In 2013, Brian and I were visiting friends and family in Montana. One of my all-time bucket list climbs for Montana is a burly mountain called Great Northern. It stands just beyond the southern edge of Glacier National Park rises to 8,705 ft. It’s the tallest peak in the Great Bear Wilderness, so the views into Glacier from the peak are fantastic. The trail isn’t maintained, or even marked. It’s kind of a local’s secret, so is more of a goat path than a trail. It’s very densely forested in the lower half of the climb and is very remote. It’s also very heavily populated with grizzlies. The climb is considered a class 2 or 3 scramble (not technical, but some exposure) and gains over 4,500 ft of elevation. There are no switchbacks. Most online sites call it 8 miles round-trip, but my GPS said 9 miles by the end of the day.

Brian and I had visited some friends at Spotted Bear Ranger Station the night before and we decided to camp there for the night. After more visiting in the morning, we got off to a late start, starting the climb around 11am. Right away, the trail was very hard to find and follow through dense trees and huckleberry thickets. The first 1.5 miles gains almost 2,000 ft of elevation, so suffice to say, it was extremely steep and required scrambling with hands and feet! Not to mention, there was some loose rock, so I was sliding all over the place.

About halfway up, the brush started to thin out and we got our first good views of Great Northern. We stopped for a lunch-with-a-view a rested our wobbly legs for a few minutes when we hit the ridgeline. My ass had been totally kicked and we were only halfway there.

As we continued on, a goat path followed edge of the ridge to the summit for the last 2-3 miles. Now when I say the edge of the ridge, I really mean, THE EDGE. The side of the mountain we were hiking up was steep; a 45-degree angle or more in some places. The other side of the mountain was a sheer cliff, around 2,000 ft tall, that dropped straight down to Stanton Lake.

I have a little fear of heights. It doesn’t usually keep me from doing things, other than jumping off really high bridges or getting wobbly knees at the top of a steep ski run. I’ve climbed Mt St Helens three times and I’ve always been fine. But for some reason, this trail was almost paralyzing for me. The ridgeline dipped and climbed and sometimes you could look straight down, over the edge, into the abyss below! I tried to cut away from the edge, into the trees when I could, but it was steep and the scrubby alpine trees were sometimes too thick. There was one spot, I even asked Brian to hold my hand to help me across because my legs were shaking so hard. We kept on like that, up and down, right along the edge until we finally hit the last false peak before the summit. There was an overhang we had to scramble up. It was about 10 feet tall and hung out, over a very steep and loose scree field. If you fell, you were gonna slide a couple thousand feet all the way to the bottom. Climbing that overhang did me in.

I realized that my “fun-factor” was down at zero. It was almost 5pm (it got dark around 10pm at the time), I was extra-exhausted from being so freaked about hiking along the ridge and I just didn’t have enough gas left in my tank. I also knew it would take me at least another hour to get up to the summit from where we were at the speed I was moving. I didn’t think we could get back down before dark and I didn’t want to be descending in those thick huckleberries, in grizzly country, in the dark!!

I waited at the top of that last false peak and sent Brian ahead. He summited Great Northern for the 3rd time alone. In the meantime, I enjoyed a visit from a curious mountain goat and had some time to reflect.

Should I feel like a wuss for not continuing on? I worked so hard to get this damn far. I was almost there. Shouldn’t I suck it up and keep going? I eventually decided I was glad I had stopped. Here’s the thing about fun-factor: It’s what makes it worthwhile to push through the pain and misery. I’m a firm believer in a little misery. I think it’s healthy to push yourself and sometimes, that can feel miserable. But even when I’m hurting, I’m still having fun. When your activity gets to be un-fun, you are more likely slip-up because you are too tired, or even worse, injure yourself. In this case, I was so pooped and had been so stressed that it just took all the joy out of the climb for me. My fun-factor had bottomed out. This has never really happened to me before on a climb, so it was a bit of a revelation. More importantly, it was a life lesson that I carry with me to this day. There’s no shame in turning around. There’s no shame in failure. There’s only shame in not trying. I went out there and gave it my best, honest effort. Would I loved to have made it to the top? Of course. Will I try it again someday? I hope so! But I did the right thing for ME at the time. We had started late, I was moving too slow and I was too tired to continue on safely. I pushed my personal limits and despite failing to reach the top, I felt very proud I had made it so far.

Brian returned from the top and told me it was good I didn’t go along, as it was a bit of an exposed, pucker-inducing scramble, even for him, to the summit. He didn’t think I would have made it back down without some serious help. His report solidified that I had made the right decision for myself! We pushed hard on our descent and got back to the trailhead after 9pm, just as it was getting dark. I have never slept so well in my life as I did that night!

 

So when you are out hiking, climbing, skiing, or following your passion, be sure to evaluate your fun-factor. Find your limits and push them. But stay in tune with your head and your heart. If it’s hard and scary, go for it. But when you’ve challenged yourself enough for one day and your fun-factor drops to zero, it’s ok to acknowledge that and stop or take a break. There’s no shame in stopping. It’s all about learning and growing in your own time.