Backpacking was always fun. Yes, I got sore and tired, but it was worth it! There is nothing quite like trekking up the mountain trails and watching the mountains unfold into valleys and streams. There is no water to quench the thirst like that bubbling from a fresh mountain spring.
One of my favorite backpacking trips was the year my friend went with us in 1974. It was her first experience in Montana and her first experience backpacking in the mountains. My aunt dropped us off on the far side of the mountain. We packed all the way over the top of the mountains into the canyon where my grandmother’s place was. Part way up the mountain, Sis had trouble breathing in the rising altitude. She had been running in South Georgia, but it didn’t prepare her for the altitude. We had to divide the stuff in her pack between the rest of us to reduce her load.
We headed on up the trail. The ranchers and farmers around the area always liked for us to come. It was a sure sign of rain, though none would be in the forecast. Well, we didn’t disappoint them! My friend & I were in the lead. We reached the top of the mountain. The trail was right on the top of the ridge. We could see the valleys down both sides of the mountain we straddled. We saw lakes in the valleys below and scattered beds of snow and ice. By the time the others got to the top, they could not see the valley. The clouds started rolling in. Within seconds, the valleys were filled with clouds. They were so thick, we could feel the weight of the moisture. The wind picked up and mist from the clouds was on our faces. We huddled next to some spindly shrubs and crevices in the rocks to get out of the wind pelting us with icy rain and then made our way down the trail.
We came over the mountain above Hindu Lake. It sure was pretty! The lake was clear and cold with bits of ice and snow at the edges of the water. Looking across the valley, we could see our trail along the creek. Just around the bend from where we stood was a glacier inching its way down the side of the mountain. I could see the trail on the other side of the snow. A few animal foot prints could be seen across the icy trail. It was a bit spooky going across. I could just picture us walking across the snow and sliding down the mountain or taking a step with snow melted underneath. Neither picture was good.
We made our way down the trail, sat by the lake and waited on the others. It would soon be time to decide where to camp for the night and get some supper started. Then the rain came. We went on past Hindu Lake and set up camp with Moose Lake in sight in the valley below us. The clouds lifted enough that we could see the lake from our bathroom (a fallen tree). If you’ve never experienced seeing those mountain lakes from the mountain top, you’ve missed a grand sight.
It was miserable setting up camp in the rain. It was even more miserable trying to cook supper over the open fire. After a not-so-comfortable night, we had to pack up the tent in the rain. We were soaked! We were cold. We loaded up our packs and headed down the mountain. The weather got some better but not much. Everything was wet, and wet means heavy. Hiking in cold wet boots and clothes adds pounds to an already heavy backpack and can mess up your knees.
We camped at South Fork the next night. When we woke up the next morning, the mountains were white. The storm had set in! Daddy said we needed to get out of the mountains. The snow was moving down the mountain. It was almost in reach of us. We headed out at a fast pace.
I was the first one out with my friend right behind me. We got to my grandmother’s cabin, and I got a fire started in the fire place and got the wood cookstove going. Soon our wet clothes, shoes and socks were drying by the fire. I put water on the stove to get hot for a bath, a tea kettle ready for hot tea and started cooking a meal. By the time the others got there, supper was ready to put on the table, the tea kettle was hot, and the little cabin was warming up for cold travelers.
When my aunt came to pick us up, we found out that a foot of snow had fallen where we had camped that first night. Daddy knew those mountains and the wrath of those storms. We were cold, wet and tired, but the memories only fill me with warmth.