Grinnell Glacier Trail – Glacier National Park

1 September 2019

A soft blanket of clouds hung low over Many Glacier on the first morning of September 2019, when I set out for one of the most unforgettable hikes in my life: the Grinnell Glacier Trail. The air was cool and damp, the colors around Swiftcurrent Lake slightly muted—greens deepened by moisture, the granite faces of Allen Mountain and Mount Gould washed in silvery light. Even before taking my first steps, the landscape already felt like a place where time moved differently, slower, older.

At the trailhead I joined a small group of guys in their twenties. We exchanged cheerful greetings, but I soon realized their pace was gentler than mine. After an unhurried start and a long rest at Lake Josephine, I felt the mountains pulling me forward. Staying with them meant I would never reach the glacier in time. So I tightened my pack straps, wished them a good hike, and continued alone—into a landscape that seemed to open itself more with every step.

Gallery I – Early Trail & Lakeside Calm

Once I rounded the far shore of Lake Josephine, the character of the trail changed completely. The path rose sharply, and suddenly the world dropped away on one side. The air grew thinner and cooler, carrying the sound of distant waterfalls. Almost a mile beyond the lake, a breathtaking sight awaited me: Grinnell Lake, glowing in an unreal palette of turquoise and jade far below, as if lit from within.

Above it towered Mount Gould, a wall of dark, striated rock rising cold and massive to the south. From its shoulder, Grinnell Falls plunged hundreds of feet into the valley, a white thread weaving through the shadows of the cliffs. I stopped for a long moment, simply absorbing it. These were the views that make a person forget fatigue.

Gallery II – First Views Into the Valley

After nearly two hours of climbing, I reached a sign informing me that it was still another two miles to the glacier. A couple of hikers nearby sighed, turned, and headed back down. For a moment I considered the same—the clouds were thickening, and the trail looked steeper ahead. But something inside pushed me onward. I am still grateful I listened to that impulse.

The trail soon wound through open alpine meadows, alive with late-summer grasses and streaked with small waterfalls that trickled across the rock like silver threads. Mount Grinnell rose to my right, its blocky ridges layered in deep reds and purples, the colors shifting every time the light changed. Above the last stretch of meadow, the first pale blue tongues of Grinnell Glacier came into view, gleaming between dark cliffs.

Then came the narrow ledges—rock wall on one side, steep drop-off on the other. The exposure sharpened my senses. Switchback after switchback carried me higher until, with a final turn, the view opened into a tremendous amphitheater of ice, water, and stone.

I had reached the Grinnell Glacier Viewpoint.

Below me spread the upper Grinnell Lake, flecked with floating icebergs like shattered glass. Ahead towered the Garden Wall, a fortress of jagged summits. To the left loomed Mount Gould; to the right, the tiny white patch of Gem Glacier clinging high on the cliffs like a fragile memory of the last Ice Age. The glacier itself—about 150 acres in size—glowed ghostly pale under the clouded sky.

I handed my camera to another hiker and asked for what became one of my favorite photos of this entire journey.

Gallery III – Exposed Trail & Glacier Amphitheater

After soaking in the scenery, I reluctantly turned back. The descent felt lighter, almost joyful—at least until a sudden traffic jam of hikers made me slow down. A Bighorn Sheep was making its way up the trail. The group ahead of me stopped and stepped aside. The sheep, unimpressed, simply climbed onto a rock beside the path and stared down at us with calm authority.

We waited several minutes. Eventually I asked if we could pass, and the woman in front of me nodded: “Go ahead.” So I walked carefully beneath the rock where the sheep stood. I kept my eyes on him; he kept his eyes on me. My heart raced, but the encounter passed peacefully. A moment later, I snapped a photo of him watching over the trail like a silent guardian. Twenty minutes later two hikers caught up with me—one laughing: “That’s the guy who passed the sheep first. Cool.”

Gallery IV – The Bighorn Guardian

The way down brought even more surprises. The valley opened beneath me in one sweeping line: Grinnell Lake glowing turquoise, Josephine Lake darker and calmer behind it, and far beyond the silver shimmer of Swiftcurrent Lake. Wildlife appeared everywhere—far more than I had seen on the way up. A pair of mountain goats grazed on a rocky bluff. In the forest near Josephine Lake, I spotted a couple of moose, heavy and slow-moving through the trees, and another feeding at the lake’s edge. Only bears were missing today, although I remembered well the one we had seen three years earlier eating berries near the Many Glacier entrance.

Just before reaching the trailhead, a huge moose suddenly emerged only three meters from me behind a cluster of trees. For an instant my breath caught—an animal that size, that close, commands both awe and caution. But it continued calmly feeding, indifferent to my presence.

Gallery V – Wildlife Encounters

At the junction to Red Rock Falls, I still had energy to spare and decided to walk another forty minutes. The smaller side trail felt quiet and intimate after the grandeur of the glacier route—just the soft splash of the river and the rustle of late-summer leaves.

Later, back at the car, I drove toward St. Mary Lake. The evening clouds lifted slightly, revealing a majestic line of peaks across the water: Red Eagle, Mahtotopa Mountain, Little Chief, and Dusty Star Mountain glowing faintly in the fading light. It was the perfect, serene ending to an already unforgettable day.Gallery VI – Evening Peaks & Final Views