A walk in the park

At 6:50 a.m. on a recent summer day I quietly sauntered into a group of half a dozen people gathered on the side of the road at Siyeh Bend on Glacier National Park's Going-to-the-Sun Road. Helmets strapped to each person's pack told me these were the people I was looking for — members of the Glacier Mountaineering Society.

I introduced myself and immediately struggled to remember the names of the six other people I shook hands with. Our climb leader, Rick Laverty, then strolled into our group.

Along with Rick, Dave, Greg, Ellen, Robin, Jim and Catherine joined along for the climb.

Rick lives in Whitefish and is in his second year with GMS, though he's been exploring the park for a couple decades. Last year he joined in on two GMS trips, and this summer he led six.

Matahpi Peak isn't a destination for most Glacier National Park explorers, nor for climbers. At 9,365 feet, it's up there in elevation among the park's hundreds of peaks, but while the easy, straightforward nature of the trek itself makes for an enjoyable day at a relaxed pace, Matahpi is tucked away among more prominent and eye catching peaks, like Going-to-the-Sun Mountain and Mount Siyeh. The peak is maybe best seen from the Hidden Lake Overlook trail at Logan Pass, where it stands out to the west looking similar to a pyramid of Egypt next to Going-to-the-Sun.

But the views should be enough for anyone to consider reaching the summit. On a clear day, one is treated to the postcard-peaks of Logan Pass — Reynolds, Clements, Bearhat and Heavy Runner — as well as the massive Jackson and Sperry glaciers to the southwest. On either side are Going-to-the-Sun and Siyeh, and the combination of Piegan, Pollock and the Garden Wall, culminating in the knife-like Mt. Gould.

Matahpi was the first trip I was accepted to, having just joined GMS a few weeks prior. I didn't know much about the peak, but I was happy to get outside with a group of climbers. What we ascended hardly mattered.

The Glacier Mountaineering Society is made up of roughly 360 outdoor enthusiasts, GMS president Larry Hiller tells me. Started in 1981, the club gets like-minded mountain lovers of all skill sets together to bag peaks in Glacier National Park, an outdoor playground that practically lends itself to the hobby, Hiller says.

“Glacier is a pretty unique place as far as accessibility, proximity to the high country, easy access via the trails. It's relatively concentrated in a small area,” he said. “We see the full range of people who primarily are trail hikers with relatively little experience, all the way up to pretty advanced, technical climbers. There's a full range of both ability and experience.”

Climbers sign up to lead trips as coordinators, accepting other GMS members based on skill level — novice, intermediate or advanced — and wait list position.

The coordinators, however, are not a guide service, Hiller emphasizes.

“We try not to put a huge amount of pressure on the coordinator, because we're not a guide service. Although they take a leading role, they're not intended to be a leader,” he said. “They're an organizer and need to make the group aware of everything that's entailed in the climb.”

We started down the Piegan Pass trail as soon as Rick arrived, following Siyeh Creek with the towering Mount Siyeh hovering above us in the distance before we turned into a field of wildflowers and beargrass. We followed the trail for a couple miles before a sharp right led us to a less obvious climbers trail in a wide field below Matahpi and Going-to-the-Sun Mountain.

We meandered along that trail as it turned into a dried drainage creek leading up to scree fields and a set of small cliffs guarding the saddle between the two mountains above us. The group spread out as we moved up the scree, sliding about under the unstable rock and talus.

Rick, Dave, Greg and myself climbed toward the front for most of the day. A few members of the group joked that we were in the best position to become a bear's surprise lunch. We countered, saying they'd get to deal with the silent mountain lion slowly stalking the group from behind. It was decided the middle was the best place to be.

By 10 a.m. we reached the saddle, offering us new views of St. Mary Lake to the east, as well as the Sextant Glacier, which sat just a quick fall below us.

We took a nice break there for a half hour, watching the valley we'd just hiked through fill with yellow sunlight and bloom with color. From the saddle we got our first views of the Piegan Pass trail we'd started as it switchbacked down from the pass toward Lake St. Mary. I could make out a few small dots making slow progress down the trail.

After a while, as we stood there talking and identifying distant peaks to the west, Rick suggested we get moving.

“Why don't we finish up and get to the summit and have even better views?” he said with a chuckle.

Back in the order we'd established earlier, we started up the sharp-slanted scree field that leads to the summit.

Luckily for us, there was no false summit on Matahpi. We reached the summit cairn by noon. I took some photos, got my helmet off and went straight for my lunch — I was starving.

Everyone gradually reached the top and found their own spots to sit and rest. The eight of us rested at the summit for two hours. “Why rush?” Rick kept saying, given how relaxing of a day it was and how perfect the weather was.

Clear blue skies extended out in every direction with only a wisp or two of a cloud in the distance.

Some of the climbers conked out for a nap, while the others chatted and admired the views. Jim was able to point out every distant peak we could think to ask about. When Rick, Dave and my conversation veered into the political, a call from the other end of the summit put an end to it.

“No politics on the peak!” a voice called out.

I liked that rule.

At 2 p.m. we began our descent. We followed the same route down as we did going up, sliding down the scree with ease. At some point below the saddle, Dave, Robin, Greg and I slightly lost the route we'd taken up, but some bushwhacking further down brought us back to where we needed to be.

We returned to the Piegan Pass trail at 4:30 p.m., where we happened to run into the trio of GMS climbers we'd just watched climb Siyeh next door. We coasted back toward the Siyeh Bend parking lot, driven by thoughts of water and chips and salsa, which Rick graciously brought. I headed home after a short conversation and some of the aforementioned chips. The weather remained clear and I was treated to a lovely drive down Sun Road without a hint of traffic.

Being the antsy person I am, I'd been ready to get off the peak soon after I'd finished my lunch, and I was admittedly getting a little tired of the amount of time I spent lying down on uncomfortable shards of rock near the summit cairn. It'd been a long day, longer than I imagined it would be, and I had a dog waiting for his dinner back home in Whitefish.

The following weekend I made my way up Sinopah Mountain, an extremely photogenic peak at Two Medicine Lake near East Glacier. Going up alone, I headed up early at a hurried pace. I left the car at 7:30 a.m. and scrambled up 1,000 feet of loose rock in a couloir on the south side of the mountain.

When I reached the summit at 11 a.m., I was swarmed by a horde of bloodthirsty horse flies. Cloudy skies cut off the tops of peaks in the distance, and I only managed to get through a short bit of my lunch before the flies followed me down to the cliff I'd settled down at a few hundred feet below the summit.

As I made my way back down, hungry and annoyed, I realized how much I would really appreciate the luxury of two quiet hours like we had on the summit of beautiful Matahpi.

—Daniel McKay/Whitefish Pilot