It started out innocently enough, a hike to Mills Lake - an alpine lake touted as one of the park's most beautiful. I start out a little late (noonish) from the Glacier Gorge trail head, stopping along the way for photos of Alberta Falls. The trail is snowy in spots and hard to follow. At one point I check my GPS track on my nifty phone app and realize that I was off trail for a half mile and then rejoined the trail without even noticing.
About halfway up the mountain I chat with another hiker who warns me that the bridge to Mills is out. "But," he continues, "a mountain goat and her kids are up ahead on a cliff." "Ha! A bridge out," I think to myself, "maybe that's a deal breaker for this guy, but I will find a way around."
Up ahead I find the cliff, minus the goats. I stop for a break. As I rest, a head appears over the summit. After awhile another, smaller form appears. I LOVE mountain goats. They have such sweet expressions despite the harsh lives they endure. She watches me for awhile and eventually disappears back over the cliff top.
I continue on, past a sign warning of the washed out bridge and then there it is. Sure enough, the little bridge is cracked in half and a torrent of snowmelt rushes over the top. I walk upstream and consider crossing on the snow that bridges the creek. But the snow is really too thin and the idea seems reckless.
I decide to backtrack to the last fork in the trail and head up to Loch Vale instead, just because I like the name. At some point I realize that I haven't seen anyone for a very long time. The trail is getting worse. Suddenly, my right leg punches completely through the snow. I climb out, check my leg and move on.
Finally I enter the bottom of a long, steep chute. High stone walls form a hallway leading up into the sky. As I start up it, I hear rushing water. At first I can't tell where it is and then I realize that I'm on top of it. I'm walking on snow over a raging torrent and I have no idea how thick the snowpack is. Very ironic to have decided not to walk across the snow bridge, only to end up walking a quarter mile up a creek on snow by accident. Since I'm already halfway up the chute, I decide to keep going and hope that there is a better way down.
Then at last, I struggle out of the chute and into a gorgeous crown of peaks. Loch Vale sits in the center, a frozen jewel.
Clouds begin to gather as I catch my breath. I begin a mental list of all of the stupid mistakes I’ve made on the hike, "Wow, 10,000 feet up, snow everywhere, no fleece jacket, alone, a storm coming and the way down is scary at best." I decide to rest before I proceed to freak out. I check my GPS and I'm relieved to find that once again, I'd been off-trail. Of course the motherly Park Service provided a kinder, gentler route than my death-trap chute.
I eat, take some pictures and start looking for the official trail. Then I hear a whoop from the top of the Chute of Death. Three forms dressed in sagging shorts, converse tennies and sideways caps appear on top of a 30 foot wall of snow over the lake. I call out to them and warn them that the snow they're standing on is sheering off like icebergs into the lake. They make their way around the lake and I point out the actual trail to them. I cross paths with the "Hip-Hop Hikers" several times on my way back down. To them, the trail is a suggestion. They whoop and slide their way down the mountain. When I ask them if the Chute of Death freaked them out they say, "Not really." Either they are lying or just too dumb to realize how dangerous it really was.
About halfway up the mountain I chat with another hiker who warns me that the bridge to Mills is out. "But," he continues, "a mountain goat and her kids are up ahead on a cliff." "Ha! A bridge out," I think to myself, "maybe that's a deal breaker for this guy, but I will find a way around."
Up ahead I find the cliff, minus the goats. I stop for a break. As I rest, a head appears over the summit. After awhile another, smaller form appears. I LOVE mountain goats. They have such sweet expressions despite the harsh lives they endure. She watches me for awhile and eventually disappears back over the cliff top.
I continue on, past a sign warning of the washed out bridge and then there it is. Sure enough, the little bridge is cracked in half and a torrent of snowmelt rushes over the top. I walk upstream and consider crossing on the snow that bridges the creek. But the snow is really too thin and the idea seems reckless.
I decide to backtrack to the last fork in the trail and head up to Loch Vale instead, just because I like the name. At some point I realize that I haven't seen anyone for a very long time. The trail is getting worse. Suddenly, my right leg punches completely through the snow. I climb out, check my leg and move on.
Finally I enter the bottom of a long, steep chute. High stone walls form a hallway leading up into the sky. As I start up it, I hear rushing water. At first I can't tell where it is and then I realize that I'm on top of it. I'm walking on snow over a raging torrent and I have no idea how thick the snowpack is. Very ironic to have decided not to walk across the snow bridge, only to end up walking a quarter mile up a creek on snow by accident. Since I'm already halfway up the chute, I decide to keep going and hope that there is a better way down.
Then at last, I struggle out of the chute and into a gorgeous crown of peaks. Loch Vale sits in the center, a frozen jewel.
Clouds begin to gather as I catch my breath. I begin a mental list of all of the stupid mistakes I’ve made on the hike, "Wow, 10,000 feet up, snow everywhere, no fleece jacket, alone, a storm coming and the way down is scary at best." I decide to rest before I proceed to freak out. I check my GPS and I'm relieved to find that once again, I'd been off-trail. Of course the motherly Park Service provided a kinder, gentler route than my death-trap chute.
I eat, take some pictures and start looking for the official trail. Then I hear a whoop from the top of the Chute of Death. Three forms dressed in sagging shorts, converse tennies and sideways caps appear on top of a 30 foot wall of snow over the lake. I call out to them and warn them that the snow they're standing on is sheering off like icebergs into the lake. They make their way around the lake and I point out the actual trail to them. I cross paths with the "Hip-Hop Hikers" several times on my way back down. To them, the trail is a suggestion. They whoop and slide their way down the mountain. When I ask them if the Chute of Death freaked them out they say, "Not really." Either they are lying or just too dumb to realize how dangerous it really was.
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Alberta Falls |
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You know the snow's deep when you're looking down at the trail signs! |
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Before the hike got scary... |
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The mountain goat is the white dot to the right on the cliff top. |
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Close-up of goat. |
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Bridge to Mills Lake |
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Alternate bridge? Snow bridges the creek. |
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A Steller's Jay |
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The Chute of Death - you can see a little bit of the stream flowing over the boulder in the center. This photo was taken about 2/3 of the way up the chute. |
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Loch Vale - gorgeous! |
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Here you can see the creek that flows out of the Loch and into the Chute of Death. |
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This little guy offered to share my lunch. |
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A thirty foot crumbling wall of snow, this is what the "Hip-Hop Hikers" were walking on... |
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