One Wilderness, Two Adventures

Two seasoned outdoorsmen test their survival skills in the Bob Marshall Wilderness

stories by Gateway Gorge and Big River Meadows in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area matt holloway and bill cunningham in the Lewis & Clark National Forest. | Photo by Randy Beacham was a toddler and the baby-to-be was six and control filtered down through months along in Corrie’s belly—there abstract paradoxes like “wilderness would still be that wild option. management,” “wildlife management” Gazing across waves of mountains, I and “wildfire management.” By thought about how Congress defined definition, however, what was managed wilderness as “an area where the was not wild. And from what I had seen, earth and its community of life are the result was a landscape pared in spots untrammeled by man,” but I had of its own natural and wild order, and yet to find such a place. Even in reduced to an artificial version of the Outdoors expert hikes through Top: Holloway the Bob, human-imposed restraint real wild. A place where ranger station } prepares for his month-long the Bob to see if wildness still adventure. Bottom: Matt Holloway exists in modern-day times self-portrait. going solo

Story and For the first time in hours, the thick world plans as needed. of clouds parted and a landscape appeared far I kicked out my feet, snowshoes flopped across Photos below—a deep valley threaded by a silver creek the snow, and sat on my pack. After glancing at by Matt and lined with snow-flanked mountains. Two the compass and reaffirming the direction, I held other large drainages flowed into this one at out the map. Just like I had guessed, the three Holloway right angles and a mosaic of burn wove them forks of the Blackfoot converged in the distance. together. I dropped my backpack on the snow Which meant that the curving, half-moon shaped and dug out the map and compass. I thought drainage that swept up to the ridge where I sat I knew which valleys these were—the North was Theodore Creek, and the smaller, side-ridge Fork of the Blackfoot, the East Fork and the to the north was my ticket to the river and camp. FDry Fork—but I couldn’t make a mistake. This Perfect. window of visibility might be the only one I got I shouldered the pack and struck out across the all afternoon to find a route down off this ridge snow. and to the river. All morning, including going Walking the ridge, I thought about how this up and over Galusha Peak, had been a whiteout trip had become a pilgrimage of sorts—a mission. of snow and fog, but the terrain was mostly I needed to check the status of wildness in the straightforward. Where I did get a bit disoriented, northern Rockies—the Bob in particular—and I had the luxury of following several-day-old I needed to check the status of wildness within grizzly tracks. myself. What worried me was that, over the Believe it or not, getting lost out here was the years, the more time that I had spent roaming sort of experience I was aiming for. My loose the mountains and getting to know the Bob I had come to think that a truly wild itinerary was to spend a month walking off-trail intimately, falling as genuinely and viscerally and free landscape might be a thing through the Bob Marshall Wilderness, from in love with this place as if it were a person, Lincoln to West Glacier, and that meant plenty of the more I had come to think that a truly wild of the past. I needed to see that time to reinfuse a little mystery and imagination and free landscape might be a thing of the past. into the modern-day wilderness journey. My only I needed to see that a real country still existed a real country still existed where a real obligation was to meet my buddy, Kyle, for where a person could go and measure himself two food drops and my family for the third. As or herself against something bigger than just us. person could go and measure him long as I made those, I could divert or change I had to believe that in my kids’ world—Harper or herself against something bigger than just us. 36 | WWW.MONTANAMAGAZINE.COM Where the land was the wildest and freest, I also felt the wildest and freest. I came to believe that the Bob still had a chance, and I knew that I still fit and belonged here.

Left: Matt Holloway’s self-portrait. Right: The Chinese Wall.

complexes, outfitter camps, planes buzzing stars froze the night sky. I bumped into grizzlies, overhead, bridges, signs, highways for trails, elk, marmots and eagles. I saw ravens, coyotes, massive and impacted camping areas, an active mountain goats and squirrels. One western runway at Schafer Meadows and plenty other jumping mouse, dozens of species of birds and trammels that fit our recreational and economic wolverine tracks. the land was the wildest and freest, I also felt the keep exploring the wild and to keep exploring agendas were accepted parts of wilderness. Forever careful, I stepped around early-season wildest and freest. I came to believe that the Bob my own landscape of heart and mind, but I believed that man had his place in the wildflowers that pushed from the broken still had a chance, and I knew that I still fit and something deep inside said that I was done here wild—I knew I sure did. We had lived here for ground: unbloomed arrowleaf balsamroot; belonged here. for now. Beyond that, I was mentally derailed thousands of years and I considered it our truest tiny spring beauties; lupine that held perfect Just as I was hitting my stride, however, the and wanted to see my family. The wildness tank of homes. But, the more I tromped around, the and clear balls of water cradled at the base of trip spun in a bad direction. In a three-mile-wide was full. more I came to realize that the old wild, the its leaves; drooping, yellow glacier lilies; a few basin of conifers and meadows, I missed Kyle At 35 miles an hour, Kyle’s Subaru was a one we once knew, a place of fiery, unbridled nodding and hairy-stemmed purple pasque for the second food drop. I walked back and rocket ship. Hungry Horse Reservoir whirled by and self-determined life, with every species flowers; and hundreds of shooting stars, their forth, turned circles, and my stomach knotted. and we descended on the hustle and bustle of writing its own story at once, concomitantly maroon corollas wrapped with a yellow band. Hot sun zapped prints from the snow, making Columbia Falls like a missile. I had officially re- and sustainably, was slipping from us. We were In the high-country, I side-stepped matted tufts tracking impossible. Knowing nothing else to entered orbit. trading processes for appearances. of moss campion—all shades of pink and purple do, I walked out and slept at the trailhead. And At home, I paused in the driveway and looked So for the next two weeks, I forded frothing and scattered like tiny islands across exposed waited, and waited. Until the next afternoon in the direction of the Swan Mountains and the creeks and freezing rivers. I bushwhacked nasty tundra and limestone. Nearby white, mountain when Kyle popped out of the trees and we Bob—a wall to the east. Wildness was there now, drainages and traversed steep snowfields, ice axe avens opened like folded hands from prayer. pieced together the mishap, discovering how writing its story, indifferent to my wants and in hand, ready to self-arrest if needed. I climbed These were days of real wildness. Days of close we had come to one another. Exhausted, I wishes, failing to bend to any control. lofty peaks—Red, Scapegoat, Flint, Haystack, freedom that floated by like gentle, halcyon threw the backpack in the car. I had touched it and breathed it. Felt its pulse. Larch Hill, Redhead, the Three Sisters and Hahn, dreams. I followed no trail, saw no sign of All night at the trailhead, I thought about I bowed my head and smiled. to name a few. My lips cracked and bled in the man, and had only the complex, myriad and whether to go back into the woods or to go alpine wind. Snow and sun split the days. Cold sovereign wild to measure myself against. Where home. Part of me wanted to keep going, to Matt Holloway is a freelance writer from Columbia Falls.

38 | WWW.MONTANAMAGAZINE.COM MAY/JUNE 2012 | 39 scenery, taking what I thought was a it Charlie; you just have to decide that relaxed pace. Charlie didn’t think so. As you want to do it.” That helped perk he lagged further behind, Polly became him up and get him into our Morrison increasingly concerned. When I finally Creek camp that evening: 10 miles dropped back to check on Charlie, he down with only 11 days and 80 more was in a staggering state of exhaustion, miles to the finish line. You can do both physically and mentally. it Charlie. Then came more rain, the I took some of Charlie’s pack weight skies darkened, and so did Charlie’s and gave him a pep talk. “You can do demeanor. } Top and bottom: Hikers Guided adventure becomes dangerous take in the spectacular when the Bob refuses to have mercy vistas along the route. on an unprepared backpacker A narrow escape

Story and Our guided backpack across the Bob Marshall After outfitting Charlie with as much suitable Wilderness was fully booked when suddenly gear as he would accept, we got an early start Photos two of our guests had to cancel. Right after on the long drive from Choteau to the Granite by Bill changing our website from “booked” to “only Creek trailhead west of the Divide. Our driver two spaces left,” we received an inquiry from was Gene Sentz of Choteau, a grizzled guardian Cunningham Indiana. Charlie admitted that his backpacking of the Rocky Mountain Front. The skies the experience was minimal but said he was tired of dreary morning of July 2 were ominous with just reading about backpacking and wanted to storms brewing to the west. Upon reaching the actually do it. The trip he wanted was a 12-day trailhead the rain let up and the sun seemed Otrek across the Bob that we rated “strenuous.” as though it might actually break through. After a few questions, we gave him the go-ahead Gene waved goodbye with a promise to meet to join us. Charlie camped at the Choteau city at Benchmark on July 13. Each member of our park the evening before, so Polly went down intrepid party of eight was in a good mood, there to check out his gear and was appalled. excited to finally be back on the trail, and even His heavy tent wasn’t suitable for backpacking. Charlie was grinning ear as his bulky bag jostled The same was true of everything else. His from side to side. walking stick was a truck window scraper. Polly With me in the lead and Polly as “caboose,” had to force him to accept appropriate gear, but we entered the Great Bear Wilderness, and made he wouldn’t give up his old backpack, a canvas the six-mile descent to the Middle Fork of the bag with no support. Flathead, the “Big River,” without incident. The Our annual trek across Our annual trek across the Bob, a different weather was turning cold, raw and windy but challenging route each year, attracts a seasoned nothing could dampen our spirits. After all, we the Bob, a different group of elite backpackers we respectfully call were roaming free in the flagship of America’s the “A-Team.” Even before we started the trek wilderness fleet—the revered Bob Marshall challenging route each there were signals that we should have picked Country. After lunch we headed upstream to get up on that Charlie was not an A-Team kind of as far as possible on that first of 12 days in the year, attracts a seasoned guy. We knew how much this epic adventure wilderness. Whenever the trail opened to the group of elite backpackers meant to him so we resolved to make it work. churning Middle Fork, we paused to soak up the we respectfully call the “A-Team.” 40 | WWW.MONTANAMAGAZINE.COM MAY/JUNE 2012 | 41 As soon as I knew that Charlie was taken care of, we had to leave if we were to have any chance of reaching our distant camp that evening. Our immediate concern was how to cross the raging Middle Fork, swollen by incessant rain.

landing strip I found a wide did we have our grub for the next stretch downstream away from eight days, we also had Charlie’s to the trail that would mean tough divvy up. We were grateful for the bushwhacking for a couple of extra calories during that cold, wet miles to get back to the Dolly early July. Varden Creek trail. We crossed Hard rain continued into day These pages: Hikers encounter all kinds of with the aid of trekking poles and five as we slogged up Wall Creek.  conditions while on their Bob Marshall careful angling relative to the swift Upon reaching the forested divide Glacier V.I.P Car for Sale Wilderness backpacking adventure. current. I doubt if Charlie’s status at the head of the White River, the even entered our minds during the sun teased us with an expansive #169 Glacier Park Transportation Company several grueling hours it took for us vista of the Pagoda Range and the The following morning, Charlie wanted out. when planes drop off float parties daily. We to finally reach the luxury of a trail. anticline of the Chinese Wall. This Our friend, Henry, a seasoned backpacker, asked told Charlie he was in luck, and so were we. He It would be 10 more days before was the heart of the Bob, and of our Polly to step aside for a talk. Henry knew what had a way of leaving early, and we’d be on our we got the report on Charlie trip, with five days to explore both had to be done and he suspected that Charlie merry way—a win-win for all concerned. I was but, thanks to an interconnected sides of the White River. Here we did also. He did, but first Charlie needed to confident that we’d be able to arrange his flight radio network, Forest Service folks would be farther from a road than vent. He complained that I had misrepresented out at the Forest Service Schafer Ranger Station. throughout the Bob Marshall anywhere else in Montana. the trip although he acknowledged that it When we got to Schafer, the station guard saw Wilderness Complex knew Basking in gorgeous weather, was rated “strenuous” with prior backpacking the need for Charlie’s evacuation. She made everything. we wandered in wilderness bliss, If you worked in Glacier Park experience required. Henry explained that I several radio calls and learned that a plane was As arranged, Charlie was flown bagging peaks, hiking cross- from 1947 to 1963 you will recognize this Packard as the“V.I.P. Car.” design these “monster trips” to be about as due in around 1 p.m. and would be going back from Schafer to Kalispell on day country, descending rocky chutes tough as my clients could stand, that this was to Kalispell. Arrangements were made and a two of our trip. The next day was and seeing wildlife including the • Twenty Second Series Model 2259, Custom Eight Victoria. our idea of having fun in the wilderness. Henry price quoted. the Fourth of July and somehow largest grizzly we’ve seen in the • Original paint, 60,000 miles signed nodded as he gently nudged Charlie to the only Then the question was how to get Charlie he persuaded Sentz to pick him up Bob. off as accurate.

conclusion that would work for him and the from Kalispell back to Choteau where his car in Kalispell and drive him back to Our final evening was spent in • No rust, lots of mechanical rest of the group: He had to bail, but how? We was parked at our house. I gave him a few Choteau. He was home long before Grizzly Basin in the company of restoration has been done. were deep in the wilderness and we wouldn’t phone numbers, including that of Sentz. we were. bighorn rams, below the towering • Includes original folding trunk carrier on the rear. see our van until Benchmark. As soon as I knew that Charlie was taken Meanwhile, back on our trans- escarpment of Hoadley Reef. We • Has been in the current owner’s In more than 200 guided wilderness trips care of, we had to leave if we were to have Bob route, day four was one of awoke to snow flurries, framing possession for 12 years since 1973, we have never had this need. We any chance of reaching our distant camp that the wettest ever. The good news perfectly our 12-day adventure • Car has been stored in an inside were only six miles from the Schafer landing evening. Our immediate concern was how was that the food drop, which across the Bob. location in Sheridan, Wyoming.

strip, grandfathered in the 1978 designation of to cross the raging Middle Fork, swollen by we’d backpacked up the Spotted Call Larry for more details the Great Bear Wilderness. The popular floating incessant rain. Bear River a week earlier, was still Bill Cunningham is a freelance writer from 406-250-7063 season on the Middle Fork peaks in early July After reconning above and below the hanging high in a tree. Not only Choteau.

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