Lessons from Fall

November 05, 2018 Posted by: Ranger Erica

“Start cold,” I was always advised when it comes to hiking in the fall. I always remind myself of this as visible breath comes out of my mouth while I brace myself to the chilly morning air. My skin is cold and covered in goosebumps, but I know that I will be warm pretty much as soon as I start hiking. It’s ok to be uncomfortable sometimes.

Not very many people visit the park in the fall, maybe it is because fall in the mountains is not as comfortable as summer, or even spring. Maybe it is because the weather is more variable. Maybe it is because there are less people in bear country. When you’re not used to it, fall in the park can seem deserted, lonely, wild, and somewhat unsettling. To me it is teeming, yet quiet, and a far cry from the summer months in the park, when it is a land of people.

In my experiences, to avoid crowds, the summer is full of early to rise days or late evening hikes where I find myself coming back to the car in the waning light or even the light of the moon. There are large chunks of the day where it seems impossible to get away from other people. It is sometimes hard for me to enjoy nature the way I want to, in the peace and quiet. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the time I get to spend here, and any time here is time well spent – but there is something extra special about the fall here, perhaps it is that I know I’m seeing things that few people will see, and the wildness of this place is more tangible.

Fall is my favorite time in the park, it is so colorful, constantly changing; dynamic. The way the clouds move around the mountains is breathtaking and moody. In the Midwest, where I’m from, the fall is loud, screaming in colors – yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. Out in Glacier National Park, and the west in general, the fall colors seemed so quiet comparatively. From far away all you see is green and yellow, to which I have found myself thinking, “too bad I’m not a bigger Packers fan,” but then you step into the forest and its vibrancy is breathtaking.

There is so much to be had once you set out on the trail. There are yellows, pinks, limes, purples, maroons, and near fluorescent reds that decorate the understory. Frost garnishes the forest floor until the sun finally pierces through the canopy, or peaks over the ridgeline, and there’s nearly always a mist rising from the creeks and lakes. My hiking companions will usually stop to shed layers about 10-20 minutes after we start hiking, but I find myself warm in the crisp air, because I had that good advice to start cold.

“Start cold,” the larger message from that advice is pertinent throughout all seasons, throughout life, but it is especially resonant in the fall. Fall makes you appreciate the little things, the spots of blue in the grey with warm rays of the sun that pierce your skin. The pop of the near fluorescent red huckleberry in the understory. The pile of pinecones carefully stocked in the hollow log that the squirrel will most likely forget about before snow falls. Fall makes you prepare for imperfections, like variable weather, cold noses and cold hands. It builds your character, your resilience, and your bravery as you wander the trails practically alone.

In this “advanced” world that most of us are privileged to live in, where things are relatively convenient and done comfortably, it’s good to be challenged both physically and mentally. It is ok to be uncomfortable, to be flexible, to have foresight, and to understand the bigger picture. Nothing will be perfect, but it will be beautiful, start cold.