Day 121 – The Steamer in the Snow
Day miles: 14.2
Trip miles: 2507.5
I packed up quickly in the morning at Looking Glass hostel. I had a buffet to attend to. I saw Axel getting up and ready as well, though because he still had to hike to Two Medicine, which was 10 miles away, he was skipping the buffet. He had otherwise had the same itinerary as me, so I would see him later at camp. Myself, Axel, and Windchime, all had permits to camp at Atlantic Creek tonight. I knew nothing about the campsites I booked; I simply chose them based on daily mileage.
The East Glacier Lodge buffet was fantastic. I asked for a seat near a power outlet, which got me a nice corner table where I could lean my pack against the wall and see the entire dining room. It was a nice vantage point and also out of the way of traffic coming into the buffet. My waiter was from Florida. There are a lot of seasonal workers in Glacier and at other national parks. I am always very interested in people who do seasonal work because, in my view, they are living a life of adventure in doing so.
My favorite item in the buffet were the huckleberry crepes. They were delicious and I ate a less-than-modest pile of them. My second favorite item were some potatoes. I don’t even know how they were cooked, but they were delicious. This buffet was the best on trail thus far. I had cranberry juice and endless coffee – it was perfect. I watched as a huge crowd of thru-hikers came in, filling a large rectangular table across the room and descending like locusts on the food. It was awesome. I am pretty sure we disrupted their profitability model for the day.
I knew some of the hikers that had arrived, but I was well into my meal and still charging my phone, so I did not join them. A ton of people had hiked in yesterday afternoon and evening. They were all going to Two Medicine today to get permits and staying in East Glacier. I was one day ahead of this bubble, and one or two days behind another. It was kind of perfect timing. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being around other hikers, but I don’t like camping or staying at hostels with large crowds. There tends to be a lot of partying on trail that I’m just not into, so I prefer smaller groups where it is easier to just relax and get to know people without too much craziness happening in the periphery.
I had some time to kill after the buffet, so I moved out into the lobby. It was a bit crowded with people coming and going, so I walked down the hall to a corridor that had comfortable seating by two room-length glass windows. I sat and finished charging my phone while enjoying a nice view of the mountains behind the lodge – the same mountains I had hiked over yesterday to get to Two Medicine.
At 10:30AM I hopped onto my shuttle with a group of older tourists. I stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one seemed to even notice since I was sitting at the very back of the van. Our driver pointed out some of the East Glacier buildings as we drove out of town by the hostel, including the “world’s largest purple spoon,” which was a giant sculpture of a purple spoon on the side of the road not too far from the hostel. There was no explanation as to why there was a purple spoon there. Perhaps it was just so that East Glacier could have a world’s largest something as a roadside stop?
The shuttle was kind enough to drop me back at the ranger station, rather than taking me down to a boat dock where the lodge guests were scheduled to be dropped off. I saw Axel at the permit window. He had just finished the 10 mile stretch and was discussing something with the ranger. It was COLD outside! I headed out first so that I could warm up while he finished up his permit business.
From the ranger station, the trail passes along a road through a drive-up campground and around the edge of Two Medicine Lake before it continues on single track into the forest. I climbed gradually up heading towards Pitamakan Pass. I only had to make it over this one pass today, which was good because the weather was starting to look very ugly. I had found out yesterday that the forecast today and tomorrow was for rain, snow, and cold. It did not seem that I was going to make it to Canada without a little winter weather experience first.
I passed a group of guys heading in the same direction to a campsite at Oldman Lake. I then ran into two hikers coming southbound who warned me about a grizzly bear that was “habituated” and roaming around the lake. In other words, it wasn’t scared of people. I didn’t ask which lake, but I assumed they were talking about Oldman. I wasn’t headed there; Oldman Lake was before the pass and I was going up and over.
I continued climbing towards the pass and it started to rain lightly. As I reached the junction with the trail to Oldman Lake, I ran into a trail volunteer coming southbound. He had a funny look on his face and told me that there was a “very large” grizzly up ahead in the middle of the trail. He said it was eating huckleberries on both sides of the trail and that he waited about 30 minutes to be able to get by it. Hmmmm….. This was already shaping up to be a bit dicey. There was not much to do other than to keep going though, at this point, and see whether or not the bear was still there.
I climbed gradually higher through the forest towards the pass. There were huckleberry bushes all along and beside the trail, full of fat, juicy berries. No wonder the bear was here! It had a lake, plenty to eat, and presumably even a nice view from the pass! As I moved forward cautiously, it began to snow. It was a wet, slushy snow at first. I stopped under a large tree to put my puffy jacket on under my rain jacket. I had already packed my camera away earlier.
I left the tree shelter of the tree and headed back into the snow, now bundled up and with my rain skirt on to help keep my shorts dry. I only walked about 20 feet when I came upon a HUGE pile of bear scat in the middle of the trail. I have never in my life seen a pile of bear poo even close to that big. It was so fresh that steam was rising off of its wet, towering sides into the falling snow. It was simultaneously disgusting, awe inspiring, and terrifying. That bear had literally just dropped off this gift in the middle of the trail. I looked left and right, turned around, and pulled out my bear spray. This was definitely from the grizzly everyone had been mentioning. I really should have taken a picture of that pile of poo, but I was too focused on locating the bear at the time.
There was a part of me that badly wanted to see this bear. I knew it must be huge and would be incredible to spot, but there was a bigger part of me that worried about becoming its dinner, so I moved on while making quite a bit of noise and continuing to pivot and look in all directions. I was a little relieved when I saw a group of 3 Chinese backpackers coming southbound. “Did you by chance see a massive grizzly back there?” I asked. They said no, and I explained to them that one was in the immediate area, and they were about to walk by its mountain of poo. They were soaking wet and looked less than thrilled, but better for them to know than not know.
I never saw the bear. I started climbing up the pass and Axel caught up with me. He said that as soon as he saw that pile of bear scat, he hurried to catch up with someone – anyone. The snow picked up as we started the steeper portion of the climb up to the pass. At least at this point we were out of the trees and would be able to see if a bear was nearby. Most likely the bear had disappeared into the nearby woods, watching us and waiting for us to leave. I wondered if the group of guys at Oldman Lake would see it later at their campsite.
Unfortunately, the precipitation and clouds eliminated our view from the pass. The snow turned back into light rain as we descended, and we feasted on huckleberries as we walked to help lift our spirits in the soggy, cold weather. The rain eased up and stopped as we got closer to Atlantic Creek campsite. It definitely looked like it was going to continue to rain at some point. Based on the forecast, we expected it, but were happy for a break in the weather so that we could get our tents set up and cook dinner.
The campsite tenting spots weren’t the best in terms of being smooth and level, but they would do. I was told the Glacier campsites all had bear poles for hanging food and a cooking area, both of which were separate from the tenting spots. I got my tent set up and went to the cooking area to go ahead and eat. Cold, wet weather always makes me ravenous! The temperature was dropping and I wanted to eat now before it really started to rain again. Thus far it had only rained/snowed significantly up on the pass. I knew more winter weather was coming soon….
I went to cook dinner and my stove would not screw into the new gas canister I had purchased at the grocery in East Glacier. I tried and tried, but the threads would not catch. Axel kindly swapped gas canisters with me. He had a different kind, and while my stove was able to catch enough to work with it, the stove was clearly on its deathbed. In fairness, I paid $14 for that stove and it had endured thousands and thousand of miles of use. Now it was barely clinging on. Would it make it? I guess I would find out.
I finished eating just as Axel started to cook, so I stayed back to talk with him for a bit. Right before he came back to the cooking area, I heard a HUGE crashing sound in the distance. It sounded just like an avalanche, but there was not enough snow for that. Axel suggested that it was probably a rock slide, and I think he was right.
Windchime still had not shown up, though she had said that she might be late getting into camp. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to walk by that giant grizzly in the dark! We also suspected that maybe she had decided to change her permit when she got to Two Medicine to stay at Oldman Lake. It would make sense if she did get a late start, and would put her right in Mega Grizzly territory, but at least she would be camping with the group of guys we had met earlier.
Before I headed back to my tent, Axel and I pondered whether the restaurant at Many Glacier might still be open. I initially had thought it was closed, but a comment in FarOut indicated that it was open until the 10th. We were scheduled to arrive on the 10th. If it truly was open, then did the comment mean that it was closing on the 9th, for open through the 10th? We didn’t know, but we were both definitely hoping for the latter. I had just assumed there would be no food options until I was back in East Glacier, but this sudden glimmer of hope was very exciting. We would just have to wait and see.
I brushed my teeth and hung my food, toothpaste and lip balm. The only thing left in my tent that smelled was me! Well, and all of my gear, but that just smelled like stinky hiker. I prepped myself for a cold night, donning extra layers (basically all of my layers) and cinching my quilt up with its straps to make sure I trapped as much warm air under it as possible. I was grateful for the break in the rain this evening. That was a huge help, and although my shoes and socks were wet, everything else had had a chance to get mostly dry.
I hoped the best for the weather tomorrow, but I accepted that it was probably going to rain or snow in the morning. One more day of rain and snow wouldn’t kill me, and the forecast indicated that it would clear up in the afternoon. Just knowing that it at least was not forecasted to be a protracted storm was very heartening. I didn’t have to worry about the rest of my hike being a slog through cold, wet weather. What would a CDT thru-hike be anyway without a few final challenges?
Day 122 – The Good Intention (Gone Horribly Wrong)
Day miles: 24.8
Trip miles: 2532.3
I woke up in the night to a deflated sleeping pad and snow collecting on the outside of my tent. I rolled over and blew my pad back up. I don’t inflate it all the way anymore because the “snake lump” in it is too big. Partial inflation makes it less uncomfortable, and then after 15 minutes or so, it reaches perfect deflation. At that point, I usually just fall asleep. On a cold night like this, I would wake up at least once more before morning to blow it up. I like to think of it as my end of trail productivity trainer.
I hit the sides of my tent to knock the snow off. Unfrozen condensation from the inside of my tent misted down on me. It was a wet, shoulder season snow, for sure. I repeated this process when I finally woke up for good. It took me a while to get up and out of my tent. The snow had transitioned to a light drizzle when I got up. I saw Axel getting ready to leave the cooking area and head out for the day as I walked to the privy. Impressive! I was just going to grab my food bag and eat something as I walked. It was very cold and I did not feel warm enough to sit and eat oatmeal in a drizzle.
For me, the biggest challenge in weather like this is my feet. I donned my wet socks and shoes. I had a pair of dry socks, but I wanted to keep them dry. I knew they would quickly become wet anyway. But wet feet when the temperature, or windchill, is hovering around freezing are typically cold feet. Mine were ice cold. Axel had mentioned the same as he hiked out of camp. I knew the only way to get feeling back in my feet was to keep moving and get my heart rate up, so I took off into the rain.
The first order of the day was to begin a climb up to Triple Divide Pass. This pass was our corridor for getting over Triple Divide Peak, a hydrological apex where water flowed down into one of three oceans: the Pacific, Atlantic, or Arctic. The whole premise behind the Continental Divide Trail was to hike on or near the actual Continental Divide – the crest of the various mountain ranges where all water either flows into the Pacific or Atlanta oceans. Triple Divide Pass was the only place on trail thus far where some water flowed off into a third ocean, which was pretty cool if you ask me.
On the climb up, it began to snow again. At first it was slushy, and then became more powdery. The wind was present, but surprisingly not very strong. This helped tremendously because, although it was very cold, I was able to stay warm enough with my silk long underwear top, smart wool base layer, puffy, and rain jacket on. I wore my shorts, per usual, with my rain skirt over them to keep them dry and add a layer of warmth over my midsection. My feet were cold, but the climb was slowly helping to thaw them, though I couldn’t feel it yet.
I caught up to Axel at the top of the pass. He had been waiting there, hoping the clouds might lift. The snow was lightening up, but we had no view. On the one hand, the mountainside itself was beautiful with a dusting of new powder. On the other, it was a shame not to be able to see anything in the distance off the pass – I bet the view up there is amazing on a clear day. It would be interesting to be able to see where off the mountain the water flowed into each of the oceans. Alas, today it was just going to be snow.
There had been a lot of bear scat on the way up to the pass, particularly as we climbed up above Medicine Grizzly Lake. Axel said he saw a large black bear running along the side of the pass through the snow. That must have been pretty cool! I wondered if the bears were experiencing their first snow of the season today, maybe even starting to feel the pressure to eat as much as possible for the inevitable brutal winter. I honestly do not understand how animals survive the winters up here. I can only imagine the weather that will come over the next few months.
We started down the backside of the pass with a view of the forested valley below. Snow-covered brush hung low over both sides of the trail, soaking our legs and feet as we descended. I wondered if my feet would ever get warm. They had started to improve, but the brief pause at the top of the pass seemed to have erased the heat I was building up.
As we climbed down, the snow transitioned back to a light rain. At first I thought it was going to stop altogether as it slowed to a sprinkle, but it picked back up after only a short ten minute pause. Axel was not too far in front of me and I saw him stop, then motion me to come forward. I could tell he had spotted some wildlife, but I wasn’t sure what. I slowly crept up and saw that a massive bull elk was staring back at us from the other side of a meadow. It was too far away for a good picture, but it was impressively large. Its antler rack was one of the biggest I had seen.
The elk stared at us as if to say “this is my territory and I’m not afraid of you,” before wandering off into the trees. It did not go far; rather, it just tucked itself away out of sight. I wondered how many winters he had survived. I envied the amount of experience that elk must have to thrive in a climate of such harsh extremes. He was an impressive creature, a mystery to me, and I was grateful to get see it, even if just for a few moments.
We kept walking as the terrain began to flatten out. Axel is either a faster hiker than me, or has a slightly longer stride. I haven’t figured out which, but he always pulls ahead. The rain stopped as we passed through the valley beside Split Mountain and I once again caught up with Axel. He was not that far in front of me when I saw him suddenly stop and point towards the trail in front of him.
At first, I didn’t see anything. I walked up closer, and then saw some kind of animal squirming slowly in the middle of the trail. “A hawk just dropped it,” Axel said. I never saw the bird, but whatever this animal was, the hawk had not killed it. We looked around, but the bird was nowhere in sight. I crept forward to get a better look, and realized it was a large gopher. The bird had managed to rip its neck apart, but hadn’t finished the job. It was an ugly site and a quick reminder of the brutality of nature.
We stood still, watching it, convinced that it would die at any moment. It slowed and stopped squirming, but did not die. I walked over right in front of it. It seemed incapable of moving any more, or at least had given up. The wound was definitely fatal – it had been ripped open and was going to die there, but somehow, it was not dead. It sat there, pathetic and defeated, its cute little head just bobbing up and down as it struggled to breathe.
I looked back at Axel and said “I feel like we should put it out of its misery.” “I agree,” he said, “but I know I cannot do it.” I looked around again, desperately hoping the situation would rectify itself – that the little guy would just die, or the hawk would somehow swoop back by and finish the job. Neither happened. I looked at the gopher’s face and knew what I was going to do.
***I will caution you now that the next few paragraphs are fairly graphic, so if you don’t want to read it, you can skip to the next BOLDED paragraph; however, I felt like I needed to write about this, both for myself and for the animal involved. I can’t just not mention it, and writing about it makes me feel a little better somehow. So here we go.
In the past, I have walked away from situations like this, leaving nature to take its course. I once watched a chipmunk get partially run over by a car and wiggle off, its hind leg or legs permanently broken. I am quite sure that it did not survive, and I knew at the time that a cat or some predator would get it if it did not die. I did nothing, choosing not to intervene, mostly because I did not want to have any part in finishing it off. For some reason, this time I decided I would try and do what I thought was the right thing. I reasoned that I wouldn’t want to be left to slowly bleed out or be picked apart in agony. I would rather someone just help me by advancing the inevitable ending.
I looked around for an implement and choose a large stick. It was heavy and the end was bulbous and large. Axel watched, knowing what I was going to do. I walked over to the gopher and raised the stick high above my head. I was scared – I had no idea what it was going to feel like. All I knew was that I needed to end this swiftly. The gopher was dying right in front of me, so I figured one swift blow would do it, or at least knock it unconscious. “Sorry little guy” I said, and then I drove the stick downwards onto its head.
I think I would have felt better if that blow had killed it. I would have felt like the outcome was better than the alternate of it just sitting in pain until it died. But that is not how it played out. Although I smashed its head with a large amount of force, the gopher’s back legs began to thrash about. I had not done the job, and I was horrified. I was horrified at the situation and upset that I caused it, but there was no backing out now, and so I raised the stick and slammed it down again, even harder this time.
The second blow crushed its poor little skull. When I lifted the stick, however, its back legs were still moving. I was horrified and immediately broke out into a cold sweat. “I can’t believe it” I said, looking back at Axel, who was staring on in horror. There was nothing left to do – I had to finish the job as quickly as possible, lest it be left to suffer. I raised the stick again and smashed it down with all of my might.
I never once looked away. I had too much respect for the gopher and wanted to make sure I hit it squarely in the head each time. Unfortunately, this third blow caused an eye to pop out of its socket, and to my horror, when I pulled the stick back, one of its back legs was still slowly moving. I had hit it so hard that the force of the blow had caused its body to push into the ground, then lift up into the air. It was now resting on its back, its head completely flattened, and its hind leg moving slowly as if to run away. I couldn’t have felt worse.
Again, there was nothing left to do but keep going, so I quickly gave it one more whack, and all was still. All was still except for my heart, which was pounding. I stared closely at the gopher; it was finally dead. I stood there staring at it. Axel was still. I was still. It was awful.
A wave of guilt flooded over me. I used the stick to nudge the gopher off the trail, partly to ensure that it was not somehow still alive, and partly just to roll it back onto its belly. It just looked too exposed otherwise. I told Axel that I might have to cry, but I didn’t. He said he felt like it was the right thing to do, and while there may have been some truth to that, it didn’t entirely jibe with the way it had gone down. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do. Maybe I should have let nature take its course and it would have been a quicker, softer end for the little fellow. I’ll never know, but I know I didn’t feel good about it. I knew my intention was good, but intentions don’t really matter in the end. The means don’t justify the end, and while I assumed that it was a bad situation that I could help make better, I don’t believe that I did. Axel and I discussed the possibility that there was some nerve activity at play and that it wasn’t actually alive after the second blow, but who knows. I am quite sure we surfaced that just so I would feel better, but I didn’t.
***OK, you can pick back up from here if you don’t want to read the graphic stuff. I killed the gopher to try and prevent it from suffering, but it didn’t go well. That’s the gist of the above paragraphs and you can continue from here without graphic details.
We walked on from the scene and I felt horrible. That poor gopher did not deserve any of that. It should have been killed by the hawk and eaten as prey, but instead it was mortally maimed. I should have killed it in one blow, ending its misery, but instead I put it through a tragically drawn out bludgeoning. I thought I was taking on the responsibility of an assisted death, but what I realize now was that I was also taking on the risk of doing something I had not done before. I said it then and I’ll say it now, though it can never change what happened – I’m sorry little gopher. I meant well and executed poorly, and that is on me.
Ironically, the sun came out and the sky began to clear up. We walked on, though I was still a bit in shock. I realized I had the gopher’s blood on my hand. It was just a little splatter, but I stopped to wash it off with my water bottle. I caught up to Axel at a swinging rope bridge across Red Eagle Creek and we stopped to take a break and dry our gear in the sun. We weren’t sure what the day’s weather held, so we couldn’t pass up this opportunity to get dry.
I hung my tent over the bridge cables and lay my quilt on some rocks. I took everything that was wet and laid it out somewhere in the sun. I sat next to Axel and we ate some lunch. It didn’t make me feel any better, though I was happy to see the sun and have a chance to get dry. I asked Axel if he thought something would eat the gopher. We decided the hawk probably wouldn’t return, but that a coyote or some other creature, even a bear, would likely eat it. It wasn’t the time of year where food went to waste. I needed that gopher to be food – it was supposed to be food, and I couldn’t bear to think that my actions would cause it to be wasted.
After a long lunch waiting for gear to dry, we marched on towards Red Eagle Lake. The area around the lake was largely a burn area, but it felt good being under the sun, which seemed to be out to stay. It was odd to think that we had been cold and wet in the snow just hours before, and now it was sunny out. Even though it was a relatively chilly day, the sun made it feel like a warm fall day.
Axel again pulled ahead as we again crossed Red Eagle Creek on the upstream side of the lake and took a hard turn west along the huge Saint Mary Lake. The trail meandered along up above its southern shore. Parts of the trail were clear and parts were a bit overgrown with brush. I stopped multiple times to eat thimble berries. It felt like the kind of place where I would see a bear, but I did not.
I caught up with Axel again at Virginia Creek. Where the trail crosses the creek there is a side path up to a large waterfall. There were day hikers galore there, and I realized that we were very close to the Going to the Sun Road. The waterfall at the top was cool, but I liked the cascading waterfalls and pools on the way down even more.
As we walked down, a few hikers asked us “how much farther?” and “is it worth it?” It’s amazing how little resilience some people have, even for just a short adventure from a parking lot on the road. I never know what to say either, because as a thru-hiker I have such a different concept of “far.” As I’ve said before, isn’t it always worth it? There’s so much emphasis on the actual destination, but isn’t just getting there part of the adventure, the learning, and the experience? If I ever find myself asking someone if something is worth it, I think I probably need to reconsider why I’m doing it in the first place. If I don’t have the time and attention to dedicate to living in the moment for a short experience and accepting that something unscripted is just going to unfold as it may, then maybe I have an area of my life that could use some exploration itself.
We walked past the turnoff for the road and continued west to Reynolds Creek, our campground for the night. We crossed Reynolds Creek over a suspension bridge to get to the campground, which was neat. There were two hikers (not thru-hikers) already there at the campground. I picked a spot, set up my tent, and carried my food bag and hanging rope down to the cooking area. The two section hikers were nice – a girl from Oregon and a guy from Brazil. They attempted to start a fire in front of us while Axel and I proceeded to get to cooking like the ravenous beasts we were.
The way that the two hikers talked to each other seemed like maybe they were very early on in a relationship. It kind of felt like they had been doing the long distance thing, and this trip was a chance to get to know each other better. I say that just because of the gentle way the girl was suggesting things, like “maybe it would work if…” when the guy couldn’t get the fire started. She also seemed to be carrying the conversation a bit. It was both awkward and amusing to witness.
Axel and I reflected on the day – everything from the snow, to the sun, to the experience with the gopher. Once again the trail, and the universe, had served up an adventure. By day’s end I felt slightly better. I knew that I had tried to do the right thing, but I also accepted the responsibility of doing it poorly. All the same, I couldn’t say that I would never assist another dying animal in its passing. As much as the trauma of handling it poorly weighed on me, I knew I couldn’t outright say “I’ll never do that again.” There’s seldom such a thing as black and white in life. I grew up in a world of shows and media that had good guys and bad guys. The Lone Ranger was never wrong – he was always fighting on the side of right. Real life is messier than that. Not everything is clear, and not everything is fair. Nature is the epitome of this, so why would it be different for humans?
I went to sleep happy to be dry. I laid in my tent and thought about the day, but decided not to beat myself up about it. It was all said and done, and at some point in the future, hopefully that experience will prove to have some value. Hopefully the gopher didn’t have to suffer for no reason. But if it did, there was nothing I could do about it now. In the end, the sun still came out, the rain stopped, and life was moving on as it was meant to. One day, I will be that gopher. My time will be up, however the end arrives, and when it does there will be nothing I can do to delay that inevitable journey from starting. Who knows where that path leads! No one. But I know I won’t be asking “is it worth it?” or “how much farther?”
Day 123 – The Escort
Day miles: 15
Trip miles: 2547.3
As the front passed through last night it got very cold. I woke up at least four times to re-inflate my sleeping pad. I slept with all of my clothes on, including my puffy jacket and rain jacket, so I stayed warm enough, but I could definitely feel the bite of winter kicking in.
I walked down to the cooking area, still wearing all of my clothes. I grabbed my bag from the food pole and proceeded to make a cup of coffee. Axel came down, fully packed, as I was heating my water, and headed out. The other two hikers were nowhere to be seen yet.
The coffee warmed me and I was glad that I had made it. I packed up my tent, then donned my gloves to warm my fingers, and started hiking. I had to cross back over the suspension bridge over Reynolds Creek. I could see a thin layer of ice on it beginning to melt in the morning sun.
A group of hikers were walking across it. One lady asked me if she was going in the correct direction to someplace (I can’t remember the name). “What’s that?” I asked. “A chalet” she said. Huh – I had no idea if there was a chalet that way. There was definitely a trail that continued on past the campsite. “I’m not sure – I just slept on the ground in my tent at this site back here” I said. A horrified look passed across her face, as if I were actually homeless. I guess the chalet must be pretty nice….
Once the group of hikers came across the bridge, I was able to head to the other side. I immediately started a climb up to a parking lot on the Going to the Sun Road. I met more hikers coming down and they asked me if I had seen any wildlife. “Not today,” I said, not wanting to get into any particulars of yesterday. “Whew,” they said. They were worried about bears. Oh to see the look on their faces if I donned my best grin a la The Shining and told them I’d seen a gopher yesterday, but they didn’t have to worry because I’d clubbed it to death.
There was a nice area right off the parking lot in the sun when I got to the road, so I stopped after hiking for only about 15 minutes to both shed layers and begin to dry my tent. I had a snack, changed into my normal hiking clothes, and sat for a bit enjoying the sun on my skin. It was still too early and too chilly to wait long enough for my tent to fully dry, so I packed it back onto the top of my pack and moved on.
I crossed the road and continued climbing. I was on my way up to Piegan Pass. I ran into quite a few day hikers, since there was a parking lot right at the road. If you are experiencing Glacier by way of staying at a lodge, there are a lot of trailheads you can drive to and hike for the day, then retreat to greater comfort at night.
The trail was very overgrown for the first part heading up from the road. It was thick with thimble berry bushes. I sidestepped a large stick in the trail and went to set my left foot down in the berry bushes to my left, but found no ground below it. I stepped right into some kind of eroded-out abyss, and immediately went down. My left foot, looking for ground, kept going down. Realizing what was happening in a split second, I fell forward onto my right shin and winced in pain. I landed on it hard, and sat there for a moment, fearing it broken. Although it hurt, I was still intact – just bloody, bruised, and dirty. I very slowly stood up, bracing for the pain of a broken bone, but I was ok.
Whew! I momentarily broke into a cold sweat, realizing that this was a reminder of how quickly my hike could be over, even this close to the end. I washed the mud and blood off my leg with my water bottle, but the blood continued. I decided to just let it run down my leg until it dried and deal with cleaning it up later.
There were an incredible number of fat, ripe huckleberries not too far from the road. I ate and hiked, passing a few groups that were out for the day, and eventually a ranger leading a guided tour. The climb up to Piegan Pass was fairly gradual and offered stunning views all the way to, and from, the top. From the top of the pass, I could see a turquoise blue glacier-fed lake on the other side. I was grateful to have a clear morning for Piegan as it really was quite extraordinary.
The descent down was a bit steeper, but was switchbacked to help with the loose scree along the way. I passed a few ptarmigans close to the top of the pass that were warming themselves in the sun right next to the trail. They were still mostly brown, but would soon transition to their white feathers for the winter. I kept going down and took another break when I found a big rock in the sun to sit on. I spread out my tent and quilt, this time ready to take an early lunch and dry them out thoroughly. I had a nice view of a stream and the valley below.
Axel showed up. He had taken a different route, starting earlier and heading off the CDT to hike an additional pass before coming over via Piegan. I was not so ambitious in the morning cold. He sat down and we chatted for a bit. We both decided we were going to take a slightly different route than the CDT into Many Glacier, our destination today. We had a short day – only 15 miles – to get to Many Glacier, which was a drive-in destination and had a walk-in campsite as well. There was an alternate that went right beside several of the lakes on the way to Many Glacier, which seemed a bit more interesting than the CDT and didn’t really add any additional mileage.
I was excited to get to Many Glacier. I didn’t know if the restaurant would be open or not, but I had my fingers crossed. I took off once my gear was dry and continued down into the valley to the turn-off for the alternate route. The huckleberries were abundant, so I did a lot of snacking along the way. I enjoyed the simplicity of the route through the woods, with some views of the surrounding mountains. I crossed over a suspension bridge and Axel eventually caught up before we reached Grinnell Lake.
Grinnell Lake was absolutely gorgeous. We forded the lake outlet creek to access a lovely beach for a more complete view of the area. There were a lot of people around because it is a fairly easy hike in from Many Glacier, but that didn’t detract from its beauty. Surrounded by mountains, its deep blue water shimmered in the sun. Had it been just a tad warmer, it would have been a great spot for a swim.
Axel and I continued on, heading towards Josephine Lake and munching on thimble berries along the way. We hiked along Josephine Lake for all of about 10 minutes before people started warning us of a black bear up ahead “just walking in the middle of the trail.” We were naturally very curious about this, and both of us wanted to see this bold bear, so we sped up.
We finally caught up with the bear towards the northern end of the lake. We knew we had when we saw three men standing in the trail, filming something to the north. That “something” was, of course, the bear. It was a small black bear trotting purposely north, as people had described it, right in the middle of the trail. It was not a cub, but was not large in size, perhaps a female around two years old (if I had to guess). The bear was clearly aware of people and unafraid, but also cautious to avoid everyone.
Axel and I passed the people taking pictures and continued hiking behind the bear. We were, of course, hoping for a good picture if it ever stopped. We also, however, had to continue north to get to Many Glacier. We were going the same way as the bear.
As we sped up behind it, it increased its own pace without even a glance. It could smell us and hear our footsteps. It knew exactly how fast to walk or trot to stay ahead, but it clearly also quite enjoyed the ease of walking on the trail, and so it continued on.
After about five minutes, it began to feel like this bear was going to escort us to Many Glacier. The trail broke away from Josephine Lake, and as well crossed through the forest towards Swiftcurrent Lake, the bear left the trail in front of us as it encountered hikers coming in the other direction. They stood motionless and pointed into the woods as we approached them. “It went that way,” one of them said.
We could still see the bear in the woods, and hear it continuing its own progress north. It moved back towards the trail, and perhaps onto it, once we got to Swiftcurrent Lake, but we could no longer see it. It was very impressive watching it move with such ease, always knowing where everyone was, through hearing, smell, and sight, but mostly the former two senses. Us humans, on the other hand, just bumbled through the woods like idiots. Compared with the bear, we might as well have been blind, deaf, and unable to smell. If not for the trail, we would not even be there, for we were unable to navigate its turf without a path, let alone able to survive there.
We popped out of the woods and were suddenly walking through a busy parking lot. We had made it to Many Glacier. We made it down the road and, to our delight, discovered that the restaurant AND camp store were still open. It was the last day for both, but the restaurant would also be open for breakfast tomorrow before closings for the season. What luck!
We happily ordered food. We saw a list of items they were already out of. Even though it was only 4:30, we didn’t want to wait until later in case they ran out of more, so we sat down and ate. I ordered a burger, fries, huckleberry cheesecake, and a soda. It was fantastic! Axel and I sat there, sticking out like sore thumbs with our packs next to us, wolfing down our food. It wasn’t that there weren’t other people hiking there, but most were just doing day hikes and had either driven cars to the campground or were staying in RVs. I guarantee none of them had gone all Colonel Kurtz on a gopher during their stay. They had not experienced the horror, the horror!
Axel recognized a thru-hiker named T Dubs who joined us for some food, along with another hiker Long Nosed Pete. I had not met them previously. T Dubs gave us the skinny on the campsite, and perhaps the most valuable tip of all – that the camp store sold soft serve ice cream. For $3 we could fill a cup with as much soft serve as we wanted.
We waddled over from the restaurant to the store to get ice cream. I decided to grab a special drink and snack to have at the end of my thru-hike when I reached the monument at the Canadian border. It was only two days away! Since I didn’t have to carry it for that long, it felt like something I should do and would really appreciate having at the end. I chose a huckleberry-flavored kombucha in a can and a Hostess cupcake. The former was a complete impulse buy – it was either that or a Dr. Pepper. The latter had been something I had adopted as an occasional town treat throughout my hike. Feeling good about my choices, I paid for those and my ice cream and then filled my cup high with a nice vanilla and chocolate combination swirl.
We ate as we followed T Dubs over to the campground. The walk-in campsite area where we were was large, but I could see how it would quickly fill up if a big bubble of thru-hikers came through. In addition to us, there were other walk-ins, including bikers. It was mostly thru-hikers though, one of whom had finished his hike and was taking a few days to hike other trails throughout the park. His name was Wicket.
Axel and I got set up and then joined the others around a picnic table to chat. Another camper had dropped off a bucket of grapes from his own garden back in Washington state, which was really nice. I chatted with the guys until after dark, and then retreated to my tent to review my route for the morning and get some sleep. I wanted to be at the restaurant when it opened at 7:30.
As I looked over my map and the campsite I had booked for tomorrow night and the night after, I realized that I had set myself up for a 19 mile day tomorrow, and then 36 miles the following day! Yikes! I did NOT want to hike 36 miles in one day at all, let alone on the day that I would reach the Canadian border and celebrate my completion of the hike. But, here I was, having clearly made a mileage calculation error when I worked with the ranger to book my permits.
I looked at my options. There weren’t a lot unless I wanted to add a day to my hike and have two really short days (assuming permits were available at these other campsites), but there were two campsites I could potentially book that would make for a longer day tomorrow, but then a more reasonable final day the day after. If I hiked 27 to 30 miles tomorrow, instead of 19, I could reduce my mileage the next day to less than 30. That sounded a lot better to me!
I was in a bind, however. Fortunately there was a backcountry ranger office that handled permitting in Many Glacier, but I would have to just see what they had left. I still might have to do the 36 mile day, but I would not know until tomorrow. I had a cell phone signal at Many Glacier, but I could not find the ranger office opening time. I decided I would go there first thing to see if they opened at 7:30, then I would make my way over to the restaurant.
It was hard to sleep knowing that I needed to try and change my permits in the morning, but sleep still came. In the end, I would make it to the border one way or another. If I had to hike 36 miles, I would make it happen, because that’s what a thru-hiker does.
Day 124 – The Last Thirty
Day miles: 30.4
Trip miles: 2577.7
It was cold and still dark out when I woke up. I was on a mission, though, and motivated to get moving. I brushed my teeth in the camp bathroom, grabbed my food bag out of the bear box (so much quicker than taking it down from a bear pole!), shoved my gear in my pack and trotted towards the permit office.
Fortunately, the ranger station was just a five minute walk from the campground. Unfortunately, I met a ranger on the porch who said that they did not open until 8. It was 7:30. He did, however, tell me to look at the list of campsites that was tacked to the outside of the ranger cabin. From what I could tell, Kootenai Lake campsite (one of the alternate possibilities I had come up with) was full tonight, but it looked like Waterton River campsite was still free. I would know for sure in about 30 minutes.
Rather than sit and wait for the office to open, I instead headed back past the campground to the restaurant for breakfast. I got there by 7:40, ordered a smoked trout breakfast sandwich with bacon and coffee, and joined Axel, who was already working through his meal. I briefed Axel on my permit snafu. He was headed to Kootenai Lake. I told him that, one way or the other, I would probably see him at the border tomorrow.
Wicket joined us as Axel was about to head out. I chatted with him for a bit while I finished my delightful breakfast, but then excused myself. I had a mission to complete so that I could get started hiking. Permits are also issued on a first come first served basis, so I didn’t want to dilly dally.
I walked back down to the ranger office and it was abuzz with phone calls and people popping in. The rangers double checked availability and, fortunately, I managed to change my permit. Tomorrow I would still camp at Flattop before exiting the park the next day – my original plan – but today I would hike to Waterton River campground. This site was a little over 30 miles from Many Glacier and just shy of 4 miles from the border, which would be convenient tomorrow. I could finish up my thru-hike early, then work my way back through the park to Flattop, for a total last day distance of about 25 miles.
Today would be a long day given I was starting after 8AM, but I could do it. My legs were used to hiking long distances. They were hardened pistons, conscripted soldiers that would march into battle, even into certain death, at my mere command. Of course, I didn’t want them to storm the beach at Normandy and leave me bloody and wounded, dragging myself to the end, or worse. But that would not be the case. I could hike a 30 mile day with light to spare and have fun doing so. Also, it was my last thirty.
In some ways, I was excited to have a full, long day ahead. It represented how I normally hike and have been hiking. On a thru-hike, I’m not one to sit around camp very often. Though I don’t like night hiking, I do love walking a nice ridge as the sun sets. I enjoy the onset of cool from the big temperature swings, suddenly feeling like the weather is perfect as the blazing sun drifts farther away towards the horizon.
Ironically, the actual camping part has felt like a small part of my hike. I really hadn’t spent a lot of time sitting around at camp or camping with other hikers. I hadn’t made a single campfire. I didn’t dare build a fire out here where it was so dry and the risk of wildfires very high. Most of my conversations with other hikers were while walking, or in towns. The mosquitoes had been so bad for a while that I didn’t want to do anything but dive in my tent at the end of the day. For the past month, I had seen nary a mosquito, and taking my time setting up my tent, walking around and watching the last little bit of sunset without getting swarmed by those pesky vampires, has been absolutely lovely!
This trek has definitely been a more solo experience for me at the end of my hiking days, and I confess that I have loved it. I have not only gotten used to camping alone, but I have looked forward to it. So perhaps it is not accurate to say that “camping” hasn’t been a big part of my hike. Maybe it has just been a more subtle and less traditional daily practice the way I have done it, but an important ritual nonetheless. Camping alone has allowed me time to think when I am not hiking. It has given me plenty of time to reflect on the day. It has contributed to self confidence. I can’t recall ever feeling afraid or lonely (though maybe because I was too tired!). I have melted into the stars on many occasions, even if I had to get out of my tent to do so. I did not go into the hike planning to hike and camp alone, but found myself seeking it out, and so I just accepted it because it felt right. I knew those days were over though – I would be sharing my last few nights with others at the various campgrounds. It was nice having company for a change, and you just never know who you might meet.
I headed out of Many Glacier and walked past the restaurant as more campers were streaming in. I saw people looking at park maps and deciding what trails they would hike. A lady noticed me with my pack as I set foot off the road and onto trail and asked, “where are you headed?” “About 30 miles north just south of the Canadian border,” I replied, knowing full well that her head would explode when I said this. It didn’t explode, but my response elicited an “Oh my!” and I smiled as I watched her head twitch a bit. I guess that is pretty far, but I still get a kick out of the reactions because it doesn’t seem that far to me anymore. I derive some satisfaction knowing that I pushed my limits and comfortably increased my typical daily mileage on this hike.
I hiked away from the parking lot and past Redrock Lake, above which there was a pretty waterfall. Someone asked me directions, a common occurrence out here since I look like I might know about the park, even though I don’t. I passed through some “loose” wilderness (as opposed to dense), convinced I might see a bear in the morning quiet. Alas, no luck. My wanting to see a bear is a very fickle desire – sometimes I want to, and sometimes I very much don’t!
I arrived at Bullhead Lake, another beautiful blue body of water with a mountain backdrop. The western end of Bullhead Lake would be the beginning of my climb up to Swiftcurrent Pass. As I reached the end of the lake, a man and woman were coming in the opposite direction. I stopped to let them by, but the lady motioned for me to come through. “You’re going farther than us anyway,” she said knowingly. Then she asked “We’re turning around – are you going all the way up?” I said yes and continued on, but then wondered why they would walk all this way from Many Glacier not to climb up to the pass where all the good views were. Even if they didn’t go to the top, they would still get fantastic views. Oh well…. For what it’s worth, unless you physically can’t do it, always go to the top of the pass! You won’t regret it.
I started my own climb and began the switchbacks that would inevitably lead to the top. The ascent was nicely graded and fairly gradual. About three quarters of the way up I ran into T Dubs, sitting at one of the switchback turns, tucked nicely out of the wind, with a beautiful view back over Bullhead and Redrock lakes. We made brief small talk before I walked by, but we didn’t really need to. I knew he was trying to soak up every last bit of the hike, and this was a great place to do it.
I took several photos of the stunning views. The sky was a bit hazy from active fires burning in the park, but it was beautiful and photo worthy nonetheless. The view down the north side of Swiftcurrent was not quite as dramatic. Rather than descending down into the valley, the trail continued north along the western ridge of Swiftcurrent Mountain. Within Glacier, this trail, while part of the CDT, was called the Highline Trail. I would be up on this ridge for a while before finally descending as I got closer to Kootenai Lake and my campsite for the evening, Waterton River.
I followed the ridge along some gentle ups and downs until it began a pronounced horseshoe bend to the east. I could see it come back west on the other side in front of me, and then carry on north. The contours and lines of the towering cliffs of the horseshoe bend were both visually interesting and awe inspiring. On the other side of this massive structure was glacier-fed Iceberg Lake, though I could only see it on the map. Helen Lake was nearby as well, though still hidden from view when I crossed over a creek below the pass that could lead to it. The trail did not go that way.
Instead, I climbed up a bit more and rounded back north out of the horseshoe bend along the ridge. There were huckleberry bushes along both sides of the trail, full of ripe, juicy berries. There was also a lot of bear poop, including what I think was grizzly poop. I can only differentiate the scat when I see matter other than berries present, such as fur from animals that the grizzly might have eaten. Otherwise, it is hard for me to tell the difference.
I passed by Axel taking his lunch and enjoying the smoky view off the ridge. I stopped to chat for a minute, then continued on. I reached a gushing stream, almost a waterfall, dropping down off the cliff to my right, flowing across the trail and then cascading down into the valley far below. I stopped to fill up my water bottle with the delightfully cold H2O. There was no tree cover on the ridge and the sun, though tempered some by the haze, was pounding down as if the summer could go on forever. The outside temperature was probably in the low seventies, but that sun was powerful.
T Dubs caught up to me at the stream, but I left him behind as he paused to filter water. I pushed on and took a 0.3 mile side trail up the ridge to the east to check out the Sue Lake overlook. Wicket had mentioned that this was a worthy detour, but I honestly probably would have taken it anyway. I didn’t have much hiking left, so it was hard to turn down an overlook trail. If I’m walking 30 miles, why not add another 0.6? While I don’t include these diversions in my trip mileage tally, I do consider them as part of my total daily miles when I am pushing the limits.
The trail went up the side of the ridge rather quickly, but not too steeply. The slope and trail were dusted with scree. I could see that I would need to be more cautious on my way down to avoid slipping. A drop down the rocky slope would be a real skin peeler!
Right before I reached the top, I passed a notch in the rocks. Through it, I could see Sue Lake and part of the glacier up above it. It was incredible! I snapped a quick picture, but couldn’t wait to get to the top to see the full view. When I arrived, I saw two older men sitting in the shade with their backs against the rocks, protected from the cold wind that was gusting against me. Sue Lake was positioned in a bowl, meaning it was surrounded by mountains. It was a deep blue color, fed by a large glacier that was clinging to the north side of the mountain on the south side of the lake.
It was a wondrous view and I couldn’t imagine not having climbed up to see it. On the north side of the lake I could see where there was an outflow, but didn’t have a view of how it was structured. In my mind, I could picture the lake just bleeding over a right-angle edge, like an infinity pool, cascading down a steep rock wall to the valley below. I would never know, so my imagination would have to do.
I walked over to the two men and said hello. We chatted for a while. I learned that they were from Minneapolis and had been coming to Glacier for 30 years. They told me that they used to be able to climb up onto that glacier from where we were standing, but that global warming had caused it to significantly melt away over the years to where it was now, far out of reach. The heaviness of this weighed on me as I stood there. We have so much natural beauty and greatness in our world and we have all the knowledge we need to address global warming, but greed, stubborness, and stupidity continue to keep humans from being willing to do what is required. We deserve whatever fate awaits us. I say “we” because this is not a situation where those who do the right thing get a gold star. No one will be spared. If we are not willing to do whatever it takes, if we are not willing to work together as a species rather than worrying about the boundaries and resources of individual countries, we will not survive.
My sentiments on the problem of global warming are pretty much the same for every other challenge of humanity. We should rely on science, dismiss myths and half-truths, reject commercial and political agendas, and work together. If we want to do better as a species than those that have perished before us, we can’t get caught up in the business of squabbling over boundaries and resources here on Earth. We need to think bigger than that. We need to change culturally so that we can think bigger than that. Rather than thinking in terms of lifetimes and single generations, we need to think about our species being prepared to exist millions of years from now. Sadly, we need to shorten that runway and think about what life will be like hundreds of years from now, but solutions should come with a runway that does not kick the can down the road if at all possible.
Yes, it is hard to think and act long term when we only live 72.6 years on average (2019 – www.ourworldindata.org), but life didn’t really start to get easy until the agricultural revolution, and who said that it would, or should, stay that way? Put in layperson’s terms, I know it sucks. Even I think it sucks to have to change and stretch my thinking to contemplate such things. But our only other choice is to create problems that future generations have no chance to solve. Global Warming is also a classic example of letting a problem fester until it is too late. We knew about this and could have dealt with it a long time ago, just as we know about a lot of things that are bad for our planet and our future, but do them anyway. For a species that possesses such incredible power of consciousness, we are quite content to be selfish and short-sighted.
It’s hard to visit glacier without pausing to think about such serious issues. Glacier is kind of a poster child for the effects of global warming, much like polar bears on melting icebergs. Its receding glaciers, ongoing wildfires and droughts leave much of its future in question. I get worked up about these issues sometimes because there is very little that I, or anyone else in singularity can affect if the collective hive is caught up in bickering. I guess I don’t like feeling helpless. Selfishly, I’m glad I can appreciate this place now for what it is.
I learned that the two men were staying at Flattop campsite tomorrow, so I said “see you tomorrow!” and hiked back down from the viewpoint. I saw two of four section hikers I had passed earlier on their way up to see Sue Lake. They said that the other two had chosen not to come and then asked me that question I hear so often, “Was it worth it?” I responded by not responding and simply said “your friends are going to regret not coming up when they see your pictures.” They smiled, and I could see their energy lift as they climbed on behind me to the top.
I re-joined the trail and after a day of climbing and navigating the ups and downs of the ridge, I started to gradually head downwards. I saw the section hikers at Fifty Mountain campsite as I passed by. I was originally supposed to camp there until I discovered my mileage math error. The eastern side of the ridge was a towering line of mountain. The top of its ridge was jagged, with several notch “windows” carved out. It had the thought that it would be cool to climb up there and look through one of the notches, but it was a very long way up, and the slope appeared to be covered in talus and scree.
T Dubs and Axel must have skipped the Sue Lake overlook and passed me while I was up there, because I did not run into them the rest of the day. They both have a longer stride than I do, and perhaps a faster pace. My descent picked up as I started to get closer to the valley floor. I stopped occasionally to feast on huckleberries. I looked for bears as there were numerous piles of scat, but I saw none.
When I made it down to the valley, I walked up above a creek for a while. The berry bushes and shrubs had grown into the trail, forcing me to push through the overgrowth as I made my way north. It had been a long day and I was ready to be at camp. I passed the turn-off for Kootenai Lake. I knew that Axel and T Dubs were there, as well as a few thru-hikers who had completed their journeys today. I thought about walking down to say hi, but the campsite was almost a half mile down the trail and the day was getting long. I pressed on.
Pushing through the overgrowth had gotten a bit annoying by the time I reached Waterton Lake. It had been somewhat nonstop and my legs were scratched up. I made it down to a ranger station and several buildings that looked like small bunkhouses. The place felt like a ghost town. If there was a ranger there, I didn’t see one.
I went down to the water’s edge. The lake was big and beautiful, small waves lapping up onto the gravel shore. I was almost there, almost to the end. Somewhere north along the western shore was a monument marking the border with Canada. But to me, reaching that marker represented more than just crossing a border. It marked the pushing of boundaries, the making of memories, the celebration of a journey through nature, overcoming the forces of the gods to arrive in one piece.
I walked back up to the trail and continued on. When I made it to the Waterton River, I could see my campsite across the water. This was the horse ford. I would continue on the trail another two tenths of a mile to a swinging rope bridge and cross with dry feet. I considered just fording the river and getting to camp faster, but I didn’t. My feet were dry and I wanted to keep them that way.
There was a beautiful swimming hole below the swinging bridge, but the sun was going down and it was a bit chilly for a dip. If it had been early afternoon, I would definitely have gone for a little skinny dip in the crystal clear water there. The side trail to the campsite was also quite overgrown, so I pushed my way through the brush one last time. I passed the privy and arrived at the cooking and food storage area to find two guys sitting there. I introduced myself, then went to set up my tent.
The sites at Waterton River were nice. They had some privacy, and the cooking area had a great fire pit and lots of seating. I took my food back to make dinner and chat with the two men. They were section hikers and had hiked in the park before. They were doing about 10 miles a day between sites, just relaxing and taking it all in. They both used to work for IBM, so we had some commonality in our career tech backgrounds. One of the guys was currently living in Durham, NC, which is not that far from Wilmington. We had great conversation. It was one of those “anything feels possible” conversation evenings. I later regretted not getting the contact information of the guy in Durham as I could see us meeting up from time to time.
They made a fire, which was one of the only fires I had enjoyed on this hike. Glacier allows campfires in select sites with fire rings, and this was one of them. We talked until well after hiker midnight; I got back to my tent around 10:30PM. I wasn’t sure what my last night of camping before reaching the border would be like. Would I feel sad? Would I feel overwhelmed, happy, relieved? Would I think deep thoughts about the end of the hike and the journey I had been on? It turns out, none of the above! I just had fun staying in the moment and talking with the guys at camp, and when I got back to my tent I fell fast asleep almost right away. Of course, I gave my sleeping pad one more good injection of air before I passed into the netherworld of slumber.
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