The Maass Family Travel Journal Vol. 253: Lessons Learned with a Bozeman Buttkicking (cont'd)

When we left off, I had just happily fallen asleep in the tent after almost two days of being continually awake. It was around 2 a.m... and we had just returned from spending the evening at Storyhill Fest, which was wonderful all around.
I awoke the next morning. I wasn't sure what time it was, but it was not early. Greg was not in the tent. I assumed he was either in the outhouse or taking a little walk outside. It was very warm and cozy in the tent. I just laid there for awhile, enjoying the warmth. Then I heard a noise. A grunt. A startlingly nearby grunt. A gross grunt. Then panting. HUMAN panting, it sounded like. The next campsite was much too far away for these noises to be coming from there. These noises sounded like someone was doing something....unpleasant....RIGHT OUTSIDE MY TENT! I sat up and peered outside. Granted, my vision without my contact lenses is roughly three feet in front of my face, but I saw nothing. I lay back down, a little freaked out. There it was again. More grunting, more panting. I sat up again. Nothing. More panting. More grunts. Then Greg's voice, 'Hey, man. Can I give you a hand up?' Another voice, 'Oh yes, thank you so much. This is too steep for my 80-year-old legs to make it..' And he hauled up this poor old guy from the STEEP cliff right in front of our tent. Apparently, this guy had gone down (a different way) to fish, but decided it was too steep and then couldn't quite make it back up. He was literally on his hands and knees clinging to the steep bank of Hyalite Reservoir for dear life while I was laying cozy and warm in my sleeping bag just a couple feet away! Lesson learned: when hear disturbing noises outside of tent, especially if is daylight, maybe investigate. Probably is not mountain lion or grizzly bear or pervert, and if some poor, old fisherman fell to his death right outside tent, would feel really, REALLY bad. And possibly not enjoy rest of trip.
So, after that excitement, we had to decide how to spend the rest of the trip. We could pack up and go to Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, about a three hour drive away. We could pack up and go up to the Whitefish/Glacier National Park area, where my brother lives. We could stay in the Bozeman area for the remainder of the days, and try to find campsites on the fly. After a little discussion, we decided on option three. It was already almost 11am, and we had run across a little book, 'Bozeman's Best Day Hikes' at the festival the night before. It detailed many good hikes in the area, including one 10+ miler that was supposedly 'the premier hike in the Bozeman area.' I found that description very compelling, for some reason.

Having decided to stay in Bozeman, we ran around to find a campsite for the night. We were lucky to snag one in the lower campground, which was not quite as pretty as the previous night's site, but was right along Hyalite Creek and had the added bonus of being at lower elevation, so hopefully not *quite* so cold at night. We set up camp and decided to run into town to have lunch at McKenzie River Pizza Company, a Montana tradition for us, where we would happily dine on lodgepoles and Flathead pizza and plan the remainder of the vacation.

We gorged ourselves and planned a short hike for the rest of that day, a river rafting trip down the Gallatin River the next day, and the Hyalite Peak hike (premier hike in the Bozeman area) for our last day. Well, we were feeling pretty satisfied with ourselves at this point. That's when I decided to take advantage of the indoor plumbing at the restaurant. But in order to go to the restroom, I needed to retrieve and put on my shoes, which I had apparently removed soon after sitting down. I reached down awkwardly under the booth, and IT happened. A big twinge in my lower back. I knew what that twinge meant. It meant that all of our newly and carefully laid plans were now nothing. Because within a few hours I would have the range of motion of your average vegetable. I have an old back injury from when I fell down a marble staircase when I was 21. It flares up every now and then, about once or twice a year, and it.is.HORRIBLE. Lesson learned: keep shoes on in public places. act like civilized human being. especially if are continually lecturing niece about keeping HER shoes on in public places. really should listen to own advice. don't be hypocrite. will just hurt that much worse.

It was BAD, there is no other way to say it. Hiking that day was out. We hung around town for awhile, and we heard about a concert that night, Shawn Colvin with Justin Roth opening. That seemed like an acceptable activity for an invalid such as myself to attempt. We purchased a walking stick (cane) at a little souvenir shop downtown, and I hobbled around with that for the rest of the day. Even though I have a lot of experience with this injury, it always amazes me how much of everyday motion involves the back. When this injury flares, I literally can't do the simplest things. It was pretty disappointing, because this was likely the only vacation we'd have this summer, and I didn't drive a thousand miles to sit on my ass and just look at the mountains. Still, we went to the concert that night, which was pretty fun, and tried to make the best of things. As we settled into our sleeping bags that night, I was hopeful that after sleeping on it for a night, I would be good to go the next day. I knew in my heart the chances of this were extremely slim, and I'm sure Greg knew it, too, but I went to sleep that night hopeful, anyway.
I felt *a little* better the next morning. It did seem like sleeping (i.e.: NOT moving) had helped a bit, but I definitely couldn't go river rafting. A HUGE disappointment. I still hoped I could maybe go hiking later in the day. But it wasn't meant to be. I got worse as the day went on and I moved more. We basically sat around our campsite and talked all day. I laid down on the picnic table for awhile, because that seemed to be good for my back, until a big, nasty pine beetle fell out of the tree above me and landed on my back. I hate those things! It was decidedly NOT the vacation either of us had hoped for, although the scenery was pretty and the weather was nice. I went to bed again that night hoping for some kind of a miracle the next day.

We woke up early the next morning, because we hoped to see the sunrise. Again, my back felt *a little* better after a night of limited motion. The promising thing was that I could now stand up totally straight and walk straight with the help of my stick. I figured this meant that I was good to go for hiking. Hyalite Peak, here we come. It might seem like Hyalite Peak, an 11 or 12 mile round-trip hike might be a bit much to bite off for someone who could not even stand up straight the day before. BUT, Hyalite Peak offered eleven waterfalls along the way, then an alpine lake, and then finally the peak. Most people who hike the trail only go to the first one or two waterfalls. So we would just go as far as I felt I could, and at least we could get to see some scenery. Greg agreed this was a good trail for just this reason. I secretly hoped I would make it all the way to the top of the peak, though.

We started out a little before 7am. There were hardly any other cars at the trailhead, which had been overflowing the day before. There were no signs or postings on what to expect, just a small map. We took off and things were going okay for the first mile or so. We didn't stop at the first waterfall, deciding instead to hit it on the way back. Soon after that, I began to wonder how far I could actually make it. It's just that it was SO HARD to move without completely jarring my back. But I guess there was just something in that scenery and that cool mountain air that just made me keep walking. It really was beautiful. We took several pictures along the way. Soon we were a few miles in. We came to a *small* snowpatch along the trail. I was thrilled, as I had been secretly hoping to see snow somewhere along the trail. You could definitely see snow at the higher elevations, but I wasn't sure we would get to see any. I was extremely happy at this development, and found new energy to keep moving up the trail.

Soon, there was a lot of snow. It was everywhere. We felt a little silly for taking pictures of the tiny snow patch earlier. It was deep, too. Then, it began appearing ON THE TRAIL. Which was slippery. We slowed our pace a bit. I'm not sure when or how it happened, but soon there really was no more real trail that we could see. It was all snow. Deep snow. Rotten, deep snow, that sometimes caused us to fall through all the way to our knees or even hips. We were postholing every few steps. The sudden, jerky movements couldn't have been good for my back, but I don't really remember feeling it that much. We hiked on and on in the snow. It was pretty fun, just because it was novel, something we hadn't done before.

Then we came to a large, STEEP, snow-covered hill. We determined that this was the portion of the trail that was supposed to be 10 switchbacks, but it was under several feet of snow, so there was no other way to go but to climb up the snowfield. Looking back on it, I can't imagine what made us even attempt it. It was so steep, covered with the same slick, rotten snow that we'd been hiking in for the last couple hours. We kicked toeholds in the snow and began to slowly make our way up this around 200 foot climb. It was really tiring, because it was so steep, and we had to watch our steps so carefully. I remember resting every thirty steps, telling myself that 'you can do anything for thirty steps.' Before we knew it, although it had to be 20 or 30 minutes later, we were at the top. We turned around to admire the view. Which was gorgeous, don't get me wrong. But it was impossible not to look down at what we had just traversed and be a little, okay a lot worried about just how exactly we were ever going to GET BACK DOWN IT! Because, in many cases, going down something steep is much more difficult, albeit faster, than going up. But especially if that surface is covered in snow and is steep enough as to require switchbacks in the first place.

We decided to worry about it later, and continue onward. But soon we could no longer determine where the trail would have been, and the snow was becoming even more rotten and dangerous. We decided to turn around, probably very close to the alpine lake and maybe a mile or so away from the top of the peak.
We began making our way downward. It was SLOW going. At one point I was trying to decide on footing, when the snow totally gave way and I fell through. I no longer had to make the footing decision, but I wrenched my back terribly. We made it to the steep snowfield, and Greg began to descend. I was about 20 feet back from him. I love my husband for several reasons, one of which is his wicked sense of humor that all too often, only I get to see. But picking this time to begin making his patented snide remarks and having a running dialogue with his leg muscles was a poor choice, as our lives were literally in the balance. One false step and we would fall over a hundred feet down into a field of pine trees, or veer off a bit to the right and fall into Hyalite Creek, which was no creek at all, but a humongous, hell-roaring river with a 50 foot waterfall right THERE. Not to mention the other 10 waterfall scattered throughout. He was making me laugh too hard, so I had to stay even farther back from him, maybe 30 or so feet, so I could concentrate on coming down it one piece. This would turn out to be very significant later on.

I really can't begin to describe how steep this pass was, and how slippery the snow, and how small the heelholds we were able to kick in were. We were about halfway down, and things were going well, but all of a sudden I was falling down the mountain. It happened so quickly I don't even know what happened. I felt my considerable mass making me accelerate at an alarming rate, and I tried to dig in my feet, my hands, anything, to no avail. Luckily Greg turned around, braced himself in his inch-long toehold, and readied himself to catch me. There was obviously a good chance that, if he couldn't stop me and I knocked him over as well, that we would both end up down in the pine trees with several broken bones (at this point ending up in Hyalite Creek was not as much of a possibility b/c of the way we were facing). But he caught me, and slowed me enough so that I could get my hands and feet dug in and stand up. Looking back, I had only slid 30-40 feet, but it was scary. The good part was, it was 30-40 feet of painstaking descent that I now wouldn't have to traverse. I can't imagine it was good for my back, but I wasn't feeling much pain at that point, due to simple adrenaline, I think.

So out we hiked. And we hiked. And we hiked. It took FOREVER because of the painstakingly slow pace at which we had to take the snow-covered downhill portions. I was beginning to kind of hate the snow. As the adrenaline began to wear off, my back was hurting badly. Also my feet (I have plantar fascitis). We hadn't eaten in hours, and that was only an oatmeal creme pie back at the trailhead. It was really hard. Whenever we turned another corner and saw even more snow I wanted to cry. I knew that even once the snow disappeared, we would still have a couple miles to go, but at least those would be quick miles. It was decidedly *not fun* at this point. We just wanted to be done. But Greg said he was so proud of me, that he couldn't believe how far I'd made it that day and how hard it was for him, he couldn't even imagine what it was like for me with my injury. It was the only time in twelve years he has ever said he was proud of me.

Later we would find out that we were one of only three groups that made it to the bottom of the steep snowfield. One of the groups didn't make it up, we made it up and a little farther, and the last group, a Scandinavian couple, made it a bit farther, to the alpine lake, which was frozen solid and not particularly scenic. We met so many groups along the way that had to turn back, and NOBODY knew what the conditions were on this trail. A note at the trailhead would have been really helpful. Because nobody seemed to know how terrible the conditions were.
Once we got to the trailhead, I hastily peeled off my boots. I was hoping to god that Greg wouldn't want to drive all the way to Billings for the night, as I just wanted to crawl into a bed in Bozeman and pass out. We were shocked to find out that it was after 5pm. We'd been on the trail for an alarming ten hours! For 10 miles! That is not a good pace, people. Traversing all that snow really had taken forever, not just felt like it!

We drove into Bozeman, and stopped at the C'mon Inn. I really wanted a king sized bed. Greg wanted a room with a bathtub, to soak his sore muscles. That sounded dreamy to me at that point. We got a nice room with a king-sized bed and a big bathtub. I peeled off my socks, and pants, called it good, and crawled into bed still wearing my disgusting shirt and my legs caked with mud. I immediately fell into a blissful sleep. I think that was almost my favorite part of the hike, how easily I fell asleep afterward, knowing I had pushed myself to that point where there was just no other option. I'm a horrid sleeper, so being able to sleep easily was like a dream.

I slept for about two hours, then Greg woke me. Our tradition after a long, hard hike is to go out for a big, nice dinner as soon as we get back to civilization. Greg was very excited for this, and wanted me to shower so we could eat. Although I had eaten 120 calories and burned probably 10,000 or more that day, I wasn't hungry at all. I felt like my body had shut down to the point of not even wanting to eat or drink, just sleep. But I didn't want to disappoint Greg, so I painfully made my way to the shower, got cleaned up, and we headed across the street to a steakhouse. I don't eat steak, but since I wasn't hungry anyway, I suggested it would be good because I knew Greg would like it. We ordered fried mushrooms for an appetizer, which maybe sounds gross but tasted HEAVENLY!!!!! I had a garden salad and a bowl of clam chowder and I swear I have NEVER eaten such good food in my entire life! I'm sure it wasn't really as good as it seemed....it was just one of those pleasures that seem *so incredible* after a long, physical day of pushing yourself to the limit.

Next year we hope to make it all the way to the top of Hyalite Peak. Like Minnesota, Montana received a huge amount of spring snowfall this year, and much of it was still around in July. Barring another abnormal spring, we should be able to make it up there in July. But I'm glad we got to go this year, too. It was really a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Lessons learned: too many to count.

*A disclaimer for CAM, who is the only person who read all that, I'm sure. I wrote that story a while ago, then when I went to post it, it ended up in internet nowhereland. So I hastily re-created it, and I can just tell it totally sucks. So maybe I will write something a little better (I have some good ideas) and send it your way using snail mail