Silky Shadows. Radiant Reflections. Browsing Bear. Can it get any better?

Original Date: 7/31/25

I know, I know, I know. St Mary St Mary St Mary. You are tired of it. I need to find a new place to paddle. But what I saw on this outing is truly amazing. I would even say that it was a revelation. A gift that, in retrospect, I don’t think I ever could have earned, let alone deserved.

Another spectacular morning. But this time I wanted to hug the eastern shore below the Sun Road. A little road noise, but I have a hunch. I predict that when the traffic picks up, animals foraging between the pavement and the lake would be stuck there in the early morning hours.

What I was unprepared for was all of the reflections in the glassy water. It was crystal clear and calm; I could not tell where the water met the shoreline. So beautiful. I hated cutting through it and erasing these pictures with my wake.

So I glide along as if on a sheet of satin, eyeing the shoreline for movement. I’ve come to accept that anything can happen on St Mary. Then, just past Deadhorse Point, it suddenly did. I couldn’t see it at first. I just heard it. The loudest snort you can imagine. A slight movement in the trees. And there he was.

Ok. I don’t like to edit my videos because I’m lazy. But at least I spread the best five minutes of the experience over two of them. This first is when I spot Mr. Bear. He looks like a three-year Grizzly, with a funky brown coat of fur. He came down to the shore and caught my scent. Mister Fuzzy knew something was on the water.

He dropped into the trees, but I picked him up again and followed his progress across the cliffs. To watch how he cut through the brush and hopped over logs. My best bear experience ever. Why? Because I could watch him in his world, while staying in mine. He could act naturally, without influence—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Maybe I should just quit. It can’t get any better than that. But the morning is crisp, and the water is perfect. The sun is perfect. The wind is perfect (none).

I’ve never followed this section of the shoreline before, and I intend to cover every inch. I stayed close, took my time, and kept scanning the trees and rocks for more movement (or noises). After all, I saw a bear. What else might be getting a mid-morning snack along the waterline?

As I coasted along, I was continually amazed at the rocky cliff reflections. Like some kind of giant jigsaw puzzle.

Being so near the eastern shore gave me a completely different perspective on the lake. An almost intimate experience with these ancient rock formations. Layers I’ve looked at for literally decades, but have never seen in this way before.

The really hard part of taking photos was stabilizing the kayak, keeping my oar out of frame, and getting the shot before my wake ruined the reflection. But I managed.

No point-to-point shortcuts. No straight lines across the water. Today I wanted to be up close and personal. It was sooooo tempting to drive straight to Sun Point. I could really fly on flat water like this.

GoatBoy Rock comes into view. It is so clear. Water and land were one and the same. I wanted to skirt those cliffs really close. Because I had an idea.

With the sun’s angle and brightness, and the water’s clarity, I think I might be able to get some good silhouette photos of the bottom of the lake. The silt on the rocks was just right. Today I am one with the water!

There were a couple of coves with very narrow entrances. So shallow I caught my fin a couple of times and had to wiggle off the rocks. But once inside, it was like wandering in a secret walled garden.

My own little aqua version of Eden. All of these trees were lost in the Reynolds Creek fire of 2016. Those spooky slivers of dead white wood made a wonderful contrast.

This water is not only shallow, but as you would guess, very warm. I chase a couple of schools of little minnow-looking fish around. The fish would never scatter, but turn as one giant ball. I guess I’m the big fish in the small pond today.

These coves were so much fun. Yet another personal experience, this time with an entirely different micro-ecosystem held captive within the broader schema of the main lake. The same water, but the flora and fauna felt unique from what lay outside these little protected niches.

Going to the Sun Mountain had never looked so majestic. The water was giving it a 3-D feel. I have an idea of something I want to try. To capture what it felt like not just gliding over this water, but actually becoming a part of it.

The challenge was keeping the kayak’s bow pointed just off the summit of the mountain’s reflection while kicking off with enough speed to glide smoothly. But all the while not having any drips coming off the oar to ripple the reflection.

I was having such a beautiful moment. Making fluid art. The water is my canvas, the oar is my paintbrush.

I just had to give it another try. This one sans kayak shadow, and trying to create finer ripples for a more vibrant texture. Yeah, you spend this much time in a kayak on a lake alone, your mind thinks in strange ways.

The day was just getting better. Still have not seen another single watercraft. All of this was mine for the taking.

Nearing Sun Point, watching the rocks. Little Chief Mountain stands tall and proud. I’ve been visiting the same national park for forty years, and somehow I see something new and astounding every day.

You can see all the way up to Logan Pass. The paddling was so easy that I felt like I was gaining calories instead of burning them!

I’m less than two miles from the head of St Mary Lake. Coming into view, the peninsula on the left. It is directly across from Sun Point. That is where Louis Hill once built a couple of cabins, allegedly for promising artists and painters. I will find the remains one of these days.

More miles of virgin shoreline to explore. For a park with 3.5 million visitors every year in four short months, you can still find solitude. Less than half a mile off the Going to the Sun Road at that.

Approaching some layers in the Grinnell formation. Millions of years old. But I’ve never seen it on display as I am here.

This is a great trip to write about. Why? because I don’t really have to write about anything. These pictures speak for themselves.

My stats show that about 85% of readers of my blog posts use a mobile device. Which is perfect. Because this is some wonderfully scrollable media that you don’t have to read.

It would have been nice to have another person in the kayak. Although I like having the entire craft to myself so I can bring along a bunch of stuff I don’t need, it’s really hard to experience these sights without anyone to share them with.

I was hoping to catch more wildlife, but the shores were pretty still. This far down, I did come across some voices and could see hikers on the St Mary Falls trail. Most of them took my picture. And why not? My backdrop was amazing.

And all of those tourists would go home with photos of GoatBoy bobbing around in Old Blue, proudly showing their friends and family the happiest man in the world.

I found a beach and took a little stretch before starting back. These are some of the best miles on the water to date.

And that is when the bottom fell out. I had just started back, and a thunderstorm was approaching from the north plains, pushing strong headwinds at me. I was uncomfortable with the size of the waves and should have stayed closer to shore.

I should have hugged the shore given the size of the waves. But I just wanted to be done. So I made a direct line to Silver Dollar Beach and hung onto my paddle. Next year I’ll invest in a leash.

The longest, hardest, most exhausting 2.5 hours I’ve done in recent memory. Double-digit miles in just over 8 hours.

But I got to explore the entire eastern shoreline, saw amazing reflections, and experience a bear in the way they should all be seen. Plus (and minus) – didn’t have it with anyone.

GoatBoy out!

And Patrick sucks. He’s got the legs, but not sure if his girly arms could handle a paddle in the wind I was delt.