Anyone who has hiked the Dawson Pitamakin loop in Glacier knows where the Nyack Lakes are, they just might not know it.

They are these two little lakes at the bottom of what looks like an impossible drop 3000’ feet below the goat trail path that is the actual trail.  The only part of the Nyack Lakes that I’ve been excited about is simply to have them off “the list”.

My trusty partner Pat and I have been debating the best way to address these lakes for years now.

No option is a “good” option.

Either climb 3000’ up to Dawson Pass then drop in on them 3000’ down a constant steep slope, then climb back up that 3000’ back to the Dawson Pass trail and drop back 3000’ back to Two Medicine Lake…OR

You get down there and bushwhack out two miles of 15’ high vegetation till you meet up with the upper Nyack trail and five more miles to a camp, then another 15 miles out the Nyack Valley to the Middle Fork of the Flathead, OR

Up 3000’ to Cutbank Pass which would have been 17 miles out to Two Medicine.

I know that read like a car stereo manual but it’s as straight forward a description that I could give.

Pat came to my apartment to stay and debate out methods, set on picking one or the other.

We sat looking at each other and not wanting to pick from the quiver of awful options.

We actually still had no plans set when we woke up at 6am.

“What are doing”? I asked?

Dunno…what do you want to do?

Dunno…

Wanna flip a coin?

Sure…

So, Pat flipped a two Pence piece that oddly enough was sitting on my table in which I haven’t a clue where it came from but at 6am, you just flip the coin.  You don’t ask questions.

Three flips, landed on the “squiggly thing” twice.   This meant we camp and make it a two day endeavor…

So, obviously at the last moment we decided we were going to hike in and out in the same day.

Uh…6000’ feet elevation gain, 6000’ elevation loss.

14 hours later, we were done.  Never to go back again.

If you ever ponder this, Stop It.

Go somewhere else.  Fast.

We caught a boat ride from a friend across Two Medicine lake covered in fog but calm as glass.

It was truly an amazing sight.

It was a great way to start a terrible death march.

A hard frost had settled on the valley the night before leaving frozen leaves and visible breathe.

Two moose hung out a mile above the north shore of Two Medicine Lake.

They were not too happy to have us push past.  One started to follow me.

When in doubt, NEVER mess with Moose.

They kill way more people a year then Grizzly Bears.  They just freak out and stomp on you till you are mush.

The north shore trail was posted for Grizzly activity, so we made a whole lot of noise at this early hour.

The walk up towards the Dawson Pass was great, cool and the lighting was amazing.

When we arrived at pass, we also saw about 10 bighorn sheep.

Two even butted heads silhouetted by a sea of mountains.

Pretty beer commercial of them.

Above Dawson Pass is a shoulder of Flinch Peak and from there extends a flat almost goat trail that leads four miles along the continental divide.

Most hikers enjoy the views as they stroll effortlessly along the spine of the continent.

We, instead surveyed for a good route down to two arbitrary bodies of water at the bottom of a truly enormous valley.

As we sat enjoying a snack and making decisions, two CDT hikers passed by.

A French Canadian guy was hiking with an older fella with a ZZ TOP beard and a Mountain Hardwear kilt.

Off course he did, why wouldn’t he?

We exchanged plans.  They told us that they would watch as we descended the slope.

If they saw anything catastrophic, they would hit the emergency button their SPOT locator.  We hoped they would not have to do it, but always nice to have people watching out for you.

The whole time I planned this trip, I figured that I would have two nasty marshes to jump into if I waited too long into the season.

In hind sight I think we stumbled into the best possible scenario.

There is a series of cliffs that a month earlier would still have been running water and making everything slick along with steep.

Instead we found a perfect set of cliffs.

Every time we looked further down slope it seemed they we would cliff out and when we got to there, it was a manageable way to continue.

Thus we dubbed them the illusion cliffs.

The brush on the other hand was horrendous.

Fifteen foot high alder bushes interspersed with prickly whatnot.

Pat forgot to wear convertible pants.  So, when it got nasty, I tossed on my pant legs then threw the gaiters over them.

He is an animal, but his knees were on fire throughout the whole bushwhack and what he said was way into the night.

We plodded though a thick curtain of brush for about an hour.

We tripped a few times over invisible downed trees and Pat even bent one of his trekking poles.

After a while you pretty much lose your mind.

It’s impossible for me to explain the weirdness that ensues when you have been being ripping through mile after mile of plant material.

You have to constantly be yelling so you don’t surprise a bear…

Bushwhacking is a part of this project that never ceases to seem odd.

Why on earth are we doing this?

We are so far beyond the middle of nowhere, screaming and hollering and somewhere , somehow…

We find this fun.  We are happy.

Happy screaming at the top of our lungs such inane things as “Bob Saget” and my uncle’s friend Joe Buckles name.

Or, how about Arnold Schwarzenegger quotes like “get on the choppa”!!

Odd…

Well, eventually we popped out of the brush into a huge marsh.

But, like I said, it was perfect.  It was all dry.

It would have been awful, almost impossible earlier in the season.

So, I put on my water shoes and Pat his Croc’s and we started plodded through foot deep mud enroute to the lakes.

Nasty as it may have been, it worked.

I hopped in the upper lake which was so much nicer than I had ever expected.

I stayed in my swimming trucks and we just pushed down the creek to the lower lake, and hopped in.

Pat has the luxury to pick the lake he wants to swim, since he is just along to make sure I don’t kill myself.

He picked the pleasant lower one with a great view of Mt. Tinkham in the distance.

We enjoyed a short 30 minute lunch, swim, water pumping, video filming and pixie sticking….

Huh?

Pixie Sticking?

Well, no matter how much water you drink to rehydrate, you are also losing salts.

So, we bring Gatorade mix with us.

There is simply too much time involved in mixing it, so we just pour the powder in our mouths and wash it down with a swig of water.

Like eating pixies sticks.

More or less, it works.

I kinda like it, really.

I can’t express how disheartening it was to sit by these lovely little lakes looking up at the ridge we had to regain.

We just did it.  Why did we have to walk back?

I mean, REALLY?

Uh…

I actually see trips like this as being a good analogy for life.

I can’t just build a house.

I can’t not do it.

You just, pick yourself up and keep going.

Hard as it may be, you gotta just do it.

So, we headed out towards the task at hand.

We kept trying to figure out where the trail was…

Somewhere above that grey strip of rock.  A few hundred feet above it.

Did I mention…Uh…

Also, I can’t find my bear spray.

Yeah…

I couldn’t find it.

I hopped the creek and went back looking for it, but no luck.

So, off to the thickest of the thick and now… also defenseless.

So, I stayed that much closer to Pat who had the sole bear spray.

So, We Yelled LOUDER AND LOUDER!!!!  BOB SAGET!!!!  JOE BUCKLES!!!   HEY OH!!!!

The brush seemed a bit better headed up hill for some reason, but I think it was that we were just over it.

Climb over a down tree, Check.

Walk directly into Alder bushes and brush seven feet above our heads…Check.

Just, HOME!

The rock and cliffs though seemed well worse headed up hill.

Loose scree, talus slopes, the illusion cliffs…

Onward!!

All a race with time as we just simply didn’t have that much daylight left.

At one point, when I was just beat and staring uphill at Pat whose young legs carry him faster up the steep slopes, he yelled out.

TRAIL!!

Pixie Sticks or not, I had started getting cramps in my hamstrings.  His shouts of joy pushed me uphill and on to the trail though.

We had an hour and half before complete darkness.  We had to drop 3000 feet in 4 ½ miles…And we had to haul it.

Dig for that extra energy that really doesn’t exist.  Just the thought of missing our friend’s boat pick up spurred us on.  We didn’t want to do even more miles and in the dark.

So, ONWARD!!!

As in hurry as we may have been, we had to stop for a couple pictures on Dawson Pass.

Not often are you sitting on top of a huge pass at sunset.

Normally you make sure you aren’t stuck in that situation.

So, you have to click a few.  Thanks Pat, for making me stop a minute.

Amazing View!

So, we ripped it out.  Somewhere along the way we decided that we were going to scream like the guys selling beer at a baseball game.

Instead of beer and peanuts, we were selling Tepid Huckleberries…

Don’t ask.  I don’t know.

So, as we bombed down the pass towards Two Medicine Lake, we were selling “TEPID HUCKS” in our best Brooklyn accent.  I bet the poor people staying at No Name Campground hadn’t a clue of what these two Looney’s we yelling about…

But we liked it.

Got to the boat dock at dark, picked up and by our friend and whisked away to a grilled cheese sandwich and cold lemonade….  Well, and a beer.

But, oh the Lemonade!!!

To Life!

So how about you? Have you ever had to do something that you knew you were gonna hate, but then it ended up being pretty good? If so, tell me about it in the comments. (Did I mention I’ve got a new commenting system *hint *hint.)