Traveling Alone in Safety (Fear and Joy).

Traveling alone in the high country involves carrying a certain amount of fear with you. Fears is what keeps you alert, cautious, and safe.

A close encounter with a bear or a slip and sprained ankle might cause me to restrict myself to day hikes, or worse, to spend my time with rear planted on a couch, confusing TV with reality.

I never want anything to happen that would keep me from doing what I love so much, which is waking on a high plateau overlooking a valley, smelling that fresh mountain air while I watch the sun come up with my two border collies beside me.

Mountain Life teaches you that that fear exists simultaneously with joy. They are both part of a rich life.

There are the thunderous storms, raging wind through the night, when you are so glad for the shelter of your tent and your warm sleeping bag. Then you may wake a few hours later to the pastel blue sky in early dawn, and be there to witness the first light fall upon the yellow hymenoxys, learning towards the sunrise.

Encounter

I am sure if I lived closer to the Montana wilderness I would probably be calmer about the prospect of meeting a grizzly while backpacking. But I just don't feel as relaxed up there as I do in the Colorado backcountry, where we only have black bears and mountain lions.

The warning sign on the way in didnt help much, saying that this is an area with high grizzly activity. Then there was the tall wooden sign as you entered the wilderness area, which had its bottom right chewed on. As I looked close I could see faint lines in threes and fours all over the sign, as if something with large claws had been holding on while gnashing on the wood.

I camped at the trailhead and started early, no more than twenty minutes after sunrise. You can believe I was alert as I hiked up through the shadowy tall woods at the start of my backpack trip to the Alp Lake valley.

An hour up the trail, I got a glimpse of something dark watching me from behind an evergreen, twenty feet ahead. Knowing this was way too close, and wondering if it would charge out from behind the tree, I quickly reached for my large canistor of pepper spray at my waist. In my excitement I pressed too hard as I flipped off the safety tab, releasing a small cloud of pepper spray up and to my left. Some of it drifted down across my face.

That is the sort of thing that can happen in the presence of a large bear. Simple things become difficult. A hunter once pulled the trigger time after time as a wounded bear charged him, with no results. His gun was examined after he died. It was in good condition, but the safety lever had not been flipped up.

I can attest to the potency of Counter Assault Bear Deterrent. It is designed to irritate tender skin and eyes. My skin immediately burned like fire, and I could barely see.

I managed to keep my composure long enough to see a black cow walk from behind the tree, as my dogs barked to hurry him off. I then dropped to the ground.

After ten minutes of dealing with the pain, I recovered enough to start on again, hoping that my vision would eventually clear. A while later we came to a small stream. I knelt down and splashed water on my face to wash off the residue. That made it hurt worse, and I leaned over in pain.

Ben and Maggie came by and muzzled and licked me, concerned for my well being.

There is another good thing about dogs. They stand by you, as true friends, no matter what kind of stupid things you do, oblivious that they have a damn fool for a master.

Nature Walks and Group Programs

A good walk is one that is emptied of all thoughts and purpose, where one wanders along a trail open to whatever nature may reveal on that day. Beauty in nature changes from day to day, and you never know what treasure you may come across that was hidden the day before. On the grounds of the nature center it may be the coralroot to the side of the trail. You might see the spring beauty just opening, deer resting in the shade of the pine trees, the nuthatch wander up and down the bark looking for insects, or an abert's squirrel poking around in the pine needles searching for food caches.

Beauty in nature is often a personal thing, which is why I find I get the most out of my walks when I go alone, or with a friend of like spirit who knows too much conversation can spoil the day.

I try to get to the nature center early on the day I lead programs, so that I can walk the trail before my group arives. This not only gets me in the right frame of mind, but allows me to see things that I will later point out to the children and their teacher, which I may miss during the excitement of the program.

There may be fox tracks leading down from the bridge to the east end of LMNC, or a pile of feathers where a raptor has had a meal. I may stop and listen to the chickadees call, which in springs is a peacefull fee-bee, bee.

When the bus pulls up, I introduce the theme of my program - wild messages, Ponderosa Pine, Wildflower Wizards, and start again down the trail. This time I have twenty or some elementary school kids and their teacher and adult helpers alone with me. I point out those discoveries I made in solitude. I also tell them stories in support of the theme, to spark their imagination and nuture their sense of wonder, in nature.

"There are no 'fifty simple ways' to save the earth." "There are as many ways as there are people . . ." according to writer Jesse Hardin. One may be walking with children on a path through the pines, sharing facts of the forest but also the love you have for nature, through stories, which they sense and hopefully remember.

Chickadee

Nature writer John Burroughs was a humble man who believed in the power of nature outside one's door, nature close to home.

He said that "lure of the distant and the difficult is deceptive. The great opportunity is where you are."

He believed in taking daily walks, in observing nature throughout the seasons, and seeing the subtle changes from day to day.

Burroughs message strikes home to me the value of our open space parks, which are so near where the Jefferson county residents spend our lives, near our homes and work.

As much as I love my vacations to places like the Tetons and Yellowstone and Glacier, I value just as much my morning walk throughout the year in Elk Meadow, White Ranch, Reynolds, or Mt Falcon Park.

On these walks I sometimes hear the song of a tiny bird, which in winter lives in loose flocks, flitting around from tree to tree in the evergreen forests. You can miss them if you don't look close.

Their faint chirping is barely heard. More than than once I have seen one, and followed it in its humble activities of looking for overwintering insects in the bark and needles of the trees, then dropping down to search for seeds in the pine needles. Then once my vision has fixed on finding these little birds, I see more, in a group, slowing moving from tree to tree according to the force, known only to them, that drives their movements through the day.

These are chickadees, feisty little grey and white birds with a powerful spirit, maybe gained from the strength it takes to make it through northern winters. They cache seeds in the winter, and rely on memory to find their stores of seeds down on the forest floor, or up in the braches of evergreens above the snow level.

They grow more feathers during the winter, and fluff them out on the coldest days. At night they lower their body temperature by twenty degrees, which means they need less energy during the long cold nights, which might allow them to survive to morning when winter is at its worst.

My life has been measured by the hard winter light and bleached yellow grasses in places like Elk Meadow or White Ranch parks, by the aroma of pine needles in the Ponderosa forests, by the sound of breezes blowing through the tops of the trees. And in the distance would be the plaintive fee-be-be in the early morning, a song of beauty and solitude from the mountain chickadee.

It is my bet there are others that feel closer to the divine when walking out in the western forests and mountains. Perhaps to them also the song of a little gray and white bird is one of peace and grace, from a humble little creature that lives its life in freedom and independence.

Nature Program

One of the greatest enjoyments of being a parent of two young children was taking them walks in the fields and woods down the hill from our home. I introduced them to meadows wet with dew on a misty morning, the call of Kingfishers as they flew up along the river corridor, frogs, bluegills, crayfish and tadpoles in the lake, and the peaceful sound of chickadees calling to each other on a spring morning.

Alyssa and Amy are grown now, off on their own and in college. My feeling is that some of their best memories of childhood will be those walks with Dad. I think this will be true for most children of parents who have a love of nature, and share it with their children.

Which is what brings me to why it is such a privilege to be a volunteer for Lookout Mountain Nature Center, to be able to introduce children and their teachers to the wonderful bits of nature we have in the Ponderosa Pine woods and meadows.

You see I strongly believe that children who are aquainted with wild nature are happier and more balanced. They learn there is something out there, bigger them then, that they are a part of.

Last spring on an overcast day my group watched a red fox run up through the meadow towards the cover of the Ponderosa Pines.

On another warm and sunny day I had them examine all the shadows beneath the pines, til they found one that contained the silhouettes of two deer.

They found spring beauties and pasque flowers in bloom. On one trip we examined coral root and paintbrush in peak flower. I introduced them to the concept of plants living on the roots of other plants, as these two do.

I got to tell them stories about nature, in support of the program themes: Ponderosa Pine Treasure Hunt, Wild Messages, Living with Lions and Bears, Wildflower Wizards.

I value this volunteer work that I do, even more than my paid job. Because in acting as a mediator on these walks, I am helping children and their teachers to become aquainted with nature on a personal level. We all care most about what is personal to us.

My wish is some of them may remember a walk in the woods, recall some of my stories, retain the sight of deer walking in to the pines, the beauty of the spring beauty flower. And my hope is that perhaps a memory of this walk with their teacher and companions will stay with them as they become adults, as positive experiences in nature, and perhaps affect their view of the earth as their home.

Cowboy Bar

Most people would call me a loner, as evidenced of my preference to backpack alone in wilderness. One's life is not always easily categorized though. I also crave human companionship in the time between trips, particularly of the female type.

The night after I hiked out of Smith Basin in the Wind Rivers, I camped near Jackson, and dropped into the Cowboy Bar to check out the live band, harbouring a hope that I could find a two step partner to liven up my vacation.

The bar was busy, mostly with tourists and bikers on their way to Sturgess, it being the early part of August. Unfortunately the dance floor area was pretty dead, but it was still early.

I bought a beer and leaned against a post, content to watch the couples on the dance floor and relax.

Some time later the band started up a medley of country songs, starting with Orange Blossom Special. Now it is just not in my nature to sit out during this kinds of music, even if it is not easy to find a dance partner. Many ladies hear the fast beat and are not sure they can dance to it, or are afraid of making a fool of themselves, and turn me down. Once in a while I find a fun-loving lady who loves to two-step as much as me, which makes for a memorable time. (although I have had to ask five or six ladies to get to her).

On this night I was lucky. I approached a nice looking brunette that had been learning a line dance from someone. She looked confused when I asked her to dance, which I figured was because of the loud music. I put my left arm on her shoulder and my right around her waist, and she got the message, and we were off.

This woman was a great dancer - light on her foot, easily following my leads and spins. At times when I was not watching the other couple to avoid collisions, our eyes would meet. That is what you remember - the glistening of pleasure and happiness, dancing in step together and to the music: lightness, cooperation, beauty. It seems to me right then that everything is pretty much right in the world.

The band switched from Orange Blossom Special into Rawhide, and we continued on.
I asked her something and there was that confused look on her face again, which is when she said " I don't understand. Do you speak french?.

It dawned on me she was on vacation also, and had travelled a heck of a lot further than I had - across a continent and an ocean to be here on this night.

The language barrier was not enough to prevent us from having a great time however.

Alp Lake Valley

The forest service office in West Yellowstone told me the trail I was planning to backpack up would disappear before reaching the top of the Alp Lake Valley - but they said only in the last quarter mile. I found the trail was so little used it became hard it to follow a mile and a half before the Alp Lakes. It was gone entirely at least a mile from the lakes. I was on my own to bushwack the rest of the way - not an easy thing to do with a full backpack on. I made plenty of noise as I travelled, particularly going through dense trees. Many grizzlies inhabit this valley, and I was worried about disturbing one on its day bed.

I stayed high on the north side of the canyon and eventually found some heavily used animal trails that went along the ridge. I followed them all the way up to the head of the valley, just below 10000 feet, and circled across to the Alp Lakes.

About 15 ponds and lakes sit in this high timberline basin. At midday they are brilliant blue from the reflection of the clear mountain sky. Me and Ben and Maggie went around and walked the shores of each one of them. We came back to camp when the sun hung an hour or so above the ridge, to prepare for night.

I don't take any chances in such wild country, and roped my food twenty feet above the ground, a good 400 yards from camp, on the other side of a hill. I could see the food bag from 200 yards away. The idea was that I would be able to spot its absence and any bear hanging around before it became dangerous.

Sleep comes easy up there, after such active days. Unfortunately I don't stay asleep very long. The apprehension of what may come wandering by causes me to wake every hour or so and listen for noises in the dark. A couple of times I heard deer or elk going by, before dropping back off.

Summer mountain mornings are always bright and hopeful, but become more so in Montana high country, after having made it through an uneventful night. What lies before you is a day in a place few get to see, so peaceful and beautiful that words don't do right by it.

Add the freedom of solitude, and the companionship of two good dogs, who love the mountain like they do me, and. ..

Well, you stand at the top of that valley, with wild Montana spread out below, and know that something has been added to your heart in coming up here alone, that will remain as you go back down. I don't know what it is for sure, but has to do with authenticity, courage, individuality.

I will remember the peace of those quiet nights, calm mornings, the timberline winds blowing through the whitebark pines, and know they are the edge of the divine, the well and the heights, as close to God as I may ever be.