Taking on the Tunnel. Behind closed doors.

Original Date: 6/21/2023

OK. Basically, it’s my third consecutive season working in Glacier Park. It is late June. The weather was great in early May, then sucked, then good again, and now it sucks again. So what to do when I want to get out? Off-trail really blows before, after, and during rainstorms. And I’d like some suitable gain.

For those of you who do not have the attention span to read more about the hike I picked, here is a minute and a half video that might be more your speed.

For everyone else, here we go.

So, an old standby comes to mind. It has always been a favorite in the Swiftcurrent Valley to veterans and first-time tourists alike. Ptarmigan Tunnel. Sure, I’ve hiked it often. Sure, the doors are still closed from last season. Sure, I was up there a couple of weeks ago in even more miserable weather conditions. But in the end, you get what you get and don’t throw a fit.

Remember, there is still a week plus left in June, which is considered by most to more of a late spring. Most motor inns and lodges in the Park have only been open for about two weeks. The nice thing about this time of the season is that trail traffic tends to be down a little. And on marginally cool days like this, you will get more chances to see wildlife.

I’m happy I didn’t try to climb up high. Now, the Ptarmigan Tunnel is still up at the back of the valley that divides the Swiftcurrent ecosystem from that of the Belly River farther north.

And you do gain about 2400 feet over the five-mile approach, making it a nice stretch day to get out of the cozy but cramped cabin at Beargrass. With a bit of luck, the skies might open towards the afternoon when I get near the 8,000-foot point.

There is a LOT less snow than last year at this time. As you have seen from prior posts, the season is at least three weeks farther along. Seldom has the Beargrass bloomed and faded before the start of July!!

The Ptarmigan Wall as it leads back to the wonderful cirque that keeps Iceberg Lake imprisoned. Thousands and thousands of feet of ancient sediment from the Belt Sea of millions of years ago rose, wrinkled, and erodes into many more million of pieces on the endless scree slopes.

When the light is just right, you can see a feature in the rock along the arete known as The Hole in the Ptarmigan Wall. It’s about a 20′ x 20′ hole eroded through to the other side near the top. I’ve often toyed with climbing to it, which is actually a thing. But generally, I can’t spot where it is.

Ropes and the use of proper belay devices are required. A step in my next evolution of climbing the Park I have not quite reached Yet. And when I do, it will be something much more worthy of what little knee cartilage I have left. Like Mt Wilbur (or, as the Blackfeet called it, Heavy Shield Mountain).

When I take the cut-off to the tunnel from Ptarmigan Falls, I’m amazed at how fast the brush has filled in since just a couple of weeks ago. And it really makes me bear aware. Seeing 200 feet into a forest of sticks with snow on the ground was nice. Nothing could sneak up on me without being seen or heard.

But with a wall of huckleberries coming right up to the trail, it takes more attention and awareness to your surroundings. At least I’m a long way off from the berries coming in. That’s not to say there aren’t some hungry bruins looking for a meal, still somewhat hazy from coming out of their dens.

Here’s what I’m looking for. Please give me more of that blue hidden behind those swirling storm clouds. The tunnel dead center, with the high ridge of Crowfeet Mtn piercing through the mist to the right. That’s a nice 9,000-footer I wouldn’t mind standing on one of these days. Maybe this summer?

With Ptarmigan Lake in sight, the trail looks more than melted out, and it should be a pleasant little stroll up the last mile (with only two switchbacks). A lot of people complain about the gain in that last mile.

I can only say the grade was cut in the early 1930s for a horse. So, what is steep clearly must be in the beholder’s eye (or feet).

It appears I am in the only valley not getting rain this morning. It certainly looks damp and scary. I must remember that those clouds could climb up to me anytime, so I best not waste any and keep on trekking.

Now, I did get pestered by what I can only say was a very animated and persistent golden mantle. This little chipmunk could smell the salt on my skin and would NOT leave me alone. At least he kept me entertained while I was waiting my turn.

You see, a backpack was lying at the tunnel doors, which were still locked (from the INSIDE) until the NPS determined the snow on the trail (on the OTHER) side was melted back enough for safe passage.

So clearly, someone had the same idea as me. They dropped their pack and did what you are not supposed to do. Climb the unstable slopes ABOVE the tunnel to see Lake Elizabeth and the Belly River valley on the other side.

Now, I would not leave my pack anywhere at this elevation unattended in the late spring. You are just asking for something to chew their way into it. Or worse yet, start tugging away and find that it rolled a thousand feet down the lake. AND your peanut butter and jelly sandwich exploded all over your brand new 35mm Nikon.

Ok, I have second hand experience of this scenario. But after a while, I cooled off and needed to get going.

A little diatribe from the sealed off Tunnel side of the trail.

Here is the view of the trail, which ends at the tunnel door you can’t see. I know of two good viewing notches that aren’t too scary in all that lose rock that a person can climb for a reasonably safe view over the wall.

I just hoped he wasn’t in the better one because the last thing I want to do is crowd another solo climber up there for the same thing I am. To enjoy some incredible beauty alone. And looking at my watch, they must be REALLY enjoying the hell out of it.

As I get near the top, sure enough, he’s in my spot. I wave and nod, and he does the same back. We both had the kind of peaceful smile. The one that two people share when have a common understanding and respect for the outdoors. Not looking for a new trail friend. Just want to experience the here and now on their own terms.

Sooooooo….. I went for the second notch on the wall. Where I could still have my moment and do my own thing.

The views from the top of the ridge (that you are not allowed to climb) were naturally stellar. Elizabeth shined like a diamond a couple of thousand feet below. The red Altyn scree still steals the picture even on a cloudy and subdued day.

Tracing the trail with my eyes, I do not see any snow lingering (too much) on the steep slopes the heavily trodden path cut through. The tunnel should be opening for the season very, very soon.

Every time I take in this view, I think of the goat trail route over there. On the right, just off the trail. It climbs fast and high and will drop you at Redgap Pass on the backside of that mountain. Lots of good climbing from there. Maybe one of these seasons.

This is always a view that is just fun to talk over. Hopefully not too obnoxious.

The weather started changing pretty fast and my time was done. That other guy was still up in his notch. Hats off. Must have found a little nook out of the wind. Things were really starting to howl now. Perfect time to bundle up and hit the five miles back to the truck.

It ended up being a pretty good outing for what otherwise could have turned into a down day at BRV, doing some laundry. Or maybe some light reading with hammock time.

You only know how the day will turn out. You just have to lace up the boots, prepare for the worst, and walk into the wilderness. Of course, those first steps in GNP are the hardest at popular trailheads!

Goatboy out.