Leigh Lake

Leigh Lake

In the summer of 1972, I hitchhiked through the West, and enjoyed my time backpacking and camping in parts of Colorado, Utah, and Montana. While in Montana, I spent some time with my older brother, George. He lived in a cabin out in the wilderness with his wife, Dianne, and their new baby girl. The closest town was Troy, a small hamlet in northwest Montana that got its start providing the railroad and lumber industries with needed supplies, which seemed to include liquor and whores. While there, George and I loaded up our packs and headed for the Cabinet Mountains for a three-day backpack. We stopped at a ranger station and looked over some maps and trail literature, and got specific directions to the trail that led to our destination, Leigh Lake.
 
Leigh Lake is the largest lake in the Cabinet Mountains and is nestled in a glacial basin about a mile above sea level. The trail is short but steep, and we felt it as we labored up with our large packs in the hot August sun. A fine brook emanates from Leigh Lake, and the trail follows close by it at many points. About a half-mile from the lake, we looked up at an impressive cascade as it crashed down the steep rocky streambed. We worked up and around to our right and slowly came into the basin of the lake. It was about a mile across and the view of this great granite bowl was spectacular. To the right and above the far end of the glacial cirque stood Snowshoe Peak, the highest point in the Cabinet Mountains at 8,738 feet. At the bottom of the far wall, a field of ice and snow went from high above the lake straight down to the water.
 
We continued around to our right and slowly made our way over the detritus left by spring-melt floodwaters, and I saw several snakes disappear in the tangled brush and branches that jutted out of the shallow wet at this end of the lake. We found a flat and dry sunlit stretch of land used by previous campers, and we setup our tent by a rock fire-ring. We set out our sleeping gear and cook stove, got water and firewood, and prepared our camp for the days to come. The sun was still high and strong.
 
Three climbers approached us from the west. They had ropes draped across their shoulders and hard hats attached to daypacks festooned with carabiners and other climbing hardware. They were returning from a climb of Snowshoe peak, and they came over to chat, and to give us a warning. “Stay off of the glaciers, they are very dangerous right now,” one of them said to us. We assured them we did not intend to do any such climbing, and thanked them for their words of caution.
 
Later, George went exploring and I too set off by myself, hiking back to where the trail had come up into the basin. I followed it down to where the stream was close, and the view down trail opened up to a fine vista as the land fell off at a waterfall. I took off my sweaty clothes and spread them out on a rock in the sun, splashed some cold water on my face and body, and then lay down on a smooth sloping rock with my feet resting in the ice-cold water. The water was bitter cold but the sun was hot, it felt nice laying there naked in the wilderness. I started to drift into sleep.
 
A sharp noise from behind startled me awake, as the thought of a bear came immediately to mind. I quickly tried to stand up, only to have my feet slide out from underneath me on the slick rock! I plunged naked into the torrent, crashing and pounding into the rocks as I rode the icy cascade downstream. My breath exploded from my chest and I struggled to get some air and control. I hit a couple of rocks hard, I was helpless, and it was all happening so fast. I got my arm through some roots that stopped my downward plunge, but the freezing water was running over my head and I was desperate for air. I climbed up a few inches and got my mouth out of the water; I gulped some breaths in a panic. I pulled myself up higher and got my bearings, I was about 20 feet downstream and on the opposite side of the brook from where my boots sat on the rock. I pulled myself up the steep bank and out of the water through the scrub, disregarding the scrapes and gouges I inflicted on myself. I found a flat rock and was finally safe; my heart was racing in my chest. I lay there for some time, gathering my composure.
 
Shaken, bruised, and cut, I made my way back to my clothes. The full realization of my predicament hit me hard: not far from where I stopped myself in the water, the stream plunged over the lip of the waterfall. I could easily have broken an arm or a leg in my initial plunge, but that final one would have finished it all. I was shaking like a leaf. I pictured the scene that could have been, my brother looking for me, he would have seen the clothes on the rock and followed the stream downwards to the grisly discovery.
 
I dressed and walked back to camp. The sunlit tent seemed to exist in a different world. I related the story to George and we both marveled over the narrow escape. In the evening, we enjoyed a hot dinner and relaxed by a warm and comforting campfire. I was already sore from my experience, so I washed down several aspirin with a couple ounces of tequila. After the fire had died down, we retreated to our bags, where I spent a sore and fitful night.
 
In the morning, we made coffee and relaxed with a small breakfast. We had a fire and watched the sun come into the basin. It was already warm as we headed out on the north side of the lake, heading west above and along the shore. We came to a gully that had a glacier sitting in it. A stream came out of the center and a six-foot high cave of ice disappeared into the dark distance around the stream. A frigid wind came down this cave; it was so cold that you could only stand in front of the opening for about 20 seconds before you had to step aside. It was a strange sensation to be sure. However, we heeded the words of warning voiced by the climbers yesterday and we gave the ice a wide berth.
 
We came to another great gully that sliced its way up the north wall of the great basin; we began climbing and scrambling our way up this gorge. We had no destination, perhaps we might make the ridge crest. Although the sky was blue, I kept hearing thunder, as if at any moment a thunderstorm would show itself over the steep rock walls above us. We climbed higher up the gully and now had extensive views to the south and east. We climbed up into a flat open area, the top of the gorge high above us. We took off our daypacks and looked around the rocky chasm and to the mountains stretching away into the distance. I kept hearing that distant thunder.
 
Then, an explosion engulfed me! I was thrown to my knees by the concussion and I saw particles whizzing past me from behind. My heart was pounding once again as I spun fearfully around. To the left I saw my brother, to the right, there on the bottom of the gorge, sat a piece of ice the size of a two-car garage. In that moment, from high above, it had released from its fragile hold and plunged straight down to land between us. The concussion I felt was the tons of ice hitting the ground immediately behind me. For a while, we stood there speechless. We were grateful to be alive, and more grateful not to be the one brother who survived, the one who would have to hike out alone and leave the mangled one behind.
 
Soon after that, we were working our way back to camp. Dropping our packs on arrival, we picked up the small pair of binoculars and went out to the lake shore to scout for wildlife on the slopes before settling down to dinner and the evening fire. I trained my binoculars down on the ice field at the far end of the lake, and at that moment a large piece broke off and plunged into the lake; I watched as large waves rolled away from the impact point. Then came the loud crack of thunder; so that was what I had been hearing, great pieces of ice cracking off of the ice shelf, and the sound of that fracture echoing down the basin seconds later.
 
I would not say it was the same as returning alive after a great battle, but dinner tasted wonderful that night as we celebrated surviving our episode in the wilderness. Passing the tequila between us seemed particularly sweet. The next morning we packed up and hiked out, uneventfully. On the way down the trail, we hiked past the place at the stream where I had flirted with disaster 2 days ago. I looked at the cuts and bruises that I carried on my arms and legs, souvenirs from my ride down the icy cascade, and I felt a shudder of fear flash through my body.

The car was almost a welcome sight. In a few hours, we arrived back at their simple cabin in the wilderness, a cabin that seemed to have a new aura of comfort and security surrounding it. That night I would enjoy the security of the floor and the roof over my head, and bask in the warmth of my brother’s family.