newest publication in the Whitefish Review

The Beast that Sleeps Deep

I feel like I’m on a giant’s body that is breathing, like the ice is pulsating up and down.

Benjamin Alva Polley

Nonfiction

From a distance, the lake looks an innocent blue, like open water. When we ski closer, we see that it’s actually covered by a blanket of ice, and when we draw closer still, we hear strange noises beneath the surface—grumbles, gurgles and moans. It’s a language older than words and beyond human comprehension. They sound like whale songs, or the rumbling of a hungry stomach. We pause nervously on our skis. There are four of us trekking through Glacier National Park on a wildlife study. None of us want to anger the deity that sleeps at the bottom of Kintla Lake.

There’s a rational explanation for why the lake makes these sounds. During the day, the sun shines down, heating the black water and creating thermals. Then, at night, the water cools, the ice thickens, and growing pains fill the air. But science is not what comes to mind when I’m standing on my skis and staring out at the lake this late winter afternoon. The noises seem too eerie to be explained away.

We can see about three-and-a-half miles of the lake before it hooks to the right, out of sight. Small pools of water dot the ice. Pressure ridges run through it like raised scars. We side-step down to the lake slowly, and ski a bridge of ice that appears safe, leading through jumbled and jagged ice plates that resemble teeth of a large beast.

Listen. The lake is talking. Is it welcoming us out on the ice or is it warning us not to cross it? Either way, the fear is almost palpable.

Dusk is settling in, and we still have nearly six miles to ski. We have headlamps strapped to our heads like miners, and self-rescue screws strung around our necks. It’s getting darker by the minute. The first stars appear in the night sky. Jupiter shines bright and low in the west and starts to sink behind the Whitefish Range.

I’ve skied Kintla Lake in winter many times before, but now I have to summon courage with each kick and glide of my skis. My pack is so stuffed with gear that my shoulders and neck are aching. Apart from the physical discomfort, there’s the psychological one: I’m so preoccupied with the strength of the ice that even taking a deep breath and relaxing is a struggle.

The purpose of our study is to figure out if there’s a population of fishers in GNP. Fishers are members of the weasel family. They’re bigger and darker than pine martens, and about half the size of wolverines.

Just last week, temperatures were in the fifties in Polebridge and much of the North Fork valley. In this part of Montana, we usually have a January thaw, but this is extreme and the lake has only frozen within the last two weeks. How strong could the ice possibly be? I scurry across it, avoiding the edges of the lake where the ice is thinnest. My friends venture out into the middle, while I cautiously ski from bay to bay.

I feel like I’m on a giant’s body that is breathing, like the ice is pulsating up and down. Fear sends adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream as cracks in the ice spider-web out beyond my peripheral vision. I don’t want to disturb the beast that sleeps deep, down in the dark, by slipping and falling. He might just reach a hand up through a crack and pull me down into the cold to feed his grumbling stomach.

Falling through the ice would be disastrous: According to the Flathead Commission, Kintla Lake is 390 feet deep. A fall could easily happen, though. It would be a game changer.

Game on! All of us have played the scenario in our minds over and over. If you fall in, try not to gasp, keep your mouth closed and remain calm. Most people who fall in drown because of the initial gasp. Grab your rescue screws and slam them into the ice shelf above the water and then pull yourself out from the abyss. A few of your companions will ski to a safe vantage point and throw you rescue ropes. Another will get a raging fire going on shore. They will get you out of the lake without anyone else getting hurt. They will get you into warm clothes immediately. One of them will get into a sleeping bag with you to generate more body heat and help fight off hypothermia.

I’ve been skiing on frozen lakes for over a decade and nothing like this has ever happened. Still, the possibility lingers in the back of my mind. I remind myself that a few inches of ice can hold several hundreds of pounds—and that our skis spread out our mass.

The ice on the lake is not usually this frightening because ordinarily it’s covered by a thin layer of snow. This time the lake is clear as a skating rink. My skis are fast and loud, announcing my presence to all critters around. I can see boulders and logs beneath the ice—they lie along the shallows, twenty to thirty feet down. The noises coming up through the ice are more unsettling than ever.

According to Richard Nelson, a cultural anthropologist who studied the Koyukon people of Alaska, the native people there say that when lakes make these sounds, they are asking the heavens to send down ice and then snow to insulate the lake from the cold winter air. But maybe the sounds can be attributed to all the fish that have lived and died in this body of water—maybe what I’m hearing is their spirits screaming out. Or maybe the sounds belong to all the creatures that have been preyed upon by predators in this valley. Or perhaps the sounds belong to humans who have died on this lake—maybe their bodies are hidden in the depths and maybe it’s their souls who are crying out.

The weird possibilities keep multiplying in my brain.

As the night cools, the noises from the lake grow louder and more insistent. Because there’s no snow, I have no way to kick and glide with my Nordic skis. I use my upper body to pull myself forward with my poles and hope to glide fifty feet or so with each pull of my poles. Any variation in this relatively simple routine could send me on my ass and make me vulnerable to the sleeping giant below.

One of my friends sees a wide pressure ridge in the ice ahead, so we slow to a stop. Sometimes, open water alerts us to danger and other times, someone will notice ice that’s barely frozen. Whatever the obstacle, we all come to a halt. With our headlamps we assess the pressure ridge searching for a safe passage across. My heart quickens. “How are we going to get around that?” I holler to no one in particular. “Should we go on to shore?” We all shrug our shoulders as the beam from our headlamps goes from each other back to the obstacle. Then the bravest one in our group takes a deep breath and maneuvers via a channel to safety, like thread through the eye of a needle. Only then do the rest of us continue. This happens numerous times: we freeze in fear, we wait, and then we follow the leader.

Midway down the lake, there’s a pool of open water, many hundreds of acres large. Either it’s resting on top of the ice or we are nearing an area where there’s no ice at all. Darkness surrounds us now. All that black water, wrinkled with waves, is a frightening sight. We skirt it, and ski its western edges. I’ll never know how thick the ice beneath us is—it’s impossible to tell in the dark—but we make it to the cabin at the head of the lake without falling in and without meeting the beast.

After dinner, in the darkness of the cabin, I listen again to the groaning of the lake. It’s a deep, mournful sound. Whether it’s a deity or a monster under the ice—or just frozen water shifting and settling—it is one of the most transfixing sounds I’ve ever heard. Indigenous people in northern climates must have incorporated the otherworldly noises into music, art and rituals—accompanying them with their chanting and their flutes and their drums.

No matter where the sounds come from, I give the ice respect. The noises start to sound beautiful once I’ve faced my fears and crossed over.

Kilimanjaro (the great white mountain) locals pronounce it 'Kilima Njaro'

                                                                 Kilimanjaro (Kilima Njaro)
                                                                                 19,340 feet

          There are many routes to trek up Mt. Kilimanjaro (Kilima Njaro) and we chose the 'Machame route.' It is a six-day trek encompassing four days up and two days down. We began hiking at around 3,000 feet and that first day, and we ended up at 10,230 ft, where our first camp was for the night.          
           The parking lot looked like an Everest expedition with 15-20 sherpas and porters carrying loads on their heads, strapped to their backs and and lugging bags in both hands.
          Doug McCartney was my hiking partner. He resided in Gardner, MT and worked in Yellowstone National Park doing historic preservation on cabins. This first day was within our hiking abilities. I worked in Glacier National Park, and our highest peaks were within the days reach. We began hiking through a cloud forest with mist constantly draping down from clouds that scarfed around the low lying hills that fed the giant vegetation. Ferns and other palm tree looking plants looked like they were on steroids. Long Spanish moss hung from deciduous branches and limbs. Plantains, ebony trees, camphora, were among the plant diversity. camphora has white dust or sap like substance that can cause blindness. Some of the thickest understory I have ever seen. This cloud forest received 18-28 feet of rain per year. Pink orchids and impatience flowers grew in the misty forest.

Impatiens Flower

               The trails were maintained fairly well with drains cut into the tread with turnpikes elevating the trail above wet spots and wooden checks and steps set in place.

               Our porters and guides lead most people that weren't use to hiking such heights or distances and were constantly warning us about elevation and speed by saying "Poly, Poly" (slowly, slowly). Doug and I were passing by groups and cruising up the mountain at a great clip and both of us were feeling great.
              One of the ladies in our group Elle, who was a radio host in Bozeman, MT, made it to camp about 11:30 pm. She is all heart and laughter. The saying goes, 'Elevation doesn't discriminate. Slowly but surely. Young testosterone-filled junkies that charge up this beast too fast will not make it to the summit."

me, Benjamin Polley named by Doug, Sir Lawerence of Arabia

            Woke up to a rather clear and cold morning with a fresh dusting of frost littering the ground. Today, day 2, we will be hiking up to Camp Shira at 12,692 feet and a 2,462 ft elevation gain. Camp Shira lies in the shadows of Kilimanjaro. We hiked for fours hours with a few long breaks. The oxygen is getting thin and Doug and I decided to hike slower and with the group. A sea of clouds ripples and rises in all directions looming on the horizon like an ocean with waves of clouds crashing up against the spines and ridges of a volcanic, high- alpine desert and below camp Shira. The rock is pumice rock. The flora and geology of this alien moonscape is determined by the aridity. Scrub brush all around where shade is hard to come by except behind a few sparse trees, rock out-croppings, overhangs and in the comfort of our tents. Seeking shelter from the sun's intense UV rays is a must and from being at such high altitudes, where sun-poisoning, sunstroke and dehydration are all factors in this harsh, inhospitable wasteland. At the same time, the beauty is intoxicating.

     

Mt. Mawenzi towers above the sea of clouds in the background.

            Camp Shira lies mostly above treeline, for the most part, especially along the western flank of the ridgeline. Further back away from the windswept edges shrub brush, bushes and other small trees grow close to the ground, crouching low, seeking shelter, safety, stability and strength from the fierce winds that sweep above the cloud forest. The cloud forest dominates the lower elevation that cicumnavigates this massif. A massif is not one mountain but consists largely of many mountains making it a complex. Kilimanjaro is a massif and the summit is actually called "Uhuru" (which means African freedom and independence).

            A constant cloud cover dispenses  a cool, wet moisture at all times over the cloud forest. Late in the day, clouds rise  and fall with the breath of Africa, covering the western flank of this mighty massif. Kilimanjaro is an ancient volcano that exploded millions of years ago. Spires of rock rise above the ocean of clouds.

             Either white-necked or white backed Ravens circle the landscape, flying and soaring, riding the thermals while they maneuver down to campsites where trash litters the ground. Their searching eyes comb the area for crumbs and morsels of food left by thousands of careless tourists that climb the mountain annually. Shadows spreading over the land from the creature who rules. some say this bird is a messenger, bringer of good and sometimes, evil (the trickster). According, to some mythology he is the creator especially in Native American legend and lore. Here on Kilimanjaro, the white-shouldered Raven flies with wings outstretched, feathered fingers curl and unfurl. It flies through the sky, its feathers ruffled and muffled from the strong gusts of winds at this high elevation motioning others to take notice of this blackened-robed, white-frocked high priestess of magic and mystery.

             Jackal scat found on the side of the trail just 200-300 ft below Shira camp. Amazing, the adaptability and versatility of these four-legged canine creatures which resemble the North American Coyote. I have seen the coyote high up on peaks in the northern Rockies in all seasons of the year.

              Last night, Elle didn't get to camp until 11 pm. She began hiking at 830 am.  She hiked for fifteen hours.  A shout out to our guides and porters and all who it made it possible; Onyx-head guide, Benjamin-assistantt guide, Emmanuel-cook, Coleman-waiter, Eliasi-waiter, Toba-dishwasher, Dakari-assistantt cook, Jackson-porter, Maliki-porter, Agustino-porter, Hamiso-porter, Bura-porter, Waziri-porter, Bernard-porter, William-porter, Chama-porter, Rajabu-porter, Omari-Rastaman-porter, Frater/Pacha-assistant guide, Amiri-waiter, cook, Thabi-porter, Lukasi Burhani-porter.
              Day 3, we hiked to camp Barranco. We ascended 2200 ft and came down 2000 feet. Today we acclimatized. I arrived stumbling like a drunk into camp with a headache that felt like my head was in a vice and someone else was cranking away at the handle. I fell numerous times. I was beyond caring and even beyond the desire to get to the summit. While porters set up our camp I laid on the ground like a drunk in the gutter. Once our tent was set up I took Tylenol and slept three hours. I rose up for dinner and barely ate a third of my meal and normally my appetite is out-of-control. I felt nauseous. The dinner consisted of delicious zucchinni soup, mashed potatoes with a gravy vegetable sauce consisting of carrots, peppers, cauliflower. I told myself that if I didn't feel better the next day that I would turn around and head down because I had nothing to prove.

       
          At Camp Barranco we caught up with Peter Ponsa and Mike England. They took a different route. They were going to try to ski some of the glaciers but didn't end up doing it.

remember this was 2006. The glaciers I am sure are much smaller now if they even still exist

        The great white mountain of Kilimanjaro is called this for its glaciers. The glaciers are melting and disappearing quickly like they are everywhere else. They melt during the day with direct light from the sun and then at mid-day the dark clouds break away from the pure white flock that hang over the valley floor. The clouds on the outer edges, closest to the mountain rise and fall with the breath of Africa.

         The next day I woke up feeling fine. So, I decided to go on and we hiked up to Barafu hut (base camp) at 15,200 ft. We hiked up past groundsels (resemble palm trees), we hiked up over rock staircases past streams watering down off of melting glaciers. Varieties of grasses and forbs still grew in the shadows and crevices of rocks. Orange lichen and mosses were the only other living things at that elevation and they grew on rocks.
        (To be continued).

   

Wildlife Safari Ngoro-ngoro crater, Serengeti and Taraangirie National Parks

Female lion with a radio collar around her neck underneath an Acacia tree that has weaver bird nests dangling from its branches.

"I could feel the heartbeat of Africa through the soles of my feet." Peter Matthiesssen

        How do I begin to reveal or relate the story and power of Africa? There is something magical and powerful about a place that is the motherland of all of humanity. A place so large and vast that it is almost incomprehensible. Africa is a place that is teeming with wildlife and wild things. A land where most mammals are the largest land animals in the world. The land is pulsing with life and wildness. A place like no other. AFRICA.

Spotted hyenas

Ngorongoro crater is the largest caldera in the world. One of the seven natural wonders of Africa.  Based on fossil evidence found at Olduvai Gorge, various hominid species have occupied this area for 3 million years. A few thousand years ago, hunters and gatherers were replaced by pastoralists. Land in the conservation area is unique because it allows the conservation and protection of wildlife and allows human habitation. It is part of the vast Serengeti ecosystem.  The rim wall of the great African Rift defines the southern and eastern boundaries of the park and prevents large migrations.

Gazelle

cape buffalo

     The Ngorongoro crater is the largest intact and inactive volcano in the world. This crater was formed when a volcano exploded by imploding upon itself and creating this amazing caldera. Wooded areas forest the rim surrounding vast grasslands.  The jewel in Ngorongoro's crown is a deep, volcanic crater, the largest unflooded and unbroken caldera in the world. About 20kms across, 600 meters deep and 300 sq km in area, the Ngorongoro Crater is a breathtaking natural wonder.

      The caldera has one of the highest densities of African lions in the world. One of the last known places to have Black Rhinoceroses.  Crocodiles, waterbucks, Cape buffalos, zebras, wildebeests, elephants, hippos, vervet monkeys, jackals, hyenas, cheetahs, leopards, Laughing Doves, African pied wagtail, speckled mousebird, Secretary Bird, Angers Bird, Fischer's lovebirds, Gray-backed Fiscal Shrike, White-headed buffalo weaver, re-billed oxpecker, bat-eared foxes, genet, topi, warthog, hartebeest, hyrax, Bateleur eagle, and tons of other wildlife.

         Some of these photos are from Ngorongoro crater while other ones are from Serengeti and Tarangirie National Parks. In Ngorongoro crater lions could not find much shade or shelter from the intense African sun so they had to make due with what they had.

jackal

Kirk's Dik-dik (smallest ungulate in the world)

waterbuck

Crested Cranes

Camp Panorama

          I awoke to another day here on the African equator with the sky filled with clouds lining the entire heavens. Temperatures were at a comfortable 65-70 degrees, a slight breeze tickles the leaves on the trees.

     

         Last night we went to the $90 per night camp that the ladies stayed at the night before rather than at the campground that was filled with people and resembled an American KOA with people packed like sardines in a small city. A very luxurious place with 4 * restaurant and bar. A band played traditional Masai music. The new camp didn't have a pool or hot tubs or hundreds of people but was rural and had a panoramic view of the Ngorongoro crater.

         That night at our camp during our 4 *  dinner there was a group of traditional African dancers that performed some of the most amazing acrobatics with displays of flips, tumbles and somersaults. All of this was performed on hard concrete. They juggled bowling-pin looking things and while doing this they picked up one of their fellow dancers on their shoulders and then another one so they were three people high and continued juggling on the way up and then on the way down.

        Our dinner was delightful! Our chef went by Mr. "D" as in delicious. He was trained at a culinary school in Arusha, Tanzania. We had fish that was from the Indian Ocean, roasted garlic potatoes cut in half and mixed in a veggie dish. For a side we had a leek soup.

         The next day was my friend Aaron's 35th birthday.

Lake Manyara National Park

            As our safari buses pulled down the gravel road leading into Lake Manyara National Park a troop of several dozens of baboons streamlined down the road towards us closing off all traffic. Male baboons are sexually dimorphic and were separated by ten females with young. Some of the males would stop next to our vehicles and rest on their haunches right out the windows and yawn. Their jaws are full of large canines. Their faces and butts are hairless but their bodies have long flowing hair.

            The National Park was declared a Man and Animal biosphere in 1981 and became a park in 1960. The Masai still live here and make a living off the land. In contrast to American National Parks that claim nobody ever lived here, this national park welcomed and kept a contract with the people who have been the best stewards of the land and who lived in these places for centuries, if not millennia. The park is 205 square miles.

             That first day of safari was like no other wildlife day I have ever witnessed. So much wildlife. It was insane,  Not in the sense of wildlife but in bird life. It was like a national geographic experience. We saw hippos, elephants, zebras, wildebeest, baboons, warthogs, impalas, Thompson's and Grant's gazelles, giraffes,  doves, southern ground horned bills, cape buffalos, giant kingfisher, pelicans, saddle billed storks, gray-headed kingfisher, common fiscal shrike, banded mongoose, Vervet monkeys, helmeted guinea fowl, tawny eagle, Egyptian goose and kites.

Nairobi, Kenya to Arusha, Tanzania

             That first night we landed in Nairobi, Kenya, (a.k.a. Nai-robbery). The airport was a dinghy third-world airport as to be expected. Diverse languages being spoken like birdsong from various outposts throughout the ramshackle. Various shades of brown and black colored the workers and other travelers in this terminal. That night we stayed in a hotel, near downtown. We were warned not to stroll alone outside after dark because of the high crime and murder rate.

              The next morning we were corralled, led and loaded onto a bus to head 8 hours across the remaining country of Kenya and to Arusha, Tanzania. We sat on the bus surrounded by locals who greeted us with huge smiling faces and some even had inquisitive questions about where we were from and where we were headed. Their broken English was accented by tones of their native African language, which here was Swahili.

Superb Starling

                Across the countryside the bus rolled, passing by pied-crows, superb starlings, storks, two ostriches, three giraffes,  giant termite mounds rising out of the ground like erect utters.  Masai shepherded burros, goats and cattle. Masai is the local tribe that is one of the last remaining a pastoralist cultures.


               We arrived in Arusha, where we met our touring guides. The company was called Aardvark Expeditions. They set up the itinerary of our five-day wildlife safari in five National Parks and our routes and guided us up Kilimanjaro (the continent's highest mountain). They cooked breakfasts and dinners for us and made us sack lunches. The crew was made up of Levi (Tom's brother who lived in Bozeman, Montana), Philemon (naturalist and tour guide), Alfred, Pendo, Abu, and Solomon. This crew was just the safari guides and cooks.

             The landscape was made up savanna grasslands sparsely mixed with high elevation acacia trees and century plants.  Mourning doves cooed above from tree tops along with cicadas. Rosewood, ebony, mahogany and eucalyptus trees tended the gardens of towns and parks. Spring was full-blown south of the equator with flowers everywhere. It felt good to be alive!

                  The beer selection in Africa included: Safari, Kilimanjaro, Serengeti and Tuskers but not limited to these choices. For dinner that second day we had cucumber soup, bread and butter, coconut soup and a burger ground up with pasta. For lunch, we had a box lunch consisting of a meat pastie, egg roll, something similar to crispy cream donuts, chicken tomato sandwiches, chips and passion-pineapple juice.


            The food in this part of Africa was mostly made up of freshly picked fruit from the trees. The locals sold it to our guides who then made fresh-squeezed juices, soups or gave us the fruit. Most of the fruit were organic with no pesticides, no preservatives, no additives. Real food has no label.

AFRICA: Two Worlds Colliding (Ancient and Modern)

                                            AFRICA: Two Worlds Colliding (Ancient and Modern)


           Masai warriors garbed in their bright crimson-colored robes, standing in recycled automobile tires that were fashioned into sandals, hooped-earrings dangling heavily from stressed-out ears and leaning on canes that at a moment's glance can be transformed into weapons to fend off marauding lions from killing their hoofed livestock.  Huddling under trees from the hot-probing sun, Masai men lazily pass away the day telling stories and joking and shepherd their cattle, while women do the hard work of domestic chores of gathering sticks for heat and to make fire to cook with, gather water miles away from their straw-thatched villages. Their bright red robes sharply contrast to the lion-colored, golden-brown, tawny landscape of the tall grasslands of the African savanna.

          In towns and cities, Masai warriors stand in traditional clothes pestering tourists for handouts or try to haggle their artwork, crafts for money. They stand near tourists traps and chase buses with cell phones gripped tightly in their clasping hands. Western people pass by in safari jeeps and snap pictures of a different time. Two worlds collide and crash in the present reality of buses, cars, trucks and semis whizzing by at modern speeds of high velocity compared to the speed of animals, birds or the two feet of a bi-pedal Masai. Telephone lines string and criss cross the landscape connecting the rich villagers to each other but missing the poverty underneath.

AFRICA: Land of mystery, neglect and agelessness

                                             AFRICA: Land of mystery, neglect and agelessness.

                                 "I could feel the heartbeat of Africa pulsate through the soles of my feet."

                                                -Peter Matthiessen "The Tree Where Man Was Born."

        Late in the summer of 2006, my friend Aaron Teasdale and some other writers, photographers and editor Mike England of "Outside Bozeman Magazine" were heading to Tanzania for two and half weeks in mid September. The first week would be touring around on wildlife safaris and the other week would either be biking with Aaron and a few others through the African bush or climb Kilimanjaro with the rest of the group. Ever since Aaron told me about this trip I was super jealous and envious, I wanted to be invited. Months passed by and about two and half weeks before the trip Aaron gives me a call and invites me along. When he asked me to go along, I told him that I probably wouldn't be able to go along; due to getting off work on such short notice.

       Later that weekend, I was talking with my parents and casually mentioned that I was invited to go to Africa. My mother responded by saying, "That sounds like a chance in a lifetime." My father responds, "So, you're going right?" Not until my parents said these two sentences did I realize my future was in the fate of this choice I had to make.

         The following Monday I went and asked my boss for a few weeks off and why. He gave me permission. That same day I went into town to the post office and had a passport expedited, which showed up a few days before I was scheduled to depart.

          Plans were in motion and I was going to Tanzania, Africa.