Chase Outdoors

Nancy Chase arrives at Crypt Lake

As a life long New Englander, I don’t get the grizzly bear thing.  I mean our gentle black bears run if you whisper, “Boo.”  Unlike our benign bruins, grizzlies have a nasty reputation.   Recently, while my wife Nancy and I were hiking in Yellowstone National Park, an angry grizzly mauled a runner in nearby West Yellowstone.  I understand that they perceive us as intruders, but mauling is a little unfriendly and definitely inhospitable. 

We assumed we’d been spared during our Yellowstone hikes because we carried a whole gaggle of clanging bear bells attached to our packs.  On an earlier hiking trip in Grand Teton National Park, a Park Ranger had recommended bear bells.   In late June, we arrived at Glacier National Park in Montana with our packs festooned with an array of the latest, state-of-the-art, irritatingly noisy bear bells.  Prior to our first hike, we stopped at the Park Store near the Visitor’s Center.  Times have changed.  Now, they sell horns, bear spray, and bells.  And, after a human visitor thoroughly aggravates an angry sow protecting her cubs from these threatening devices, curling up in something approximating the fetal position is recommended as the final defense.  In Glacier, Park Rangers claim bear bells don’t work.  In fact, they suggest the bells act like a grizzly caller.  So, why are they selling them at the park store?  Is this the penultimate “hidden tax?”  The Park Service sells useless bear bells to help fund the General Motors bailout.  How many naïve hikers have been consumed by grizzlies while desperately shaking their bear bells bought in good faith at the Park Store?

I have to say that just about my least favorite means of meeting my demise is being torn apart and devoured piece by piece by a hungry grizzly, especially if I’m conscious during part of the process.  So, when I hike in grizzly country, I want airtight assurances that I and my loved ones won’t be attacked.  If bear bells are actually callers, who is to say with certainty that horns and sprays will work?  Blowing a horn at a charging bear seems like a futile exercise.  Better to throw it at him and run like hell.  Carefully taking aim and successfully hitting an attacking bear in the face with bear spray seems like it would require the calm presence of mind and steady hand of an astronaut or a cat burglar.  The fetal position defense strikes me as an eminently risky procedure particularly after enraging the bear with bells, horns and sprays.  What to do? Short of staying home, there doesn’t seem to be an answer.

Glacier National Park is a spectacular place with majestic, scenic vistas throughout.  For our first hike, we chose a 3 mile trek to Avalanche Lake.  Surveying the area, it looked like grizzly country to me.  However, since it is one of the most popular hikes in the park, it seemed likely the grizzlies would cull out the elderly, slower people first.  The trail follows Avalanche Creek past a series of waterfalls and cataracts before arriving at Avalanche Lake, which was surrounded by snow crested alpine summits with waterfalls cascading off cliffs to the lake below.  Grizzlies won’t tolerate shabby views.  After a pleasant picnic lunch at the far end of the lake while guardedly watching for grizzlies, we passed a deer blocking the trail on our descent, but no bad news bears.

We joined a group of friends for what was reputed to be “the best hike in Canada” for our second day in the park.  Located in the Canadian section, we took a boat shuttle across Upper Waterton Lake to the trailhead for Crypt Lake Trail.  The trail ascended through a conifer forest to an alpine environment that was obviously a popular grizzly habitant.  We were a group of about a dozen and, being a runner, I was quite sure I could outrun most members of our party.  However, I was not sure how Nancy would fare, which was cause for concern.  Once above-tree line, the path passed by and over a substantial waterfall and approached another 600 foot falls.  Following switchbacks, we climbed steadily on a narrow exposed trail to a tunnel that nature had gratuitously carved out of the side of a cliff.  After creeping through the tunnel, we emerged on an even more attenuated path with a fixed cable attached to a vertical wall on our left and a sheer drop of several hundred feet opposite.  No place for those who suffer from vertigo – like me – and no room to share with a huge furry critter with sharp claws.  Carefully negotiating our way up the steep, exposed ledge, we passed through a wooded area above the falls and were greeted by a breathtaking view of Crypt Lake.  Almost completely encircled by rocky peaks with snow filled gullies reaching to the shore of the partially ice covered tarn, the surroundings were surreal and captivating.   The word cryptic comes to mind.  Beautiful weather, tired muscles and fabulous vistas dictated a long, relaxing respite.  A mountain goat was spotted on a cliff hundreds of feet above, but we were apparently in a grizzly free zone.  We completed our 12 mile hike, which included a side trip to Hell Roaring Falls, in time for the last boat shuttle of the day.   

For our final hike, Nancy and I arrived early at the Many Glacier trailhead in the east central part of the park.  Hiking southwest along Swiftcurrent Lake, we had only traveled about a quarter mile when we encountered a huge deposit of fresh bear scat confidently left in the middle of the trail.  This was the real deal.  Only a gargantuan bruin could leave such a massive amount of waste.  No bear bells or human limbs were observed in the heaping pile but perhaps he or she had spit them out.  We were alone on the trail and dismemberment seemed to be moments away.  Tentatively, we continued to Lake Josephine with our bear bells creating a cacophony of irritating sounds and then began an ascent towards Grinnell Glacier.  Expecting an enraged grizzly at every turn, instead we were treated to a series of splendid views of the glacier and the snowy summit of Mount Gould.  After a couple of hours without encountering hikers or grizzlies, we met two middle-aged men who reported that a sow and her cub were in the area.  Due to hazardous conditions, hiking on the glacier was fortuitously prohibited.  Our hasty return trip was uneventful.

Glacier National Park is truly a hiker’s paradise.  My advice on avoiding grizzly bear encounters:  Don’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Enjoy the views along the way.  For information on more outdoor adventures, see my website at www.ronchaseoutdoors.com.   For details on the best mountain hikes in New England (a grizzly free environment), obtain a copy of our book, Mountains for Mortals – New England.

Ted & Helen Sparks on Middle Fork Photo by Evelyn Hopkins

Who would have thunk it?  Almost July on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho and there I was, an aging kid from Topsham, Maine, accustomed to the frigid waters and cold winters of New England and the Maritimes, near hypothermic. 

We were at the end of our third day on the river and had experienced a continuous diet of cold air temperatures, colder water and raw rainy weather.  Adding to the challenge were exceptionally high river levels that were still climbing as a result of a late snow melt and a couple of gloomy weeks of rain.   We’d just pitched our tents and most of the group was beginning a hike up Loon Creek to hot springs estimated to be about a mile away.  Not me.  The skies were threatening more rain and I was in dry clothes and staying dry.  After a bone chilling day of kayaking, I had one goal in mind – a lengthy siesta in my warm sleeping bag where I hoped to raise my body temperature to at least a balmy 85 degrees Fahrenheit.     Earlier, one member of the group had remarked that after three days their dirty laundry was accumulating.  “I have a different standard,” I remarked, “If it’s dry, it’s clean.”  While others were running out of clothes, I was accumulating more.  I was begging or borrowing anything made of neoprene or fleece and on river looked more like a colorful version of the Pillsbury Doughboy out of his element rather than a whitewater kayaker.  Just moments before, Kim, who was riding one of the rafts, offered the use her heavy fleece sweater for the following day.  “Sure,” was my instantaneous response as I wondered to myself if her fleece pants would fit my under paddle pants? 

Called the River of No Return because of its numerous challenging rapids, the Middle Fork of the Salmon River is one of the most spectacular and exciting whitewater expeditions in North America.  Located in the 2.3 million acre Frank Church – River of No Return Wilderness Area in remote central Idaho, it flows tumultuously through steep canyons for about a hundred miles before joining the Main Salmon.  Along the way, there are dozens of exciting rapids, campsites located where Natives Americans lived 10 to 12 thousand years past and enough history and geology to fill volumes.  Wildlife is abundant as significant populations of bear, deer, moose, sheep and goats inhabit the canyons.  Pictographs painted by the Sheepeater Indians and earlier Native American peoples can be found in several locations and soothing hot springs offer relief after long days of paddling.  For me, just one thing was missing, “Warmth.”

Our “group” consisted of paddling friends and acquaintances from New England, the southeast and Midwest.  Most of us had previously shared whitewater river adventures on the Middle Fork, Grand Canyon, Costa Rica, Quebec, Ontario and numerous other trips.  We paddled kayaks, canoes, C1 boats and a shredder (two-person inflatable whitewater boat).  The Middle Fork is a permit river and we hired the services Canyons, Inc., located in McCall, Idaho, to provide raft support.  Canyons has regularly scheduled raft trips on the Middle Fork and can carry camping gear, food, stoves and that essential for overnight trips, toilets – called groovers.   The raft guides are familiar with the rapids, although no one seemed to know the lines at the high water levels we experienced.  Lack of familiarity with the rapids resulted in what I affectionately called “scouting till we dropped.”

The trip began at Boundary Creek about an hour northwest of Stanley on June 19^th, approximately three weeks earlier than our previous trip in 2002.  Everyday was gloriously warm and sunny on that memorable outing.  Our goal this time was to maximize water levels by starting earlier and taking advantage of “spring” snowmelt.  In that respect, our plan was a howling success.  Arguably, too successful, as unusually heavy rains and snow had raised the river to much higher levels than we had anticipated.  Presumably it’s one of Newton’s Laws – snow and ice that has just melted is wicked cold.  Maybe that’s one of Murphy’s Laws. 

Initially, the river flow was only moderate and more technical in character than big volume.  Rapids such as Velvet Falls, Lake Creek Falls and Pistol required precise moves to avoid intimidating holes and hydraulics.  Pistol was particularly challenging for our group with multiple flips, rolls and a couple of swims. Lake Creek Falls is a new and interesting rapid that was formed by a creek “blowout” a couple of years prior.  Formerly a gentle pool above Pistol, now the water tumbles precipitously into a powerful hole that must be skirted to the left and then quickly feeds into Pistol creating the potential for a long, unpleasant swim.

On Day Four, the river gods smiled on our rain sopped group.  The sun greeted us at dawn.  For the first time on the trip, I could see my shadow when I awoke, which I interpreted as an omen portending favorable weather for our remaining three days on the river.  The warm temperatures were particularly fortuitous as several creeks had dumped thousands of cfs in the river and from that point on most rapids were pushy, big volume Class IV runs with large waves and scary looking holes.   Running rapids like Tappan Falls, Haystack, Redside, and Weber, our journey on the Middle Fork culminated with the huge waves and sticky holes of Rubber Falls.  Some in our group attempted to skirt the main wave train by dodging holes on river left while others challenged the big breaking swells in the center of the river.  Each option had its casualties, but all boats and paddlers were safely reunited at the bottom.  We finished our trip with a couple of miles of enormous, Grand Canyon-like waves and nearly 30,000 cfs on the Main Salmon.  Next time, I’ll wear a dry suit or maybe a survival suit!  I might not fit in my kayak, but I’ll be warm sitting on the raft looking like a undersized version of the Goodyear Blimp. 

For additional information on more outdoor adventures, visit my website at www.ronchaseoutdoors.com.  Obtain a copy of our book, Mountains for Mortals – New England, for details on the best mountain hikes in New England.