Brush, my friend

It usually starts out innocently enough.I make a suggestion like, "Hmmm, I wonder what's over that ridge?" or, "I'll bet you it's pretty neat down in that draw, I hear there's some pretty cool waterfalls."

Whatever the suggestion, it always goes south.

In a hurry.

What was once a pleasant little hike, a stroll in the woods, turns into a nasty bushwhack, where, inevitably, everyone turns around, stops, and, as if on cue, says, "Who the hell's idea was this, anyway?"

There's no place to hide.

I just smile.

"It looks pretty good over here. Yeah, it's looking real nice. I think I can see the sky," I'll say, lying through my teeth.

I'm pretty good talking friends into nasty bushwhacks.

That's probably why I don't have very many friends.

Take Sunday, for instance.

I talked Richard Garlough into hiking into Howe Lake with Boy Wonder and I.

Howe Lake is an easy stroll. Not much elevation gain, if any. Two miles in, two miles out. A two hour hike total, if you're going slow.

The hike in went great.

Then we got to the lake and decided to check out the upper lake, which involves just a little bushwhack. Not much mind you. But if you're 7, like Boy Wonder, the grass is up over your head in places and there's some logs you have to climb up and jump over.

But even for a 7-year-old, it's a piece of cake.

Honest. Swear on the Holy Bible. Take your kids in there. They'll love it. Especially if they like mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds and horse flies as big as swallows.

At any rate we made our way to the upper lake and then on the way back I made an innocent little suggestion.

"Let's gain the ridge above the lake and cut the corner," I said to Garlough. "It'll save us some time from walking all the way back around the lake."

"I dunno about that," he said. "There could be a lot of downfall up there."

But we went up there anyway and it wasn't too bad for the first 30 yards or so.

Then it got worse and worse and worse.

The downfall got bigger. The sticks coming out of the downfall got sharper and the brush got higher.

But we worked our way so deep into the woods that there was no turning back.

Huge trees blocked the path, hidden by fireweed that was up over our heads.

Gnarled limbs burned by the fires of 2003 clawed at our arms and legs.

Then I saw an opening and went for it.

Big mistake.

It was a swamp. The muck was up to my knees. By now I had Boy Wonder on my shoulders. He's a tough little critter but some of the logs that were down were at his eye level.

We sunk in the muck up to our knees.

I slogged through and yelled out, "Whose idea was this, anyway?"

Garlough snickered.

Once out of the swamp we slogged on.

And on.

And on.

Ten feet took 15 minutes.

But I knew we were on the right track. We had to run into the trail eventually, I kept telling myself.

Garlough cut his leg. Then fell and cut his hand.

(Wearing shorts in Glacier is a bad idea).

Then just as I was about to curse the heavens, there it was.

"Well I'll be," I said.

"What?" Garlough said.

He was just a few paces behind, but even then, you wouldn't have guessed it was there.

"The trail!" I said.

Garlough stepped out on the trail. His legs were bloodied. His hand was bleeding.

He looked like he'd done a tour in 'Nam.

"That wasn't so bad," I said. "I mean, sure, a little thick, but I'd do it again."

Garlough looked at me like I was out of my mind.

But the next day he brought a map over to the house.

Seems there's another lake even further beyond the lakes we were at. Or at least the map says there is.

Garlough had used his fancy mapping software to print out a route.

There was no trail.

Just a sea of green.

Another bushwhack.

Heal up those wounds, boys, we're going in.

Chris Peterson is the editor of the Hungry Horse News.