What do you want, Mountain Goat?

I’m feeling great as I begin climbing one of the steepest trails in Glacier National Park—Mt. Brown Lookout with over 4,000 feet of elevation gain in 5.4 miles.  My endorphins are surging and my strong legs are full of energy.  Ah I love to climb!

At the trailhead, I didn't even pause at the “caution grizzly bears… don’t hike alone” sign. I’ve gotten some internet advice from a bad-ass hiker who did many solo miles in grizzly country, and I’m feeling tough.  My bear spray feels less awkward at my hip, and my “hey bear” shouts up the empty trail are confident.

I’m in my element.  Lungs full of the sweet scent of the dense cedar forest.  After a month in Montana, I already I know the names of all the blooming wildflowers: the nine-leaved desert parsley, utah honeysuckle, calypso orchids, and glacier lilies.  Montana is feeling more like home.

Spring beauties.

My mind wanders.  While I like to hike solo, I think about how I also would like to find hiking buddies out here.  But I’m old and set in my ways.  I don’t want to backpack with just anyone.  As I daydream, my list of requirements for a trail buddy begins to sound more like a personal ad:

“Seeking backpacking companion for two day trips in northwestern Montana.  Must be an early riser.  Must like plants or be able to tolerate excessive oooing and ahhing over wildflowers/ big trees.  Must like bushwhacking and exploring, and value solitude and wilderness.  Introverts preferred, but extroverts that don’t talk nonstop OK. 15-25 miles a day at a 2-3 mph pace, with snack breaks ever two hours, but willing to compromise on pace and mileage if you have a high clearance vehicle to get us to trailheads down FS roads.”

A girl can dream, right?  Of course I would never post that!  Sheesh it’s not like I’m desperate!  I can hike solo just fine.  I can handle anything!

When the trail climbs up into the snow, I slip into my microspikes.  Lake McDonald, where I started, is so far below, I can hardly believe I just started down there.  I feel like I could climb forever.

Lake McDonald, far below.

At the end of a switchbacks, I see a mountain goat ahead munching on bear grass.  There are two hikers behind me, and my first thought is that I don’t want to startle the goat so that they get a chance to see it.  As I am waiting, the mountain goat stops eating and starts walking towards me.  WHAT THE @#$%!?  I wrack my brain trying to remember if I’ve read anything about mountain goats.  Do I act big and yell, or play dead?  I try yelling but he just keeps moving towards me so I slowly back down the trail.  I contemplate pulling out my umbrella but decide that’s more suitable defense against imaginary foes.  This mountain goat is real.  I look at its horns.

What are you looking at, Mountain Goat?

Fortunately, the other two hikers behind me come up and I tell them about the mountain goat.  Rocks, the woman says, throw rocks at them.

I let them go past me and I follow close behind.  The woman gives a few authoritative shouts, and the goat scampers off.  The couple goes ahead of me and I fall behind, taking photos and taking my time as the trail gets steeper and steeper in the deep snow.

Views into Glacier.

After another half hour of climbing, as I get up close to treeline, I decide it’s too steep for me to continue on my own.  I can see the fire tower isn’t too far away, but I don’t like the sheer drop-offs and the kick steps in the snow are shallow.  If I slipped, it would be a long way down, and I don’t have an ice ax with me.  I’ve already made it well outside my comfort zone, being this high up in the snow on my own.  At times like this, it doesn’t bother me to turn around.  The climb is what I live for, not getting to the top. 

Fewer tracks up here.

As I start to descend, I see the mountain goat heading up the trail towards me.  HE FOLLOWED ME!  For half an hour!  What does he want?!?!  I stare at him, wishing I could understand goat behavior.  He tilts his head and stares back at me, expectantly, as he continues walking towards me.

Stay back, I yell.  But he doesn’t.

Rocks are not easy to find in deep snow.  I locate a bare spot in a tree well, and fill my pockets with as many rocks as I can find.  When he gets closer, I start throwing them.  I don't aim at him, of course, but close enough.  He finally gets the message, and scampers uphill, as I pass below him and then continue on down the trail, looking over my shoulder ever few minutes.

I hurry down the trail.  I can see how his mountain goat footprints followed my own.  Why was this mountain goat following me?

I get down past the snow, into the cedar forest, into the land of wildflowers.  Yay plants! Plants don’t follow you, you don’t need to carry bear spray because of them, you don’t have to throw rocks at them. I love plants!

Utah honeysuckle.

Within a half mile of the trailhead, I stop to say hi to a father with his two young sons.  They are throwing rocks down the hillside.  The father says, it’s a nice day to throw rocks.  I reach down and feel a few rocks still in my pocket.  Yes, it is a good day to throw rocks!

When I get back to cell phone range, I ask on facebook about mountain goat behavior, and another hiker tells me that goats sometimes follow hikers looking for salt.  They will leave you alone if you go pee.

When I talk to my neighbor about it the next day, she thinks that mountain goat was trying to give me a message.  She believes things like that about animals.  But what do mountain goats have to say?

Perhaps, "Let’s go for a hike!  We'd make a great team- you supply the salt and I'll not talk your ear off.  I like plants too..."

For more about Glacier's habituated mountain goats, see this video.

Are you potentially dangerous, Mr. Mountain Goat?