Sisters, change and hiking once again

In the summer of '91 my sister and I headed up the now familiar trail 202 in the Montana Wilderness with our 10 year old sons.  Our lack of experience meant our packs were overloaded, poorly planned and so very heavy.  Ours sons, also on their first trip, were running ahead of us most of the way, ridiculously unconcerned about the hazards of bears, errors in navigation or the possibility injury.   Our 1st trip in the Bob Marshall Wilderness was 4 days long.  We traveled less than 15 miles.  It was the first of many.  As the years went by, our trips became more ambitious, our packs more expertly packed and we became more savvy and confident.  Trail 202 holds a special place in my heart.  Like a first love, the memory remains sweet and treasured.

With each trip, we learned.  We learned to pack an adequate amount of food after failing to do so on one very long, very hungry trip.   We learned the wisdom of packing rain gear, in spite of a forecast of clear weather.  We learned to pack band aids and blister packs no matter how confident we were of our boots.  The list goes on.  We became experienced backpackers.  We became confident and well prepared.  

I remember Pretty Prairie as a lovely meadow, filled with wild flowers and bordered on it's west side by the Rocky mountains and on it's east side by the trout filled Sun River.

As we traveled the first mile of our 2016 trek, change became obvious.  The wildfires of previous years were evident all around us. Tall, barren lodgepole, blackened by fire had replaced the shade and scent of thriving trees.   Without the shade, the trail itself was dusty and dry and the aroma of dampened earth was gone as well.  We three sisters, now in or sixties, or rapidly approaching now each hiked with a set of trekking poles.   Our footing had become less certain, less confident.   As I hiked along, reflecting on the changes of the wilderness and ourselves I was reminded of particular piece of wisdom I had read recently.

When we at last reached the southern end of Pretty Prairie, it was all but unrecognizable.  Thousands of trees had fallen after burning.  The naturally created dams ultimately changed the course of the river.  This necessitated a change in the trail as well.  The trail no longer cut through the center of the prairie, but along the edge of the mountain that bordered it's west side.   It took several moments for us to get our bearings.  At last we noticed the faint line of a our "old trail".  It was quickly disappearing  amidst the new growth of prairie grass, bushes and the new trees that were rising up from the ruins.  

I grew up 30 miles east of these mountains.  As a child, I viewed them as solid, unchanging and forever the same.   The lessons of change came later in my life, as it does for most. 

  As we hiked back to our base camp, I admired the new growth of trees coming up beneath the tall, but lifeless trees.  They were lush, plentiful and the beautiful shade of green.  New hope.  The cycle of life.   The floor of the forest is brimming with new life.  It's a beautiful thing to behold.    I thought also of my grand kids and their place in the cycle of our families evolution.  Young, fresh, beautiful and filled with promise.  The old falls away and the new rises up.  Change.  It's a good thing.

I have no doubt that my grand kids will hike the trails of the Bob Marshall Wilderness.  It's in our blood. It's our heritage.  Their paths however, will be different, their experiences unique and unknown to me.  This is as it should be.