As I slid out of my car in Many Glacier aggravated by the traffic ridden drive across Glacier National Park, I was hit by the stench of rotting manure. With Cracker Lake being one of the most popular hikes in the park, I had expected a lot of foot traffic. What I hadn’t realized is that there would be even more equestrian travel on this trail. I groaned as I came to the realization that this hike would be twelve miles of stepping over manure land mines, but I figured it couldn’t be that bad since after scouring countless trail reports I hadn’t seen any reporting horse travel.

When I started up the trail, a large sign alerting me to the uneven path due to the hooves of these large creatures trotting through the mud was intimidating, and I took note of their suggestion to yield to any equestrian traffic with at least three feet for them to pass safely. The dirt trail was gentle, but the stench was not. The fresh manure lining the ground was disgusting and in some places there was so much that there was no way to get around it. It said that on the sign that horses frequent the first 1.7 miles of trail. I figured after that it would be better, but I wanted to get through this part as quickly as possible with flies and mosquitoes swarming off the fresh excrement. I jogged down the trail, trying to bear its unpleasantness as quickly as possible, only to be met by a long line of riders in front of me.

I stepped off the trail leaving a four-foot berth for the animals to pass. I quivered in fear as each horse sniffed me. Did I mention that I’m terrified of the large creatures? When the second to last horse passed, he swung his head towards me and nudged my shoulder causing me to fall off the embankment and down into the waist high brush off the trail. Whacking my way back up through the briars their long thorns tore away at my flesh leaving me bruised, battered, and bleeding. When I got back to the trail the horses were gone without the slightest acknowledgement that they had caused me a considerable amount of pain and distress. No one had asked me if I was okay. Tears streaking down my face, I turned and ran away as fast as I could up the gently sloping trail.

About two miles into the hike when I saw the final trail crossing for the equestrian loop I was overcome with relief. A feeling of safety rushed through me as I climbed into the wooded forest, the wafting scent of pine in the air. I don’t often feel unsafe while hiking, so it was interesting that even among the grizzlies and wolves that that call Glacier National Park home I felt safer here than when sharing the trail with the horses. I was a little disappointed when I saw more manure on the trail above the horse loop, but it was much less frequent so I was more comfortable.

I expected to see many people on this hike, it being one of the most popular trails in the park, but to my surprise I didn’t see a single soul for the rest of the ascent. I had passed one large group early on, but other than that I was completely alone. It was intimidating knowing I was in grizzly country by myself where there’s strength in numbers. To make myself feel safer, I sang made up songs about horses, bears, and huckleberries. I had seen a grizzly earlier that morning which was exciting when I was surrounded by the rigid metal of my vehicle. Here I was exposed and in their territory which was intimidating despite the bear spray clinging to my hip. I figured making noise would alert any wildlife to my presence and prevent the likelihood of me seeing any wildlife. It worked seeing as the only animals I saw were the sneaky little marmots in the sub-alpine meadows waiting for me to drop scraps of food as I walked along.

As I ascended, I crossed a gurgling stream on a wooden bog bridge that made me smile and think of home. The stones underneath the water were beautiful in colors of terracotta, pale yellow, turquoise, and even a deep eggplant. I had heard of the rainbow rocks that reside in Glacier National Park, and although they weren’t as bright as the ones you see on Instagram photos they were still fascinating. Nothing is what it seems in Instagram photos is it?

Climbing higher and higher, I finally broke into delicate sub-alpine meadows where wildflowers were at the height of their bloom in a variety of colors just like the rocks in the stream. I enjoyed the fragrant meadows and traversed them careful not to step on any of the delicate plant life. There were several areas that had been trampled by visitors with signs restricting their access, yet the first people I saw at the lake were sitting right in the middle of a delicate re-vegetation zone. It was an older couple who asked me, “are you really going to continue on to the other side of the lake this late in the day?” I replied that yes, I was going to continue the last mile to the far shore peeking through the meadows. It was almost noon, but I was proud to have been keeping a quick pace and confident that I would make it back to the trailhead well before dusk or any spontaneous afternoon thundershowers.

As I traversed above the lake its robins-egg-blue water shimmering even in the haze left by the early summer wildfires. There had been little visibility since my arrival in Montana, but luckily I could still see the towering peak and icy glacier sitting above the lake. The lake reminded me of the Blue Lagoon in Iceland with similar looking milky mineral laced water. The difference was that this lake was chilly and refreshing on this 90° day rather than the Blue Lagoon’s steamy thermal warmth.

There were only about eight people sitting on its shore, much fewer than I had expected, so I was happily surprised to see that it was not a busy day at the lake. When I got there I ripped off my shoes and socks and dunked my feet in the cold blue water. A shiver went all the way from my toes up my spine and I was instantly cooled from the cold icemelt. I had plans to submerge myself in the lake, but after feeling the temperature I was hesitant. Hiking over six miles with wet shorts and hair didn’t seem appealing all the sudden. I waded in up to my knees and saw my feet disappear in the milky opaque water.

As I sat on the shore eating my snack of trail mix and enjoying my first break of the day, I could see small bull trout swimming close to shore. With a ripple they popped their heads through the still water. I could see their sleek bodies slithering through the water. After sitting for about a half hour and chatting with the other hikers near to me, I decided that it was time to get back on the trail.

There were two groups each with four horses tied up by the lake and one had departed just as I had arrived at the shore, so I figured they were far enough in front of me that it could scare away any wildlife but I wouldn’t have to see them along the way. As I descended many groups of hikers were making their way up the trail. I was a bit surprised to see all of them so late in the day especially since much of the trail is exposed with no trees to protect from the common afternoon thunderstorms. Maybe like me they read the forecast and decided it was safe. By then the sun had started to peek through the haze, hot on my skin. 90° wasn’t so bad when it was cloudy, but as soon as the sun hit me it was unbearable. I jogged back down into the trees quickly to escape the heat.

I was surprised when halfway down the trail back to the car I caught up with the group of horses. A few of the ascending hikers had told me that they would be long gone since they were going at a high speed down the trail. I was proud to have caught up with these long-legged creatures and stayed behind them for a half mile before they let me pass to jog the rest of the way to the car. The whole time I had my head on a swivel my hand ready to snap to the bear spray accessible at my hip.

When I reached the car I was elated. I had hiked over thirteen miles in less than five hours which was a big feat for me. A hike like this would usually take me more than six hours considering the elevation gain and my usual breaks. On our road trip Lucy and I had been averaging just over one mile an hour because she doesn’t tolerate the heat well, and although I knew she had been holding me back I didn’t realize how fast I could go. I hadn’t been feeling confident about my hiking skills especially after struggling in the Wind River Range a few weeks ago. This hike gave me the confidence that I haven’t experienced since I was summiting New Hampshire 4,000 footers every weekend.