Hiking Glacier National Park: Dawson Pass and Pitamakan Pass (Part 2)

 This is the second post about an early September backpacking trip in Glacier National Park. Read the first post here.

On this second day of our trek, we hiked through a stark, glacially carved landscape where mountains meet the sky. After a relatively easy first day, this second day was more challenging, but the payoff was absolutely worth it.

After packing up and leaving No Name Lake by mid-morning, my hiking buddies Mark and Andy and I hiked up switchbacks a couple miles to Dawson Pass (elevation 7,600 feet) on the Continental Divide. For this lowlander (I live about 300 feet above sea level), I actually didn't feel the elevation that much.

Along the way, we passed above timberline into a dramatic landscape of shale and scree (Mark, who has a geology degree, would describe the rocks/formations more precisely).

Approaching Dawson Pass, Two Medicine Lake behind and below.

Wildfire smoke blew in and tamped down the dramatic views, a minor downside on an otherwise spectacular day hiking. We'd been warned about the winds at the pass, and sure enough, as we crested the pass, wind raced across, prompting us to pull out windbreakers when we stopped for lunch.

Windy Dawson Pass. Mark Beaufait photo.

Smoke obscured the views on the other side of Dawson Pass

After lunch and hiking up a few hundred feet above the pass, the real drama of the day began. I'd read about the relatively narrow ledge portion of the trail that skirts beneath Flinsch Peak, but I didn't realize this narrow goat trail (or so it seemed) continued over 3 miles.

The trail continued past and around the backside of the second peak in the distance.

 

Let's be clear: The trail was pretty exposed in some places, where a misstep on the loose scree could lead to an unstoppable fall/slide down a 3,000 foot mountainside. Have I mentioned that although I like being in high places, I'm not a big fan of heights?

But onward we trekked because, of course, there was no going back. A couple times rock steps on the trail were so tall that it was a challenge to step up with a heavy backpack (once with an assist from Andy). And some wind gusts were so strong that I was pushed sideways and had to stop to steady myself.

We passed beneath the glacial horn of Flinsch Peak shown here. M. Beaufait photo.

One of the widest stretches of the ledge trail. M. Beaufait photo.

The trail at times. M. Beaufait photo.

Walking the ledge for that distance required complete focus with every step, at least for me. But the views, even with the smoke, wow! I felt a sense of expansive space, like being in an airplane and looking around and down at the world below. 

Starting the descent down to Oldman Lake, our destination for the night.

M. Beaufait photo.

 

As we neared Oldman Lake, we passed through big scarlet patches of low-lying huckleberry bushes heavy with sweet ripe berries. We also passed some very large piles of berry-infested bear scat; we'd heard from other hikers that grizzly bears had been spotted near the lake and even wandering through our upcoming campsite.

While black bears aren't that scary to see, grizzlies are another matter. Fortunately the bears decided to forage elsewhere that night. Perhaps they were scared off by our pack of hikers (nine of us) at the campsite, most of us from Seattle.

Oldman Lake

 

 

A rustic gray-bearded, solo man (trail name, Stormwalker) showed up at camp later than the rest of us and told us he'd done many epic thru hikes since the 1970s (Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail, the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), Nepal, New Zealand...). On this outing, he was seeking CDT thru hikers to give them advice and $2 bills. In some parts, that's still good for a cuppa (not Seattle).

Evening light at Oldman Lake.

Fellow hikers we met at our two campsites were all fun, friendly, and engaging. Maybe that's partly why I'm drawn to the outdoorsy. We swapped stories and laughs in the designated cooking areas (away from our tents to deter bears) and then wandered off to our tents as it got dark.

Perhaps the grizzlies were hunkered down due to the persistent strong wind, with occasional big gusts. Who knows. But regardless of the bear factor, I slept well again. Being "good" tired makes for good sleep.

 Just too many more photos to share to cram them all into this post, so check back in a couple days for the third and last post of our backpack trip on the Dawson/Pitamakan Passes Loop.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

 

Hiking Glacier National Park: Dawson Pass and Pitamakan Pass Loop (Part 1)

As I sit down to reflect and write about hiking the spectacular Dawson Pass/Pitamakan Pass Loop in Montana's Glacier National Park, I still feel a lingering sense of awe. This hike was different than my usual treks in the Cascades of Oregon and Washington. 

There were plenty of big mountains, big views, and big sky. The sense of space and chiseled (rather than Cascade craggy) mountains dominated. Despite a smudgy blanket of wildfire smoke that subdued the views somewhat, it was still all that and more.

With so many shots to share, this is the first of a few posts about this early September road trip/backpack. While many hikers do this 16- to 19-mile loop as a day hike now, some of us opt for a more leisurely trek, with a few days on the trail. Yes, I'm old school, but I don't want to rush through paradise.

Road Tripping

You don't want to hear much about the car troubles I had as I drove east from Seattle to meet friends north of Spokane. I'm grateful for AAA and managed to barely make it to a truck stop in George, Washington, where I charged up my dead smartphone to call for help since my clutch died. Enough about that.

After a good night sleep at the home of my friends' relatives north of Spokane, we took off mid-morning for the 5+ hour drive across northern Idaho and on to East Glacier. My friends Mark and Andy splurged on a big room for us at the historic Glacier Park Lodge, vintage 1913, before we started our 3-day backpack.

Glacier Park Lodge lobby

I love these big old lodges built for guests traveling by rail. This lodge was along the Great Northern Railway, and you can still arrive by train today.

We had dinner and breakfast in the lodge dining room, where the food was tasty and the portions were very generous. I gave half my breakfast to Andy, and it was plenty for two.

Day 1 on the Trail

We needed to be up and out early to pick up our two-night permit (pre-reserved) at the Two Medicine Lake ranger station when it opened at 8 a.m. It was fun to chat with some of the other hikers in line ahead of us at the ranger station. One middle-aged woman was thru-hiking the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) solo and down to her last 3 days. 

Two Medicine Lake

 

 

 

 

 

We hopped on the historic shuttle boat that traverses the lake to the trailhead, and enjoyed the gorgeous morning as we cruised across the lake. (Some hikers start near the ranger station and hike an additional 3 miles along the lakeshore to the trailhead, but we opted for the scenic boat ride. See the short video below for a taste of the ride.) The boat is on the National Register of Historic Places and was originally built in 1926.

 

Historic Sinopah shuttle boat

 

All the other passengers dispersed pretty quickly up a few shorter trails as we slathered on sunscreen, shed layers, and threw on our backpacks. Our first night destination was No Name Lake, a short warm-up hike only about 2.2 miles away and 900 feet higher.

While hiking up a somewhat steep trail with a heavy-ish backpack can be a slog, I tend to do better on the uphills because they're easier on my aging feet and knees. We stopped once for a water/snack break and to enjoy the increasingly spectacular views.

Looking back down to Two Medicine Lake where we started.

 

Our best weather was this first day, with clear blue skies and mild temps. Since it was such a short hike, we arrived at the lake by early afternoon and had our pick of the three campsites.

And then we chilled all afternoon after setting up tents. Thankfully, this late in the season mosquitoes and other pesky bugs aren't a problem. 

No Name is a lovely alpine lake tucked close against the base of a steep cliff wall that juts upward abruptly a few thousand feet. Mark spotted a couple snowy white mountain goats lounging on some steep scree at the toe of the cliff, far above.

No Name Lake

We'd been warned to be on the lookout for grizzly bears and carried bear spray wherever we went. So when we heard a loud huff and something crashing through the brush coming our direction, I got a quick rush of adrenaline.

Soon two BIG moose came trotting toward us and then split around the three of us standing close together, passing within less than 10 feet on either side. These beasts can do serious harm if annoyed, so we (outwardly) kept calm.

After dinner when we were sitting on the beach at the lake, fellow campers Maggie and Rowan yelled to us that the moose were headed our way (four of them this time). I looked up to see a moose headed right toward me about 20 feet away, so we quickly scrambled sideways and back to camp, keeping an eye on them the whole way.

As I lay in my tent at night after dark trying to fall asleep, I heard moose thrashing about loudly in the brush, getting closer and closer.  

It was cool to hear the clacking of their antlers together as they jousted, but I really couldn't sleep until they wandered away. Then I slept a good sleep in all that mountain fresh air (thanks in part to a light warm sleeping bag and inflatable mattress).

In the early light the next morning, the cliff behind the lake glowed pink as the sun was rising, and I scrambled out to snap a few shots.

After a quick breakfast and packing up, we set off for what would be a much longer, more dramatic day ahead. You can read the second post here to join us as we hike up to Dawson and Pitamakin Passes.

 Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

Colorful stones and a hint of autumn at No Name Lake

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skiing Whitefish: Big Mountain, Big Fun

With stunning Rocky Mountain panoramas that make you gasp for their grandeur, Whitefish Mountain Resort in northwest Montana is worth the trip just for the lift ride to the top. But c’mon, what really lures us skiers and snowboarders here is the abundant and great snow, varied and expansive terrain, and the friendly Montana vibe.

We almost didn’t go today because from Flathead Valley the mountain looked socked in with dark clouds. Good thing we did, though. By the time we arrive after the short drive uphill from the town of Whitefish, the clouds are starting to dissipate and it’s snowing just lightly.

Although it’s March, we’re bundled up for midwinter conditions. This is the northern Rockies after all.
As we near the top of Chair 1/Big Mountain Express, we pass eerie clusters of snow ghosts, trees caked in a hard icy rime.

While snow clouds are still drifting low overhead, the Flathead Valley opens up below as a huge patchwork of blue and white. I feel like we’re in the cockpit of an airplane, ready to fly.

“Let’s start with a blue cruiser run down the front side,” says our local host Allison. And so begins a great day of skiing.



After our first run, snow starts falling again as we head back up Chair 1 and then down the north side. Over here the snow is lighter and fluffier. We ski down the mellow Gray Wolf traverse, but as we skirt past steep drop-offs into untracked snow and trees, I can’t resist.

“Hey, are you guys game?” And then I plunge down into the trees with a big smile.

We’re all game today.

Every run on the north side is wonderful powder or packed powder today, so we work up quite an appetite for lunch. “Lunch at Hellroaring today,” instructs Allison as we follow her down.

Rustic and cozy Hellroaring Saloon is in the original timber lodge built here in the 1940s. Allison tells us that the new resort owners threatened to tear it down, but the locals set them straight. I love these old wood-timbered ski lodges.

We snag some seats at the bar and have a very tasty lunch (green salad, tuna sandwiches, and chili). We also get some good tips on where to ski from our friendly bartender, an Oregon transplant who has been here over 20 years.

With a taste of tree skiing in the morning, we decide to try the longer, steeper Connie’s Coulee glade into Hellroaring Basin next. We pick our way through the trees in the tracks of others until we find a few open glades to carve up.

“Uff da!” I hear Julie cry a few times on the way down. We decide it’s not quite as fun as our morning, but the runout down Glory Hole through the forest is beautiful as the sun finally breaks through for good.

Although I know it’s too early, I can’t help but glance around for signs of grizzly bears as we ski through the basin. In not much more than a month, the slumbering grizzly bears that hibernate in this basin will be starting to wake up and emerge.

For our last run of the day we start down Inspiration on the front side, where it looks like we could just ski jump right off the mountain and land in the valley far below. Off to the east, the dramatic glacier-scoured peaks of Glacier National Park are now visible, making the backdrop even more stunning.



After passing Schmidt’s Chute, we drop down north-facing, black diamond Elephant’s Graveyard, which today is lightly bumped with soft, fresh snow. Very sweet.

“This is so fun!” I find myself shouting to no one, anyone, or maybe just the sky.

Then it’s the long runout along Expressway on the lower mountain back to the base lodge. Us urban dwellers from west of the Cascades are tired after a full day skiing this Big Mountain, but it’s a good tired.


When You Go
If you want to enjoy Big Mountain this season, go right away! The mountain closes April 1 to protect the grizzlies in the Hellroaring area coming out of hibernation. Whitefish is a doable day’s drive from Seattle (9 hours or so), but you can fly into Flathead Valley (direct flights from Seattle, Minneapolis, and a few other spots) or cooler yet, take the train from Portland or Seattle.

Skiing Montana: Havin’ a Blast at Blacktail Mountain

Sometimes in a lucky skier’s or snowboarder’s life, everything converges to create a perfect storm of ideal conditions. Say a storm cell stalls right above the mountain where you’re skiing and dumps fluffy dry snow most of the day. Lots of people decide to stay home or ski elsewhere. And you’re with simpatico buddies who enjoy skiing the same pace and slopes.

Good karma or just good luck? I can’t say for sure, but today I'm one of those lucky skiers.

We’re riding up Chair 1 on this cold, snowy day at Blacktail Mountain when Allison turns to me and exclaims the understatement of the day.

“I Iike to ski.”

With fresh Rocky Mountain powder falling fast and piling up on the slopes, and beautiful glades of uncut snow almost all to ourselves, we are over the moon about skiing. Every run we’ve been whooping, shouting, and laughing out loud about this incredible day.

Skiing at Blacktail Mountain seems just what the doctor might have ordered. After a nasty flu bug, I’m skiing on adrenaline because in the last 40 hours I’ve only eaten a half a banana. But I knew if I dragged myself up here I’d feel better.

And you know what? I feel fantastic! (Okay, I’m pretty pooped later in the evening.)



Blacktail is not a destination resort by any stretch. It’s a small, family-run operation just 14 miles up a mostly gravel road above the northwestern edge of Flathead Lake. But sometimes these local operations can be little gems when the conditions are just right and the crowds are thin.

Like today.

Blacktail, which opened in the mid-1990s, caters to locals around Flathead Valley. But it’s also a nice place to dial down a bit and chill-ax after a long day of hard skiing at Whitefish/Big Mountain up the valley (see an upcoming blog post about that). Most of Blacktail’s terrain is intermediate, but with amazing and abundant snow (an average of 250 inches annually), it makes for a fun day trip.

When we leave the valley floor, the weather is mostly clear, but a mile or so below the top it starts snowing hard. A beauty of Blacktail is driving and parking at the 6,780’ summit and skiing down from there. Take your first run without hopping on a lift! Another great feature is the north-facing runs, which skiers/riders know keeps snow colder and a better consistency.

Allison lives close by and knows the mountain well. “How about we ski Chair 1?” she suggests.

Our warm-up run is a blue cruiser down a wide swath cut through the forest. With the snow coming down nonstop, the base is truly packed powder (unlike so many ski reports in the western Northwest that fib “packed powder” on their ski reports).

Then we move on to the black diamond runs: The Glades, Ponchelon’s Powder (aptly named today), and Badrock. To be honest, by bigger mountain standards, these runs are pretty mellow for black diamond.

The Glades was recently thinned, so for tree skiing it’s not scary at all. We pick our lines and drop off the cat track into the trees below. On the first run, the underlying snow is a little chunky under a few inches of fresh fluff, but throughout the next few hours it snows 6 more inches and turns into a powder hound’s dream.



Amazingly, we have these runs almost to ourselves all afternoon. Run after run just keeps getting better and better. To keep things moving, we only ski to midway on Chair 1 and then hop back on for the shorter ride to the top (no high-speed quads here).

With the snow coming down so thick and fast, but no wind, it’s truly a magical day. Every single run we get fresh tracks in the silky light snow.



It really doesn’t get much better than this. May you, too, be so lucky to catch such a perfect storm.

When You Go
Here's a map showing how to get to Blacktail Mountain Ski Area, which stays open into April each season. It’s closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, so Wednesday mornings can be pretty awesome. Lift tickets are a mere $36/day for adults and only $25 on Thursdays. Special thanks to Allison for being a great host/guide and Julie for taking and letting me use some her great photos for today's post.

Hey, I’d love to read your comments below about a great powder day you might have had!