Day of hiking, or on the water? A wonderful first-world dilemma!

Original Date: 7/11/26

Not just another St Mary Lake adventure. This time I explore the estuaries beyond the head of the lake. A lot of moose and bear sign, and birds that amaze! Here is the Strava map. Tag along for my latest water adventure!

When I get up in the morning and see the St Mary Valley socked in with clouds, I think about hitting the snooze. But Glacier can fool you. Never give in too soon (more importantly, know when to quit and run away – a later story).

I have everything I need in the van for a trip afoot or afloat today. I never gear up until I figure out which it will be. I should start packing along a set of pajamas. Some days it’s just better to catch up on sleep if the weather won’t cooperate.

But wait. Was ist das? Ist das pralles Leuchten auf den Bergen? Es ist, es ist!! The decision has been made for me!

Old Blue (as I call my Aquaglide 140) slides into the water like an old man sinking into a warm bath (sans groans). The only ripples were mine. Not a breath of wind. The calmest I have ever seen the water. What I didn’t realize was that this would turn out to be a 12-mile day.

And all of that scary morning fog was going to burn off perfectly as the sun started to enter the valley from the Great Plains. With the first beams I could feel the chill begin to melt off.

Those beams also warmed the land, and the physics of thermal induction began to kick in. And thus entered the wind. Not enough to slow me down, but I lost the incredible glass with those amazing reflections. Rats.

One reason this turned into a seven-hour day was that I brought my binoculars. It was so quiet, and I was able to drift along unnoticed when resting my paddle for a bit. Adjusted the seat and quietly scanned the shoreline for movement.

An interesting thing. You can barely hear the traffic from the Sun Road on the lake. Yep, that one. The only thru road in the entire million-acre park. When I’m traveling right down the middle of the lake, the pavement is barely 2,000 feet from my kayak. Yet passing vehicles are but a whisper.

When I float to the far shore of the lake, I hear zero road noise (except for the occasional honk, because that’s how some people enjoy their time in our National Parks). There is also a trail along the roadside, and I catch bits of hikers’ chatter when the wind is down.

Alas, no wind up at the head of the lake! Things had gone glassy calm once again. The only movement was the ripples in my wake. They would quietly radiate toward the shore, then slowly fade to nothing as their kinetic energy was magically absorbed.

Being able to see all of the major peaks up at Logan Pass from this vantage point is so incredibly poignant. Knowing there is a throng of people up there, crowded and fighting for parking, all trying to enjoy what I can take in from afar and truly appreciate on my own terms.

The water was so still that natural lake debris and pollen were trapped, almost stagnant in the surface tension (a lot of science terms in this post). Almost too beautiful to break with the bow of my kayak.

So sometimes I would pull my paddle and drift. The full sun on my back. Just kick up my feet and lean back in the kayak seat. It’s amazing how fun it is to listen to nothing at all. Other than my Zoleo pinging every 12 minutes. 🙂

I study the shoreline at the head of the lake. It’s choked with heavy brush and deadfall trees. To be expected, but I know there should be a couple of finger channels into those headwater marshlands.

The lake’s very shallow here. For about 200 ft out from shore, it’s only a foot to a foot and a half deep. That is why I never see fishing boats back here. But for me, I didn’t even scrape the rudder. The last of that fog burned off, and it is truly a glorious and clear day.

I find my way into the first channel of water. I wasn’t sure how far back it went or how far I could go into the forest. There were a lot of muddy banks and lots and lots of tracks. Some were clearly bear, and some were… something much bigger?

Here is a map snippet of the area I was exploring. Of course, I had no idea where this channel led—just followed the water and relaxed.

The estuary started wide but narrowed quickly. Big tracks everywhere now, and from their spacing, it was obviously the walking gait of a moose. This is perfect, Moose County. Lots of marsh, water, willows, and cover from predators.

Although peaceful, I could hear faint voices from time to time. Later, I would check a map, and the very end of this waterway is only about 500 feet from the trail to St Mary Falls. So I was hearing some blabbering hikers on a very busy trail.

Funny to think that people fight for a spot to park to hike that busy trail to the falls, and I could experience this all by myself just a few hundred feet away. 🙂

Next I thought I would try to make my way up the inlet – the mighty St. Mary River. All of that pure water comes from seasonal snow and glacier melt a couple of thousand feet above at the Continental Divide. There was LOT of deadfall. And the current was pretty strong.

Later, I checked the maps, and yes, I would NOT be trying to enter the river’s mouth. Especially an inflatable! And I don’t think I would have the skills for a hard-sided craft either. Given all the moose signs, I sure wouldn’t want to walk it.

Time to move on to the other estuary. I could barely make out the entrance given the mirror effect on the water. What a day it had become!

I follow a cliff that abuts the channel and make my way through the stillness, just dipping in an oar about two or three times a minute. Enough to keep the kayak gliding forward, and yet keep me in the moment as everything just made my senses explode.

Later, when I checked the channel on a map, I started thinking that maybe if I could get on the lake in mid-May, the water level might be high enough to bridge over to the St Mary River. A way to avoid all of the deadfalls that guard the waterway’s mouth. A firm maybe.

This is probably my newest and now favorite view in the entire Park. Going to the Sun Mtn at a very unusual (and never photographed) angle. The flora and fauna were simply perfection.

Drifting into this pristine wilderness is something so hard to really put into words. And the pictures feel so flat and lifeless, as I try to capture a four-dimensional experience. One that can’t truly be shared.

But hey, I’m GoatBoy. I must try. So if you have 40 seconds and can turn your volume all the way up, see if you can understand what I mean.  

Now I am 1500′ from the crowded St Mary Falls trail, and only 3000′ off the busy Going to the Sun Road. But this wilderness kindly consumes the static of the world. The ultimate natural noise-canceling headphones. I kicked back, closed my eyes, and listened to birds for I don’t know how long.

And there were a lot of birds. If you skipped the video, here is a sampler of what lulled me into being so lazy.

But I’m many miles from home. Time to get paddling and make my way back!

After a while, I found a nice little beach to land and stretch out. Had been in the saddle for a long time without a walk.

Old Blue looks pretty sharp against the greenery, water ripples, and azure skies. But it really pops when I step back a little.

There have to be a hundred little coves like this along the 20+ miles of St Mary’s shoreline. I plan to explore as many of them as I can this season. So far, outside of Silver Dollar Beach (near the boat dock and a trail), I have not found a single footprint.

So when you dilly dally this much on a mountain lake, you are inviting the weather to make a change. And so it did. The chop slapped the bottom of the kayak like a base drum. But what about Mini Goose??

I landed on the windward side of the little rock of an island, but still dragged the kayak up plenty far as not to lose it.

How many millions of things had to go right for this tree to root on this barren rock?

How often does a seed find a crevice to sprout before it gets blown off by the next storm?

But I was right! The wind was at my back on the return. My upper torso acted like a sail. But it is a weird feeling to have white caps rolling up from behind.

I did make two mistakes. I had to loop Wild Goose Island one last time. And land at Silver Dollar Beach. Which means I had to paddle INTO these waves for the better part of a mile. Wow. That was miserable—bad call.

But a good way to end the day. Although long and tiring, there were just too many fine moments to be bothered by a little wind and sore shoulders. 🙂

GoatBoy out!

And Patrick sucks. Although, with his arm span, he could have probably paddled that wind with just his bare hands.