October 17, 2004 in Outdoors

Thinking short, hiking long Anaconda Pintler Wilderness, Montana

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The 158,615-acre Anaconda Pintler Wilderness in Southwestern Montana is small by Western standards, but packed inside its boundary is a beauty rivaling anything in the world.

I have taken many trips into the Pintlers in the last 32 years, packing in on horseback as well as backpacking and marathon day-hiking.

More recently, a Labor Day weekend hike into the wilderness has become a tradition. This year the destination was the area near Hicks Lake, a high mountain lake nestled up against the Continental Divide right below the tail of Fish Peak.

My brother, Don, and I had last been to Hicks Lake 28 years ago, but it was not our goal this year. The lake was a little out of our range, considering that Don and our longtime friend Bob Wilke were just hiking in for the day.

We drove up from the Big Hole Valley and started hiking from the end of the Lamarsh Creek Road. I was planning to pack my gear three miles up Trail 126 to the wilderness boundary, set up base camp for several nights and launch out on day hikes.

In the back of my mind I was thinking of possibly getting close to Hicks Lake during my visit, but not the first day. Don and Bob were going to hike in to my base camp and then we were all to go on together for “just a little way.”

I dropped my gear at my planned spot and off we went. Our first destination was a series of waterfalls where Lamarsh Creek tumbles down a little canyon. The falls came up so fast and effortlessly we had to go a little farther.

As we were walking we started talking about the route to Hicks Lake from the drainage we were in and we talked ourselves into seeing if we could find the drainage that comes out of the lake.

I had left the map with my gear back where I was going to camp since we were only going “a little way.” So we were working from memory.

We knew we had to go past the five rock slides that come off Long and Needle peaks and look for a creek coming from the north.

When we got there, going from memory again, we thought the lake was only about one mile up the hill. So of course we had to start climbing just to get a little closer. One step led to another and soon we had too much effort invested to turn back.

Our climbing had started at elevation 6,800 feet. The lake sits at 8,800 feet. There was no trail up the slope, nothing but years of downfall and rocks. Progress was made with much difficulty, hand-over-hand at some points, but we finally made it.

Hicks Lake is a real gem, boiling with fish and almost inaccessible.

Looking back the way we had come was a beautiful view of the Goat Peak complex, the highest peaks in the Pintlers ranging to 10,793 feet on West Goat Peak. Fish Peak was right in front of us at 10,233 feet.

We easily concluded there was no way we were going to go back the way we had come, but the only other option was to cross the rockslides coming off the tail of Fish Peak and climb up to the 9,000-foot rim of the canyon, walk around the front of the mountain and hope to find the Trout Creek Trail for a relatively easy hike back toward our camp.

Going with no map and 28-year-old memories, we had different ideas about where we would find the trail. Eventually, however, the shout came through the forest, “There’s a blaze and there’s the trail.”

By this time our old legs, the youngest of which were 50 and the oldest 66, were getting tired. They’d put in a full day and we still had about seven miles to go to my camp and 10 miles to the truck.

Even though it’s an easy hike down Trout Creek, we decided on our way that Hicks Lake was better left alone and there was no need EVER to go back there.

We got to my camp after dark and said our goodbyes. I wished them luck on the rest of their way, reassuring them that they only had three more miles to go.

Then I crawled into my sleeping bag, so exhausted I didn’t even eat.

The next morning I woke stiff and sore and could hardly move, but I was already putting everything into perspective.

I started planning my next trip to Hicks Lake with one important caveat: I won’t wait another 28 years.

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