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“Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself.”
― Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
Absaroka. On the I 90, South Montana, it is a simple road sign on the right. A simple touristic sign trying to attract the driver’s attention during a road trip, trying to convince the curious mind that there is a something that deserves a little attention outside of the interstate’s long ribbon of asphalt. A spectacular landscape that would probably deserve a little detour in order to appreciate it, a new place that would add some precious memories in exchange of a bit of our time. Sadly, this is the kind of sign we often tend to quickly forget.
Absaroka could also refer to Walt Longmire, the main character of the books written by Craig Johnson. In those books, Walt Longmire is the sheriff of the imaginary county of Absaroka.
Absaroka is actually a subrange of the Rocky Mountains, stretching across Montana and Wyoming, forming the eastern boundary of the famous Yellowstone National Park. A large part of this range is a protected Wilderness area (Absaroka Beartooth), meaning the human impact should remain extremely low: “man himself is a visitor who does not remain”. Reality is sometimes different…
The American National Parks are all stunning and wonderful, famous for most, and offer the best protection against all kind of human aggression (no mining, …) except maybe the intense tourism. It is always possible to venture a bit further, a bit deeper, or off seasons (like I did the past years), in order to find a wilder nature in those areas. However, looking at a map of the US mountains, it is obvious that most of those mountains are not part of the National Parks… Therefore, a lot of great and beautiful places (like the Absaroka) are often unknown… and that is for the best!
In October, it is possible (weather depending of course…) to hike deep in the Absaroka in order to experience a real retreat and some expected solitude while enjoying a rather unique altitude tundra and the rich landscapes it offers.
A map, a book, very little data on the internet. Perfect.
October 2012. Bozeman
Food, gas for my stove, a fishing license for a week and I’m leaving the awesome town of Bozeman to reach the trailhead and a little campsite. Suddenly I end up incredibly alone at this quiet campsite, along this nice creek (Boulder River). The car will remain here for the next 5-6 days.
“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul” — John Muir
National Forest management is not comparable to National Parks; therefore, trails are less marked and less maintained. Signs are scarce and good orientation skills are a must, especially when hiking solo. Like in Glacier National Park (read…) the past year, I’m entering again the garden of mountains goats, black bears and grizzlies. The area being especially remote, this time I’m carrying a bear pepper spray, just in case.
The backpack is heavy because I decided to carry some extra gear : photo tripod, fly fishing gear, food for 6 days in a bear canister (looks like a little barrel that cannot be open by a bear and in which you put everything that has a smell, far from your tent, during the night)
The trail gradually rises in the middle of a golden aspen groove sprinkled with conifers. The whole body lacks training and the weight of the backpack doesn’t help. The mind wanders and the air is fresh despite the shining sun. Around 2850 m (9300’) the altitude tundra appears, leaving the forest behind, and the scenery immediately widens. It is still early in the afternoon, but the sun is already cold. It is probably due to the altitude. I’m sitting for a little bit on a rock near Horseshoe lake, the first of many lakes on this wide plateau I will loop around during the next days. It is very satisfying to leave the classic habits behind, to not feel the need to constantly look at my watch, to slowly absorb the silence and the beauty of the place. Alone in the mountains, we just have to follow our own rhythm, to let our breath be the guide, to stop whenever we want. The length of the stage doesn’t really matter but I really appreciate setting my tent near a river or a lake at the end of the day. It is not only an interesting feature to photography at sunset or at dawn, it allows the fisherman I am to cast a fly in the calm waters with the hope of bringing a nice trout as well. A couple of trees around are always welcome to hang a wet piece of clothing, a bag, or enjoy the shade they could offer. Or maybe it is for another reason, as described by Erri de Luca:
“Mountain trees write stories in the air that can be read only when you’re lying under them.”
The first stage is the longest. It is not really ideal as it puts more efforts on the unprepared body, but it is the only way to quickly reach the landscape I was looking for: lakes, mountains and wide scenery.
My tent is quickly set up for this first bivouac, and like a kid, I’m running around, looking for the best fishing spot or already setting my tripod for tonight’s sunset. There are so many treasures in such a small space and every step in this new universe brings a new perspective. As usual, after a stunning and memorable sunset, the sleep is deep and restful.
On the morning, a soft light slowly awakens body and mind. It has been cold outside as the grass is still white and frozen. Lazily, I like to open the tent’s door and admire the landscape still nested in my down sleeping bag. I hadn’t divided this itinerary into stages, and I feel very free to venture around. My eyes are more and more attracted by this very nice and round summit on the other side of the lake: on the map it looks like it is Mount Douglas (11 500’). There is no trail, but its ascent seems doable.
“The mountains are calling and I must go.” — John Muir
My tent and most of the gear will wait here and I will carry only the bare minimum in a light backpack. The plateau is quickly crossed, and after a little lake the slope starts to steepen. A splendid white mountain goat is overlooking at me from a little cliff before quickly disappearing.
A little detour because of a cliff, a boulder field… Not even a faint trail, not a single cairn… it feels like hiking in a different world. Summit, break, 360 view.
I would like to stay here for a bit longer. Maybe it is possible to reach this other summit, right there, a bit further eastward? Going down, some fluffy clouds are keeping me company. My equipment is completely dry and quickly organized in my backpack before heading toward Owl Lake. The tiny trail wanders through the yellow grass of the plateau, along lakes. Nothing else seems to be alive. This solitude is thrilling.
Owl Lake. The same gestures, almost reflexes, are repeated. A very nice rainbow trout is breaking the silence of the afternoon. A bit scared by the risk of attracting bears, I release her in the dark waters. I have enough food anyway and every single bite lighten my bag. I wish this evening could be endless, time could stop while the sun slowly sets and the sky is turning on.
After a couple of days in the mountains the body follows its own rhythm and time seems to follow a different scale. Bald Eagles are flying around the lakes and I would love to see some plantigrades but for now I need to enjoy the many tracks I’m spotting on the ground. Maybe it is better that way.
Up, down. A lake. Repeat.
My camera is strapped on my backpack’s belt, ready to be used and shoot. But, as often, the best photos are the one that have not been taken. On the evening, clouds are darker and thicker. They run faster in the sky. Yesterday’s wish is fulfilled: tonight’s sunset lasts forever. It is not the most colorful one, but the show is very much enjoyable. Listening to the nearby creek, I let myself sink into a deep sleep.
The next morning, the sound of the running water seems muffled as if my whole world has been rolled in a light layer of cotton wool. It is actually almost the case: the ground is covered with some fresh snow… and it keeps snowing! I will have to adapt my hiking project and start heading toward the valley and the car. Reaching Columbine pass under the snow is pretty dramatic. I originally wanted to visit the surrounding summits, but it will have to wait another trip. I slowly start to enjoy this more hostile environment. There is always a bit of anxiety when jumping, head down, into something uncomfortable, but it brings, as well, a certain level of excitation that could definitely lead to joy and happiness. Yes, it feels sometimes good to hike up without being able to appreciate the surrounding, to move because we simply have to, because the only reasonable exit is the one offered by the refuge ahead.
“In every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks.” — John Muir
The sound of my steps is muffled. A soft light gently pushes me down toward the woods. Those are offering a little shelter against the falling snow. On the trail, a pine tree has been marked by a bear, ultimate sign of the wilderness I’m slowly leaving, bringing an end to those 4 days of solitude.
Mount Douglas above Rainbow Lake
Owl Lake
Books :
The Cold Dish – Craig Johnson
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