I almost lost my life in Glacier National Park during the night of February 16, 2006. The temperature dropped to 30 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. My down bag was damp from six nights of use, and the down had approached the level of useless. As if that was not enough, in the cold an O-Ring in the stove cracked, pouring fuel near the flame of the stove, making it useless.
Never, I decided, after having survived that night, would I enter the backcountry without the gear to handle whatever that particular area was capable of throwing at me.
Well now.
The NOAA seven-day extended forecast has nothing extreme in the forecast . . . just like February 2006. So here I am, prepared for the first leg of the trip, 16 days in length, having packed a 47-ounce sleeping bag rather than the battleship 77-ounce bag. That is about to change.
Just mentioning what happened on that trip continues to choke me up. PTSD, I suppose, except here it may save my life inside the next two weeks or so.
The picture of Mount Kitt, Pyramid and Cathedral Peaks, taken during the trip near the head of Glenns Lake, showed a high-pressure Arctic cold replacing the exiting 36-hour storm. I remained unaware, the result of calloused thinking, for another 50 hours. Throughout most of that time, the temperature continued to fall. When I broke through the ice during the crossing of Belly River, the temperature had just disappeared below zero degrees Fahrenheit. From that moment until 36 hours later, I was fighting to survive.
Lessons hard learned yet remain so easy to forget. In my case, this one has all the markings of my ego. It is never too late to bushwhack oneself after becoming an expert.
