Ah, it's autumn in Montana.

Ah, yes. It's fall in Montana. The leaves are changing, snow is dusting the high peaks, and grizzly bear are crossing U.S. Highway 93.



I guess in most of the world, they put up signs like this warning of congestion ahead, or construction. In Montana, they are used to announce the presence of megafauna.

Did I say snow in the mountains? Here's the Missions on Sept. 26.



We went to Glacier National Park a few weeks ago, but Logan Pass was closed. You could get little further than this:



So we went to Whitefish Lake instead. This picture has that real end-of-summer feeling.



Then we went up to Big Mountain Ski Area. A few years ago they changed the name to "Whitefish Mountain Resort," but as a friend said, "Only (idiotic people) call it Whitefish Mountain Resort."



We also went here, to the Clearwater Mountains. Never heard of them? Neither had I until about two weeks ago, and they're just 60 miles from downtown Missoula.





Nearby is this lovely Western redcedar forest.



Briefly, the Bitterroot burned:



Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Laura worked on pimping out the doghouse.



Together, we did the front porch. (Technically, yes, not a porch.)



And I got a new job, which we celebrated by opening the 15 year old champagne (lowercase c, yes) which the former tenants forgot in the basement. Good times. And my mom will recognize the old fondue set.



It's weird to not be a newspaper reporter anymore. But three weeks on the new job and I have yet to be lectured to about the Constitution. Good times.

Meanwhile, Missoula slumbers along.



On our many camping trips, Laura has perfected the art of morning camp coffee. Witness:



She's also worked on her lake jumping skills. No, she did not let go this time.



Meanwhile, I've perfected hiking with the plott hound. Not as easy as it sounds.



We're neck deep in the orange-and-tan time of year.



Storm's coming!

Snowfields and Butterflies

The tools of the trade make the truck stand out even on the jumbled assembly of vehicles crossing Kootenay Lake. People en route with us take photos of the mountains -- and the kayaks.



The other tools we use are less photogenic. They take us to great places, too, but leave us hobbled at the end of the day.



And so where do we go? With the Perception we cross Slocan Lake to enter Valhalla Provincial Park. Anywhere else we'd be in a national park; here in southeast British Columbia the main entry to this little-known park is by boat.



The next day we do find a road to the Valhalla; it's narrow, steep and in horrible condition. Laura walks part of the route ahead of the truck to guide the wheels and roll boulders out of the way. I think of ourselves as pioneers up until when we reach the trailhead, which is full of vehicles, even a Ford Taurus. Some pioneers we are. A short hike, however, regains the feeling. No footprints mark the rock ledge overlooking Mulvey Lakes, still frozen in late August.



Of course others have been here. I counted six climbers on nearby Gimli.



There's more spectacle to this corner of British Columbia than I imagined. Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park is a short steep drive from Nelson. It smelled like bears but the trail was marked with people of all ages. Gibson Lake hid below; after the hike we kayaked the lake in alpine twilight.



We crossed out of the Selkirks and Purcells and into the Rockies. Immediately the country opened, vistas deepened and narrow roads spread out into broad valleys. Why are there horses on this dead-end road? We saw them both ways.



Elk Lake Provincial Park must be the most boring name for a park ever invented. Elk? Lake? Who cares in this elk and lake studded country. We saw no elk, but the lakes were mere backdrops for the alpine beyond.



We hiked to box canyon ringed with glaciers spilling torrents of water into a small bowl. A party was just packing up. Again we wondered who could possibly have trod before us from a barely-marked trailhead at the end of a 65-mile dead-end road through grizzly country and a trail washed out by glacial melt? People who had spread out a picnic cloth and who were drinking red wine and who had a 4-year old in tow, that's who.



I hiked to the cirque above. I agreed with Laura I'd be back in 90 minutes, which it turned out was not enough time. I'll have to return, I guess.

We had planned to head down to Glacier from Elk Lake, but Glacier is easy to get to from our house. Waterton Lakes, not so much. We padded into Alberta and into one of Canada's gems. After a week of below-the-radar provincial parks, Waterton Lakes was annoyingly formal. Crowds. RVs. Entry fees. Rules. But also: more lakes, more mountains, more grizzly.



I left Laura alone for a day of photography while I climbed over Carthew Pass to Anderson Lake. August snow is one of the rarest of things; it's always surprising to me how many August snowfields in the alpine are colored by butterflies.

Butterflies aren't the only high-altitude residents, of course. This bighorn followed me for a few minutes while I hiked downhill toward town. I hadn't eaten my lunch yet but I was not about to share.



A storm was bearing down on the Rockies. The wind had been howling for three days, especially along the lakes. We paddled Cameron and put into lower Waterton, but gales and waves made progress uncomfortable. We entered the US and checked our voice mail, stocked up on cheap gas and cheap food, and caught the forecast: freeze warnings as far south as Missoula. We put in at one more lake, Two Glacier on the remote eastern side of the park, and paddled across. Clouds drew and we hugged the shore for protection from the wind. At the far end we pulled up on a beach and changed into hiking shoes; 3 miles beyond was Twin Falls and Upper Two Medicine. We strapped the kayaks back on the truck and drove home.



It rained much of the way.

Summits

Which is an easier way to get up mountains: afoot or aski? On skis you may slog through snow and grapple with weather, but from the top you have a leisurely schuss down. On foot your muscles carry you the entire way, but the days are likely longer, the weather likely more favorable, and the avalanche danger likely nonexistent.

Lolo Peak, June 26



On June 26 I made the last turns of the season from atop Lolo. I made my earliest start yet -- alarm at 3:30, out the door at 4:40 (What in the world do I do for an hour? Well since Laura's been gone I've been using only a stovetop espresso machine for my coffee, which takes 14 minutes from bean grind to coffee pour.) and atop Lolo Peak by 10:30.

Descent to Carlton Lake



Summer on, the snowline had retreated noticeably from the week before, and where there was snow it was often difficult to ski. But where it was not difficult to ski -- well, it was some of the best skiing of the year.

Endless 1,000-foot vertical runs from Lolo Peak's north summit



On July 3 I decided to leave the skis at home and don by new Zamberlan boots -- one of the few manufacturers who still make their boots in Italy. I slept in this time -- until 5 -- and headed up the now snow-free Sweeney Creek Road. I guess I should have brought skis as an hour into the hike it began to snow, and came down nicely for nearly two hours.

A breeze swept across this pond, creating a brief fog



While the sun did come out it stayed cool the entire hike. I was turned around at Holloway Lake by ice and snow.

Holloway Lake, July 3



Sweeney Creek Canyon



Last weekend I bought my first piece of new gear in a while -- Counter Assault bear spray -- for a jaunt into the Mission Mountains. Half of the Mission Mountains is Forest Service wilderness. The other half is in the Salish Kootenai reservation and is not wilderness -- as a management tag, it's nothing at all. There are a few unsigned roads, no trails, no markers and lots and lots of grizzly bears. Bear spray is certainly not a safeguard, but it's proven to stop bear attacks 92 percent of the time. And it's potent. I'm quite fearful of accidentally spraying myself with it; a direct shot to the eye at close range would blind me, or so the cannister says.

Most of the Missions on the Indian side actually close to human entrance from mid July to mid October so the bears can have a person-free summer and fall. The Missions are unique as they are a range not only full of the animals but also one where grizzlies are occasionally seen not just down low in forests and along streams but also crossing high peaks and passes. Surely that must be an incredible sight.

East St. Mary, Mission Mountains, July 10



I was up at 4, hit snooze a few times, and out the door by 6 (yes, another two-espresso breakfast). The trail up East St. Mary gains 4,000 vertical feet in an incredible 2 miles; the last two miles takes you up another 1,000 vertical. It's ridiculous, and nearly a full week later it's painful to descend stairs or even curbs.

Gray Wolf Peak, Mission Mountains



I made it to the summit by 11.20 a.m. It's an incredible experience to be atop a great mountain in fine conditions, and atop East St. Mary it was clear, calm and cool.

Glacier lilies



I could have brought my skis here, too, as the sprawling bowl between East St. Mary and Gray Wolf and northward holds an incredible amount of snow. The descent took two hours, and luckily I did not see a bear. After having seen one in Glacier a few weeks back I can say confidently this is one animal I never want to see again.

West St. Mary from the summit of East St. Mary -- I did not climb it. It looks hard!



Summit, East St. Mary, Mission Mountains, 9,500 feet, 11.20 a.m. July 10, bear spray at the ready

Art

On our two round-the-worlds and on our other trips we focused on buying affordable art. There are artists all over the world, I guess, and I was always surprised at the quality you could find even in non-touristy areas.

Some of the best pieces we bought were tapestries and wall hangings, which we got everywhere from Uruguay to Laos. Undoubtedly the best single piece of art we bought was a thick oil painting picked up for about $30 at a sprawling arts market in downtown Buenos Aires.

Here are three pieces we picked up that have been packed away until recently:

We bought this water color on the central plaza in Salta, in northern Argentina; I think we paid a few dollars.



On the back of this reads: "Marco Mamarra Argent. Salta Los Gauchos Trabajando 24/9/2008" Translated it is titled "The Working Herders" though the use of gaucho in Argentina is interesting. Elsewhere it generally means rancher but in Argentina at least can also mean someone who is "of the common people" and can be used to refer to Indians or even someone with gruff manners.

One day in Bangkok I took Laura on a "date." We went for a coffee and pizza and a ride on the river and took a visit to an artists' fair in the National Museum's Art Gallery, part of a sprawling complex. These small watercolors were less than $1 each.

Seascape. As the Thai coast on both sides is fairly placid, I'm not sure where this is supposed to be set.



Typical southeast Asian boats. I remember well walking through the artists' area. It was a typical hot, still afternoon and everyone was drugged into a semi-comatose state.



This one shows a line-up of Thai temples, though Thai temples look similar to those in Laos.

These Haunted Mountains

It's pale light at 4 a.m. I roll out of bed, start the coffee and take an aspirin. The signals blink red and yellow and only a few others are out. At 5:45 I'm at the trailhead for Lolo Peak.

I was up here a month ago, headed to the North Summit; in the 30 days since the snowline has receded by approximately 800 vertical feet -- rather astounding given the season.

5.45 a.m. in the Bitterroot.



On Tuesday morning, Chris Spurgeon followed this same trail alone on his outing to ski Lolo Peak. On Friday afternoon, searchers motioned a helicopter into place and lowered a winch down so a sling could lift Spurgeon's body from the summit.

I did not know him but we shared much of the same demographic: similar age, outing alone, skiing a big peak in summer. The coroner announced on Sunday that Spurgeon died in an avalanche.

From the looks of tracks in the snow there was a sizeable party searching for him. A party on horse tried at least three approaches to the ridge, all unsuccessfully, and other parties blazed and even marked new trails to the ridge, which is the halfway point and the dividing line between protective forest and windswept alpine. Atop the ridge itself tracks go in every direction, and there was the remains of a campfire. Notably, it was a group of his friends who went to the summit on skis who found the body.

I got lost headed downhill from the ridge toward Carlton Lake, and stumbled through mud and marshes and snowbanks as I wound across the wrong side of the water. Once I got to the head of the lake, however, the route was clear; searchers had put in a safe ascent trail and it was nice to let someone else do the route finding for a while.

Easier to just scruff your skis across rocks than take them on and off.



Final push to the summit.



I traversed the full length of the ridge, looking for evidence of a slide; I saw nothing. It's obvious, however, that the mountain took on a lot of weather last week; there was at least a foot of new snow in the areas where the surface had not been baked clean by Friday's sun. The final few trees on the way to the summit were rimed and so was the rock.

Like it always is, to be atop a beautiful mountain in spectacular conditions is a mesmerizing moment. I could not help but be happy -- and for a moment to wonder if that happiness should be accompanied by guilt. After all, I was standing near the spot where someone probably a lot like me had died a few days before.

Feels good to be on top.



"You could see that he ended up in the rocks," the coroner reported. "His skies [sic] were quite a bit farther down the slope. Very difficult terrain, very steep terrain. I think the lesson to be learned is if you're gonna ski in those kinds of places not to go by yourself. According to all his friends he was very highly skilled, very capable and he got in trouble."

There's some truth to that, but also some non-truth. Having partner can help you in case of an accident, but a partner can not prevent an accident. And, two or three or five or ten can die in an avalanche just as easily as one can on his own.

South from the summit.



I pushed off to centerpunch the bowl and got two turns into it and did not like the feel of the snow -- gloppy new snow atop a semi-frozen surface. I traversed to the north and put in 50 beautiful turns to the bowl's midpoint, then traversed south and took a rest, kicking off a small sluff that broadened as it pulled out a cornice below.

Second half of the descent.



I skied along the right side of the lake this time headed back and had a nice mud, rock and snow ascent to regain the ridge. The descent from the ridge in the serrated snow was difficult and eventually I figured it was easier to hike than ski the patches. I talked conditions with some of the hikers headed up and made it home by 2, cooked up a plate of bacon and started to work on the house.

Carlton Lake and the summit. Descent was on the looker's right shoulder, then a traverse to the center, and down the middle of the bowl from there.

The Other Side

I got last Friday off from work, and intended to put it to good use. We are buying a home in downtown Missoula that needs, well, "work," and figured that now might be the last chance to head out of town without worrying if I had finished caulking around windows or wondering if the primer had dried in the bedroom.

But driving home from work on Thursday, knowing my bags were all packed, I started to feel guilty: Laura had to work on Friday, and I could not see not taking her along.

I had been planning three days of, of course, skiing: one in the Flathead near Kalispell and two in Glacier National Park. We've both been to Glacier, but not for years. I could ski, I figured, while she hunted moose and grizzly with a Sony.

So instead of leaving on Thursday evening I woke up early on Friday and hiked Lolo Peak's false summit.
Mon
The false summit of Lolo Peak can be seen from all of Missoula. With the May 15 opening of the Mormon Creek Road the approach to the summit is cut from 12 miles to 3 miles. I was drinking coffee in my kitchen at 5:45 and atop the peak by 10:45.

Missoula in the upper right:



North summit Lolo Peak, an easy morning climb:



At 4 we headed north through Seeley-Swan and by 9 had set up in a closed campground just shy of the Continental Divide.



We woke to clear skies and calm weather and bee-lined to Glacier's east side for St. Marys. The road is plowed 9 miles to the Jackson Glacier Overlook. I biked 2 miles to the Piegan Pass trailhead and skied from there while Laura stayed below with the Sony and the plott hound.

Climb:



Watch out:



The upper pass is blown free, and I leave my skis behind to climb the last bit. The transformation from the valley behind to the valley below is like passage from The Known World to The Other Side. There's few views on Earth that compare to it:









Ski down, bike down, and meet Laura. Skip rocks into Lake St. Mary in the afternoon:



Nothing says camping like an empty beer bottle and 2-foot-tall bag of tortilla chips:



Chalet du Nissan:



Rain and snow overnight. Up at 5 to check the weather: heavy. Skies clear a bit at 7 and Laura drops me off again at the gate:



Three miles later, step off the bike onto a head-high snow bank:



Later, a 100-yard long tunnel has drifts all the way through it, the entrances marked by scores of prints:



Progress is halted just shy of Logan Pass by whiteout conditions and a 30-foot tall corniced snowbank. Nice view, though:



On the way home we see a black bear and grizzly fight over a deer carcass and a bald eagle on a fence post.

Today we sign for the house.