The Glacier Cowboy

We passed each other high on Mt. Brown in Glacier National Park just after I left the snow, with me descending and him ascending. He had dark brown hair with eyes to match, and a very thin, perfectly manicured handlebar moustache, clearly held in place with moustache wax. His white cowboy hat was woven, and he wore a carefully pressed blue/yellow/white plaid long-sleeve cowboy shirt. It looked like fairly thin material to me. I didn’t think to look, but I bet it had pearly white buttons. His blue jeans were neat, and he wore brown leather Oxford dress shoes. It was the shoes that got me. No coat, no backpack, no bottles of water, no hiking poles, no umbrella, although he was carrying a small book or pad of some sort in his right hand. I greeted him; he smiled and nodded his head to acknowledge me as he walked by. I say that he walked by, but glided would be more accurate: he moved past me smoothly in his clean brown leather Oxford dress shoes.

It had been a brutal climb for me, and tough for Carla, too, even though she’s the better athlete. AllTrails says that it “is not a hike for the faint of heart” and “is only recommended for very experienced adventurers.” We certainly aren’t faint of heart, but we are equally not experienced adventurers. The maximum altitude of about 7,500 feet was affecting us. My phone app told me that we hiked 9.9 miles (total round trip) and ascended a total of 4,358 feet, and that I burned an estimated 5,175 Calories. We headed for the historic Mt. Brown Lookout tower, but we stopped a little short when the snow got so deep that it became apparent that we might hurt ourselves. It was slippery, too: I found a place where a mountain goat had slipped on the snow and slid before anchoring itself, leaving a clear hoof print behind. When the mountain goats are slipping, it’s time to turn around.

Speaking of mountain goats, it was on this hike that we met Greta, which was the name Carla gave to her. Greta took quite a liking to us. She followed me up the trail and then stopped when I did. When I started hiking, so did she. I let her pass me (she came within eight feet of me), and after passing Carla she started leading us up the trail. When we stopped, so did she. When we started, so did she. It was delightful.

A pressing need to go to the bathroom motivated Carla to descend faster than I did. While still fairly high on the mountain, I could see and hear a storm moving in, with the dark clouds moving over the Rockies toward me from the north. I encountered an optimistic young couple, both wearing shorts, no hiking gear, no backpacks, and they had no water. As I approached them he asked, “How far is it to the top?” “I’ve been descending an hour and twenty minutes,” I replied. “Oh,” he said, “that’s not so bad!” Ah, the optimism born of inexperience. She was clearly much less enamored with the climb than he, and she asked me, “Was it worth the climb?” “Absolutely, it’s beautiful up there, and there are mountain goats. But the storm is blowing in.” He cheerfully continued the climb, and she followed him. 10-15 minutes later I felt the first drop of rain.

I paused, took off my gear, got my green poncho out of my backpack, and got rigged back up. My concern was that I not get my camera or cell phone all wet and that I wouldn’t get cold from the rain. After all, it’s called Glacier National Park for a reason. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame with my backpack and hat on my back under my poncho. With the hood on my head, I lumbered down the mountain, leaning on my hiking poles as it rained at a moderate pace. About 10 minutes later I came around a corner and surprised a mountain goat. His eyes opened wide when he saw me in my weird garb, and he decided to clear out at a brisk pace.

My left knee began to ache, and my feet started to hurt. I only had about two more miles to go. I was wearing very good hiking shoes, and leaning on the poles saved my bacon, but I was in trouble. I just couldn’t move quickly anymore. I got down to the last 1.6 miles of trail where it flattened out, and I was going extremely slowly. I was shuffling along at an agonizingly slow pace: It’s safe to say that I was baby stepping.  Apparently my bug spray had worn off, because I was being swarmed by mosquitoes. I kept my poncho on with the hood wrapped around my head, and on one of many short breaks I saw a mosquito trying to drill through the plastic to get to me. He failed. I chuckled.

With about a mile to go, I again encountered the Glacier cowboy. He looked relaxed and wasn’t even sweating. He smoothly moved by me in his brown leather Oxford dress shoes. We didn’t speak, but as he passed me, he gave me a very careful look, as if he were evaluating my condition, and then he moved on.

I can’t help but think about what the Psalmist said:

“For He will give His angels charge concerning you,”

To guard you in all your ways.”

Psalm 91:11

I’m also reminded of Hebrews 13:2:

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,”

for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

So, some people encounter angels without knowing it.

Carla saw him exit the trail, still crisply dressed, still not breaking a sweat, but still gliding along. He simply scuffed a little dirt off the bottom of his brown leather Oxford dress shoes as he crossed the road toward the parking lot, before walking out of her view. I never saw that young couple again, nor did we hear any bad news about them. Maybe he was their guardian angel, too.