I think the word that I could use to best describe Glacier National Park would be “impossible.” So much of what I saw felt as though it was too beautiful, or too extreme, or too surreal to be true, and although drawing is often the best way to convey sights like that, it still didn’t feel like enough. I arrived in the park just before sunrise, to be greeted by an expansive, mirror-like lake as deer grazed on the lakeside right beside me.
My first hike was to Avalanche Lake. At the end of the trail, the lake emerged from behind the trees, an even clearer mirror than the first.
Glaciers had carved an amphitheater of impossibly high peaks, with ribbons of rushing water tumbling hundreds of feet into the lake below.
As I hiked around the edge of the lake, through sun dappled forests, carpeted with lilies and hillsides trickling with snowmelt, I hopped over streams filled with with turquoise and maroon stones.
I emerged at the end of the trail, and walked onto a thin spit of land into the water, to be greeted by a deer, placidly wandering the shore. Lakes carved by glaciers, like many in the park, have an otherworldly blue-green color caused by the finely ground rock particles that result from the slow glacial erosion. What surprised me the most was actually the lushness of the vegetation. So far north, in such rugged mountains, the hills and forests felt so green as to almost be out of place.
Visiting in May, the middle section of the park was still closed because of the massive amount of snowfall, so I drove several hours around from one side of the park to the other. Along the way, I passed through clouds of cotton from the cottonwood trees, which reminded me of home in Colorado.
I hadn’t thought that anything could outdo the west side of the park, but upon entering the east side, the mountains were even steeper and more exaggerated, and the lakes an even more brilliant turquoise.
I took a short hike down to see a river and waterfall at the base of a valley.
Deer gracefully sauntered across the trails, almost oblivious to the people, seemingly marveling at their own kingdom.
On my way back, I spotted a grizzly bear foraging up a hillside just off the side of the road and hopped out of my car (because the bear was at a very safe distance away) to draw.
The bear’s movements were more adorable than I had expected, from such a formidable and enormous creature.
She (or he?) seemed to just be blissfully chomping away, happy to be out of hibernation.
As I kept driving, I saw a line of cars parked along the side of the road (usually a good sign that there’s wildlife around). I stopped, and was lucky enough to see an enormous male grizzly in the valley below. A friendly person let me view him through their high-powered scope as well, but I kind of like the picture above. See that tiny dot in the field near the single tree on the riverbank? It shows how something as monumental and incredible to see as a grizzly bear, is rendered insignificant in the expanses of the park.
My final hike was to an overlook for the Grinnell Glacier, one of the few remaining glaciers in the park. With climate change, it is expected that all of the Glaciers in the park may have melted by 2030. The hike began following the edge of a large lake. Along the way, I encountered an area covered in mountain goat fur. Mountain goats often shed their beautiful white coats as temperatures rise, so I assumed that this one had been trying to shuffle off some of that heavy fur.
I continued hiking, across snowy cliffs and rocky paths, until I met two women who had spotted a distant mountain goat. They let me use their binoculars, and I was able to see the fluffy fellow way out in the distance at the top of a mountain. I mentioned the pile of fluff I had seen earlier, and one of them informed me that the scene was likely not just a sloughing off of fur, but the site of a mountain lion attack. This added a bit more urgency to the rest of my hike. I kept hiking, up steeper and steeper paths, waiting to see the glacier emerge. The sun was getting lower, so I didn’t have much time, and wanted to make sure I was back to my car before sundown (a popular hunting time for mountain lions).
Finally, I crested a hill to see the most spectacular view I had seen in Glacier so far. Rich emerald forests parted to reveal a sparkling turquoise lake, streaming waterfalls, and the peaks cradling Grinnell Glacier in the golden fading light. I drew as quickly as I could, not wanting to forget this moment, but also not wanting to be eaten by a mountain lion (which would prove my husband right). So I finished the drawing, and began my hike down, going as quickly as I could.
But as soon as I turned the corner at the top of a switchback, there in the teal water below was a moose! I had to draw the moose, so I whipped out my supplies and drew frantically. I then noticed a bald eagle circling over head. It was all too much!
But I still needed to not be eaten, so I kept hiking.
As the sun set, and dusk began to set in, I decided I should probably have some way of defending myself (I did have bear spray in my bag). So I picked up my pace along with two very sharp heavy rocks. I kept thinking “If I’m not eaten by a mountain lion, then this was an amazing day!” Making the trip back in ⅓ the time it had taken me to get there, I passed through the piles of mountain goat fluff with a shudder, and only dropped the rocks once I got back into my car.
Since I didn’t get eaten, this did turn out to be one of my favorite days in all of my park experiences. Glacier is truly an impossibly amazing place.