The bus left them, kicking up dust from the dirt and gravel park road. The girmen (girl-women) covered their mouths and noses with shirts and began looking for the best place to begin the hike down toward the McKinley Bar. Fortunately, the mountain was out that day, so orienting proved effortless, to a point. Then came the dense brush with willow bushes high above their heads. Jen’s roommate guided them through the stand, until they reached a clearing.
About a hundred yards down the slope they could see Jen’s dream come true: A grizzly stood in the tundra, its gaze looking toward them just as they came into view. The park rangers told everyone in those days to try and scare the bears away. Waving one’s hands, attempting to look bigger and yelling would ignite a bear’s natural instinct to stay way from humans. If those tactics failed, then covering as many body parts as possible (particularly the neck and head) while curling into a tight ball and playing dead was the next best option.
Jen began waving her hands in the air and half-singing, half-yelling, “Hey, Mister Bear!” The rest of the girmen joined in waving and yelling and even jumping up and down.
To their relief, the bear turned and began running toward the mountain. . .then three fluffy dots trailed behind her. A MAMA BEAR! They watched her cover more ground in 5 minutes than they could in the next 3 hours. They stared at each other in disbelief while their knees wobbled and the packs suddenly weighed twice what they had before. Mama grizzlies strike terror in hikers who know, because mama grizzlies do not play with the safety of their cubs. They will fight to the death.
As they continued to hike downward, they rehearsed their good fortune and kept a sharp eye out for any more bears.
After several hours of walking through the tundra, they met their next obstacle: a river. Because of their glacial origins, the river’s water remains icy cold and filled with glacial sediment. Coming from thousands of feet above, the waters move swiftly. Because of the silt, one never knows how deep the water is and some get swept away.
Photo credit here.
Jen’s roommate knew this well, so she oversaw the reconfiguration of packs to keep everything hip height or above. The Southwesterner was tall and had somewhat more experience camping and had forded a stream at least once, so she got more gear while Jen and the Southerner got less. They discussed strategy for successfully reaching the other side, namely linking arms and holding tightly to each other while carefully securing each step less someone slip and take them all downstream.
Jen’s roommate scouted the river’s edge to find what she guessed was the best place to cross. Then they lined up: The roommate, Jen, the Southerner and then the Southwesterner. The water froze them immediately and with each step, they went deeper into the current. They yelped and screamed but kept inching toward the other side.
Wet from hips to toes, they emerged victorious and shivering. They spent a few moments taking off their boots and wringing out their socks. The Southerner was amazed by the glacial sludge and its ability to color everything. Gray water poured from her socks, the bright clover green of her Merrell boots turned murky, her white cotton thermal underwear, a dull gray which never washed out.
Then they put socks and shoes back on and moved on. They had miles to go before dark.
(To Be Continued)
2/25/26
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