Behind the mountains, there are more mountains

… and in my case, a fair amount of these:

Me and the sweetie are heading out to Glacier Park for two weeks for a lot of camping and backpacking.

House sitter – check.

Camping gear – check.

Plane tickets and all reservations – check.

Bear repellent spray – check.

Extra large set of balls – haven’t found ‘em yet.

I’m not kidding,  I’ve been grizzly-obsessed ever since I planned this trip, as Glacier has just about more grizzlies than anyplace else in the lower 48. Of course, I started it out by reading a book called “Mark of the Grizzly”, which, in the context of “teaching”, basically is about 50 or so ways to get torn apart by a grizzly. I lie awake at night thinking about this shit. When checking on the status of the campsites we have reserved for our 3-night backpack over the Continental Divide, I recently saw that one of ‘em says “Increased bear activity.”

Fuck.

Actually, I really, really want to see one. Just from a very safe distance, preferably with no knowledge that I am watching it.

I know that I’ve been sparse around here lately. Such is life. But if a few months go by and the election season starts and there’s still nothing from me on here, rest assured, me and the sweetie are in a pile of bear poop scattered across the Montana wilderness. Good times.


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