A Day On Siyeh Pass

The night before had been  blanketed in a dense fog. One of those heavy, damp veils that clings to your skin and  leaves everything soaked. My friend and I had made plans the night before but neither of us expected much with visibility at zero. But now, as I peered out from my sleeping  bag, the morning sky had cleared. Stars shimmered overhead and the first hues of dawn  began to color the pale blue morning sky. My jaw hung in disbelief. Just hours earlier,  the world had felt closed off and claustrophobic. Now, it was open and full of promise. 

Emerging from the warmth of my car, the cold September air stung my lungs. The  moisture from the night had transformed the mountaintops into a winter wonderland,  reminiscent of a Christmas movie. As we ventured down the trail, my hiking boots  imprinted their presence on the untouched snow, leaving a trail of my own. The  untouched snow on the trail ahead was a clear indication that we were one of the few  souls gracing the trail this morning. 

The trees thinned as we climbed, and the world around us shifted, snow-covered pines  gave way to wind-carved rock and towering cirques. The view underwent a constant  metamorphosis with each elevation gain. Each switchback revealed a new angle, a new  version of the same ancient mountains. The wind swept over the pass and into the  seams of my jacket, cooling my skin as I moved. 

False summit after false summit tested our resolve, but eventually the trail plateaued.  We passed groups of hikers coming from the east trailhead, back towards the west trailhead where I came from. We seemed to be at the midpoint of the hike. 

The once-pristine trail was now scattered with prints from hikers. Groups coming from  the west and east sides of the pass converged and carefully crept past each other on the  edge of the steep trail. My eyes scanned a print that stopped me cold: a grizzly bear paw  print, large and unmistakable, claw marks like daggers etched into the snow. 

We eagerly dropped our bags among groups of hikers already enjoying their lunches. As  we unwrapped our sandwiches, a hushed murmur passed through the crowd: a sow and  three cubs had been spotted. Everyone swapped stories, trying to pinpoint where the  bears were last seen. I listened closely to gather any information that I could. I pieced  together bits and pieces from different conversations. The consensus was that the bear  family was on the east side of the pass, directly where we were headed. The last sighting seemed to indicate that the sow and the cubs hand wondered off trail into the  trees.

I couldn’t decide if I felt relieved or uneasy that the bears had disappeared off the trail.  Maybe they’d moved on. Or maybe they were just out of sight, hidden in the trees  beside the trail. My eyes were less focused on the beautiful views that had captivated  me that morning. Instead I constantly scanned the valley below for any sign of  movement. I could see groups of other hikers slipping through the trees on the trail  below. Each switchback we descended gave way to a new hiding place that could be holding the sow and cubs. After an uneventful hour of hiking down, I began to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that the bears must’ve left the area. Then, just as I began to relax, I saw it. A commotion on the trail below. The bears had burst from a patch of forest, running full speed toward a group of hikers. 

They must have been startled. The sow barreled forward with the cubs tumbling behind,  scattering hikers in their path. I raised my camera, tracking them through a 600mm lens.  The hikers ahead wisely stepped off the trail to make space for the bears to pass. The  sow and cubs ran across the trail and up the hillside above. 

A roar broke the silence as two cubs collided and rolled down the mountain. The  wrestling cubs loosed some rocks that continued to scurry down the mountain another  20 yards. The roars echoed on the canyon walls around us, making me feel as though we  were surrounded. I froze. The sounds crawled down my spine and raised goosebumps  on my arms and neck. I held my breath in an effort to hear more of the commotion. As  quickly as they started, the chaos stopped and all I could hear was the quiet tumble of  rocks in the distance and my shallow breathing. The two cubs had separated and moved  back to their mom. She was now laying on her back and the cubs gathered around her.  It took me a moment to realize what was happening; they were nursing! The altercation  between the cubs was actually a fight over which one got to eat first. 

Each cub found a spot to nurse and the canyon fell silent. I stared, stunned by the shift  from frenzy to calm. They lay there peacefully, the canyon silent once more. We  watched the bears for a few more minutes and it seemed as though they were all ready  for a nap. Each bear picked a spot on the hill and laid down, careful not to stray too far  from mom. We decided it was time to move down the trail, and I forced my feet into  motion. The trail had become a series of switchbacks on a cliff, making the way ahead  hard to see below, and the trail behind us, impossible to see as well.  

I couldn’t help but think that we were the only hikers on the trail. The trail dropped into  a bowl where the bears had settled. We couldn’t go back. We’d have to pass below them. We zigzagged down the trail into the bowl where the bears camped, my mind  thinking of how the two of us are going to navigate around the four grizzly bears.

Then we saw them, a family ahead on the trail: parents and two small girls, paused  about 100 yards from the bears. Relief washed over me. “Safety in numbers”, I thought.  We hurried to catch them before they made a move, leaving us behind. When we  reached them, their expressions mirrored our own. They were waiting for someone to  share the risk. 

We made small talk with our new companions and took a moment to catch our breath,  remove our bear spray and group together. We weighed our options. Wait for the bears  to move along, or move as a group and announce our presence. The bears still rested  just above the trail. It didn’t look like they were planning on going anywhere soon. We  opted to proceed, making noise, staying close, eyes on the hill. As we navigated the trail through the trees, we came to a clearing and were greeting by clear view of the bears  on the hill above us. The sow’s head shot up and she looked down at us. 

We kept our pace, calm but steady. Two of the cubs sat up, curious to catch a glimpse of  the passing hikers. The sow’s gaze followed us, but she did not move. Once we were  clear, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. A couple glances over my  shoulder as we moved down the trail, reassured me that the bears weren’t interested in  following us. 

The rest of the hike felt like a dream. Waterfalls misted our faces as we passed. The  morning’s frost and tension gave way to golden sun and warmth. I gazed up in awe at  the towering cirques above us, carved by glaciers tens of thousands of years ago. I made  a mental note to research how long it took them to form. The sweeping mountain views  warranted a few panoramic images before the fatigue truly set in. 

The adrenaline from the bears and the awe of the ancient scenery had begun to fade.  My feet felt like concrete. My skin, tingling with the first signs of sunburn. But I was safe.  Tired, sore, and sun-kissed, I returned to the trailhead full of gratitude. 

Grateful that this place is my home. A home where I can intimately experience the  outdoors. A home where I can feel the shift of multiple seasons in a single day. A home  that makes me feel alive and endlessly curious. 

A home where even the bears feel like neighbors, reminding me I’m a guest in a place  far older and wilder than myself. 

Montana isn’t just my home. 

It’s who I am. And it always will be.

To see more of Jordan's photography and storytelling give @ObozFootwear a follow on Instagram and subscribe to our newsletter. For updates on upcoming work, check out Jordan's Instagram. If you're planning a hike on Siyeh Pass check out this National Parks page and be sure to read these tips for hiking safely in bear country. Happy Trails!