Triple Divide Pass. The making of a marmot amends.

 

Original Date: 8/11/24

If you like marmots, the walking, trotting, scurrying shag carpet-covered mammals of Glacier National Park, this might be your favorite post of mine EVER.

I have a bad history with these vile little creatures. I spoke about this in great detail in a post a couple of years ago. Since then, I bad-mouthed and wished upon the entire species the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse every chance I get. But I finally got to know them on this hike. 

I wanted Mitch to get a taste of the Cutbank area of Glacier National Park, which is often overlooked because it has nothing for tourists. There is no big anchor hotel, no great lakeshore to lounge or paddle, and no stores to buy ice cream and tacky gifts.

Nothing but Glacier Park as it was meant to be. Beautiful and wild. In the Great Northern Railroad days, Cutbank was the Mecca for fishermen. Incredible shallow, slow-moving, shaded waterways where fish could easily drift and feed. And don’t start me on the moose that love these wet, buggy valley bottoms.

I like trekking in this region. But most of it is out-and-back hiking unless you are on a pack horse (as in the GNRR days) and doing one-way traverses over passes through long valleys. You won’t find a great loop to day hike here. As long as you are okay with double-digit miles and yo-yo-ing a trail, it is definitely worth every boot scuff.

The goal was Mount James—a monster of a peak off of Triple Divide Pass. Of course, you could climb Triple Divide Peak instead. It is much lower and a very unimaginative climb.

Triple Divide is amazingly popular because the summit is a triple watershed. Yep. A man (and most likely a very limber woman) can spin and pee, knowing with confidence their salty gift will travel (eventually) to the Atlantic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean, and all the way to Hudson Bay (and hence the Arctic Ocean).

If you start early enough, you can get a lot of shade on this open trail. Once you leave the forest at the valley bottom, it’s just a matter of time before the sun starts beating you down. And what a glorious clear day – no clouds! The summit of Mt James will be majestic!

Of course, an open trail means lots of open views. And that is exactly what you get—from the sharp edge of Razor Mountain to the deep cirque of Medicine Grizzly Lake several thousand feet below. All that red Grinnell limestone pops in the rays of the early morning sun.

 

The final approach to Triple Divide Pass is obvious. The namesake peak off to the left looks a little underwhelming. As I said, most people climb it for the watershed peeing rights. Otherwise, it would be one of the many peaks in this portion of the Park that most true climbers would take a pass.

Views on the backside of the pass are priceless. But if you are day hiking this trail, you must turn around here. Otherwise, you have long miles to Lower St Mary Lake. There are few camping options, and you would need a drop car. Plus, there is a substantial forest fire burn to hike through. Ouch. Hot. Open. Not worth it.

It was at this point that I made the call that I wouldn’t make it to the summit of Mt James. I’m pretty sure I had gotten a mild case of Covid the week before this hike.

I love my Garmin watch, which I have worn religiously for the last two years. Everyone knows I love data. So above is an average day of stress (and rest) in the Life of GoatBoy.

This is my body’s stress on the day in question—the one filled with chills, fever, sweats, and fighting for every breath. My little Garmy does not lie. It ended up being about four months until my lungs recovered. I have never been so short of breath on a hike in Glacier.

I didn’t want Mitch to miss Mt. James on a perfect day. And I knew he wouldn’t come back to Cutbank anytime again this season. So, we decided to split up.

He could bag the peak, and I would chill at Triple Divide Pass and save up my limited energy for the hike out. It’s not what I would have liked, but sometimes, you must work with what you have.

This means I had a couple of hours to bask in the sun, watching the shadows slowly creep over Triple Divide Peak and the many other summits that spread out from this little saddle in the sky. I wish I had brought a sit pad and an air pillow.

Of course, when I see Triple Divide, I don’t look at it like normal people. All I can do is retrace my route from a few summers ago. You need to follow a scree ledge along the face that was a little sketchy in spots.

It didn’t take me long to realize I had made the right choice. I could have forced my way up James, but I know it would have added at least three hours to what was going to be an already long trail day. I just settled, took in the views, and closed my eyes.

A few other day hikers came and went, but I had the pass to myself for the most part. There was so much peace if you just sat and listened—such serenity in focus. It’s a magical place. It reminded me of being up at Ptarmigan Tunnel early in the season, where I watched clouds for the first time since I was a child.

And that is when the Spawn of Hell descended upon my peace, breaking my solitude and stealing my serenity. All I could wish for was a .22 rifle with subsonic ammunition—a LOT of ammo.

I started to feel like Jane Goodall in the middle of all her gorillas in the mist. Except there were no poachers in Glacier Park to help me quell the onslaught of these foul-smelling minions.

Like moths to flames, they were all drawn to me. I’m sure it was because, given the long hike in, all they saw was a big, slow-moving, human salt-sickle of sweaty goodness.

Once I got my gear organized in a way they couldn’t get to it, I had to shoo them away less and less. The marmots started to ignore me like an embedded reporter deep behind enemy lines. They can’t do anything about me, but as long as I’m not an a-hole, maybe they will let me be. Hmmmm.

The problem (yes, I still considered this a problem at this point) was twofold. One, I didn’t like these guys. Two, the backdrops were amazing. Hmmm.

Do I let my anger get the best of me and ignore what could make for some fantastic photos? Or push all of the hatred down, ball it up, and unleash it on the kids on my school bus when I return to my so-called other ‘real life’ in the fall?

 

It’s time to be the bigger man (or mammal). There will be a lot of crying from the kids on the school bus as they see and feel the full wrath of years’ worth of fury formerly directed toward these shaggy little footballs.

What could I learn from these marmots in this lofty place? What were they trying to tell me?

What really made me turn the page was this interesting couple (no, I didn’t give them names, but I was getting close).

The female has a smaller and lighter color pattern, while the male is larger and has a bushier tail. Something familiar was present between the two.

Like they had spent seven months in a hole. In the dark. Under winter’s blanket. Season after season. And had a connection. 

It took a couple of hours. But as a foreigner in a foreign land, it felt like the marmots had invited me in. Or were they waiting for me to leave their summer foraging grounds?

Either way, we tolerated each other. So, this is a cease-fire. A kind of peace. Truce. Making amends for…. no wrong that was ever done? Hmm.

Mitch came down off of Mt. James, tired but happy. It’s a big hill with a 4k gain from the parking lot. He had a good time and enjoyed it.

Just as I had enjoyed my time at Triple Divide Pass, I still had enough in my lungs to make the trek home.

A trip that started with me trying to share a different part of Glacier Park with my son took on a couple of new attributes.

Mitch got some solitude and time away from Dad. Dad got peace of mind and let go of his hatred of marmots.

You don’t know how much energy it takes to hate something until you let it go. Once you do, you feel the fool. But then comes the peace. And finally comes the sweet rush of freedom as you release that stupid, needless weight from your life.

No, I won’t take it out on the kids on my school bus. Like bodybuilders in an old-school gym, society is continually adding weights to the bars of our next generation, waiting for them to fail, and they don’t even know it.

Air is to breathe. Life is to live. Find the passion that drives you and only you. Everything else just fills the void from when the eyes first open until they close for the last time.

But remember, I’ve been wrong so many times before.

Humbly, gbo…