As I was walking and running my way to Snyder Lake in Glacier National Park on a beautiful, sunny Monday morning, I had few thoughts. 

First, there were likely thousands of people hiking at GNP at that same moment. Popular trails like Iceberg, Grinnell Glacier, Highline, Avalanche and Hidden Lake were probably crowded with young and old enjoying spectacular views, perhaps spotting mountain goats, moose or big horn sheep and making their way to picture-perfect destinations. 

Second, I was perhaps the only person, certainly one of just a few, headed for Snyder Lake, an 8.6-mile, 2,200-foot elevation gain, roundtrip hike with the trailhead just across from Lake McDonald Lodge off the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

This was not exactly a trail brimming with people coming and going. It was difficult, with a steep, switchback start, rocky, windy terrain, thick brush farther along that would make it easy to surprise a grizzly, and continuous ups and downs. Most reasonable people were joined by friends and family on better-known trails.

Not me. Foolish or brave, I can’t say. 

I can state there was something wonderful about being alone in the wilderness, surrounded by trees, flowers and mountains, hearing a creek running nearby and feeling the wind. I treasured the solitude and the peace that came with it. I had a sense of being crazy to be out here by myself, but also a sense of pride of going solo.  

Still, there was also something unsettling in the air. If something happened, if I fell or even worse, surprised a grizzly, there would be no one to help. So I shouted loud and often. 

“Hey bear.” 

“Coming through bear.” 

“I'm running along here bear.” 

The uneasy feeling was somewhat alleviated in another mile when I met a father and son carrying fishing poles returning from Snyder Lake. They assured me the lake was stunning and it was close. 

I pushed on. 

They were right. 

Snyder Lake was everything I hoped. Sandwiched between the cliffs of Mt. Brown and Edwards Mountain, it offered stunning beauty, almost a small version of Iceberg Lake. A waterfall in the distance. Crystal clear water. Bald eagles. And best of all, no people. 

I sat on a log and looked around, soaking in the sunshine and feeling blessed to have this lake to myself. I wanted the moment to last, I wanted to hold it, keep it, but I had to let it go. 

After an hour or so of walking and scrambling my way along the shoreline for different viewpoints, I began the run back. It was far more fun going down than coming up. Energized, I felt faster and stronger, even bounding a bit as I went, hopping over rocks and roots with triumphant cries that no one heard. I no longer worried about falling or bears. I was free of fear. 

But overconfidence got me. 

A mile or so from the end, cranking up the pace, my foot caught something. I knew I couldn’t stop it, so I rolled with it, crashing on dirt and rock on my right arm, thigh and hip. It hurt, but only a little. Falling comes with trail running. It will happen. 

Get up and run, I muttered.

I did, feeling even more emboldened. I loved knowing I had been bloodied in battle. The scrapes and cuts were medals of honor that I secretly hoped people noticed.

A few minutes later, sweating and breathing  hard, I reached the trailhead. Finished. No one was there to cheer, offer congratulations or a high five. I was alone just as when I started. 

It was just right.

    Thick brush lines the trail to Snyder Lake in Glacier National Park on Monday.
  

    Cliffs surround Snyder Lake at Glacier National Park.
  

    Trees and mountains line the trail to Snyder Lake.