Heard of The Snows of Kilimanjaro? What about The Snows of the Ptarmigan Tunnel? Didn’t think so.

Original date: 6/20/2024

I find myself in my third season of Red Bus driving. It’s just past mid-June. Tours have been roaring for 3 weeks, and the season is in full swing. And my pre-season hiking stats have been pretty dismal.

However, like in the stock market, prior gains do not indicate future performance. At least that’s why my finance guy says every time the market screws me.

With nothing to lose, why not grab my snow gear and roll the dice while there is still some white stuff out there to play in?

What do I do? I brave the 13-mile drive down the Many Glacier Valley? The timeless Iceberg Lake? The daunting Ptarmigan Tunnel? What did I need to start off the season with a crack and a boom? As long as that’s not the sound of popping a patella.

Driving into the MGV never gets old. Of course the current two-and-a-half miles of heavily pot-holed dirt road does, but that should be paved in time. And I have plenty of that.

Unless driving that road is punishment for something I forgot I did to someone I no longer know. Karma has a way of being so cryptic at times, but like the bear bell in Polar Express, I Believe.

It is amazing what a month can do to these mountains. The snow I saw a few weeks ago looked like it would take months to melt, and not even one has passed.

But trust me, there is still enough there to last well into July. Several of the most popular trails in Glacier never open before mid-July. It is crazy to consider that winter is coming back in early September.

Only two cars at the trailhead, and everything is looking good. The path starts out nice and clean, with no mud or snow. It isn’t long until I pass one of the parties from the parked vehicles. People always stop to shed clothes that first mile. A rookie hiker move. I’ll have some City Mice to deal with today.

Once the trail turned to snow, I passed the other party. Their tennis shoes were already soaked through, with miles of misery to come. This meant I was the first hiker in the valley for the day. And a decision had to be made.

Do I want to be the first person on the shores of Iceberg Lake and have it all to myself? Or can I still find a fun snow route up to Ptarmigan Tunnel?

It’s such a wonderful First World problem to have. The morning air was cool, and the shade was on my side. I had to go for the Tunnel. Iceberg Lake will always be there and it holds snow forever. But the south-facing Ptarmigan Valley gets more heat and dries out pretty quickly.

As I clear the last trees that obscure my view of the Tunnel wall, I feel my heart drop a little. I was hoping for a sheer bowl of snow and ice. There is a bit too much exposed rock for my liking.

Although Ptarmigan Lake is still half frozen over, and the shadows linger on as the sun rises, I can tell the Wall is more melted out than I would like. Heavy sigh. A week earlier it would be a completely different climb. Summer heat came quickly this year. So close yet so far.

I think I can tie together a couple of good snowfields. But it will need to be more than just think. Once committed, it’s all in.

I’m seeing a lot of signs of fresh avalanche damage. There was a June warming spell and then some late accumulation (all heavy and sloppy). These slab slides took out trees that have been fighting for their life over the last hundred years.

But I have a great imagination. I took a deep breath and took a few moments to glass the valley. Where the shadows lay heavy, it looked good. Most of the snow might be workable if I’m ahead of the sun. After all, a good snow climb is when you don’t have to double (or triple) kick every step the entire way up. That sucks.

As I plod along.  Looking back down the valley towards mighty Mt Gould is always enjoyable. Owning the only tracks in the snow puts a smile on my face. Knowing I was cutting a route that no one else would follow.

At this point, I reconnoitered the descent line. It’s always more fun than going up if you play your cards right. That big, beautiful, corniced snow drift to the far right was calling. That snow SHOULD be blown and packed tight—nice and dense. It’s a potential great glissade if I reach it before the sun softens the slope too much.

Tools of the trade. About fifteen years ago, I picked up a superlight crampon and ice axe set made in Italy. They are great for glacier travel. However, I would not trust them on true ice/glacier climbs. But for the stuff in GN Park, they are perfect and weigh almost nothing.

 

Here comes the sun. Now is a race against time. I don’t want to be still climbing when it warms up. This late-season snow will turn to sticky oatmeal quickly. And it did. Double kicks started early.

When I reach the first cornice up against the cliffs, I find out my tracks are NOT the first. It looks like another mountain goat was there quite recently.

It was time to really slather on the sunscreen, and I also started breathing through my nose. I remember on Mt. Rainier many years ago, my climbing partners were panting in the thin air with their mouths open. With the UV reflection off the snow, they actually sunburned the roof of their mouths. Ouch.

It’s time to shed some gear and get up to the Ptarmigan Tunnel door. Of course, it is still closed for the season because of the steep snow-packed trail on the backside. It’s all shade—it takes forever to melt out. But there are still views for the adventurous!

I know you’re not supposed to, but I always do. There is a friendly little Class 3 climbing gully about a hundred feet before where the trail ends at the actual doors. If you find this, it’s a quick scurry up to the top of this incredible arete. It’s easier for the true hiker but not for horses. Hence, the tunnel was specifically blasted to accommodate our domesticated four-footed ungulate friends.

I’ll have the mountain to myself today. And what a perfect day it is becoming. All sun, no wind, no bugs, and no people. What more could a GNP climber ask for?

After exploring this park for almost forty years, these views can only be described in one word: Timeless. As I age and become the natural victim of human frailty, I peacefully reflect with a tear in my eye how these peaks will remain beautiful forever.

The trail coming up to the backside of the tunnel from Lake Elizabeth looks truly horrifying. It was blasted out of a sheer cliff wall, that acts as an accumulation ledge, which the snows of winter love to cling to. It’s even a little dicey to hike when it’s snow-free (if you are even slightly bothered by exposure).

All the colors of the Glacier National Park rainbow. The wonderful blaze of the azure sky. The deep cerulean hue of Lake Elizabeth. The ardent reds of limestone on aptly named Red Gap Pass. And the snow is more brilliant than bleached mountain goat bones piled at the base of slippery cliffs. Hmmmm. I should have quit when I was ahead.

 

 

I’ve never been at the Tunnel during any time of the season with zero wind and such mild temps. So I threw down my pack for a bit and kicked up my boots. I rested my hands behind my head and stared up into the sky. I did bh something I haven’t done since I was probably eight years old.

 

 

I just watched the clouds move. I was amazed at how it cleared my mind. There was no social media, no meaningless news. There is so much constant static in the digital age. It was the best minute I had had in a long time.

But the road home is long, and everything that goes up must come down. I must reluctantly leave my ariel Fortress of Solitude and return to the riff-raff of the valleys.

For the return, I skirt the lake’s left side. A place I’ve never been, and today seems the day. I abide by the rules and never cut switchbacks coming off the Tunnel. But that’s the beauty of a snow route. You can go wherever you wish and leave no impact or trace. Plus, it changes every year, so you never get bored.

Getting down the mountain was fun. I kept on snow as long as possible to enjoy the glissades (and so I wouldn’t have to take off my crampons). Maybe being lazy. I enjoy the crunch under every step. It was just a fantastic day to be alone in the mountains and away from the tourists on the trail.

I spotted some people down on the trail. I stood out because I was the only thing on the solid white snow. Either a two-legged goat or someone was getting their first Yeti sighting. I passed the group a few miles later on the trail. They were three women about my age. They wanted to go to the Tunnel but stopped at Ptarmigan Lake, fearing all the snow (a wise move given their equipment, or lack thereof).

It was nice to chat with people who were enjoying the early season of the Park. And yes, they did humorously call me Big Foot. I thanked them for the generous compliment. Two looked puzzled, and the other one laughed. Nice to see my foot size = penis size joke was not totally lost. GoatBoy gives people things to talk about later.

I did my best to take in all the valley views from up high. Because anyone who has been on this trail knows it has become a human carnival (the bad kind).  But i don’t mean that in a bad way.

The main artery attracts a thousand people a day during the high season. Honestly, it should. This place is incredible. Sometimes, the price you have to pay for this beauty is … having to share it with others

The beaten path is only beaten if you stay on it. Even though GP gets three million visitors a year, they concentrate in really a very small area. If you try, getting lost in a million acres is easy. Even if you are just half-assing it.

I’m glad to have you tagging along with my adventures. GoatBoy out.