Swiftcurrent Valley a destination hike? Only in May.

Anyone who knows Glacier Park will tell you the same thing about the early season.  In May, you might be able to get road access, but the high places are to be respected.  They are not for you quite yet, regardless of how much you would like them to be.

I found out this even applies to the tail end of May, like Memorial Day Weekend. The official start of summer in what is often called the greatest country on earth (generally by the people living here).

I’ll admit the logistics of this outing were just bad from the start. But it helped me figure out an approach for future trips, as I see this Red Bus driver thing going on for a while and my affinity for early-season Glacier hikes not abating anytime soon.

June weather in the Park is always a crap shoot.  May (loosely called spring) weather is a downright a lottery draw with million-to-one odds.  Everything at elevation is inaccessible because of snow.  So, let’s take a wild walk down the Swiftcurrent Valley!

With the trail wide open and a low cloud ceiling, this was going to be more exercise than anything else.  Kind of like jumping on the treadmill of a local gym after hours when no one is around.  Sure, there were a few locals in the parking lot, but no one that would keep up with me.

I’ve hiked this valley many times.  And I’m pretty sure I have never seen THIS creek bed with water in it.  It’s gone with the melt by early June and bone dry.  To be honest, I normally see tourists sitting on the bridge because they think it is a trail rest bench.

If anyone told me upper Redrock Falls could ever look scary, I would laugh right in their face. Unless they said those trees were full of bears. Which I’m sure they are. And I would not laugh.

Or maybe they were just imagining my face in front of Redrock Lake? Again, I would not laugh.

Just along the shoreline, I came across a movement. I looked directly into the eyes of a moose and stopped her mid-bite as she masticated the leaves of a freshly budding willow. I kept moving, like when you walk into a women’s bathroom by mistake and hope no one sees you before you can get back out.

She was more interested in that willow than me.  I gave her respect and kept my distance.  Well, respect with a touch of deadly fear as these animals scare the hell out of me.

Heavy Shield Mtn is still accumulating snow, and it is almost June.  Depending on when the heat comes on this season, it could be cloaked in white well into July.

Mt Grinnell is often ignored.  Lost in a sea of more impressive sculpted and higher peaks.  But today it casts a dominance on the valley I’ve never noticed before.

I start thinking about how many times I’ve blown down this very trail.  Always in a hurry to get some place or get home from some place.  Always just passing thru.  But today is a little different.

As expected, I came up short of Bullhead Lake, which has a nice rolled-up suspension bridge. Courtesy of the NPS. Given how tiny and low-flow this stream is and how high the bridge, I’ve often wondered this this makes it on the NPS winterization must-do list for the SWC valley.

I could ford it. I see tracks where it could be done with a lot of effort—clearly much more than I wanted to give on this particular day. So I just decided to bask in the tranquility of where I was rather than check off a couple more boot miles.

There is a subtle beauty at the back of this valley.  The grasses and sedges haven’t come in yet.  Clouds are low.  There is an unusual amount of wind in this bottomland (which means the Pass must really be howling).

I stopped for a little while and listened. I mean, I really listened. Every now and then, I have to remind myself that whereas destinations (and the planning of them) are what get me going, the real magic is often found in the simple awareness of one’s environment.

Toward the end of the hike, the sun tried to regain the mouth of the valley near the Many Glacier Hotel with reasonable success.

The tiny little waterfalls everywhere caught my ear.  All of these would be gone for good in a few weeks.  And if you have never heard of these tiny waterfalls, I guess one could argue that they never existed.

All of this is just a process—the unrelenting steps that nature take to wake up Glacier National Park every spring.  Slow.  Steady.  Methodically.  A regrowth and renewal procedure that has been used for hundreds of years.  If not thousands.  If not millions. 

Every season patiently waits for the sun to return to that perfect part of the celestial orbit where it can wake, grow, flourish, fade, fall, die, rot, and finally sleep—a deep, exhausting slumber in the depths of cold no man could ever understand.

It was such a simple hike—not spectacular—but at its very core, it speaks to the essence of the mountains and why I love them so much. 

What a joy they bring to me, both mentally and spiritually.  Although ever eroding and slowing grinding into dust, they are my constants. They will never change in the short time I share with them. 

Like that rare friend, or loyal confidant.  Always in the background, guiding you from child to adult and finally back to a child.  Providing ever-present solace through the entire arc of your life.  Until that last slow exhale.  Eyes closed.  Lips smiling. Heart forever still. The final absolute.

If I were to have a grave marker: Luctamen vitae concedat felicissimos et quietos somnos. Along with some CDs from the late 1980s.