Today, the 16th of September 2025, I set out from Sun Point at St. Mary Lake, to Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park. After a full day of rain yesterday, the air still carried a trace of dampness, and the morning began beneath a ceiling of clouds. Yet, as the hours passed, the light shifted and opened, and beams of sunlight spilled down into the valley, brightening the trail and the waters of St. Mary Lake. It felt like the mountains were stepping back out of hiding after a long night.
The path itself was gentle, winding almost flat through a stretch of forest that had burned in past years. The charred trunks rose in dark silhouettes, reminders of fire’s power, and I felt a pang of sadness at the loss. Yet at the same time, those open spaces allowed views that once would have been hidden. It was as though the land, stripped bare, had chosen to reveal the grandeur of the peaks around me.
St. Mary Lake stretched long and gleaming at my side, its waters a shifting mix of turquoise and steel gray under the changing sky.
Along its shore, the first mountain that caught my eyes was Red Eagle Mountain. It rose with a sharp, angular profile, its slopes streaked in deep red and earthy brown layers that seemed to glow whenever the sun struck them. The color was striking, as though the stone itself carried the warmth of fire.
Just beyond, almost shoulder to shoulder with it, stood Mahtotopa Mountain, its form broader, with a crown-like summit that seemed quieter in character yet no less proud.
Beside it, Little Chief Mountain rose abruptly, its dark walls plunging steeply down toward the lake. The contrast of the lighter, rust-red tones of Red Eagle and the darker, almost shadowy flanks of Little Chief gave the whole ridge a sense of balance, like a family of giants standing together.
A little further along the trail, my eyes were drawn to the elegant shape of Dusty Star Mountain. Its ridges rose sharply and cleanly, cutting into the sky with delicate, blade-like lines. The colors there were softer, more subdued, almost as though the peak had been carved from pale sandstone and then brushed with the dust of centuries. It had an ethereal quality, a mountain that seemed both solid and somehow dreamlike at the same time.
At the far end of St. Mary Lake, I could see Fusillade Mountain, its jagged ridges thrusting upward in dramatic, serrated outlines. The peak looked as though it had been shaped by battle, the stone chipped and cut into daring spires. It stood like a sentinel at the lake’s end, a reminder of the raw power of Glacier’s landscapes.
As the trail turned uphill and I lifted my gaze to the right-hand side, more mountains came into view. Goat Mountain rose with massive bulk, its flanks gray and rough, shaped like a fortress wall. There was something solid and unwavering about it, as if it had stood for eternity, watching quietly over the valley below.
Beside it stood Singleshot Mountain, a peak that seemed almost solitary in form, with a single commanding face of pale stone. Its slopes were striped with lines of sediment, a natural record of time pressed into rock, and in the shifting light its surface took on a silvery sheen.
Along the way, the sound of rushing water accompanied me. The trail crossed three waterfalls, each with its own beauty. First came Baring Falls, its narrow veil dropping gracefully into a shaded pool. Then, further on, St. Mary Falls thundered in two tiers, the water plunging into churning, aquamarine depths with a voice that filled the canyon.
Finally I reached Virginia Falls, the grandest of them all. The water cascaded in a long cascade, 500 meters long, in several steps. After following the cascades for 500 meters, I found myself in front of the actual falls, which tumbled down from a high wall with a mighty bang. Standing in front of the waterfall, with spray on my face and the echo of the water all around, filled me with both humility and excitement.
Looking back on the day, I thought of how different this hike felt compared to when I walked it six years ago. Then, the views had been scarce, the forest still standing thick, the mountains often hidden. Today, in the clearings shaped by fire, every peak revealed itself, each one distinct in form and color, each one adding its voice to the story of the valley. Sadness and beauty, destruction and renewal, all seemed to walk beside me on the trail.