We came upon a section of trail that featured a tall, sheer rock wall on the right side and a pretty good drop-off to the left of the trail - an extremely dangerous fall, if not lethal. Her mere appearance had me half wondering, “Why am I not doing that with my life?” She looked a bit enchanted, like she was always there, greeting passersby with mirth and mellow vibes. We passed a cool woman standing off to one side of the trail on a rock, painting the magnificent view on a small canvas perched on a little easel. Our progress proceeded relatively unhindered as we strode higher and higher up the side of the mountain valley. We did see a moose cow eating some later in the day, but I would want to collect considerably more data before suggesting we change the name to “moose grass.” Either way, it was right pretty and quite prevalent. There was some disagreement in local opinions on whether bear grass was so called because bears like to eat it, especially the blossoms, or because bears use the leaves and stalks to line their dens. Once the path took us above the forest and the lakes, we entered a couple of gorgeous miles of vegetation, including cow parsnip, my beloved huckleberries, and bear grass. “We came upon a section of trail that featured a tall, sheer rock wall on the right side and a pretty good drop-off to the left of the trail - an extremely dangerous fall, if not lethal.” Megan, my bride, loves this quality in me, when she says, “Can we go back now? I have a blister,” and a look of intense consternation falls upon my mug, as I have to gently talk myself out of the idea that my wife is asking me to fail. So if our guide takes us on a 10-and-a-half-mile hike, and we were to spend two miles sitting on our duffs in the extravagant pleasure of a boat, I would feel somehow cheated. It’s not that I want to race the suggested time, I just want to feel like I’ve consumed the entire feature, which also means that I eschew any proffered shortcuts. For some reason I apparently take it as a challenge when an app tells me that such-and-such moderate route is seven miles, and it should take three hours to finish. This has proven to be extremely the case with me and hikes for which I have a map and pertinent statistics. For example, if I say to my bunkmates in a prison camp that I can “eat 50 eggs,” even if it causes me great physical distress, you best believe I’m going to eat 50 damn eggs, with no cheating either. On top of that, I have this stubborn propensity for being a completist. I was glad we had walked through the aspens, firstly just for the pure enjoyment of the setting - hearing the morning birdsong while ambling along with friends, admiring clear lake waters through trees. After double-checking our stores of water and food, we set off. We all agreed, with minimal wisecracking, and we mothered each other through an assessment of our clothing layers, since we were starting in shorts and T-shirts but would end up in the snow on a glacier (!). He went on to basically explain that he would establish a “sphere of acceptable risk,” as in “You kids stay near me,” and that we would all now agree to trust his guidance when it came to navigating hazards, from crossing snowy slopes, to pushing through fatigue, to possible bear encounters. “This hike is going to differ from the others in that it will put us more than two hours from definitive medical care, which means this is a backcountry hike, as opposed to a front-country hike.” If that wasn’t clear already, it really hit home when Jon huddled us up in the parking lot and delivered a sedate guide speech. Covering 10.5 miles round trip, and a rise of 1,600 feet, we art boys had our work cut out for us. Jon had planned the week so that our distances and inclines gradually increased in difficulty in order to condition us for today’s hike to the Grinnell Glacier. Injuries are suffered, but in the end, the men live to tell their tale.
In this excerpt from the book, our esteemed author travels to Montana’s Glacier National Park with Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy and author and fellow adventurer George Saunders. A paean to outdoor experiences, Offerman takes us on “a rousing tour of America’s most beautiful places as well as a mission statement about loving, protecting, and experiencing the outdoors.” In Nick Offerman’s recently released book, Where the Deer and the Antelope Play, America’s favorite Renaissance man and New York Times bestselling author puts down his cellphone and explores the natural beauty of America’s great outdoors.
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