Three-Day Backpack: Spanish Peaks Unit, Lee Metcalf Wilderness

Mark:
On Friday, July 18, 1997, Kathy Sheehan delivered the six of us (Frank, Ed, Sue, and Andrea Prosser, Vic Heng, and Mark Sheehan) to the North Fork trailhead between the Meadow and Mountain Villages on the road to the Big Sky resort between Bozeman and West Yellowstone, Montana. We left the Sheehan's home in Hyalite Foothills south of Bozeman at about 7am and arrived at the trailhead at about 8am. Kathy returned home with the Sheehan's van and the hiking party set out on the trail.

Sue: I knew we were in for a beautiful trip when Kathy almost left with us. It was so hard for her to turn the van around and go home, her eyes longing for the trail. Before I could leave without a heavy guilt (she and my mother- in-law, Brenda, were to take care of our young children), I promised myself that someday we would all backpack somewhere beautiful together, and Kathy would have center position on the trail! The Sheehans' deep appreciation and knowledge of wilderness is impressive. It will be a joyful expereince to do this again with Kathy and Brenda.

The Extended Group - Front Row: Andrea Second Row: Mark, Chloe, Sam, Mike, Brenda Back Row: Kathy, Sue, Frank, Ed, Vic

Mark:
We began our hike north-northwest up the North Fork (of what, it has never been clear to me) trail, starting at about 6,800 feet, and following an old two-track road and single-track trail through private land before entering the Gallatin National Forest.

Ed:
At about this point, we gave Frank's new GPS gizmo a try, and discovered that we were actually 1.5 km from where the topo maps said we were! Dead-reckoning 1, satellite navigation 0.

Mark: We ran into light rain as we trekked up into the Spanish Peaks unit of the Lee Metcalf Wilderness and to Bear Basin. Rain subsided after about half an hour, and our ascent into the basin took place under overcast skies. The hike up the North Fork trail into the basin (about 8,900 feet) had been mostly gradual but with occasional steep sections that wore a bit on a couple of us. Spirits stayed high, nonetheless, even as we climbed up from the basin to Summit Pass (9,670 feet) where we had lunch in bright, windless conditions.

Andrea and Vic Take in the Sights in Bear Basin

Frank: On the north side of Summit Pass and before Summit Lake there remained several substantial and steep snowfields, which all parties traversed and descended with aplomb. I was impressed! Mark: After lunch, we made our way down the north side of the pass, turned east onto the trail that leads past Summit Lake, and walked/glissaded down toward Thompson Lake, at about 9,200 feet at the base of 11,000-foot Gallatin Peak.

Ed and Sue Load Up to Tackle Summit Pass

It clouded up after we pitched our tents, but didn't threaten rain immediately. Frank and I climbed up a side canyon to the Chilled Lakes. On the way up we saw a lone coyote making its way along one of the benches that overhung the valley below us. It stopped a couple times as it skulked rapidly across the bench, turned, and looked squarely at us.
	Our Campsite at Thompson Lake

One of the Chilled Lakes, at about 9,600 feet, had a snowfield at its edge that was calving off big hunks of ice into the water. The other, a few hundred yards away and over a rise, was almost entirely iced over. We saw the lakes, especially the latter, through the fog at the base of a cloud and I, at least, was enchanted by the whole scene. Frank: We both were impressed, but departed soon with reluctance as we observed the weather rapidly closing in.

Lower Chilled Lake

Mark: When Frank and I returned from Chilled Lakes we had just enough time to mix up our pudding and dangle it in its container from a cord into a meltoff channel to chill before the wind picked up, the rain started, and a thick carpet of hailstones fell, more or less all at once. We found ourselves inside our tent, holding it up against the wind and hail from the inside. If we hadn't been there to do that and to replace the vestibule stake that pulled up, I think the wind would have flattened the tent.

Lupines in Fog, Chilled Lakes Area

Ed:
While Sue rested in the tent, out of harm's (and hail's) way, I attempted to complete my pudding preparations just as the hail started to come down. Thinking that the hail would last only a short time while the first part of the storm blew through, and clad in my semi-protective Gore-tex™ jacket, my first inclination was to continue with my mixing. This state of overconfidence quickly gave way to the "duck-and-cover" phase, as I tried to keep the hail from striking my unprotected (Teva-clad) feet and head. As the hail continued to grow in size, painfulness, and intensity, the pudding was cast aside and I leapt into the tent. As I was licking my wounds, I spotted Vic, wearing only a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, running up from Thompson Lake with some trout on his stringer. Ouch! When the hail stopped, we had a pile about five inches deep in front of our tent. Next time we'll have to consider bringing a snow shovel!

Sue:
It is a torn feeling, being inside a nice, dry, cozy tent, relaxing after a tough half-day hike in your spanking clean and dry tent and bag, and hearing the pained giggles of your loved ones outside the tent getting pelted with hail that is coming down so hard that the sides of the tent are caving in and the noise almost cuts out their squeals, yells, and shocked laughter. Of course you want your buddies to be protected from the elements, but also you want to keep your belongings nice and dry. I must say it was a harsh change when Ed unzipped the tent door and he, completely soaking with hail and rain, leaped into the tent in addition to the seemingly buckets of hail and rain that blew in with him! Vestibules may add to the pack weight, but I can understand their importance in wet areas like the Spanish Peaks.

Mark:
The storm passed 30-45 minutes later, and we were able to secure the tent stakes, help clean Vic's fish (see below), and make dinner. Frank and I cooked together, as did Ed and Sue, and as did Andrea and Vic. We had three stoves, three sets of pots and pans, and three menus among us.

While Frank and I were at Chilled Lakes, Vic had caught four cutthroat trout in Thompson Lake, so he was able to satisfy his protein craving as well as to share some (reportedly) luscious trout with the others. I declined; having helped Vic clean the fish and having fish-smell all over my hands, I wasn't eager to amplify the effect by having the taste in my mouth, too. ...I'm a little squeamish about fish even when my stomach is mellow, and it had been a little upset for several days. I was also concerned about attracting bears. We cooked 100 yards from camp, buried the fish guts even farther away, hung our food from a cliff, and (I, at least) washed up with soap before going to bed, but I still imagined I smelled like bear bait, if only from the smoke of the frying fish that clung to my jacket. Purists in the outback will put the clothes they cook in into their food bags and hang them out of reach, hundreds of yards away from camp. Grizzly country can be a scary place!

Frank:
As Vic was cooking his trout, he and I had been vigorously trying to convince Mark that trout cheeks were a major delicacy. Trout cheeks are small dime-sized muscles near the eye of the fish. They are very tender, although it would take an ocean-full of trout to supply one with a meal of cheeks. Mark was having none of this, believing that we were spinning a yarn. Unfortunately, he was elsewhere when we ate the cheeks, and he still doesn't believe us.

Mark:
Dinner was good. Frank and I had angel hair pasta with freeze-dried vegetables and tuna, a fruit bar (like a very long, flattish Fig Newton, but with strawberries or blueberries where the figs would be, and a squiggle of white icing on top), and our pudding. The sad thing about the pudding was that we'd added twice the water the recipe called for and so wound up drinking dilute lemon pudding mix rather than spooning down a nice semisolid dessert -- it was not milkshakey enough to have been positively enjoyable, but was a little better than dilute, lemon-flavored milk.

Frank:
Mark is too kind: I did the mixing, after having misplaced the directions. This embarassment was extended into an amusing and bizarre incident when we discovered that Andrea had mistaken the Handi-Wrapped packets of milk powder for the pudding, and had in fact prepared an extra-thick portion of skim milk!

Mark:
Lesson learned: I'm going to take flour tortillas or pita bread on these trips in the future to aid in after-dinner cleanup. Doing dishes in the wild is a pain; if I can dispose of garbage "down the hatch" before it becomes garbage, it'll be much easier than digging a hole and burying little bits and scraps of this and that, or packing them out along with other trash. Frank advised us all, by the way, to pack out our used toilet paper, and even offered empty Ziploc bags for "used bumwad storage." The argument goes that in the backcountry there's getting to be a wad of the stuff under every rock. In high, especially high and dry country, it just doesn't biodegrade. I see a time coming when backpackers will be expected, as cavers now are, to pack out their poop in plastic bags.

Ed:
Sue and I had a very tasty meal. Starting with hummus and pita, and moving on to the main course of porcini mushrooms, (canned) chicken, couscous, and dried tomatoes. Topped off with the trout, this was quite filling and the best backpacking meal I recall having for a long while.

Mark:
We all seemed at loose ends after dinner. We got the food hung up and the next day's supply of water filtered, and -- had nothing else to do between 6:30 and our 9-9:30 bedtime. We each lazed and wandered a little, but finally Frank called us all together onto a big, flat rock overlooking the lake where he read to us "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert W. Service. That coalesced the group nicely and we sat or sprawled on the rock for at least an hour, telling jokes, teasing each other, and talking. I was pretty quiet, as was Vic, we being the least familiar with the other four.

Frank:
That evening we had discussed the possibility of climbing nearby Gallatin Peak (about 11,000 feet) next day, but from our camp area we could find no way up that looked to be within our competence, so we abandoned the idea. Although after our trip a friend of Mark showed him a suitable approach from the west, it's just as well we didn't know of it, since the next morning's weather was certainly not suitable for peak climbing.

Mark: I think we were all tired, and as a result slept well. The night was uneventful, weatherwise. It had been 60 degrees at dinnertime Friday, but 50 the next morning at breakfast. It started raining right after our meal. We rode out one storm in our tents, then in the interval before the next one packed up and hit the trail around 9:30. The hike led us down the Hell Roaring Creek valley, past Thompson Lake, along the base of the north slope of Gallatin Peak. The valley was pretty -- a bit soggy, made worse by the rain that began falling before we left our campsite -- but the clouds were high and we had good views of the mountains all around. We walked through pretty forests of limber pine and Engelmann spruce, with lowbush blueberry plants covering the forest floor. The trail was interrupted frequently by streams and marshy spots, all of which we negotiated without incident.

Breakfast Rock at Thompson Lake

Ed:
During the early morning rain, which delayed our departure, I came to the conclusion that it is far more enjoyable (for me at least) to hike in the rain than it is to sit in the rain. Perhaps because I get so much enjoyment from the physical part of backpacking, I felt that hiking in the rain was preferable to almost any other activity other than hiking in nicer conditions.

Mark:
After a mile or so the rain let up, and the scenery continued to be grand. We stopped on a shallow uphill grade to shed raincoats, overpants, etc., then began the climb to Beacon Point, a mountaintop at 10,224 feet, 1,600 feet above us. It was a long, wearying climb. From the summit we had incredible views of the Spanish Peaks of the Madison Range. I put on fleece jacket, raincoat and pants, took some photos, ate some gorp, and wandered around the mountain top. It was close to 11am, as I recall. We walked east then, along Indian Ridge, which is a spectacular couple miles of country, with the trail rising and falling a few hundred feet here and there, but generally staying around 9,600 feet, either above timberline or just barely dipping into limber pine forest.

Sue: I knew we were in for a gorgeous reward for the seemingly brutal conditions that met us on that climb. I know I haven't been through all that much, but it was unnerving feeling like I was going to be blown off the trail several times, only to fall down the steep rocks below. Nevertheless, euphoria took over and I wanted to yodel and sing and couldn't stop smiling the farther up I climbed. Even Frank, who is to most a no-nonsense type, was grinning with delight at the beauty. Andrea hiked up with Frank and me. She was cold and a bit angry with the wind stealing her breath away just when she needed it most, but she trudged up steadily and we all enjoyed the moment and the view.

Panorama of Gallatin Peak from Beacon Point (click for enlargement)

Ed:
Climbing and summiting Beacon Point, although a bit chilly, was my favorite part of the trip. You really had to earn that most excellent view, but of course it was well worth every grunt and droplet of sweat. I think I would be at my happiest just going uphill all day. Too bad cycling does not prepare the knees well for the jarring descents that follow climbs such as these.

Mark:
We had lunch about 2/3 of the way out the ridge, in a sheltered, piney area overlooking the Gallatin Valley. The sun was out and warmed us enough that a couple of us reverted to short pants (my rain pants had been a welcome windstop on Beacon Point, but built up considerable condensation inside as I hiked Indian Ridge). As we pressed on after lunch we had fabulous views of the Spanish Peaks behind us. I stopped and took a panoramic series of pictures from a high point near the end of the ridge.

	Frank: As we ascended Beacon Point from the southeast, we had our first views of Indian Ridge. For me, it was a breathtaking, unforgettable moment. This ridge is a marvel, the likes of which I don't every recall seeing, much less traversing. Even though the wind was blowing us around, I was much excited by the long traverse of the ridge.
Gallatin Peak Area from Indian Ridge (click for enlargement)

Mark:
Arrow Lake was our destination for the second night's camp. I'd never camped there before (had never been over ANY of this ground before, beyond our lunch spot the first day), but it turned out to be excellent. There was good, clear drinking water in the lake (also lots of leeches, so we didn't swim, despite the sunny weather). We filtered the water through Sweetwater Guardian pump-type filters -- one belonging to Andrea, the other mine. The lake plankton clogged the filters so we had to clean them regularly -- unfortunately I'd elected, based on faulty expectations of water clarity, not to bring my filter cleaning brush along. I won't do that again! Andrea's brush had been lost at Thompson Lake. We used toothbrushes for the job at Arrow Lake instead (thanks to Ed's generosity and/or lax dental hygeine habits while on the trail). (Kidding, there, Ed!)

I think it was worth the effort to pump the water. Our alternative was to dose the water with iodine; I've always had a problem with making water potable by making it poisonous. If it's poisonous enough to kill bacteria and viruses and protozoa, it seems logical that it could harm me. For decades, chlorination has bothered me for the same reason. I grew up drinking chlorinated water and didn't mind the taste at all, but I wonder if it wasn't really damaging -- I'd like to see research data on the topic. I remember a stretch in the late '70s when I avoided drinking tap water in Bloomington, Indiana, where I lived most of my life, because it gave me a stomach ache -- likely having more to do with algae from Lake Monroe, or with the chemicals used to treat the water for the algae, than with the chlorine used to kill the bacteria. ...And I've always felt good about drinking well water, the times I've done that (1980-86 and 1996 to present). Anyway, I really like the notion of filtration rather than chemical treatment, even if it does take time. (Chlorine aside, Frank says he doesn't mind the taste iodine imparts to the water; I find it unpleasant enough to warrant some effort at avoidance, and got the impression that others in the group agreed. Still, it was nice to have iodine as a backup!)

Arrow Lake is in a saddle between two adjoining parts of Indian Ridge. It has no visible inlets or outlets, so in late summer, especially if there's been a lot of horse traffic, I imagine it gets a bit stagnant (and even harder to filter).

Ed:
This was the first time I used filtration to treat my water (Sue and I bummed the use of Andrea and Mark's filters throughout the trip). I liked the fact that, once you got done pumping a bottle's worth, it was ready to drink; as opposed to iodine where it has to sit around for a bit. It's a drag to pump 6 liters of water in preparation for dinner and the following morning's breakfast, but I think that next trip I will go the filter route and relegate the iodine to back-up in case the pump breaks.

Mark:
Around 4:30pm, rainstorms blew up. They were brief, but sometimes intense, with a little hail mixed in. Around 5pm we took advantage of a lull to cook dinner. Frank's and mine was angel hair pasta with vegetables again, but this time with a cheesy alfredo-type sauce and beef sticks (Slim Jims) sliced into it. A very tasty variation on the previous night's theme! The rest of the menu included a fruit bar and chocolate pudding which, despite not having a snowbank to chill it in as we had had at Thompson Lake, set up nicely and was a satisfying dessert. To my appetite, the rations that night were a little sparse; though I didn't complain, Frank apologized for it, so I assume he felt the portion was a bit small, too. I could have comfortably eaten at least half again as much pasta as I did. I didn't feel especially hungry or empty after the meal -- I just could have eaten more. The experience provided valuable information for planning future cool-weather mountain trips.

Ed:
Under my direction, Sue and I erected our tent on a site where the rain pooled in a few low spots and so we took some water in our tent. While I was taking care of some personal hygiene, Sue (always the diplomat) enlisted the help of the others to move our tent to a less flat, and dryer, site. Thinking I would be angry that my original choice was abandoned, I guess she figured that I wouldn't notice that the tent had somehow "warped" to another location 10 meters away. I was just thankful that the water damage was negligible, and will vow to pay more attention to drainage in the future.

Mark:
After dinner the rain picked up again and we had wave after wave of showers until bedtime, at about 9pm. Between dinner and bedtime we lay in our tents andread a bit. With occasional help from Andrea, Frank sang from Gilbert & Sullivan (I think) in his (to me surprisingly resonant and competent) baritone. I read a few passages from my field guide to Rocky Mountain plants, got a handle on the differences between milkvetch and locoweed, and between limber and whitebark pines, and tentatively identified some of the cushiony alpine plants we'd seen in the past two days. Frank tried to take a run at reading C.S. Lewis's Perelandra but there were too many distractions.

We all gradually dozed off, after taking advantage of some lulls in the storms to attend to toothcare and toilet chores. During one such lull I saw that a dusting of fresh snow had fallen on the north face of Gallatin Peak, now 5-6 miles off in the distance.

I vividly remember wishing I could take a bath rather than contaminate my sleeping bag with the smelly, sticky sweat I'd exuded over two days -- but that's camping! If the sun had stayed out longer I might have taken a sponge bath that second day using a bucket of leechless lake water. I actually had time to do that -- can't say why I passed it up.

Sue:
That evening when we were tying up the food packs over a dead tree I scrambled up a hill under some evergreens to get a long stick for the task and was pretty certain I was looking at a bear paw track in the dirt. Perhaps my suspicions were somewhat confirmed the next morning when Vic mentioned a large animal silhouette that he thought he saw in the middle of the night upon returning from a bathroom break. Andrea, too, mentioned she heard noises that night and lost some sleep worrying about bears. But, morning came and, thankfully, our food was intact. Good thing Vic didn't find any trout in THAT lake!

Mark:
The third day we woke up above the clouds. There was a high overcast above us, but the rainy, misty stuff was down in the valleys. We breakfasted and set off early, making terrifically good time down the trail to the trailhead at the Spanish Creek Recreational Site, where Kathy and Brenda were to leave a car for us. Frank:
The trail mostly followed the north side of Little Hell Roaring Creek. Among the lodgepole pine and Douglas fir we made sure we were making enough noise to alert even the deafest bear, and we saw none. Unfortunately, making noise to avoid bears means you don't see much other wildlife, but that's a necessary consequence of traveling in bear country.

Mark:
We'd predicted we would reach the car early in the afternoon. In fact it was more like 10:30 when the bulk of the party arrived at the trailhead. It was essentially a downhill trek, and we were motivated to get back to civilization/baths/kids/Doritos.

Sue:
Ted Turner has great taste in land. We hiked on an easement on his land for the last several miles of the trek, and the meadows were a beautiful sage green that rolled on and on for miles - such an expansive, peaceful, gorgeous feel to it. While Frank and Mark were swept up in a good conversation behind me, and Andrea loped along in front of me to catch Vic and Ed ahead, I relished in my solitude on the trail, gazing at fields of wildflowers that had me achi ng to take pictures. Unfortuately in my attempt to pack lightly, I left out the 3 or so rolls of film that I'm sure I would have used here. After the Indian Ridge hike, this section was my next favorite for its unique beauty and the quiet solitude that it offered.

Mark:
I realized about half a mile from the parking lot that I'd left my hiking staff leaning against a dead tree a mile back up the trail. I cached my pack behind a fallen tree trunk and jog-walked back up the trail to fetch the staff. Despite the clunky boots I was wearing, I enjoyed the running. Some people do it for sport in better shoes; I may take it up. It's incredible aerobic exercise, and gets a person into the wilderness faster than any other legal way I know. A friend of mine will sometimes do 20-30 mile runs on forest trails in just a few hours. I think I'd like to do that. I've always had a fascination for Indian "runners." I learned from a video on business paradigms the other night that the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico routinely run 70 miles at a stretch. I suppose the biggest drawbacks to trail running as opposed to mere hiking are the increased likelihood of severe injury from trail hazards, inattention, etc., and the apparent attraction running humans hold for cougars in predatory moods. Solo trail running is discouraged by the local wildlands managers for this reason, and is certainly unwise for other reasons. And of course that complicates matters, especially for us introverts.

Frank retrieved my backpack from where it was stashed and humped it back to the parking lot for me. I rejoined the group around 11:30 and we all headed home.

Frank:
The hailstorm we experienced toward the end of our first day also bombarded the Sheehan's neighborhood down near Bozeman. They experienced hail approaching one inch -- larger than the half-inch stuff we endured -- and considerable damage was done to hay, gardens, and house sides.

After we arrived, the Sheehan's house became a very efficient laundry and drying establishment, as the six of us tended to our generally wet and dirty tents, clothes, and belongings. The weather was mean to us on this trip, but, as I've observed on numerous hikes, climbs, and backpacks, it's the tough times that get remembered as time passes. Starting immediately after the trip the tough times don't seem so tough. This was a fine trip in gorgeous country, thanks largely to Mark's excellent groundwork. For me it was enhanced by the opportunity to backpack with so many people I feel close to.

Ed:
The Spanish Peaks were indeed lovely. The high trail along Indian Ridge during the second day's march was really quite remarkable. It had been several years since my last backpack trip, and this trip left me hungry for more. It was great to backpack with a group of family and friends, and in particular, it was nice sharing the outdoors with Sue.

One bummer was that we never had any difficulty finding our way, so we couldn't use Dad's new GPS to help us navigate. I had secretly hoped we would become hopelessly lost (perhaps in a dense fog) so the GPS would have been of some real use. Maybe next time....