For the last few days I've been in Montana, at Glacier National Park, and the areas around it. The first thing you need to know about Glacier National Park is that the weather conditions are fickle and always in flux. And that there are rainbows everywhere. On a given day it can be clear, then overcast, then raining - in the total absence of clouds - snowing, gusting, warm (and then blustery), sunny, hailing. You get the idea. Never before have I seen such a dynamic environment. There was one evening, in the middle of the trip, when I walked outside after having had dinner with the founder of MySpace, and I looked up into the darkened sky and saw a rainbow. Seeing a rainbow in the night sky does an interesting thing to the observer. First, it demands denial, because, of course a rainbow couldn't exist without light; it must be a spotlight. Next, it ignites critical curiosity; a spotlight that bends over the curvature of the earth? What if it IS a rainbow? Then denial again; two spotlights, one on each side? Bafflement follows; it must be a rainbow; but how? And, finally, an explosion of expletive-fueled affirmation - holy goddamned motherfucking fuck, it IS a rainbow. Incredulously, I looked up into the sky and watched the luminous, glowing ghost of a rainbow floating over the horizon. I'd never seen something so simultaneously unbelievable and haunting. Naturally I took a picture, only to discover that it was in fact, a double moonbow. It only occurred to me after, that there was a just-risen, full moon in the sky behind me, kicking off light into the damp, misting night and creating the bow. I wondered how rare of a phenomena it must be, and I googled it - nothing even came up (except for a song by Devo, which I definitely wasn't looking for). But maybe I was. Maybe it was a sign from god that I should be listening to more Devo. Maybe.
Another thing to note about Glacier is the completely unconcerned, almost attention-seeking way which the wildlife move through the park. We saw a grizzly, brown bears, big-horned rams, elk, and moose. All of them appeared to move fearlessly, showing stoic apathy to the humans around them. On the first day, as we drive on a narrow, two-lane road overlooking a beautifully deadly, 2000ft precipice, a ram fell out of the sky onto the road and slowly sauntered along from hoof to hoof. He walked with a confident swagger down the double yellow line, blocking both lanes as we watched him on his parade. His ten-minute journey ended as he moved to the right of our car and took a stinking piss off the edge of a cliff. From the car window I slapped his ass as we passed and knocked loose a stale dingleberry. He winked graciously and slowly nodded his head, as if to say thank you and goodbye.
Throughout the week we shot in the rain, snow, in lakes, against splashing waves and all sorts of other perils. When the weather was permitting, we got some incredibly beautiful shots, some of the best I've ever captured. Last night, I followed our trip leader, Marc, up the side of a steep hill which was flanked on the left side by a series of newly formed waterfalls from the tempestuous rains the day before. The trail was wet, thin, even non-existent at times. It became more and more dangerous the higher we climbed. With 20lbs of camera gear on my back I clawed my way over slippery rocks and running water, mud, through 10 ft tall grass and dripping wet foliage. Briefly, I considered how much more difficult getting down was going to be. Most others in the group didn't even make the attempt at getting up, and the ones who did quickly turned back. Marc moved up rock walls and ripped through brush with the dexterity and speed of a mountain goat. He was almost running. Repeatedly I lost him, only to hear him call out overhead, and then - seconds later - 20ft to my left, peeking through Christmas trees and fall-colored leaves, beckoning me toward him. When we got to the top, the hill opened into a small meadow full of untouched flowers and colorful shrubbery.
"Okay," he said, "you should be able to get a good shot up here. I'm going back to the others, don't get yourself killed on the way down now; the sun is setting soon."
I was afraid of this. But it was too late. I was looking at a puff of vapor where Marc had been. He turned into a drop of water and rode the stream all the way down. Something funny happens when you're completely alone at the peak of a very desolate, very inaccessible place. Your mind starts to notice things; dangerous things that you hadn't noticed before you were alone. Like how easy it would be for a bear to wander out into the open mountain meadow, and how defenseless you'd be. Or how one misstep during the descent could send you tumbling fatally downward over jagged rock. Suddenly you remember with vivid detail how much the grass glistened, how impossibly loose the rocks were. Did I even remember how to get back down ? - there was no trail. Crouched down, taking photos, I wondered how much it would cost to helicopter me out if I fell and broke my leg or ankle. It was a complete mystery to me how long it took us to get up there. If I left now, would the sun be down before I was? The trail would be untraversable in the dark.
A noise behind me. My head whips back, but nothing's there. After a few more photos I ran some more calculations and started to think it was time to go. Then, Something brushed against my shoulder. I leapt up in sheer electric terror and turned toward my guest. It was the ram who'd catwalked to take a piss earlier in the week.
"What the fuck are YOU doing up here," he asked, surprised. "Don't you know you could get killed up here? Didn't you see that grizzly less than an hour ago?"
I know. And I did.
"I saw that goatman you were with earlier. You're no goat, man."
I know.
"Look, you helped me out of an embarrassing jam, how about I return the favor? Climb on my back and we'll get you down in a jiffy; it'll be a great story."
So, I did what anyone would have done: I ignored all reason and logic and didn't ask how the ram was able to speak English, I didn't ask if it could handle the added load of my weight, and I didn't ask where the saddle in my hands had come from. I just packed up my camera gear and got on. We moved majestically down the mountain, to good old, low-altitude safety. Marc and the other photographers looked on in open-mouthed awe as I dismounted. No one said anything. The ram smiled and then strutted away into the sunset, spraying a warm, golden shower just before he disappeared in the mist.
That, is Glacier.
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