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.