A Snowy Solo Hike
Yesterday I did something that scared me… like really scared me. To some this may seem like nothing, but for me it was everything. If you know me at all, you know how much I love to be with people. If I could, I would surround myself with people all the time. I’ve always attributed this to being extroverted, however recently have begun to discover this goes much deeper.
I am realizing more and more every day that I like to be with people simply because I don’t like the alternative. Being alone means being with myself- with my thoughts, my fears, my insecurities and doubts. Yesterday I woke up and decided to challenge myself in a new way. Not only would I be with little ole me all day, but I would do it on a solo hike… in a new area… in the snow. All these things brought me great anxiety, but I pushed through- I had to.
After texting Chase to let him know where to find my body if I died in the wilderness, I set out on my little trek. After a little bit of research, I knew this trip would only be feasible with snowshoes. So, before leaving town I stopped to rent a pair. Upon arriving at Glacier National Park, the ranger at the station assured me the hike I had chosen was “most likely” safe and that avalanche danger shouldn’t be an issue. As someone who has only spent a little time in the backcountry during the winter, this sentiment was only slightly reassuring. As I drove deeper into the park, I turned toward the trailhead and upon reaching the access road I noticed a gate with a “road closed” sign. Here is where the adventure began.
There were no other cars in sight and according to my GPS, I still had two miles to go before reaching the trailhead. But rather than abandoning the mission, I parked my car in what looked to be a parking area and put on my microspikes. Luckily, I had a bungee cord in my trunk to strap my snowshoes to my pack. I loaded up my water, way too many layers and a couple snacks and hit the trail. At this point it was already almost noon and I knew I needed to get moving if I was going to make it to the top, with the added 4 miles to my 7.5 mile journey.
The view from the access road on my way to the trailhead
I started the journey in silence, taking in the beautiful day - cool, crisp air, sunny skies and a trail all to myself. I crossed over a river and continued on up the road. After about 2 miles I came upon the trailhead. It was clearly marked with a sign about bears and cougars, the dangers that exist in the backcountry and the risk it is to make this journey alone. The sign mentioned the other visitors that came before who were injured and killed by wildlife. Although I know these signs exist in every national park with bears, now was not the time for me to see this sign and feel confident continuing on my journey alone. So, to ease some of my tension, I turned on some audible music, hoping to alert any wildlife of my presence if nothing else. For about the first mile, I looked behind me to check for signs of life every minute or two. Whether human or animal at this point, I didn’t care, I was very much in my head and very much concerned about what might be waiting to take my life. I know… very dramatic.
If you know me at all, you know, along with the whole hating to be alone thing - you know that I tend to catastrophize. When nothing is going wrong at all, I somehow imagine the worst case scenario and have to solve it, coming up with an escape plan… before there is even reason to believe something that absurd would happen.
So after about 2 hours of hiking - I was about 4 miles into my 11 mile snowy trek- I came upon what, in my head, were the largest bear prints I had seen in my life. And upon further consideration- perhaps the only prints I had ever seen. I inspected them closely, and decided it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t want to follow a bear up the trail just to get eaten, or worse, attacked and left to limp my way back to civilization. No one would find me either because I was on a completely deserted trail in Glacier. Well, let me tell you, in the moment, those thoughts were very real and very convincing, so I turned around. As I started down the trail, completely panicking, I started to see these same large “bear prints” but this time they had traction marks in the same spot on each one.
“Alright Kenz”, I told myself, “you are not going to let snowshoe prints keep you from reaching the top”. So I turned myself right around, put on my snowshoes shortly after as I began post-holing left and right and continued up the trail. I still hadn’t seen or heard any other human life at this point, so I convinced myself caution was more important than reaching the top.
As I began up the final mile of switchbacks, the snow started to get pretty slushy, the snowfield I was hiking across was quite steep and appeared to have one single track of footprints finding their way through the deep snow. Half of the tracks I followed were holes that appeared to be at least 2 feet deep in most cases. At this point, my intense fear of bears and other wild animals turned to a fear of setting off an avalanche or falling to my death on the slippery slope.
A cornice I spotted from the final switchback - be careful out there!
Even at this point, I didn’t want to give up. I was so proud of myself for overcoming fear and obstacles, uncertainty and the unknown. How could I give up now? So, I didn’t. I kept going. I turned the corner to the last switchback. At this point, I was walking with my ankles rolled to the side to get enough traction on the hill. There were moments where I crawled on my hands and knees over partially unburied trees peaking out several feet under the snow.
After making my way through several more sketchy sections, I reached a stunning outlook of the entire valley. The mountains were out in all their glory and the valley was expansive below. The river running through the mountains was the most brilliant, bright color of blue. All my anxious thoughts and fears were worth it! But, I still hadn’t made it to the lookout. I was at 5.44 miles on my watch when I started around the next corner. As I began hiking, the snow started sliding out from under me. A gully lied ahead of me, with heavy snow above and below. As I began across and the snow started sliding, I could see snowballs catching speed, taking a lot more snow with them as they fell. It was at this moment, I decided it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t know who was below, and I didn’t know what was ahead. So this is where I turned around - just 0.3 miles from the finish line.
The view into Glacier from my turnaround point
In some ways this felt like a huge letdown. I was bummed I hiked all this way just to turn around. However, at the same time, I felt more accomplished and more proud of myself than I have in a long time. I overcame my fear of being alone, on a new trail in a new park in a new state….during the WINTER. All things that even a year ago most likely would have held me back. This experience put my humanness into perspective. My life is so fragile. As humans we have very little power when in nature - so many things could go wrong - snow can sluff and cause massive avalanche danger. Animals are usually gentle, however if spooked, they are powerful and could take you down in a second. I even reflected on my own physical body during my hike - my heart beat, my joint function, my muscles holding everything together. If one thing failed, the journey would have left me with a much different experience.
As I hiked the 5.44 mile journey back out to my car, I encountered 4 groups of people. Some young and unafraid, charging up the trail at 3pm; one by himself and some just taking a stroll on the access road - each with their own stories and personalities they happily shared with me. By the end of the journey, all I wanted was to talk, so I stopped at every group I passed to connect even if just for a moment. I met a lovely couple from Denver that was willing to share the last half mile of the trek with me. As we shared about our experiences, where we were from and why we had landed in Whitefish, I felt that much more grateful for human connection, camaraderie, and shared experience. I returned to my car feeling grateful for health, for new spaces to explore, beautiful mountains, vibrant waters and blue skies. I felt grateful for time to be with myself. Time to truly slow down and feel all the things I feel so often, yet stifle with the constant noise of a busy life. I felt a rush of emotion, I believed in myself and had confidence in the woman I am becoming. Sometimes it takes an experience like this to wake up to the beauty all around us and within us. You are stronger than you know and capable of whatever you put your mind to! If solo hiking scares you as much as it scares me, do yourself a favor and DO IT!! And then let me know how it goes :) I know you won’t regret it!
Cheers to Becoming,
XOXO Kenzie
