Part Twenty

     July 5 - 6          The Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness, MT              (Go to Pt 1)

The weather had been cold and threatening all day but during the night it didn’t rain, it snowed; unfolding a dim, grey morning with thick, stone-cold clouds 

oozing over the ridge. I poked my head out of the tent and just kind of laughed, we were locked under a cold, hard shade, the cirque was covered with snow and the temperatures felt to be somewhere around mid-February.

Snow at Storm Lake camp

All we had for pants were long johns and shorts, which felt a bit thin against this sudden winter weather and the snow made packing-up a frosty-wet, finger-numbing affair.  I had stood around, hands in my armpits, looking at the snow-slopped tent while thinking about the gloves at the bottom of my pack; I didn’t want to dig them out for some reason, so I helped Craig stuff the tent then loaded my pack without them, stopping every few minutes to stuff my hands back into my pit-warmers.

Click the map for a larger image

Storm Lake Pass

From Storm Lake we headed up toward Storm Lake Pass and as we started up the hill it did occur to me that maybe a cold, wet, snowy morning was precisely why I was carrying the gloves in the first place but, oh well, at least they were still warm and dry if I ever needed them again.

​As we climbed toward the ridge, the misty edge of the clouds hung just overhead but appeared to lift as we gained elevation.  When we topped over the pass, clouds had already begun to tear away from the summit of Mount Tiny and adjacent crags as salient views of the peaks and valleys began to emerge.

Snow-freshed Anaconda Pintlers

By the time we were crossing Goat Flat Mountain, the cloud cover had completely broken apart and the sun shone down across the snow-freshed Anaconda Range stretching out to the southwest.  ​

​The trail continued across open tundra and the hiking was brisk.  We took a break on top of the ridge below Rainbow Mountain and by now the clouds had puffed back into cotton balls, floating harmlessly across the sky.

​As the snow melted, the alpine wildflowers stood out in colorful contrast against the dissipating white, with the ridge ambling away to converge with the vast and changing landscapes that lay out across the thousands of visible square miles on either side of the Divide. 

Goat Flat Mtn

It should be noted that Montana is famously known as ‘Big Sky Country’ and during our travels through the Montana mountains we had been witness to the true meaning of the term ‘Big Sky’ on numerous occasions.  We had watched fantastical electrical storms erupt from massive, anvil thunderheads over a hundred miles distant and dust devils flung up in western Idaho.  

​In fact, from the top of the Divide, looking both east and west, one could watch several distinctly different weather patterns develop from western Idaho to northern Wyoming to eastern Montana. ​

The curvature of the earth was detectable from these airy ridges and looking out to the roads and dwellings far in the distance from the top of the Divide was similar to the view one gets from a plane window seat.  And from our perch on the ridge, this was certainly turning out to be another humongous, big-sky kind of day.

Snow on the Divide

We camped that night just short of Cutaway Pass in a patch of alpine meadow alongside a lapping stream of sweet, ice-cold water. During the day it had never gotten all that warm and once the sun dipped behind the ridge the temperature dropped like a stone, lacing the stream’s edges with ice by morning.   The sunrise skies were clear but with temps below freezing, we packed-up camp anxiously awaiting the sun to clear the eastern ridge.  

​We dispensed with Cutaway Pass in short order then descended 1,600 feet to La Marche Creek then climbed another 1,000 feet up to a splendid, little hanging valley, cradling the shimmering waters of Warren Lake, backed and flanked by the steep, rocky walls of unnamed peaks.

Rainbow Lake

From there we crossed a shallow pass to the south, descending another 1,200 feet into the Fishtrap Creek valley followed by a climb of 900 feet back up to Rainbow Lake, which had all the appearances of a lake sitting at the bottom of a desolate crater, the barren rock walls of the peaks above diving steeply into the lake.

We skirted Rainbow Lake and climbed an additional 800 feet of steep elevation to attain the ridge of the Divide.  Again, the views demanded a break on the ridge with Martin Lake sparkling 700 feet below, nestled in a hanging valley whose stream plummeted another 700 feet into the deep, aqua-turquoise of Johnson Lake in the valley far below. ​

We descended the 1,400 feet to make camp along the shore of Johnson Lake after covering 17 miles that included 3,700 feet of elevation gain and 4,200 feet of descent. I only mention these elevation changes because, while this was certainly a big day, it was not uncommon in the higher mountains to have big ascent/descent elevation changes over the course of a day, climbing and descending against the grain of the mountains the way we were.  

​

---

Go to Part 21

---

The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

---