A day in the shade on Going to the Sun Mountain

Original Date: 8/27/2023

Going to the Sun Mountain has a lot of things going for it. At over 9600′ in height, it ranks as a true monster by Glacier Park standards.

With almost 2000′ of prominence and an iconic glacier-chiseled face, it dominates the skies east of Logan Pass.

And since the main road in the park shares the same moniker, “Going to the Sun,” is spoken on the lips of Glacier’s three million visitors EVERY year.

Bonus: I’ve never climbed it.

And why have I yet to climb it? There has always been a lot of uncertainty about the difficulty of the cliffs on this mountain. Also, on all climbing routes, the rockfall hazards are simply legendary.

But the most significant deterrent is that Going to the Sun Mtn is not one of those climbs you want to do alone. Sadly, I have been solo for most of the thousand miles I hiked in the last three seasons.

Well, this season, all the pieces fell into place. I had a great weather window, had good company, and got a requested day off. Plus, I did something I had never done before: I bought a climbing helmet.

And so, just before sunrise on a cool late August morning, Patrick and I park the Dodge at Siyeh Bend and take off into the woods. We made a LOT of noise. There is something about pre-dawn and bears that goes hand in hand.

We use a familiar approach – the saddle between Matahpi and Going to the Sun. Both Patrick and I climbed Matahpi earlier this season (on separate occasions). But this time, instead of keeping an eye on the little bump to the left, we trained our sights on the higher bump (with scarier cliffs) to the right.

It was a stunning sunrise. As we approach the top of the lightly forested avalanche slide, we turn around and find the first rays of the day setting fire to some of Glacier’s finest: Jackson, Fusillade, Heavy Runner, and Reynolds.

Looks like we get to hike in the shade for another hour (maybe two?). Our cliff break to the summit should be just below that saddle in the distance to the right. Is that a stromatolite boulder Patrick is standing on?

The forest fades away, and we get onto the consolidated scree fields. The two mountain shadows at our feet are….. Going to the Sun and Matahpi!

We make short work of the lower maze of black cliffs and approach the first saddle just before the sun breaks the crest.

Patrick, looking down far below at the remains of the Sexton Glacier Complex, where I’ve hiked a couple of times.

An extraordinary kind of barren, melancholy hanging bench. Home of a dying glacier that imparts Yoda-like wisdom to those who take the effort to visit it.

I don’t have the same calm, thousand-yard-stare, Lewis and Clark look that Patrick pulled off. But if I was going for the dumpy, frumpy, old guy pushing sixty with a stupid hat, I ******* nailed it.

From the saddle, everything was terra incognito for both of us. The goal is to traverse while keeping the gain and find a break in that upper band of cliffs. They still look pretty vertical from here.

We are only in the sun for a few minutes, then back into the shade behind the Going to the Sun’s upper face. This is a fun hill to climb – no sunblock yet!

We find a very well-beaten climber’s trail. Why a climber’s trail and not a goat trail? Well, goats don’t make switchbacks.

I am staying cool out of the sun. Watching the peaks of Logan Pass heat up: Heavy Runner, Reynolds, and Bearhat. And a climber’s cairn marks the way.

Although this is pretty easy climbing/traversing/walking, we will eventually reach the cliffs of mystery. We opted to stay out of the “scary alley” climbing route. The name says it all.

Well. Well. Well. Just as all roads lead to Rome, we have found the rumored ‘protected Class 4 cliffs.’ Or have we? There were about three gullies that appeared to be climbable. We picked what we thought was the best of the worst.

It’s time to show some commitment. Patrick helmets up.

As you journey through your life, you never know which picture you might take that will be your last. At least Patrick wanted to be remembered as the happy-go-lucky 23-year-old living on his terms. And the fact that the North Carolina Tar Heels cheat.

So, this is what has deterred me from climbing this peak for a long time. It is only about a hundred feet. There are a lot of handholds. And some good footholds. Some are far apart for me.

Of course, Patrick is first. But I don’t know if he was the best choice, because of some obvious genetic advantages.

Sure, at six feet tall, there is an advantage there. But the real kicker is the six-foot arm span. I basically watched a California Condor climb a nasty, crumbling sedimentary rock wall above 9,000 feet in the Montana Rockies. That’s not right.

Ok. It’s right, just not fair. But hell, if he can do it, so can five-foot-eight GoatBoy. At least, that is the premise I was going to use. Now came the time to prove the theory.

I got up the cliffs. No pictures because I had to put everything in my pack and keep my hands free. But all kidding aside, this was some of the most enjoyable climbing I’ve had in Glacier in many, many years.

The temp was perfect. The pace was spot on. The rock was downright enjoyable. Texture. Handholds. And the views. I had a smile on my face the entire pitch.

We were still in the shade when we cleared the ‘hard’ cliffs with another saddle to shoot for—the last one before the summit. The sun is just waiting for us on the other side.

We kept the pace casual and relaxed; I knew Patrick just wanted to take off, like the stereotypical gazelle being chased by a cheetah.

But he was patient. After all, I still had the keys to the truck. And after meeting his Dad earlier in the season, I’m pretty sure he was taught not to hitchhike.

We approach the last saddle. Above and off to the left is the final summit cap of Going to the Sun. We are past the worst of the potential rock fall zones.

But on the sunny side, we see an old friend. Yes, there are still mountain goats up in these here mountains.

We get to the last pitch to the true summit of Going to the Sun, along a charming and well-beaten trail in the loose rock.

Yeah, this mountain sees some good foot traffic. Although once scarred from the first boots, these paths will last for decades, if not centuries.

One last band of cliffs. We are about to leave the shady side for the final time and see what the world has to show us this wonderful morning.

Wow. We got a whole lot of blue sky. These are the last few steps until being on top of the world. Well, at least the world that is known as Glacier Park.

I really expected the views to be less expansive. From this peak, you realize how small one million acres can be.

Everything keeps going on. After staring six feet in front of your face for four hours looking for the right hand holds, it is a real shock to the system. Kind of like an awakening with a touch of rebirth in a new world.

Yes, we are on the true summit. But there is a pleasant little ridge that leads off to more views for those so inclined.

Massive Mt Piegan center. Four thousand feet below is Siyeh Bend, where we parked the truck. The long, delicate ribbon of asphalt called Going to the Sun Road gently winds up to Logan Pass.

Surprise! I have cell reception up here. And it would be a waste not to use it. I sent this to a couple of the other Red Bus drivers, stuck driving their drive and slinging stories down in the valley below.

Patrick sheds his helmet for a bit of power calorie intake. After all, that lean mean stork of a hiking machine must keep the furnace stoked.

I never get tired of looking at this wall. I’ve seen it from many angles, but this is the best. Such symmetry. Balance. Sheer natural beauty as it was meant to be. Gould and Grinnell (point, not peak) are in the same optics as they were meant to be.

They are an excellent pair. Mighty Siyeh and the diorite sill, with Matahpi in the lower foreground. The incredible rock formations of Glacier.

One of the best views from the summit. So many familiar faces. All of the peaks of Logan Pass. Including that tiny, congested parking lot from hell. But…. You can only see that from here if you really want to.

This is in the top five of my most enjoyable climbs in the Park. And that spans almost 40 years. I almost feel remorse for putting this summit off for so long.

But at the same time, I’m glad I did. It would not have meant as much if I had climbed it earlier in life. We all change with time. I was not worthy then.

Yeah, what you love to hate. Dave Live!

Goat Mtn looks so diminutive now. But the peaks around St Mary Lake make me smile. That kind of smile you only get when you think of home.

Of course, my family moved a few times, so we called several childhood places home. But there is always that one you hold dearest. And mine is here.

Patrick is taking in the views as well. These mountains are beautiful. Regardless of the names Grinnell gave them (or the Blackfeet), they are eternal shrines to nature. They don’t need names to be appreciated for the wonders they are.

After a relaxing snack and kicking back up on the summit, it is time to start the trek down. Patrick leads on a well-cut path up in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, our goat friend was still foraging. I’m trying to figure out what food is work licking rocks.

It seems off that this guy would throw us so much attitude. He appears to be fattening up well. So I wonder why he has to be totally ungulate about it and get angry with us.

After eyeballing the hillside, I saw more of these guys up here. I’d love to know where their calories come from. They appear to be in a veritable food desert of vertical rocks.

We skip the saddle between GttS and Matahpi on the descent and aim directly for the avalanche chute run-offs. The game/climbing trails are so clear from this elevation. And the views are still priceless. Great climb on a great mountain on a great day.

I hate to be anticlimactic, but that’s it. From prior hikes, I’ve documented the forest route below six ways to Sunday. And I’ve been waiting years to be able to work that archaic saying into a blog post. Winner!

It was a good day—monumental peak pushing a vertical mile of gain, seven round trip, all in less than eight hours of comfortable hiking.

We got down at the perfect time between lunch and dinner at the employee cafeteria at Rising Sun Motor Inn. This translates to loading up HUGE to-go boxes and making half-foot-high club sandwiches.

Don’t start me on the Hutterite rhubarb raspberry pie or the pounds of cheese I put on the side! A glorious binge-eating end to a glorious climb. And I didn’t have to even wash a Red Bus at the end of the day!

GoatBoy out!