My friend, Melanie and I planned to backpack for four days in July through the heart of Glacier National Park in the Northern part of Montana. Our plan was to follow the Continental Divide, along the Highline Trail, past Garden Wall, over Swiftcurrent Pass, and down to Waterton Lake in the Canadian part of the Waterton Glacier International Peace Park, the world’s first peace park. We envisioned ourselves crossing this imaginary boundary into Canada with only our packs on our backs. We even brought our passports. 

Backpacking in Glacier is sort of like gambling in Vegas. You need a little bit of strategy and a lot of luck. Unfortunately, for us, we had a lot more strategy and not a lot of luck. After waking up at the crack of dawn to be the first customers at the Apgar permit office, our bespeckled, pony-tail wearing ranger informed us that our intended itinerary was closed due to winter like conditions, “Unless you want to use crampons and ice axes, you’re S.O.L,” he quipped.

“What do you recommend is a good three to four day trip that has availability?” I asked. In Glacier, there is a lottery system: first come, first serve even for campsites where you have to work hard to get there. 

“There isn’t a lot open right now and you are a little late in the game,” he mused, “but, I might be able to reserve two nights; one at the foot of Glenn’s Lake and one at the head.”

We looked at the park’s map to see what he was referring to: Glenn’s Lake was in the northeastern most part of the park, paralleling the Canadian border and running along the Belly River. If the Highline Trail is the park’s heart, Glenn’s Lake is it’s right ear lobe.

“Looks great. Let’s do it,” we said in unison, not knowing where we were headed or what we were headed to. 

The drive out to the Belly River Trailhead took us out of the park and into the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. The Blackfeet were not the earliest inhabitants of the area, but they were the most dominant. They arrived around the beginning of the 18th century, taking refuge in the mountains, which they considered the “Backbone of the World.” 

We returned into the park right next to the Canadian Border, and instead of taking a right into Canada, we took a left into the Belly River Trailhead parking lot. In the parking lot, we saw other people, groups of two and four, gathering their gear and making minor adjustments to their backpacks. 

“Where are you headed?” we asked. 

“We are headed to Elizabeth Lake…Crowley Lake…Mokawanis Lake…” they responded. 

In the process, we discovered that we were following the same itinerary as a couple from Florida, Chad and Jen. Chad was a wildlife biologist in the Florida Keys and a professional photographer, while Jen was a prescribed burn expert in the Everglades. 

The view from the Mokawanis River: a pretty typical view in Glacier. 

Our pony tailed ranger from the day before told us that the first day of hiking would be flat. However, an elevation change of 800 feet in the first three miles led me to believe that his definition of “flat” was different from the average American. After walking through aspen groves and wildflowers, such as Indian paintbrush, glacier lily, and fireweed, we entered the Belly River Valley. To our right was the river and to our left was Chief Mountain, a towering monolith that is sacred to the Blackfeet. Chief Mountain is one of the best examples of an event that occurred over 170 million years ago called the Lewis Overthrust. This region of rock was several miles thick and hundreds of miles long, and was thrust 50 miles east resulting in 1.5 billion years older Proterozoic rock being displaced over newer Cretaceous age rock. 

The scenery started to change as we left the valley and crossed the river along a rickety hanging bridge. The forest got denser and the possibility of running into a bear got likelier. 

My first encounter with a grizzly bear was in the Yukon Territory. I was backpacking with my high school outdoor program backpacking in Kluane National Park. The bear was 200 yards away and reared up on his hind legs. I’ve never seen something so big and so terrifying. We spread out, linked arms, and sang, “Give Peace a Chance.” The bear got the hint that we were human, that we meant no harm, and that we were terrible singers. He sauntered away in pursuit of more tastier treats. 

“Mel, bear.” I calmly said. She froze in her tracks, glancing to her right, making eye contact with the bear. This is the first thing rangers say not to do when seeing a bear. It was a small brown bear, possibly a juvenile grizzly or a light colored black bear. But, I didn’t care. I wanted out of there. Mel, on the other hand, was savoring the moment. Her camera snapping away, taking pictures of the bear staring at us and then running away. Ten minutes later, we saw another bear. 

We found out later when we got to camp at the foot of Glenn’s Lake, that no one else had seen a bear on the trail. “You’re so lucky that you got to see a bear,” they said. I suppose we were. It was nice knowing that there are still wild places in the world where people can see bears in their natural habitat. 

On the trail wasn’t the only place to see wild animals. At camp, there were resident deer that hung around to try to get a lick of people’s salty perspiration. Deer and mountain goats in Glacier are severely salt deprived and crave human pee and sweat. They are mostly harmless, unless they get a hold of your shirt and try to run away with it. 

The next day we hiked a short distance to the head of Glenn’s Lake and set up camp for the night. Since the hike was short, we decided to day hike up to Stoney Indian Pass, a 13 mile out and back that took us past alpine lakes, cirques, and waterfalls. 

As we began the descent back to camp, Melanie spotted something moving in front of us. “Hannah, look, what is that?” Melanie pointed to a shaggy, chocolate brown shape scampering across the snowy path. I walked up next to her just in time to catch its backside. 

Sight of the elusive wolverine as it was running away.

“Is it a bear? Or…oh my god, is it a wolverine?”

I have always wanted to see the elusive wolverine. My obsession with them started while skiing in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. A field biologist stopped and asked if we had seen any wolverines recently. He was studying their migration habits and had heard reports of wolverines in the area. The range of a male wolverine can be 240 square miles, often covering hundreds of miles in a few months. In the Rocky Mountains of Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming only 28-52 wolverines have been tracked over the last 20 years. This is mostly due to the fact that much of their range is uninhabitable to humans, less so with the advent of global warming and the receding of the glaciers. 

Melanie putting her hand next to the wolverine’s paw print to compare sizes. Relative to its size, the wolverine’s paws and claws are very large and act like snowshoes that help the wolverine travel at fast speeds across the snow.

Up until that point I felt pretty good about the wildlife that we had seen, but it wasn’t until we saw the wolverine that I felt we hit the wildlife jackpot. When we got to camp that night, we checked with Chad, our wildlife biologist friend to confirm whether what we saw was actually Gulo Gulo or the mysterious wolverine.  

“It’s hard to see exactly what it is, but from it’s size, markings, and habitat, I would say it was wolverine.” He concurred. 

Whether or not what we saw was a wolverine, the experience of witnessing a wild animal made me feel more alive. Connecting to the primal, reminded me that we are part of a larger system. Understanding this connection, dissipated my fear of the unknown, and built my sense of self. 

The Blackfeet believed in a supernatural world that was dominated by the sun. The sun created the earth and all its beings. In Glacier, the supernatural is abundant, whether it’s in the mountains, the rivers, the lakes, or the wildlife. We experienced Glacier’s supernatural beauty as we called it a day and watched the sun set behind the glaciated mountains. Sometimes the best laid plans often go awry and they may turn out to be better than expected. In our case, I’m happy that they did.