, overwhelming awe inspiring beauty and the realization that we might just pull this trip off. We are going to make it. We CAN climb these mountains. We CAN cross the Continental Divide on foot! We CAN hike, sleep, eat and live in bear infested wilderness and escape unscathed.

And then I hear a scratching noise. It sounds like claws on flaky lodgepole pine bark and a sharp exhaling sound. I swivel my head and see a small sub adult black bear standing no more than 20-30 feet away and just behind me. Training: both cans of bear spray out, safeties off. 

“It’s OK, it’s OK.” I say.

I look at the guests who are behind me. The first couple are seeing what is happening. The rest are absorbed in quite conversation. I watch, holding my breath, as they literally run into the back of the backpack in front of them. Pilling up, with Mikki, holding her arms out and preventing everyone else from waking in front of her towards the bear between us.

The bear looks from me to the group worriedly. It settles its gaze on me, most likely because I am the one talking.

“It’s OK,” I keep saying soothingly.

The bears escape is cut off. Its back is to Kintla Lake. I am on one side of this small bear, the group of guests are on the other side of it. It could easily run between us and escape. For it is much faster than us. A bear can run nearly 35 miles an hour in short bursts. But it must feel like we are trying to trap it. And it’s freaking out. 

All of this happens in just a few seconds. As soon as I realize we are freaking the bear out and cutting off its escape my mind does several quick logistical computations and decides the best course of action is to move towards my guests to close that gap rather than move away and take a chance of scaring the bear right TOWARDS my guests. So I step back up the trail slowly towards my guests keeping an equidistant distance between myself and the bear. I move to the far part of the trail stepping just off of it to maintain our safety buffer. The bears head slowly turns as I step just in front of the whispering, elated, wide eyed, gaping mouthed, trembling guests. Some would say I stepped towards the bear. But really, I just gave it an even greater sized lane to use to escape. 

And the bear did just that. It dropped to all fours and nonchalantly strolled right in front of us and disappeared into the shrubbery some 20-30 yards away. We watched it as long as we could. We continued on with a spring in our step that only comes from having stared into the eyes of a wild animal standing on two legs just a few feet away from you. We were electrified. Like school children. A perfect way to end every backpacking trip. 

Before we get back to Logging Lake and the roadblocking black bear, a brief story of another encounter with a ‘small’ black bear that would end entirely differently:

This occurred just a few weeks ago while writing this short story—years after the above mentioned events. 

As short as possible…:

I am hiking back from Exit Glacier. Kenai Fords National Park, Alaska. Summer 2019. End of the day. Fading light. I myself am fading as well. Nearly 10 o’clock in the evening. I have just climbed to the top of the Ice Fields (and limped back down) with my fiancé. She is a slender 5’10”, 120 pound Indian woman. As gentle and graceful as the day is long. We are literally at the end of the trail. I am nearly straddling the line where the dirt and paved sidewalk meet. Just a few hundred yards from a parking lot where our RV awaits. There is a paved path here that continues in a different direction than we hiked today. This is for handicapped and small children to be able to have a nice little accessible loop to see this unbelievable landscape. I am ahead. I turn looking down the paved path. As I shifted my gaze to look back up our trail at my fiancé to congratulate her my eyes come to rest and focus on a ‘small’ sub adult black bear less than  20 feet away and just behind me in the open forest floor. It’s body is angled oddly and it’s looking at me like a dog which is suspicious of you. Training manifests itself in these situations and I am on autopilot.

“Bear! Get your bear spray out,” I say to my fiancé in a low voice while I get mine out. I continue in my one tried and true bear communication, “It’s OK. It’s OK.” pointing the can of bear spray at it with the safety off. My fiancé stops where she is. And begins to get out her can of bear spray.

I am puzzled at what I am seeing. A ‘small’ bear near the trail just standing here like this. In between two trails really. The paved one and the dirt trail which we have just descended. What the hell is going on here I wonder?

I am happy my fiancé is getting out her bear spray quickly, because I am a little freaked out. I am 97% sure this ‘tiny’ bear is going to turn and trot into the woods here any second. In fact, I KNOW this. I have seen it SO many times. But still I know that it could do something else—because of that day back at Logging Lake…And although I am 97% sure this bear is about to turn and walk away, I am 3% shitting my pants, because I know what it could do. And what in fact it actually does!

Like I said, I am glad my fiancé is getting out her bear spray quickly. Earlier in the day just over the top of a very popular and crowded (there were only four people there—so I wouldn’t say really crowded—but it was the largest concentration we would see of people any one place on the Exit Glacier trail all day), I stopped to take a small detour to get a slightly different angle for a photo. And there, just above the ‘crowd’ as I was gazing at the massive glacier a black bear and three cubs popped up from the grassy horizon line just in front of me. Maybe 20 yards away. 

Training: bear spray out, I say, “Hey bear, it’s OK, it’s OK,”and turning to my fiancé, GET YOUR BEAR SPRAY OUT AND TAKE OFF THE SAFETY,” I quietly stammer out not wanting to scare her and I shudder thinking of what would have happened if I had walked over this hilltop just a few moments later. You can’t dwell on things like that.

My fiancé stops about 15 feet behind me. Because of the top of the hill she cannot see the bear and cubs just beyond it, very, very close to both of us. She says very harshly, “You jackass, quit playing around! Don’t even—“ She continues berating me thinking I am pranking her and that there is no actual bear. 

The black bear stopped, glaring at me when I began speaking. It reacted to my shouting fiancé by standing to look over my shoulder for the source of the noise and huffed once towards her cubs, warning them. The adorable little cubs stand and drop back onto all fours like the cutest damn thing you’ll ever see. My fiancé still thinks this is a prank. I swivel my head and shoot her a look of what I hope communicates fear, anger, and urgency. 

“You better not be messing around,” she continues cursing me.

While I continue, “It’s ok bear. PLEASE GET YOUR BEAR SPRAY OUT NOW! It’s Ok bears. PLEASE GET YOUR SPRAY OUT! It’s ok bear…”

She scrambles quickly and unwisely to my side finally seeing the close bears as the mother drops back down to all fours and then turns to walk into very dense hillside shrubs. The cubs, stand, look at us, and bound into the bush behind their mother.

I tell my fiancé, “Darling, I will NEVER, EVER, EVER, play around in any way by saying ‘bear’ if there is not one. What you have to promise me, is if I say there is a bear, immediately get your bear spray out and ready it for action.” Later I would not believe how fortuitous these words would be. Also later, I would think ALOT about what would have happened if I did not say these words. You shouldn’t dwell on things like this. Sadly I still panic thinking about this incident. 

There we were, in the fading Alaskan light. Exit of the Exit Glacier Trail. Oddly behaving black bear. I am straddling the line where dirt meets pavement at the end of the trail. And my fiancé is obligatorily getting out her bear spray standing behind me on the trail with the bear nearly between us. 

She gets the bear spray out. I hear her take the safety off. There is a sudden stillness and silence where I can hear everything. And then everything happens at once. The bear charges full speed at my fiancé. Its hair standing up in all directions. Appearing to double in size. It is huffing with each small lighting quick bounding step. It moves so fast it becomes a ball of fur with a head. My slender fiancé unleashes with a blast of bear spray. While I start to scream, “Nooooooo!” and step towards the action helplessly. 

My scream is guttural.  I am not talking to the bear. I am really screaming because I am not accepting the fact that the bear is charging the woman I love and there is nothing I can do about it. I am completely helpless. They are both just out of my bear spray range of spray. And although I am just a few dozen feet away from both her and the bear, I am too far away to help her.

“Noooooooooo…” my screams trails off to silence as the bear comes to a halt just at the edge of my fiancés cloud of bear deterrent. 

Stillness again. The bear turns it head and looks at me. I spray my can of bear deterrent for the first time in my career and snap back into reality. And training kicks in.

“NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I yell ferociously, spraying yet another volley of white hot capsaicin in the direction of the bear. The wind is carrying it in my direction. I am the only one it hits. This is VERY common. I cannot inhale, and my eyes involuntarily shut. 

“NO BEAR, NO!” I spit and start blinking a lot to be able to stay in the fight. Bear spray does not affect you like you think it would. Although its capsaicin, the active ingredient in heating up culinary peppers, it doesn’t ‘burn you’.Simply put, you just can’t breathe and you can’t open your eyes. You would think its gonna burn you. But all I ever really think is, “I cannot see and I can’t breath”. And for an animal like a bear which traverses the wilderness with its nose, it’s perfect for its job. It’s crazy stuff. Oh yeah, and your face and lips feel like they are on fire. But the overwhelming feeling is one of panic at not being able to breath or see.

“Hello? Are you OK? You guys seeing a bear?” we hear from just down the paved trail. 

I am still yelling and honestly about to charge this bear myself. The bear turns and begins to make its way into the darkness. 

My fiancé makes her way to me and we see an old couple come into view from just up the paved trail.

And they have a dog.

A cute pug. Most likely the cause of this whole situation. See appendix 1

They are amazed at our story. My fiancé is electrified. The pug is adorable. I cannot breath or open my eyes. The older woman we meet is a retired ER nurse she uninvitedly begins administering first aid. She says, “Everything is OK. Except your left eye. It’s closed and off center from the right. It looks like it’s melting.

“That’s normal, I was born like that,” I say. It is true. I can immediately see she feels bad for pointing it out. I feel bad for her feeling bad.

Then we regale several other groups of foolish hikers who are about to head up trail to get a view of the glacier before it gets too dark. All of them return with us to the parking lot so they can retrieve bear spray from their car before restarting their hike. What in the hell were they thinking, not having bear spray at that time of the night and going for a hike? 

Once I could breathe normally and open my eyes the burning becomes more noticeable. My eyes, lips and entire face burned all night. A physical reminder of these experiences that I love. My face and lips did feel really smooth for the next few weeks after this… I was beaming and smiling until I passed out sometime after midnight. Still, it was hard to sleep. Dwelling on what if my fiancé had thought I was pranking her again. I know I shouldn’t dwell on things like this. 

So those are the multiple stories within this story which is actually only one part of the ‘story’ about this trip to Logging Lake. The one about the bear at Logging Lake. The other ‘funny story’ about the heart attack guy with puffy hands who may need to be medivaced out—but we’ll get to that in a bit.

Where were we? 

So there I was!

Logging Lake.

Boomer Trip.

Sure to be a ‘funny story’ to share with the office staff.

Black bear blocking the trail!

A KNOWN problem bear! 

I am so angry with the park in these situations for not hazing these bears. They’ll haze any bear near the road in minutes with a hail of exploding cracker shells and bean bag projectiles to keep traffic flowing. But they let bears and moose in the backcountry run a muck. Those cracker shells and bean bags would be better used on these animals and the tourists that stop their car in the middle of the road to photograph animals. It is the motorist causing the traffic—not the defenseless wild animal pushed into this postage stamp of protected wilderness crawling with tourists. 

It has been a while at this point. I know at least 25 minutes. The bear just standing on the trail. Half of its body exposed. I have seen this before with a mother and cubs. The mom protecting its cubs. But this bear has no cubs—Its just being ornery. Most likely it has done this in the past and stupid hikers have thrown food to lure it off the trail. Bad idea! Another excellent job for cracker shells and bean bag projectiles. This bear won’t get a hand out from me. Not today. Not ever!

It starts to bother me. I have already tried to be nice. I have waited silently. I have explained in non threatening verbiage and tone that my guests were down trail. I had lunch for them. They were paying me to guide them through your home turf. I will be out of your area momentarily if you let me pass. The forest is far to thick or I would have tried to walk around.

So I did the only thing I could do when my guests are down trial and I am trapped up trail with a bear between us: I start to move towards the bear! It’s unnerving doing this with a group of people behind you. It’s psychotic behavior to do this by yourself. I would never do this normally. But I am guiding a group of people and they are depending on me. 

I step closer and closer to the bear slowly. Talking the entire time. Bear spray cans both pointing forward, safeties off. Go pro rolling. I am shaking and you can hear fear in my voice on the tape. The bear does not react until I get about 15 feet from it. It’s SO hard to keep moving forward. Like I am in slowly hardening cement. My body preventing me from continuing towards this 300-400 pound bear. The bear is hardly reacting. It is moving its head just a little. As if it is slowly shaking its head to say ‘no’. Small, little, head nods. Around the twelve feet zone the head shaking stops. The bear simply turns it’s head toward me and hisses revealing teeth. I almost faint.

“it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok,” I say as passively as I can like a child about to start whimpering. 

As I am thinking , “Should I spray this can of bear spray?” The bear charges! Rather, it bluff charges. It stomps on the ground and steps towards me a few feet! I slowly shrink back repeating my non threatening mantra, “It’s ok, it’s ok…”

I am beside myself with anxiety. Mainly scared shitless about getting scratched or bitten and more than a little nervous about the guests. I was saying all that stuff earlier kind of being funny, but now it’s getting real. The guests really are depending on me. And god knows how far up the trail they have made it.

I approach the bear again and again trying to ‘nice guy’ my way though, to no avail. 

I should have just sprayed the bear. But I was of a different mind set back then. I used to think about this in terms of just manners: this is their home, and you don’t go into someone else’s home and mace them when they are a little upset at you for your uninvited visit. Like I said, this is my ‘old mentality’. Now I see this as an opportunity to educate a stupid bear. Because if this bear does this and hurts a person—it’s a dead bear. So go out there and be a bear educator!

At this point I panic. And I get angry. I finally decide I am going to have to spray this bear and slowly make my way up the path. The bear reacts as it has been stomping on the ground like a pouting child while walking towards me. 

But this time I am not ‘Mr. Nice Guy’.

I yell like a crazy person and keep right on going at the bear ready for a fight. And just as I am about to spray both cans of bear spray at it, right in that 10-12 feet zone it turned and ran up the trail at a sprint, not making a single noise! Like a ninja it silently jumped into the understory and charged in the other direction making almost no sound whatsoever. In the exact direction I was heading!

I wasted no time. Kept the bear spray out and the Go pro rolling. Through my panting you can hear my panic. Interdispersed with long periods of dead silence where I stop to listen for the bear. BECUSE IT IS FOLLOWING ALONG SIDE ME 40-50 FEET AWAY IN THE SHRUBBY UNDERSTORY! UNSEEN!!! I can tell because every few seconds it steps on a twig. It is keeping good pace with me. I have already broken one cardinal rule and approached this bear. I really want to break the other cardinal rule and run from it. But I repress that fear, although I am walking rather briskly. After a minute I stop and decide to bring this situation to a close. I grab some rocks and sticks and start throwing it into the forest where I last heard the noise. After a few minutes of lobbing rocks, sticks and insults into the shrubs I listen with every fiber of my being. Nothing. Silence. My antagonist is gone. I tell myself this. It’s the only way I can continue down the trail without the constant feeling of being chased by Freddy Krueger and Jason from Friday the 13th. If you have ever been in an actual encounter such as this, that is the closest thing I can say to describe it quickly. I wake from this nightmare by telling myself the bear is gone. I also sing Neil Diamond songs while I hike. In perfect key, tempo and impersonation. Reflecting on how I really prefer the 1968-1972 era Neil. He was a poet and an artist back then. A real metropolitan Jazz singer turned street poet. I also have convinced myself the bears especially hate Neil Diamond. And right now, my nerves are shot and I need to calm myself down. 

‘What a shit-bear, trying to shake people down for trail mix. Really got under my skin,’ I am thinking this as I am really belting out a verse from Neil’s masterpiece, relaxing somewhat as I stroll quickly down the trail. After all, I am working right now. And there are six baby boomers and a five foot sherpa, all heavily laden with backpacking equipment who are depending on me to make lunch for them in about an hour. And they are somewhere ahead of me on the trail. And so is the next part of my funny story for my bosses. 

I hike for nearly thirty minutes reflecting on the bear encounter. Praying the Gopro footage is usable. It’s not. Ultimately this will lead to me upgrading my camera system. I am now using two $2000 lenses and a full frame $1400 body and a $2000 full frame body. All of the money I make goes to this camera setup for a few years. And it’s worth every penny.

I finally catch up to two guests. They are smiling and have their packs off on the ground when I walk up. 

“Good morning ladies, how is the hike going for you?” I ask. 

“You are going to need to give some medical attention to one of those guys from that big guy group we have been seeing. That one heart transplant guy seems to be having a heart attack and looks like he is dying.”

I stop in my tracks. My brain goes into ‘work mode’. My wilderness medical training instantly starts going over checklists and protocol. The ladies say he is slowly walking ahead of them. They had dropped their packs to wait and tell me about this. They smile saying they have been waiting a long time for me in an unspoken question of “Just what were you doing back at camp?”

I instruct the women to grab packs and catch up to me. I quickly relate that there is a bear in these woods and he or she is feisty. They are wide eyed and instantly energized.

I sprint hike down the trail and in seconds whip around a corner to an ultra surreal sight:

Three men standing just off the trail. They are in their 30’s-40’s.  

Two wearing backpacks. They stand staring silently at the third man. 

He is staring into the forest. 

This man is grey in skin tone and his hands are three to four times the normal size of  any man’s hands his size. He looks like a black and white movie of a man wearing giant Mickey Mouse like gloves. I cannot overstate how disconcerting the immediate appearance of the situation was. He looked like a corpse. And I could tell by his staring into the woods with his buddies silently watching that they all three thought he was breathing his last few breaths.

I am taken aback but still walk right up to them and drop my pack to get out my first aid kit and satellite phone. I don’t normally bring sat phones on backpacking trips. Only if there are old people, or known medical issues like coronary history or something of the sort. And this being a boomer trip, I knew everyone would be old, and most likely several would have heart trouble. Turns out the heart problem would be from an early 40’s man not on our trip.

“How are you doing? How is everything going? I have been quickly briefed on whats happening—but could you please fill me in on any and all pertinent information. I assume you guys want help? Right?” I ask as politely as I can while grabbing my rubber gloves and then send one arm into my backpack in a deep, powerfully penetrating grab to locate and extract my first aid kit which is somewhere deep in my 75 pound bag. 

The grey puffy handed man responds slowly and in a very low tone. 

“Well. Yeah. I guess we need help.”

There is a lot of talking with thick accents. Although they are from Minnesota or Wyoming, they sound like they are from the South. I am from Kentucky. And I know what southern dialect sounds like. And there are certain parts of nearly every state where people talk like they are from ‘the country’. And these five or six guys sounded like they drank cheap beer every night after working in their fields. And they looked like it. 

I liked them. They were good people. I respected what they were doing. Here is the story. We had run into them for several days. Hop scotching in front of and then behind one another as we hiked. We had even stayed at the same camp one night. So, we actually kind of know these guys. They are all close friends from grades school or high school. Traveling here on a bucket list wish from a dying man. A man who had one or more major heart surgeries, transplants, etc. Heavily medicated, grey, crazily puffy handed, and content to die in this beautiful place he had wanted to come visit. Its hard not to blame him. I assured him he was going to be OK. I was totally lying. I had no idea what the hell was going on. And he did in fact look like he was about to die. But you can never say that to someone, and you really shouldn’t even think it. 

I instructed him to lay down. Put his feet above his head. Drink as much water as possible and take deep breaths. This can cure almost any hiking related problem. But we were dealing with a far more intense situation here.

His friends and the now patient related a long and disturbing health history of this man. I could tell they were all great guys. Life-long friends.

I checked his heart rate. Seemed normal. A little elevated. I could understand why. 

I immediately called my office. When they answered it sounded like an office party. Music, people talking, laughing, and a wonderful office staff member recognizes my voice and listens to me as I speak as quickly and clearly as possible. You never know when these phones will loose connection. She repeats one or two statements back to me to confirm what I am saying. The room behind her goes silent. Murmurs in the background now. A more senior office staff member grabs the phone. I quickly relate the situation including symptoms and medications being taken. She says that senior medical office staff are looking this up online.

We all wait in that wilderness. These ancient mountains made up of even older rock vaulted up from miles below above the lodgepole forest. We all held our breath silently as well. Waiting for the crackling noise from the Sat Phone to hear from civilization what this poor man’s fate would be. 

The puffy handed man listening most intently of all.

The Glacier Guides founder, Randy Gaynor’s chipper voice breaks the silence on the phone. I am shocked by his cheerfulness. 

“Hey Jeremy, sounds like you guys are having an exciting time out there.”

“Yes, we are. Thanks for looking up stuff online for us. What did you find?”

“Oh yeah, well, it seems this medicine has a common side effect of causing swelling of the hands and other parts of the body. So remove all rings, jewelry, shoes, belts as needed. Make sure he is stabile otherwise and ask him not to exert himself on the way out.”

A huge sigh of relief. No one will be dying today on the Logging Lake Trail. 

We thanked the office profusely.

The man continued to lounge on the ground for a while. A larger group of his friends had taken his backpack forward to camp and were coming back to hike with him as a group. These two guys and the puffy handed man were slowly hiking at their leisure just waiting for them. 

I instructed them to continue. I would go attend to my guests, set up our camp and continue to monitor him throughout the day, night and tomorrow morning. We were staying at the same backcountry campsite that night. 

I would even allow him to call his wife and or family to let them know he was safe. But mainly because I just wanted him to be able to say he loved them just one more time before we hiked out. You never know. I then thought to make the same call to my family. It had been an intense day for me. You never know. 

These boomers were amazing. 

We had the best trip. 

There was Jerry, a mechanical engineer and hilarious character. 

There was Cecilia Mink. A Southwestern Rodeo princess who was a very successful independent sales rep for pharmaceutical companies.

There was Rock Dawg and Old Blue. They are their own story altogether. A wonder and inspiration to behold. Mothers with grown children and husbands. Best friends from West or East Virginia. They took up backpacking a few years ago. Each trip they told me about were the funniest backpacking stories I have ever heard. I loved them. 

Then there was a solo female boomer. A director of ops of some sort from the southwest.

And then there were a few random characters on the trail we would constantly run into. Other than the puffy handed man crew, there were a few couples. Including a young woman (by young I mean in her 40’s—my age, and not a boomer) hiking with her mother. A woman my entire group was obsessed with hooking me up with. And that too is a whole other story. 

We awoke our last morning refreshed. I am always sad to hike out of the backcountry. And on the great trips borderline depressed. I shouldn’t get like this. Because the trip is NOT over.

On the way out, we even find Jackelope Scat! This rare and obscure animal rarely leaves its scat where humans can find it. 

Hiking out the last day I always try to keep the group somewhat together. This is for several reasons. We have all bonded and its good to finish as a group. But also, to facilitate a conversation about wilderness, taking time to visit it and how important it is in our lives. I know it sounds cheesy and naive. But it is not. It is very serious. I tell people how nearly every culture with a recorded history has long rich narratives of how people go to these wild places for healing, for inspiration, recharging and a whole host of other reasons. It is our birthright. We NEED it! I talk about primitive cultures who are connected with their land and how much more mental health stability they have. And I stress that “for whatever it means to you—you have come from civilization. A place of traffic lights, work, bills, responsibilities, trains, family, extended family, and a whole lot more. You have come to a wild place. A place of nearly untainted pristine untouched wilderness. Leave some of that civilized emotional baggage here. And take back some of this wilderness with you. Remember it. Return. Repeat.”

Most people listen silently to my spiel. Most of the time I start to choke up and feel humiliated. Some others react the same way as well. I give them all time to digest this as we walk back to the parking lot in a loose group encouraging everyone to be quite. Not only can I relax and not have to lecture or talk anymore. But it also gives a chance to look for wildlife. And that distraction allows me to deploy one of my favorite “tricks” as a guide which I prepped the day before at camp. 

As we stroll along the trail in silence thinking of civilizations whoas and our newfound inner peace a guests spots a deer. I of course see it. But I am immune to their charms unless someone else points it out to me that they want to look at them. I have seen SO many deer. They are as exciting as a lodgepole pine, which is to say that a single grain of rice is exciting. 

Once the boomers point out the deer I recognize my opportunity and I go into magician/ninja mode. My guests don’t even really know what is happening. What they see is this:

Someone points out the deer, and we walk past it. I gather everyone into a tight circle and point out one or two features of the anatomy of the deer and talk about what it is eating. I am standing directly behind the guests. I ask them if anyone has ever been this close to a deer and if anyone has any entertaining stories about the deer. I stand close with them and silently listen from behind while we spend time with a beautiful and majestic creature. After a few minutes, we turn around and start to walk down the trail. I carefully step over a large rock in the trail only to have someone just behind me point out this very strange and very prominent piece of scat. I whirl around with excitement seemingly shocked!

And begin to tell everyone about the rare and peculiar “Jackelope” who is responsible for this little treasure atop the rock. I talk of the strange anatomy of the “Jackelope” (Small rabbit like body with a small set of antlers) and I talk of it’s eating habits. Mainly, how it eats choice fresh greens and berries and its digestive tract is so clean you can actually eat it for survival. I follow up with a story of natives and prospectors having their lives saved by eating these nutritious trail treasure. You should by now guess where this is going… Keep in mind, I am NOT this ‘type’ of guide usually. I pull this stunt typically at the end of my trips for a reason. They have just heard me talk non stop for days about animals, edible items from the forest, native and cultural history AND I give people sources for nearly everything I say. So I am basically a vetted walking library to these people. And I haven’t pulled any shenanigans on them. I then say, “In fact this feces is so clean you can safely handle it.” 

I pick it up. People start screaming. I act as if they are over reacting and to their shear terror and disgust I raise the “scat” to my nose and smell it. 

People start to gag and recoil.

This is my favorite part!

I say I have never eaten it, and I have always been curious. At this point mothers race towards me to snatch it from my hands and other people simply emit a long monotone shriek of some sort. They ALL watch as I open my mouth and take a bite. I report its not bad, kind of nutty. And then I stare at everyone for a few seconds and revel in what I have created before telling them the truth.

The truth is I have been carrying around a Tigerbar for the entire trip. This specific type of granola bar works best, but I have used others also with success. The key is, it must be malleable and be dark brown in color. See appendix 2 for a lengthy instructive ‘how to’

That morning, after checking on the puffy handed man and before cleaning up breakfast dishes I had gotten this granola bar out and formed it into the most perfect sculptured fake scat you have ever seen (keep in mind I have an MFA in studio arts and was a college art instructor for ten years). Complete with actual tiny raisin berries and small chunks of cacao that looked like some sort of wild animal leftovers. I placed it into my ziplock bag I used for trailmix. When the entire group was looking at the deer and talking about their personal stories for just those few moments I snuck away from the group and ran down the trail 20-30 feet. I saw the rock and knew it would be a prominent location (which was also semi clean—cleaner than the dusty trail anyway—I always try to place it on a rock) and then I ran back to the group without a sound. To do this you must be one part magician, and one part ninja (and a lot parts cooky). So when we turned around to start hiking, the entire group KNEW I hadn’t planted it. They KNEW it was real. And they KNEW their guide was eating shit in front of them, safely. If that isn’t magic I don’t know what is!

EVERYONE slaps me when I reveal the trick and show them the half uneaten Tigerbar and demonstrate how I made it. This is generally a moment where people need to drop their packs and regain their composure. All except Jerry, the Engineer were duped. He just laughed the entire time and before I told everyone it was a joke I looked into his eyes and he laughingly said, “Jeremy, you are so full of shit!”

How can you not have a life changing experience on a backpacking trip like this? These types of days made me a better person. Hell, I think I can safely say they made all of us better people. And it was everything combined that had facilitated that. The wilderness, the animals, the mountains, the lakes, our fellow hikers, what we discovered about ourselves out here, what we left behind out in those woods. That is why we do these horribly miserable and difficult trips. That is how the “magic” happens. And if you do it even remotely correct. And you reflect on it. That WILL happen. Every single time!

We all walked out of the woods a little changed. On the really great trips like this one even more so.

We made it to the parking lot and van in good spirits. We feasted on a massive picnic which had been packed in a cooler days ago and left for us. We then drove out of the park and back to West Glacier (Of course we stopped at the Polebridge Bakery and store and got some decadent gluten free cookies and huckleberry bearclaws).

When we sadly rolled into guide headquarters (sad but happy), we learned from the office girls that the puffy handed man crew had stopped by to tell the office thanks for helping out. They also commended me and my assistance and left a nice sum of money for me as a token of appreciation. 

I even took pause that afternoon to reflect on how lucky I was to be able to do this. I thought long and hard about the importance of sharing these experiences with other people. To help create this for others. I truly believe it is one of the most personally noble and rewarding things you can do for someone.

Often I think about this trip. And others like it.

I think about being out there with those wonderful people.

I remember the funny stories.

I strain myself to recall even more details of that inspirational solitude I found there. 

And I spend an unbelievable amount of time thinking about going back to Logging Lake to find that black bear and bear spray the shit out it. 

Appendix

1. “The pug caused it all?” No, of course not. It was the pugs owner. It was a string of things which actually caused this. We will never know of course. But what I think happened was this: The ‘pug couple’ walking reported seeing black bear legs walking along side them obscured by shrubs and they could hear bear huffing. We walk up a few seconds later. The bear is all pissed and maybe feels like we are with the other group and trying to trap it. Or its just all amped on adrenaline because it was just protecting its territory from the pug. It is full of rage hormones and I stroll up and think “What the hell is going on here?” My fiancé walks up and the bear thinks, “Well if I have to fight my way out of this I think that little skinny one is the least dangerous one of these creatures to mess with. So here goes…”

2. Jackelope Scat Finding & Sculpting Methodology

Key components to successfully pull this off:

You must find the right granola bar and bits to form in it. Match local perfectly (this is not hard).

You must seize the perfect opportunity to plant said fake scat.

Be a ninja.

Be a magician.

Let THEM point it out and see it.

Build up to touching it.

Then, build up to smelling.

Then to licking, then biting. 

You may be able to employ a member of the group who knows you are full of shit into taking a bite to further disgust and thrill your hiking mates.

Warnings:

Rocks can become lodged in fake scat, be careful when placing it and when eating it.

Watch out for mothers with children present. You never know what they may do if they think you are demonstrating to their children it is OK to eat shit. I am not joking about this warning. It happened!

Biggest warning: DO NOT CONFUSE YOUR FAKE PILE WITH A REAL PILE! If you are TOO ninja/magician you can fool yourself. I once ran down the trail 70-100 yards to plant a scat pile. There was scat everywhere on this trail. After I planted it, then I couldn’t find it! I didn’t realize how far I had gone down the trail and found several piles that looked just like mine! It took me a minute and I had to make everybody drop packs for me to actually find and identify mine. Once again, I am not joking about this warning, it happened! FYI, I successfully found my real pile of fake scat and the joke played out flawlessly. I did not handle or eat actual scat.

Never leave your fake scat on a rock with real scat. That is just gross.