Cold Mountain Heights

Waterton Lakes National Park
Aug. `73

I was getting ready to continue my hike when a whole group of
hikers (at least twenty) took over my shelter. I was glad to hear
that this was their destination. I wouldn't run into them farther down
the trail. After I left the shelter, I met a group of four hikers, but
I was alone when I arrived at Lone Lake. I planned on spending the
night there, but after I took in the last three hours of warm
sunshine, I started to get scared. I was too high up. The thought of
turning into an ice cube got to me. I headed for the lakes ten miles
down the trail. What I didn't know at the time was that the trail
followed the mountain ridges and the highest pass was yet to come.

When I broke out of the trees I saw what looked like a volcanic
crater. At the rim, the trail disappeared over the edge. The incline
going up to the rim was the worst I had ever experienced, not to
mention that the hike was made twice as hard by the gusting winds and
the loose mountain dirt that I had to trudge through. During the wind
gusts, I was breathing dirt, but at that altitude it felt more like
dry ice. My mouth, nose, and throat, by the time I reached the summit,
were raw. I was too exhausted to appreciate the view, but on the other
side of the rim, I was glad to see that the trail dropped off into a
huge valley. By the time I had reached the tree line on the other
side, I was physically sick. I had been sweating, and by then I was
chilled to the bone. Although there was no hunting in the park, I
found what looked like a deer pole strung between two trees. I was too
sick to continue, so after I drank my fill of water from the stream (I
forgot to fill my canteen) I started gathering wood--lots of firewood.

I felt better after I had changed into warm dry clothes. Eating a
mixture of hot rice and powdered eggs while standing in front of a
soon to be raging campfire helped in that regard, also. It was getting
dark and I had to face my coldest night yet. While I was getting wood,
four deer, three four-pointers and a six-point, meandered into my
campsite. Just like before, the deer did not seem to be afraid. The
velvet was still on their antlers. I guess I was the guest in their
meadow.