Mokowanis moments

"So, where you want to go?" The guy behind the counter asked.

"Belly River."

"Where in the Belly River?"

"Anywhere," I said. I looked up at the wall and the list of campgrounds and said, "Mokowanis Lake. Is that open?"

"Sure is," he said.

"Then I'll go there," I said.

A few years back I was supposed to go to that lake but the trip started poorly and then became worse and we never made it. I started going to the backcountry alone after that.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you shouldn't hike solo, I know. That is, unless, you seek solitude and the freedom to do as you please.

Then hiking solo becomes a necessity.

Mokowanis is about as backcountry as it gets in Glacier. It's the last campground at the end of a long trail into the Belly River (well, Mokowanis River, to be exact, but they all end up one in the same.)

I carried as much camera gear as I could, a new tent that was supposed to be waterproof (and was, in a wonderful way), three pairs of socks, a rain jacket, three fleece sweaters, four candy bars, some jerky, bagels and trail mix.

And, of course, 10, 12 rolls of film. You can never have enough of that.

Doesn't sound like much, but I didn't eat all the food. I once went on a hike where I figured I'd be eating about 2,000 calories a day. So I packed some absurd number, like 20, packages of Ramen noodles. I ate exactly two, and packed the other 18 out.

Now less is more. Life is simple. The goal was to get away from it all.

The hike into the lake on Friday was uneventful until almost the end. Well, I shouldn't say uneventful, the Belly River is so pretty it makes your head hurt. The trail is easy and it all starts downhill. So sure, it was eventful in the sense that I ran into hordes of butterflies, a bull moose, guys fly fishing, a mule deer, some geese, a sapsucker sucking sap.

But after about 14 miles of this I must admit I was getting tired.

At mile 14 you start gauging your health like this: Do I have enough in the tank to do six more? Do I?

If you do, you're in good hiking shape.

If you don't, well, you're probably not.

I was feeling tired.

My shape needs a little more shaping.

So I got quiet.

I'm not sure what made me look up but I did and there she was.

A grizzly the size of a refrigerator. Not an apartment model, either. Full size Frigidaire. Twenty steps away.

"Hey bear," I said.

The bear looked at me. Twirled around, hissed and woofed and ran - in the right direction - away from me.

That will get your blood pumping.

Camp was less than a half click away and when I got there no one was around.

There were bear tracks here and there. The lake was beautiful, the falls further on even nicer.

But if ever a place was made for bears this was it - the valley is surrounded by high towering mountains, with lush benches growing a smorgasbord of berries, glacier lilies and other bear treats.

Two other fellas came in later.

I love my solitude dearly, but I have to admit, it was nice to see them.

We were clearly just visitors here.

This was the bear's backyard, not ours.

Still, that night I slept soundly. Hard, in fact.

Dreams were pleasant, even if they were filled with visions of silvertips.

Chris Peterson is the editor of the Hungry Horse News.