Fear on the Falls Creek Trail
Falls Creek is a tributary of the Dearborn River in the Scapegoat Wilderness. Floating the Dearborn for the first time was transformative for me. Although I have always felt a deep connection to the water from my first Montana hobby of fly fishing, I never appreciated the wild beauty of these features of our landscape until my first overnight float, on the Dearborn in 2013. The allure of the headwaters of that river was ever-present in my soul for the last 8 years.
In late winter, after a long warm spell and after getting tired of familiar and tame hikes in Missoula’s open space trails, I decided the snowpack had set up enough to climb a mountain in the Dearborn headwaters via snowshoe. The stats for the hike were modest, and I had no doubt in my mind my dog and I would be home before dark. I was wrong. The snow had not set up yet and all it took was 2,000 vertical feet of postholing with snowshoes to remind me I am a fickle visitor to the big mountains. The conditions were bad enough I had no difficulty with the decision to turn around, although it still never an enjoyable call to make. Especially after making the 3 hour drive to get there. But I knew of some potential places to look for antlers on the way home and therefore it was not a wasted day. This was the first time I had brought Denali into the big mountains, and he didn’t do so well. I was frustrated and a bit concerned for his refusal to eat as much food as I thought he should and refusal to drink water at the rate I felt appropriate. Looking back at these feelings is a bit comical as he has proven to me time and time again that he is remarkably tough and knows how to keep himself alive. Point is: my first trip into the upper Dearborn was not exactly a success and I knew I would need to come back in the near future.
(Above: My turn around spot while attempting to summit Steamboat Mountain, End of Feb., 2020)
Fast forward a few months and the snow is gone and 90 degree weather is upon us. Caribou Peak, a peak that had caught my eye as being the most prominent peak in that corner of the Wilderness, mels off quicker than other ‘big’ objectives in Western Montana due to its dry climate. Thus I wanted to climb it. I could have done it in a day, but remembered that I wanted to slow down and enjoy my explorations a bit more while I had more time flexibility. I planned a 2 day route that took me up Falls Creek, to Caribou, and down the Dearborn back to my car. My Google Earth reconnaissance of the hike alerted me to the possibility that the Falls Creek trail may not exist, as is the case with many forgotten trails not yet removed from the map in Western Montana (always a huge frustration but also an excellent demonstration of why I love this damn state). However, a quick web search led me to a few press releases about a recreational easement that RMEF purchased to allow access into the Falls Creek Valley. To say this was an incredible public service is an understatement. I believe this small, poorly documented easement to be the single largest improvement to public land access in Montana in the time I lived there. I was extremely thankful for the hard work that RMEF put in towards making it happen, and gained a lot of respect for their organization. In researching the easement, I also was reminded of a landowner feud that resulted in a murder that took place in the Falls Creek drainage a few years prior. An argument over subdivision, blocking access to public land through private property and the associated Montana values resulted in a death. While this may seem extreme, I can sympathize with the emotional attachment you can form to a piece of public land. And my emotional attachment forms quickly; within a few years. I can only imagine how 100 years of inter-generational appreciation for a place like Falls Creek could culminate in something like that. Perhaps it was the publicity of the murder that caught RMEF’s interest in pursuing an easement.
The plan was simple and not particularly ambitious; a couple of moderate day hikes and a non-technical summit; mostly on trail. My only concern was the 7 or so creek crossings; something I have only began to think carefully about after having to carry Denali across a terrifying creek crossing last spring. But I was confident enough it would be safe, albeit annoying. Morning of I woke up long before sunrise and ate a small breakfast. I had my adventure morning routine in order, and my coffee was ready for me when I went upstairs at 4 in the morning. Everything was packed, all I needed to do was give Denali some food, eat breakfast, pour my coffee, download the day’s new podcasts and hit the road. Driving the Highway 200 corridor is never a chore for me as I have countless good memories after working and playing in that area for years. Memories of discovering good music on my weekly drives to Condon when working at the Swan River State Forest, driving to the Dearborn for springtime floats, a drive to Great Falls to buy a car, shuttling vehicles for two big Bob Marshall packrafting trips and other assorted mountain memories filled my head as I slowly (I drive slow these days) approched the trailhead. The trailhead was newly constructed, complete with lots of fresh signs and plenty of parking. I was the only one there, which was no surprise to me, even if it was late in the morning according to my biased, mountain-mission tuned internal clock. I put on sunscreen and sent off an InReach message and headed up the trail. I had already categorized the trip as ‘unremarkable’ even before getting there and expectations were low. As is usually the case, I was pretty much immediately rewarded with beautiful scenery, solitude, and one of the most beautiful mountain streams I’ve ever had the pleasure of walking along. Everywhere I go in Montana proves to be remarkable to me, and no words can really describe how thankful I am for still feeling that way, even after dedicating so much effort to exploring. I could see a couple rustic cabins across the valley and wondered if they were involved in the murder dispute. I also wondered what it would be like to own a cabin in a place like that. There are always feelings of jealousy that accompany those thoughts but I often come to the conclusion being raised in that kind of landscape would actually reduce your appreciation for the Montana Wilderness, your complacency growing every year you spend there. I am thankful to be able to visit these landscapes, and the specific language The Wilderness Act uses: “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain”, enter my mind on a near daily basis. These words are sacred to me. Yet there is also something romantic about the rural-wilderness interface that takes up an equal amount of space in this state. I guess my point is I kind of like seeing cabins like that, even if the owner is a retired investment banker from out of state or out of country.
First creek crossing was a bit deeper than expected, but Denali made it. There was a brief expression of panic in his eyes when he started floating downstream a bit but he made it and knew he was never really in any danger. Creek crossing two was fine, as was three and four. But somewhere in there the trail was winding through a dense thicket of willows and the creek was very close and very loud. This is the kind of place you encounter a bear or moose. Within the couple weeks I had been charged by a black bear, stalked by a mountain lion and stepped on a rattlesnake. I like to think I am tough. I know I am tough. In the moment those encounters were all terrifying and humbling, but I never really gave them much thought or reflected on them. Winding through the willows brought a sense of fear and paranoia I had never experienced while hiking. I was afraid. It wasn’t short-term, adrenaline fueled fear like making an exposed scrambling move, dropping into a big rapid, or being charged by a bear; it was genuine, lasting fear. I turned on some music as loud as it would go and even started singing loudly to try to alert any potential critters in front of me but that didn’t really improve my comfort level. Around this same time, I started experiencing some foot pain. This is a common occurrence to me, especially that summer given how many miles I was putting in. I quickly convinced myself it was unwise to continue hiking given the mild foot pain, and I quickly turned around and headed back to the car. I would have been fine if I continued, at least physically. I knew, not even so deep down, that I turned around because I was scared. Apparently I was unwilling to admit this to myself and needed something less in my control to blame. It got very hot on the way home and I stopped for a swim at one of my favorite swimming holes on the way home and couldn’t help feeling relieved I wasn’t in the wilderness anymore. I didn’t know at the time but that fear would come back, many more times, in the coming years. I am a human being, and when creatures try to kill you, it affects you. I don’t know why this was such a strange concept to me at the time; it seems so obvious to me now. Interestingly, This summer a long-distance biker was dragged from her tent in Ovando, a small town you drive through on the way home and killed by a grizzly bear. I have spent several weeks working and many days playing in the forests, mountains and rivers around Ovando. Montana is the real deal sometimes, and I am thankful I now have a better understanding of this.
(Above: Entering the Falls Creek Valley, June 2020)
In late winter, after a long warm spell and after getting tired of familiar and tame hikes in Missoula’s open space trails, I decided the snowpack had set up enough to climb a mountain in the Dearborn headwaters via snowshoe. The stats for the hike were modest, and I had no doubt in my mind my dog and I would be home before dark. I was wrong. The snow had not set up yet and all it took was 2,000 vertical feet of postholing with snowshoes to remind me I am a fickle visitor to the big mountains. The conditions were bad enough I had no difficulty with the decision to turn around, although it still never an enjoyable call to make. Especially after making the 3 hour drive to get there. But I knew of some potential places to look for antlers on the way home and therefore it was not a wasted day. This was the first time I had brought Denali into the big mountains, and he didn’t do so well. I was frustrated and a bit concerned for his refusal to eat as much food as I thought he should and refusal to drink water at the rate I felt appropriate. Looking back at these feelings is a bit comical as he has proven to me time and time again that he is remarkably tough and knows how to keep himself alive. Point is: my first trip into the upper Dearborn was not exactly a success and I knew I would need to come back in the near future.
Fast forward a few months and the snow is gone and 90 degree weather is upon us. Caribou Peak, a peak that had caught my eye as being the most prominent peak in that corner of the Wilderness, mels off quicker than other ‘big’ objectives in Western Montana due to its dry climate. Thus I wanted to climb it. I could have done it in a day, but remembered that I wanted to slow down and enjoy my explorations a bit more while I had more time flexibility. I planned a 2 day route that took me up Falls Creek, to Caribou, and down the Dearborn back to my car. My Google Earth reconnaissance of the hike alerted me to the possibility that the Falls Creek trail may not exist, as is the case with many forgotten trails not yet removed from the map in Western Montana (always a huge frustration but also an excellent demonstration of why I love this damn state). However, a quick web search led me to a few press releases about a recreational easement that RMEF purchased to allow access into the Falls Creek Valley. To say this was an incredible public service is an understatement. I believe this small, poorly documented easement to be the single largest improvement to public land access in Montana in the time I lived there. I was extremely thankful for the hard work that RMEF put in towards making it happen, and gained a lot of respect for their organization. In researching the easement, I also was reminded of a landowner feud that resulted in a murder that took place in the Falls Creek drainage a few years prior. An argument over subdivision, blocking access to public land through private property and the associated Montana values resulted in a death. While this may seem extreme, I can sympathize with the emotional attachment you can form to a piece of public land. And my emotional attachment forms quickly; within a few years. I can only imagine how 100 years of inter-generational appreciation for a place like Falls Creek could culminate in something like that. Perhaps it was the publicity of the murder that caught RMEF’s interest in pursuing an easement.
The plan was simple and not particularly ambitious; a couple of moderate day hikes and a non-technical summit; mostly on trail. My only concern was the 7 or so creek crossings; something I have only began to think carefully about after having to carry Denali across a terrifying creek crossing last spring. But I was confident enough it would be safe, albeit annoying. Morning of I woke up long before sunrise and ate a small breakfast. I had my adventure morning routine in order, and my coffee was ready for me when I went upstairs at 4 in the morning. Everything was packed, all I needed to do was give Denali some food, eat breakfast, pour my coffee, download the day’s new podcasts and hit the road. Driving the Highway 200 corridor is never a chore for me as I have countless good memories after working and playing in that area for years. Memories of discovering good music on my weekly drives to Condon when working at the Swan River State Forest, driving to the Dearborn for springtime floats, a drive to Great Falls to buy a car, shuttling vehicles for two big Bob Marshall packrafting trips and other assorted mountain memories filled my head as I slowly (I drive slow these days) approched the trailhead. The trailhead was newly constructed, complete with lots of fresh signs and plenty of parking. I was the only one there, which was no surprise to me, even if it was late in the morning according to my biased, mountain-mission tuned internal clock. I put on sunscreen and sent off an InReach message and headed up the trail. I had already categorized the trip as ‘unremarkable’ even before getting there and expectations were low. As is usually the case, I was pretty much immediately rewarded with beautiful scenery, solitude, and one of the most beautiful mountain streams I’ve ever had the pleasure of walking along. Everywhere I go in Montana proves to be remarkable to me, and no words can really describe how thankful I am for still feeling that way, even after dedicating so much effort to exploring. I could see a couple rustic cabins across the valley and wondered if they were involved in the murder dispute. I also wondered what it would be like to own a cabin in a place like that. There are always feelings of jealousy that accompany those thoughts but I often come to the conclusion being raised in that kind of landscape would actually reduce your appreciation for the Montana Wilderness, your complacency growing every year you spend there. I am thankful to be able to visit these landscapes, and the specific language The Wilderness Act uses: “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain”, enter my mind on a near daily basis. These words are sacred to me. Yet there is also something romantic about the rural-wilderness interface that takes up an equal amount of space in this state. I guess my point is I kind of like seeing cabins like that, even if the owner is a retired investment banker from out of state or out of country.
First creek crossing was a bit deeper than expected, but Denali made it. There was a brief expression of panic in his eyes when he started floating downstream a bit but he made it and knew he was never really in any danger. Creek crossing two was fine, as was three and four. But somewhere in there the trail was winding through a dense thicket of willows and the creek was very close and very loud. This is the kind of place you encounter a bear or moose. Within the couple weeks I had been charged by a black bear, stalked by a mountain lion and stepped on a rattlesnake. I like to think I am tough. I know I am tough. In the moment those encounters were all terrifying and humbling, but I never really gave them much thought or reflected on them. Winding through the willows brought a sense of fear and paranoia I had never experienced while hiking. I was afraid. It wasn’t short-term, adrenaline fueled fear like making an exposed scrambling move, dropping into a big rapid, or being charged by a bear; it was genuine, lasting fear. I turned on some music as loud as it would go and even started singing loudly to try to alert any potential critters in front of me but that didn’t really improve my comfort level. Around this same time, I started experiencing some foot pain. This is a common occurrence to me, especially that summer given how many miles I was putting in. I quickly convinced myself it was unwise to continue hiking given the mild foot pain, and I quickly turned around and headed back to the car. I would have been fine if I continued, at least physically. I knew, not even so deep down, that I turned around because I was scared. Apparently I was unwilling to admit this to myself and needed something less in my control to blame. It got very hot on the way home and I stopped for a swim at one of my favorite swimming holes on the way home and couldn’t help feeling relieved I wasn’t in the wilderness anymore. I didn’t know at the time but that fear would come back, many more times, in the coming years. I am a human being, and when creatures try to kill you, it affects you. I don’t know why this was such a strange concept to me at the time; it seems so obvious to me now. Interestingly, This summer a long-distance biker was dragged from her tent in Ovando, a small town you drive through on the way home and killed by a grizzly bear. I have spent several weeks working and many days playing in the forests, mountains and rivers around Ovando. Montana is the real deal sometimes, and I am thankful I now have a better understanding of this.
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