I awake at first light, well before any activity in the campground. After visiting a washroom, I hike over to the ranger station. I get the feeling this isn't the right place to get backcountry permits.

I'm thinking about heading for the Visitor's Center when an old man who had been using a nearby phone asks me for help. He can hardly see at all and asks me to place a collect call for him. He says he once caught an arrow in one eye and now both eyes are fading. "I have double and triple vision," he says, rubbing his eyes, "they're useless!"

I dial 1-800-collect, and tell him to answer the prompts. Then I walk down to Lake MacDonald for a bit. It's perfectly quiet and incredibly picturesque in the early morning!

I return to the ranger station to pick up my pack before heading to the Visitor's Center. The old man with double vision is still on the phone. He asks me for a pen. When I dig one up for him, he asks me if I can listen in on the phone and write down the information for a train reservation. I do so, writing down everything I can think of on a raggedy napkin the old man gives me, even asking some questions he has forgotten to ask.

The old man's name is John and he is extremely grateful.

John is travelling with his daughter and grandchildren. His son-in-law will soon meet his family in Glacier and John will then take the Empire Builder home to Minneapolis.

We talk about the train and almost immediately John tells me a tale of tragedy and woe set in Minot, ND!! It really is the magic city!

John's son was stationed at the air force base in Minot. One night, he was out late and was struck and killed by the train.

John travels to Minot to collect his son's belongings. On his return trip, the train he is riding on strikes and kills a man who, apparently confused by some road construction, had left his car and wandered onto the tracks. John says he saw this man's body right after he was hit.

John cries uncontrollably as he tells me this story. I am very composed and sympathetic. He soon calms down and collects himself.

I've already mentioned how frequently strangers will tell each other their life stories while travelling. I've seen it time and time again. They'll mention things they would never tell their family, friends, or neighbors.

This has become one of the great attractions of travel for me. When I was a younger man, I traveled just to see places. I avoided travelers with confessions like the plague. I saw their stories as uninteresting. I just wanted to see new places and new things.

Now when I hit the road I feel I can connect with almost anyone, and come to some sort of understanding about his or her situation. I relish this, like Whitman embracing all of humanity. It's become a very spiritual thing for me.

I've even incorporated it into my "philigion".

Spiritual and religious philosophy has become an important part of my life. In recent years I've tried to describe my personalized religious beliefs to other people. Often, people will tell me: "that's not a religion, that's a philosophy." So, now I call my beliefs, my "philigion". My working title for my philigion is Happy Epicurean Nihilism, or HEN.

There was a time when I would describe myself as a Bokononist when people asked my about my religious beliefs. This is the religion described in some of Kurt Vonnegut's books, notably in Cat's Cradle. I still enjoy practicing the ritual of boko-maru (mingling of souls by pressing soles of feet together).

I've borrowed some other elements of Bokononism into my HEN thought, such as the idea of a karass. Bokonon thought describes a karass as follows:

"Humanity is organized into teams, teams that do God's Will without

ever discovering what they are doing."

The HEN version of a karass is an inevitable destiny (zahmakibo) between a group of people. In other words, a fated connection between two or more souls that react to each other in some way. It may be a good or bad, strong or weak connection. When two souls react strongly towards each other in an exceptionally positive fashion, this is termed a koda. Unlike a Bokonon duprass, people in a koda don't necessarily die within a week of each other.

In HEN thought, there can also be a karass between people, places and things. So, at this point I realize I must have some kind of karass associated with Minot, ND.

Never would have guessed that before my trip!

John confirms my suspicion that I should head for the visitor's center to get my permit. More importantly, he shows me that the thimbleberries are ripe and tasty. We don't find very many, but this gets me looking for berries and I wind up finding tons later.

John walks with me for a bit. He tells me, in great detail, how he rigged up an intercom system out of spare parts for a greenhouse he works at. In some ways, John is a bit of a sad figure, (Once he says: "Never get a chance to do all the things you plan on.") but he shows me a more dynamic side with his intercom story. We part as friends.

Getting the permit was a bureaucratic mess. I won't bore you with all the details. Basically, backcountry permits can only be had for six nights at a time, and the trip must remain continuously in the backcountry (can't come out to a road) and meet the approval of the NPS computers in terms of distance and difficulty (exceptions are made for this though). Technically, I would have to come out three times for permits in order to do this trip as we'd originally planned -- impossible, especially without a car.

I'm still set on playing by the rules, as I understand the need to restrict access to the wilderness. I file a short plan that will take me into the Lincoln Lake/Sperry Chalet region. Then I post notes for Mike at both the ranger station and the visitor's center, telling him to meet me at the visitor's center when he gets in.

I hit the road with picture perfect weather! Glorious! An overpowering smell of eggs and bacon wafts over from Apgar campground. I consider yogiing, but the call of the trail is stronger than my hunger. However, now I understand why all those bears are hanging around the campground.

While hiking along the "Going to the Sun Road," on the way to the trailhead, I find lots of thimbleberries and blueberries -- wondrously delicious. The car campers can keep their greasy breakfast.

A little furry thing off the side of the road catches my eye. A dead rodent? No. Something is growing on its back. I pick it up and pull the growing thing off. This is a scruffy looking something. Dog? Cat? Bear? A tag on the bottom reveals that his name is "Babe". He was made in China for McDonald's corp. I put him in a side pocket attached to my pack's belt.

It feels good to have a mascot.

Needing to pee, I veer off the road and then see a path down to Lake MacDonald, whose southern edge I have been following. It leads to a beautiful deserted beach. After wading a bit, I sit down to write notes for this journal. I'm in heaven, relishing these blissful moments as I sit leaning against a tree.

I linger at the beach for a long time. Occasionally, a few tourists stop by to take some pictures (a tiny parking lot lies not too far off and some stairs lead down to the beach) but none of them stay longer than about three minutes. They just snap some shots off and go back to their cars.

A group of French tourists arrive and I decide to push off. "II fait froid sur la plage," says one woman, immediately turning back to the car. It is a bit chilly, especially when the wind blows, but it is truly perfect.

I hike for nearly four miles from the point where I'd stopped on the beach before I realize I've left my stupid little backpack pocket behind. There is nothing in there I really need. The topo map and compass are not needed for my short trip, and Mike will have these things for our excursion.

The only other thing lost is Babe the mascot. Should I go back for him?

The question is deeper to me than you may realize. On the one hand, it seems absurd to hike back, adding distance to what is already going to be nearly twenty miles of hiking today, just for a chance at picking up a scruffy looking toy I found by the side of the road. It may not even be there.

On the other hand, I have the feeling Babe is there. I also have the strong feeling that if I go back and find him, then he can be considered a charm. It would be a very good omen that my trip is a quest.

Babe may even be a kan-kan, an instrument that brings someone into a karass.

I go back.

Some of you won't believe this, but I swear it is true.

I hike back to the beach and see a lone car waiting in the parking lot along the road. I'm thinking: "these may be the people I'm supposed to meet for a karass."

I search the area where I had been sitting, but cannot find my pocket. I have a strong sense of unreality as I'm looking. It can't be true!

Down the beach I stare at some fat people having a picnic. Must be the people from the car. I watch them for about a minute before one of them (reluctantly?) holds up my pocket and asks if it's mine. I swear I had to psychically will them into doing this.

I walk over to the fat people and gratefully receive my pocket. I wait for a revelation, a sign that will lead me into the karass. I wait. I toss out a few platitudes to warm things up, get things going, but things don't get going. I'm waiting to learn something from these damn people and they're not giving me anything!

They are just fat people having a picnic on the beach and they are getting increasingly uneasy at my continued presence. Eventually, I see I have to leave with just the pocket and some stupid toy from McDonald's.

Then I try to rationalize that maybe getting Babe back is enough of a sign that my trip is a quest and Babe is a charm. Or perhaps I am supposed to learn something from the absence of knowledge received from the fat people? My four-mile hike back couldn't be in vain, could it?

As I ponder these things back on the road, a mini-van passes by, and catches my attention. I have a strong, sudden urge to flag it down, but I do not. Lot's of other cars are passing by as well, but I don't even notice them.

I am planning to hitchhike back to where I turned around, but I don't try to wave down the mini-van because a mile up the road there is some construction that causes a bottleneck. I figure it will be easier and safer to try to get a ride from someone waiting on the construction. Also, even though I got a fleeting glimpse of the mini-van, it appeared to be full.

I continue walking along the road and see the min-van has stopped about 100 yards off. "Must be looking at a map," I think. As I get closer, I decide that if the mini-van is still there by the time I reach it, I will ask for a ride. Just then a woman pokes her head out of the driver's side, shouting out a ride offer.

I run to the mini-van, and open the passenger door. The mini-van is full! There is no room for me. A kid in the front seat, another in the back, a baby in a basket, lots of stuff, an old man in the back corner.

Wait a second, the old man in the corner is John -- the old man who sees everything twice! The man I helped in the morning!

Now remember that John can't see worth a damn. He didn't see me on the side of the road. Even now, I have to talk to him before he recognizes me. What's more, he had not told the driver, his daughter Kathy, that he had met me that morning.

Also, John is seated on the side opposite from where I was walking. There is no way I could have seen him, even subliminally, to account for why I got the urge to wave at the mini-van.

What made her stop? I wasn't even trying to get a ride. I sense a karass!

So, before I even set foot on a trail, I know I have a vision quest on my hands. It livens my step on the path to Lincoln Lake, through lush mature forest. The woods are very dark and quiet at first as I climb and climb and climb.

Hey, I didn't expect this trail to be so hard! I know, some of you are thinking: "he did just get his topo map back, didn't he, why didn't he study it?" Well, I usually wait until I'm hopelessly lost before I pull out the topo map, and by that time I've probably misplaced it.

What difference does it make anyway? I know I'll get there eventually.

So, I stop sometimes and listen to the sounds of the forest. I become very quiet and study my surroundings. Transfixed. Sometimes I sit, or even lay down.

I know, bad idea in bear country. Forget about the bears! I did.

Don't see that many people on the trail, but there are some day hikers at first, and then there are some backpackers. I'm a social butterfly, stopping to chat with everyone I meet. All the backpackers say the trail to Lincoln Lake is long, hard (up and down), and poorly maintained. The longer I hike, the more I start to believe them.

Coming up yet another hill, I come across a young, college aged couple resting on the ground. The young woman is very beautiful and greets me with a pleasant "hello" and a pretty smile. She reminds me a bit of my youngest sister. The young man gets up, a bit tiredly, and I have an immediate positive reaction to him as well.

As the young man stands, his Nalgene bottle falls off his pack and rolls down the hill, towards me. In an easy motion, I kick it back to him and say: "Don't lose that."

That's it. I walk past them. "Don't lose that." Why don't I stop to talk to them like I have with everyone else I've met on this trail?

Because it feels like I'll talk with them later. For no good reason, I'm confident of this.

At this point, I don't even know which way they are headed. It would be more logical to assume they are hiking out. I had to walk ten miles to get to the trailhead and spent extra time at the beach and communing with the forest. It's unlikely that I should catch up to a young, athletic couple.

I'm not reasoning against my premonition though. I'm just hiking down the trail.

After a bit I stop to pump water. This is the act of the new, reformed Matthew in the backcountry. Getting more water when it's available instead of waiting until I'm completely out and have been staggering about for hours looking for more.

As expected, the young couple passes by. We chat for a minute. They are also headed for Lincoln Lake. I say I'll probably see them up there. They hike on.

Not only do I pump water, but I also stop to drink deeply, well before I'm parched. Not quite as young and stupid as I used to be. Close, but not quite.

Rambling on, I find a Nalgene bottle, off the side of the trail. I pick it up and put it in my pack.

I have a pretty good idea who it belongs to.

Eventually, I catch up to them. They are rummaging through their backpacks. Yes, they have lost a Nalgene bottle. I dig it out of my pack and hand it over.

"I warned you about that," I say, jokingly.

I prefer to talk with people for a bit before I get their names. It makes it easier to associate names with people. I hike with the couple for awhile, talking mainly to the guy, as he is next in line after me.

He is originally from Georgia. He moved to Big Sky, MT, primarily because of his interest in outdoor sports, such as backpacking in the summer and snowboarding in the winter. He worked in Glacier last summer.

We continue to see why everyone has complained of the length and overgrowth on this narrow trail. We're all getting a bit tired of hiking today.

"When the road goes on forever, it's time to take a water break," I announce. Everyone seems happy to stop.

I introduce myself and learn their names: Christian and Emily. For some inexplicable reason, I immediately think of Fletcher Christian and Emily Dickinson. Later on, I have to stop myself several times before I call Christian "Fletcher".

So, I say something incongruous when I first hear their names: "Such nice names, very literary."

"That won't help us get off of this trail," retorts Christian, which I find amusing.

The trail does indeed continue to go on forever. We quietly concentrate on hiking, just getting us off of the trail. I slowly start to pull ahead and hike alone once more.

Suddenly, I'm at the campground. The lake is very well hidden, so you don't see it until you're right next to it. A beautiful alpine lake with a spectacular waterfall at the high, treeless, mountain end, flowing down to a slow starting creek that waits to pick up speed.

A great place to camp. I pick out a tent site and filter water.

Christian and Emily arrive and they also come to the lake to pump water.

I tell them about the three people I've recently met with Minot stories, and try to give them a sense of how this trip appears to be extraordinary for me.

The Glacier NP backcountry campgrounds have separate areas designated for preparation and hanging of food. This is to minimize contact with bears, which are attracted to even subtle food smells. It's a good plan, and having a perfectly situated area where everyone can easily hang food is a godsend. It's also the ideal place to chat with fellow backpackers.

Emily goes to school at U. of Wyoming in Laramie. She's spending the summer in Big Sky. I once came very close to taking a job in Casper, Wyoming and sometimes think about moving west.

I tell Emily and Christian that they eat exactly the same kind of camping food I would have eaten at their age: ramen and peanut butter sandwiches. Now I eat MRE'S, or garlic dishes flavored with noodles.

Postscript - Today, as I rewrite this long neglected journal nearly four years later, I would never eat MRE's. I would probably bring rice or noodles and make soups with wild plants.

Christian relays some great stories from a book called Into the Wild. The most interesting one to me is about a young Emery graduate who is given $100,000 by his parents. He bums the money and starts travelling with a 25-pound bag of rice and a gun. He has a car for awhile, but he abandons it in New Mexico and hitchhikes. He winds up living in a broken down bus, just outside of Denali. He starves to death in winter.

The story intrigues me for several reasons. First, because of the Alaska reference. This is Alaska/ Denali reference number two for the trip.

Postscript - About two years later I read this book with Sybil. On several occasions she said that the Emory graduate in the book is just like me. She particularly liked to compare our reckless behaviors in the backcountry. I disagree!

Second, and more intimately, the theme of restless wandering by someone who has already achieved a high level of societal success is one that is appealing to me. W. Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge, and Herman Hesse's Sidhartha are books in this vein that have greatly influenced my philigion.

Some people find what they're looking for in their quest -- and some don't.

Drip. Drip. Not quite morning. Drip. First hint of light almost always awakens me. I have foolishly forgotten to crack open the fly in the tent and a frigid morning has produced some serious condensation inside my tiny one person Walrus Swift tent.

It's far too cold and too early to get up. However, I'm too stupid to come to this realization yet. The automaton beastie emerges from his wet lair.

I'm freezing when I stand still, so I hike, up and around the lake, knowing I should be saving my energy for the long hike out. The woods are perfectly still and quiet in the early dark of the morning. I'm a sleepwalker, mesmerized by the silence.

Returning from the long hike, I find I still can't shake the cold. I realize I need to eat, but I'm out of food. I start to kick myself for always getting myself into situations where I become cold, hungry, or thirsty. Do I have some kind of perverted subconscious desire to experience these extreme needs in the backcountry?

If so, I'd like to go on record here that I'm determined to put an end to it.

I pack up all my stuff with the intention of hiking out of the valley, away from the mountains, which are blocking the sun. There I will lay everything out to dry.

At the exact moment I finish packing, the sun pops up over the mountain. Glory! The first rays of sun hit me and my mood shifts 180 degrees. An incredible elation comes over me. I unpack and hang things up to dry. Then I worship the sun.

Christian goes by, heading towards the lake, so I catch up with him and we talk for a bit. We had talked the night before while hanging the food bags about all the many interesting areas around Big Sky. Christian thinks Big Sky is getting overpopulated and the great things he loves about it will soon be diminished. I'm sure he is probably right, but tell him that he may as well enjoy it now. I say it sounds like he is in the best place for him at this time. It is a respectful statement from me.

Today Christian chats about fishing, something I'm not really into, so we lapse into generalities. Christian appears to be in exactly the same mood he was in last night -- grousing good-naturedly while seemingly well contented. I've learned that Christian is often sardonic, which I like.

Then I have a dreamlike sensation. I'm drinking water, vast amounts to make up for lack of food, and looking out over the mountain, still marveling at the wonder of the rising sun, when I suddenly realize Christian has left and Emily is sitting on a nearby rock. It didn't seem as if I had been daydreaming enough to miss a coming and a going.

At first I have the impression Emily wants to be by herself, in quiet contemplation of the lake, so I continue my ecstatic absorption of this new, sun filled vision of morning. Then I realize that Emily is clearly upset about something. Truly a mystery after witnessing Christians demeanor.

I'm extremely loath to pry into other people's business. I really don't want to know what is bothering Emily. A typical reaction for me would be to decide that Emily is tough and smart enough to deal with whatever is bothering her (which I'm certain is true) and to leave her be.

However, it is impossible for me to do this after sensing so many indications of a possible karass. I feel a connection with these people, an intuition I don't understand. I move nearer to her and stand there for awhile. I don't analyze or try to think of anything to say. I'm still experiencing everything around me -- I just bring her into this circle of connections.

The conversation we have is not regular in the sense that we don't immediately respond to each other. We will talk for a bit, and then I will go back to experiencing my surroundings and Emily will return to her thoughts. I feel Emily can sense what I'm doing and perhaps she is less self conscious because of it.

I describe how dramatically my mood was changed this morning by the sun rising over the mountain. I don't relate the idea of my impossibly quick change of perspective very well, but I think Emily catches my drift. Other subjects follow.

After one long pause, "You really shouldn't worry about things Emily. You have a bright future ahead of you." I don't know where these words come from, but I know they are true.

We discuss youthful angst. Emily fully understands that life shouldn't be taken too seriously, yet she can't help worrying about things sometimes. I was exactly the same way when I was her age and I tell her this. The reason for it is a mystery to both of us. About the only possible comfort I can offer Emily is the assurance that I eventually ceased to have these worries.

A pause, then we discuss Asia. Emily is taking International Studies with a Pacific emphasis. She's stayed with a Japanese family and wants to return to the Orient. I tell her about China, where I lived for a year, and how much I loved Hong Kong and Macau.

Emily likes the Badlands, in South Dakota. This was the original destination that Mike and I had decided upon. We decided to change it to Glacier after he made plans to climb Rainier. That way we could both take the train there.

Meditation. I give Emily some very brief thoughts about my developing philigion. I wonder to myself if I will ever know what the point of this brief karass was. I leave.

Christian and Emily both seem fine when I say good-bye to them.

I'm tired at the start of my hike and feel like I'm dragging. I nearly step on a snake and the mosquitoes are biting. A red tailed hawk glides up to a tree directly in front of me and proudly shows off his feathers. I stand for a long time, ignoring the mosquitoes, to drink in the sight. He finally takes flight with a thrilling three blasted call.

I find blueberries and eat many of them. There is a large pile of fresh bear scat near the berries, so when a large figure comes towards me I am startled.

It is only a friendly Texan named Dave. I am not at all fond of Dallas as a city, but some of the best people I've met on the road hail from this town. Dave is as nice as all the other travelling Dallas folk. He has a Dana Designs pack and Solomon boots, so we talk gear for a bit. I tell him to say hello to Christian and Emily, just so they get a chance to meet such a pleasant fellow.

The hike out is very hard for me. Somehow, I've injured my left foot, on the top left side. I'm in a lot of pain, especially when I hike uphill, which is often on this trail.

When I finally, finally get out, I have to limp quite a way along the road before I can find a turnout suitable for hitchhiking. I need a ride badly and a Houston couple, both sans accent, mercifully drive me to Apgar.

The late afternoon sun is warm enough for me to wash in the lake a bit. I rinse out my clothes and chat with an attractive French woman who is there with her young daughter.

I decide to become a beach bum. My clothes are hung up on tree stamps. I'm reclined on my pack, writing, getting up occasionally to wade in the lake or talk with people. I know I will sleep on the beach tonight.

I've heard about a ranger presentation that night at a nearby outdoor amphitheater, so I stash my pack in the brush and attend. The ranger works the crowd before he starts, warming them like an experienced presenter. He has been at Glacier for over 25 years, giving this same talk.

He's got it down pretty pat.

One slide he shows strikes me. It is of bear grass in full bloom. I'd seen lots of bear grass along the Lincoln Lake Trail, but none of it was blooming. It had intrigued me anyway and I'd asked Christian about it. He didn't know anything about it though. The ranger says this year is the most remarkable in memory for blooming bear grass. He says you can only see it in a few parts now, at higher elevations.

I have a strong urge to see the blooming bear grass but immediately have the thought that you can't get to see everything in life. You just have to make sure you appreciate what you do get to see.

A meteor shower entertains me as I sleep out on the dark beach. The ranger told stories of recent grizzly and even mountain lion sightings in the immediate vicinity. Emily asked me how I could sleep on the ground outside, alone, without becoming afraid.

I told her you get to the point where you're so tired you don't care.

First ray of light wakes me, as usual. I had heard animals moving about in the night, nearby, but didn't pay much attention to them. Unlike the other nights of sleeping out, I don't have any food.

Old hand at getting permits that I am, I reach the visitor's center at 6:20am. They will open at 8:00am and the line will wrap around the sidewalk. I am third in line and people quickly start to queue up behind me. Many of them are very concerned about what route they will be able to get. One guy has been there three days in a row, trying without success to get a particular circuit. Several behind me ask the people in front of them what routes they are planning to request. When I am asked, I say that I'm flexible.

I am flexible, but I do want to hike on the other (east) side of the park, near the Many Glaciers area. I also want to do part of the famous Highline Trail. This limits my options and I realize this is a popular plan. However, I know the two people in front of me are headed towards the northern end of the park, so I'll get first shot at this Apgar station (all the stations are connected by computer, so who knows what routes the people near the front of the line at the other stations want.)

I borrow a map of the backcountry sites from some ex-Valley girls who are sitting next to me. They are a very entertaining bunch: Heather, Bridget, Tiffany, and Maria (yes, Maria appears to be the odd one out). Two of them went to UC Santa Barbara, one to UC San Diego, and one to UC Santa Clara. They goof around about men dancing in bars (some great imitations) and stupid things to do with bears ("Hug their babies to show how much you like them!").

After dancing through some red tape and having a few routes rejected because they "backtracked", I wind up with a dream route that would be the envy of the masses in line behind me. The rangers at the visitor's center are fairly helpful about trying to get good routes for people

Permit tips: I think Apgar may not the best place to file your backcountry permit. Since the stations are hooked together by computer, I'm guessing the best bet would be to go to the least popular filing station, whatever that would be. Get there early and have a rough idea of some of the places you want to see. Once you're inside the door, look at the current list of openings at the backcountry sites. Only then can you begin to make a true itinerary. The first few days will be the hardest to schedule. Consider doing what I did, which was staying at a less popular spot for the first two nights, waiting for a very popular site to open up.

I'm done. Just have to wait for Mike. Will his train be four hours late, as mine was? Did he fall off the mountain? Has he decided to remain in Seattle indefinitely?

This trip is blessed. He's not even very late.