The Ridge at Night
Jeff Garmire
The hiking and running culture in Bozeman, Montana, largely revolves around the Bridger Mountain Range. The Bridger Range is a subrange of the Rocky Mountains and sprawls northward from the eastern edge of Bozeman. A trail follows the true crest of the line of peaks as it traverses the entirety of the range named after Jim Bridger. I had run the ridge once last year and came up against the adversity of sun exposure and dehydration, and I wanted to do it again.
A friend mentioned the idea of running the ridge at night. It would alleviate the stress of carrying pounds of water and make the challenge a more enjoyable temperature. Before he explained his idea and where we should each park our cars, I agreed. It was exactly the Bridger Ridge redemption I was looking for.
A full moon was set for June 24th. It would be a Strawberry Supermoon. We prepared our running packs and waited for it to get dark. Clouds hung ominously over the ridge, but we decided to go ahead with our plan. We could always back out if it seemed like a bad idea. Will and I were each comfortable calling it for any reason if inclement weather stuck around.
We dropped the first car off at our finish trailhead, North Cottonwood, and piled into the other car. It was raining, and we could hear thunder in the distance. Our chances of this adventure being a success were low. But, we were not giving up yet. There were still 30 minutes of driving and an hour of climbing through the forest before we gained the ridge. The plan was still to see what the weather did.
We parked and quickly began climbing. A group in the parking lot sipping on beers yelled, “Go get them, boys!” We were not sure who we were supposed to be getting, but their eyes watching us climb up further propelled us. Lightning continued to crash, and time was dwindling before we were in harm’s way. We slowed to a crawl and observed the surroundings. The clouds miraculously grew lighter. A thin sliver of moonlight shone through, and our adventure suddenly turned around. Thirty minutes later, we stood in the last valley before the true exposure and felt comfortable without a crash of thunder since the first sign of moonlight. We were going to go for it.
We climbed to the top of Mt. Baldy and ran down the rocky terrain on the true ridge. The moonlight lit up our silhouettes and cast a shadow in front of us. Before climbing the next peak, we stopped and admired the view. To the west, the flickering lights of Bozeman shone 4,000 feet below us and to the east was the valley that the Bridger Bowl Ski Resort resided in. The moon did not disappoint.
It was a seesaw through the night. Climbing up a peak and descending the other side. There was running, hiking, and stopping to admire the magic of the moment. The moon was intensely bright and, combined with our headlamps, offered perfect visibility. The decision to stick it out had been rewarded with a spectacular experience.
We wound around Ross Peak, and the first hint of morning greeted us. Birds began chirping, and the sky lightened off on the horizon. We were tired, it had been a long night of working our way along the trail, but the first sounds of life immediately improved the atmosphere. The sun was coming up, promising a new day, new energy, and the natural fuel to get us to the end of this journey.
Through the final trail intersection, we tramped and suddenly ended up on a trailless grassy expanse. It was the same issue I had last year. The trail disappeared. We were exhausted and ready to finish our final downhill to the car. But, with no trail, the descent was arduous and spent continually hunting for any sign of maintenance. We clambered over trees, through the brush, and eventually began to follow North Cottonwood Creek. If a trail did exist, it would be at the creek.
The adventure continued. Our maps showed we were on the right path and that a trail did indeed exist, but our eyes told a different story. Finally, I decided to cross the creek, and there was our trail. After an hour of bushwhacking, the smooth dirt was a treat, and we began to run. Powered by the discovery of a trail, the morning sun, and the desire to put the finishing touch on our big night of adventure, we sprinted through the woods and covered the downhill switchbacks quickly. We left the ridge behind, exited the Bridger Mountains, and found even more speed as we crossed the last mile through the flat field. The car appeared around the corner, and we ran right out into the parking lot.
The night of adventure was full of caution, patience, vulnerability, and the desire to make a memory that few others will attempt. It is rare that there is a supermoon on a night that permits running such an exposed route in Montana, and even more rare to find someone willing to do the Bridger Ridge at night with you!
