[at-l] Magiical hiking moments/places . . .

[icw at esisnet.com (Clark Wright)]

Hey, I figured we all could relate to this question (school is now back 
in session):  What is one of the most magical places/moments you've 
experienced while out hiking?  [Ms. Liteshoe may already have one-upped 
our urge to share with that blue heron story, but maybe not! :)]  Here's 
one of mine (a bit long, but I have always wanted to get this story down 
in writing, so here goes!):

About 15 years ago, my buddy Paul and I spent 10 days in Glacier 
National Park.  It was summertime, and the crowds were closing in a bit, 
so we decided to see if we could talk the rangers into giving us the ok 
to hike up to the continental divide near (I think) triple divide pass, 
travleing past one of those awesome high elevation glacial lakes that 
the God seems to have enjoyed sprinkling liberally thru the Rockies!  
Anyhow, we managed to talk the rangers into issuing us backcountry 
permits for a couple of camp spots, combined with a non-trail section up 
and over the divide - even though we did not have any crampons, axes or 
ropes.

I'm fuzzy on the details, but we parked at a trailhead and headed out up 
through beautiful aspen-like trees on a sunny day that was warm enough 
for the shirts to come off.  After some beautiful miles climbing upward, 
we suddenly noticed that the sun was gone, and dark clouds building.  
About an hour later, it began to rain.  Then came sleet and snow; then 
came thunder and lightning - close by, with no obvious shelter - only 
exposed rock and scree and occasional scrubby vegetation.  Paul and I 
were both in shorts - needless to say, the shirts and rain gear were now 
on, though.  When the lightning started dancing in the clouds and on the 
mountains around us, my heart was in my throat; I always have to take a 
deep breath when a storm rolls in fast on me in the woods - when I was 
about 15, I was seriously shocked by lightning while climbing in 
Linville Gorge, NC . . . and while me and Mother Nature have a pretty 
good relationship when it comes to electricity, I still have to let that 
involuntary adrenaline surge pass when the first CRACK! comes down.

Once the lightning subsided, we figured we had to walk on, as we now 
were in the middle of clouds and fog, still with sleet and rain, and no 
obvious place to camp or seek shelter.  We still had a faint trail to 
follow, but it soon petered out.  About that time, we smelled a bear - 
in my mind, Grizzly for sure.  I've encountered my share of Grizzlies in 
Glacier and other places, but this time I was seriously on alert, as 
neither we nor the bear could see more than 5-10 feet.  Paul and I 
decided to make as much noise as we could, and while we think we were 
close enough to hear it over the rain, we never got to formally 
introduce ourselves.  As we continued to climb, we began to encounter 
more and more snow, until finally we decided that we could not safely go 
any further up to the divide.

At least we did have a good topo map and compass, though it was a bit 
hard to see any landmarks with visibility still down to a matter of 
feet.  We pretty much had two choices; try to backtrack down the way we 
came up - or - try a bushwhack down Virginia Creek where, according to 
the map, a well defined trail should appear after a mile or two.  While 
discretion might be the better part of my valor today, back then Paul 
and I would do anything to avoid admitting defeat by hiking back down 
the way we had come up!  We managed to find the head of Virginia Creek, 
patted ourselves on the back, and began walking down the faint 
beginnings of the creekbed.  Oh, did I forget to mention that it was 
still raining and sleeting at about 35 degrees, with the wind whipping, 
and us pretty much wet - and that the light was beginning to fade?  :)  

Virginia Creek will always live vividly in my mind . . . as we walked 
further down, the scree turned to scrubby vegetation, and then to some 
serious vegetation, and then to impossible-to-walk-thru vegetation . . . 
At that point, we were getting more than a bit worried; there was now no 
turning back - we were gonna find a way down Virginia Creek, or else . . 
. and the only way down at this point was to hike in the freezing waters 
of the creekbed itself, where with each passing minute the water grew 
faster and deeper.  After about an hour of creek walking, I was starting 
to get so hypothermic I could not even control my large muscles very 
well.  Talking was tough, but we kept it up to bolster our spirits - and 
in case the bears needed any company.

Finally, I told Paul that I was not sure how much further I could make 
it, and that we might need to try and fight our way laterally through 
the vegetation and see if we could set up some kind of a desperation 
spot for the night.  Paul told me I was crazy - Virginia Creek was now a 
full-sized stream, with steeper and steeper sides, so we simply 
continued to obey the law of gravity and slog our way, stumbling and 
falling, down the icy cold waters.  After what seemed like a second 
eternity, we both heard a deep rumbling sound.  It got louder; my frozen 
mind told me I recognized that sound, but I couldn't seem to place it - 
besides, the water around us was making enough of its own noise . . . 
and I was not sure that I really cared any more . . . then, suddenly, we 
damn near hiked right over about a 80-foot waterfall - straight down.

Paul and I looked at each other for a long moment, and just when I think 
we might have even seriously entertained the thought of trying to 
scramble down that 100 foot cliff in the dark (yes, by now it was damn 
near black outside), using a flashlight we spied a small shelf of rock 
located right at the precipice.  Our tent was an awesome one to have at 
that juncture - a Wild Country, fully self supporting 2-person, 2 
vestibule baby that sure seemed sweet right about then!  It took us 
about 20 minutes to fumble with the poles, get that sucker up, throw our 
packs into the vestibules at each end, and fall inside.  Part of me 
simply wanted to go to sleep right then and there - no sleeping bag; no 
dry clothes; just sleep . . .

Instead, we managed to find some dry clothes, get into our sleeping bags 
and cook some hot food out the front vestibule.  I cans till remember 
those first sips of hot lipton chicken noodle soup - food has NEVER 
tasted so good before or since.  We cooked two dinners, drank more soup, 
and then fell sound asleep to the constant, imposing-yet-soothing roar 
of the Virginia Creek waterfall . . .

The next morning was magical - the sky was beautiful, the sun was out, 
and the air smelled crisp and clean.  The view over the waterfall and on 
down Virginia Creek was spectacular . . . there was just one, small 
problem - how in the heck would we get down?  We figured we'd get 
smarter on that after breakfast  .  .  .  and we did.  After roaming 
around our little ledge, packing up and carefully picking our way around 
the top of the waterfall, we spied a faint game trail, complete with 
some good sized tracks that may well have included a wolf paw print or 
two . . . sure enough, the game trail gave us a doable downclimb to the 
base of the waterfall.  After warily watching a couple of moose down in 
the vegetation below, we managed to pick up a slight trail, and then the 
true Virginia Creek trail, which ends near the base of the waterfall.  
 From there, it was an easy hike down, and ever since Paul and I only 
have to say the words "Virginia Creek" to spark some of the most vivid 
and sharp memories of what it means to be alive, to fight to stay alive, 
and to have found a way to enjoy it all!  Glacier National Park is one 
of my all-time favorite places to experience, and the rest of our trip 
was almost equally incredible (someday I'll tell the tale of our awesome 
encounter with a female Griz and her two cubs . . . ) Anyhow, Virginia 
Creek is a spot I would like to hike back up to some day . . . and maybe 
then Paul and I will finish our cross country hike up over the divide! :)

thru-thinker
[clark}