Did Counting Crows rock your world? Me neither. But Crowfeet Mtn. will.

Original date: 8/29/2023

Does anyone remember Counting Crows? An early 1990s alternative rock band out of the Bay Area with some folk vibes? This may ring a bell.

My climb up this mountain is a lot like this band. It has been there for a long time and was just ignored. There is nothing to make it stand out. And once you get into it, you find there is a lot to offer and are left pleasantly surprised.

I give you Crowfeet Mtn. It is carefully tucked in the middle of nothing spectacular off the headwall of the Ptarmigan Tunnel valley. But at over 9,000 feet, you should show it some respect.

Since the first few miles share the Iceberg Lake trail, I thought I would have nothing to share. But I do. I come around a bend, and a young female moose is staring at me.

I make some Bullwinkle jokes, and she gets pissed off and starts walking towards me. Now, that is a scary thing. I start calmly backing up.

She will not leave the trail. She stares like she will charge at any moment. This went on for about ten minutes.

Eventually, slower hikers backed up behind me, and we formed a group big enough for her to find something else to be pissed off about. She had yet to be wed.

But there were a few minutes when I thought I might become known as the guy who bear-sprayed a moose.

I see Crowfeet in the early morning sun a couple of miles before I turn off the trail and go all feral. It is very unassuming.

Despite unexpected moose and possible bear activity, I needed this early start to see how long I could climb in the shade the mountain would cast.

All righty. I’ll have the usual swath of forest to push through—a couple of bands of cliffs. Maybe find a nice gully with handholds. And then get up the ridge and walk it —a piece of cake.

I can see why the switchbacks to the Ptarmigan Tunnel hold snow so late into the season. The walls of this cirque have a lot of northern exposure.

I left the maintained trail just at the foot of the Ptarmigan Lake and began to gain some of the nearly 4,000 feet of up required to get to the top.

I can dodge almost all bushwacking, which is always a love/hate thing. I also discovered that this is the only peak I will ever climb where I can SEE the summit cap during the entire approach. It’s disheartening to see a dot that never gets closer.

Across the way, I look at the ridge that begins the Ptarmigan Wall. I can almost pick out a route up it. Some day.

I contemplate if it’s worth what little cartilage I have left. The day hikers on the trail below grow faint as the hiking trail becomes but a narrow thread.

And an incredible view of early morning shadows on Iceberg Lake. The vistas start taking on a landscape painting tone as the sun paints the day.

Sorry for the blurry pic. I had to zoom in full. Horse travel has not been on this trail since the Park Saddle Company (under the Great Northern) folded in the early 1930s. Hmmm…..

And this is it. There are about another 2000 feet of classic Class 3 cliffs and ledges, too. But I’m still in the shade!

I spoke too soon. Here comes the ball of fire. That summit cap seems so close. But I still have at least two hours of slow grinding gain, one step at a time.

This mountain is literally millions of micro layers of sedimentary rock. That all appear to be peeling apart simultaneously. I’m hoping for a nice scree ramp going to the summit cairn.

Finally, I reach what I have been climbing to the entire morning. What I believe to be the summit cap.

But all I see are some steps that might be passable on the left and a chimney that looks downright scary on the right. I’ll wait until I’m on it before I crap my favorite hiking shorts.

The summit ridge is incredible on its own, and I wonder about the value of the last 40-50 feet. But I’m not seeing anything higher on the ridge.

Yeah. It looks a lot worse in person. I’m sure there has to be a higher point. I started pulling up the maps I downloaded on my phone.

I walk around to the chimney side. This block of rock clearly is the true summit. But I do not see a simple way up it. Or one that isn’t going to cost me a lot of skin.

Yep. Without a doubt, this damned jumble of rock is the summit cap. I checked some route descriptions and confirmed it to be true.

I also see pictures of people on top in climbing harnesses and helmets. I should have read this when sitting in my cabin at Beargrass.

On closer inspection, I finally see it up at the top. There is the summit cairn, and this is the standard route. Well, it was time to get busy living. Take a deep breath and watch the footholds more than the handholds.

I added a rock to the top of the true summit cairn so that I would have a connection with Crowfeet. Now that it has fully gained my respect.

I gaze upon Chief Mountain in the distance. This peak has powerful spiritual significance to the Blackfeet. And it is a big one to have bragging rights to.

There was more ridge to run up here than I could see from below. It was all narrow and crumbly, but I needed to explore anyway.

The trailless, untouched, pristine Kennedy Creek drainage. Massive Appekuny is the giant red dome directly across the valley.

Another view of Mt Seward, Chief, and part of Yellow Mountain. The valley below holds the Red Gap Pass trail.

This goes without saying. The arete that forms part of the Iceberg Lake cirque and the razor-thin Ptarmigan Wall.

The back side of one of my favorites of many decades, Mt Henkel. With Lake Kennedy several thousand feet below.

The entire Yellow Mountain Complex. You can see why I tried to ridge-walk that monster. Miles of high-elevation hiking with views forever.

A close-up of Chief Mtn. This is sacred to the Blackfeet in many ways. A lot of people have it on their climbing list. Oddly, it has never been on mine.

The summit rock is horrible, and I have doubts about stretching to make the hand and foot holds on the way down.

So, I painstakingly took my time and picked my way down. Back on the main ridge, I grabbed some snacks from the pack I left there. It was much more enjoyable to take in the views when my heart was under 120 bpm.

This is one of the few peaks where a panoramic shot can’t capture what I see. Feel. Think. Breathe.

It is hard to believe I’ve ignored this mountain for almost four decades. Crowfeet has a lot to give and share. But you must be willing to give a little in return. Or a lot if you do the true summit.

It is finally time to start heading down. Far below is a sliver of Ptarmigan Lake. You can trace the entire trail to the end of the valley, where it terminates at the tunnel.

One of the best parts of this climb is all the stunning views you get during the descent. Several thousand feet of open slope requires little route finding, so you have safety and the time to look around.

It’s nice to view one of the most popular hikes in the park (Iceberg Lake) from a distance where I can appreciate its beauty and unique features from afar. Without the crowds, which are like flies on nature’s most purest of fruits.

Mt Merrit and Old Sun Glacier command the view. Looking at all those bands of colored rock is like looking through a picture book going back over 1 billion years.

I clear the last band of cliffs. The final drop is a lovely open scree slope that will drop me at the foot of the lake and next to the trail home.

Unlike the moose, the little deer had no problem sharing the trail with me. Just the way I like it.

That’s right—no bear spray for you, little guy. Heck, most people would even pet you. It’s an excellent way to go through life. Unlike you bully she-moose cousin I met today.

It was a good day up on Crowfeet. Again, such an unassuming mountain that has a lot to offer. Eight hours spent well, with just over ten miles in the round trip.

I couldn’t ask for a better morning on a better day. It was an excellent last hike to wrap up my 2023 Glacier Park Red Bus driving season.

I would be back home a few days after this hike. I would have to start working on what turned out to be a massive blog backlog of content.

But first, I had to count my tips for the season. And pay homage to my good luck charm. She became my Patron Saint of the Going to the Sun Road.

I hope the little girl who forgot her on the bus didn’t cry too much, but this little mermaid brought so much joy to so very many over the summer.

And I couldn’t think of anything else to do with my 2023 staff appreciation cup.

GoatBoy out for the final time in 2023!