A Summer in the Taylor-Hilgard

Back in March I was contacted by WildMT and asked if I would consider becoming a volunteer wilderness ranger for the Taylor-Hilgard unit of the Lee Metcalf Wilderness, which covers 141,000 acres of some of the roughest terrain in southwest Montana. There would be no pay. It would be a solo endeavor, and I would be entering an area with one of the highest concentrations of bears in the state.

It didn't take me long to consider the position. Keeping wilderness areas wild drives me to take on roles such as this. Friends and family did not understand why I would go hiking into an area with the highest concentration of bears in Montana, solo, for no pay. I started to question the decision myself and almost called WildMT to say forget it. But I couldn't shake the pull to explore this remote area, even though the prospect genuinely intimidated me.

As I was scanning maps and talking to Anthony Streams of the Forest Service in Ennis on my first day, he looked at me sternly and said, "I don't say this to scare you, but see these scars on my arms?" He showed me huge scars running down his forearms. I nodded and he continued: "They are from a sow grizzly that had cubs in about the same area you are heading into today, so carry two bear spray canisters this season."

I tried to act nonchalant and not look like I was going to pick up my backpack and walk out of the office for good. With this information, and carrying two cans of bear spray and a load of courage, I pointed the truck in the direction of the wilderness, breathed in deep, and told myself it was going to be all right.

Thankfully, my first trip into the Lee Metcalf was on the only well-traveled trail on the Madison side where people like to hike up to a saddle or continue to a popular summit, so I was expecting other vehicles at the trailhead. As I pulled up, however, the trailhead was empty and the courage I had earlier wasn't there. Putting on my backpack and rechecking I had everything needed, I set out.

Being early in the season, the trail was choked by vegetation that was well over my head. I called out loud frequently, naming wildflowers and making short videos so I didn't feel alone—and so the wildlife would hear me coming. Five miles in after crossing several snowfields, the saddle came into view and left me speechless. Mountains over 10,000 feet loomed above me on both sides.

Wildflowers were just beginning to bloom. As I was enjoying the view, a guy came over and said, "Want to see something really neat?" He pointed to the valley I was about to head into. What he showed me was a sow grizzly with three cubs happily digging up roots and turning over rocks, completely oblivious to us. I decided against doing the loop, leaving her and her cubs undisturbed. On my hike back down, the scale of this place hit me—how small we really are out here.

Access to the Taylor-Hilgard unit requires signing in at ranch headquarters. As I was filling out the form, I met one of the ranch hands and we talked about the area. He described it as one of the last remaining areas in Montana that still has that wild and free feel to it, where you must know what you are doing, know how to read maps properly, and have the confidence to look after yourself.

He told me how wildlife such as bears, elk, bighorn sheep, and mountain goats from the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem come out of Yellowstone Park and head into the Lee Metcalf, especially the Taylor-Hilgard unit. He talked about an old sawmill in the wilderness before it was designated, but said the land has taken it back and it would be hard to find. He described the Lee Metcalf as "unique and it's not for everyone because of how rugged it is." I had to agree with him.

The creek crossings were deep and cold, which was welcoming on the ninety-degree day. The trail disappeared several times and I had to stop and get out my maps to orient myself in the right direction. Deep in the wilderness, I encountered two outfitters on horseback who seemed surprised to see me. "Lady, what are you doing back in here by yourself?" one of them asked. They told me nobody had been back in the area for years except for them. The encounter reinforced just how remote this place really is.

Reports of a downed tree dangerous to horses had me hauling in tools to fix the issue the next day. Once off the main trail, the amount of bear scat had me talking out loud. The vegetation was thick and the trail became lost—a recurring theme in the Taylor-Hilgard. I made my way up a steep switchback and started to see trees with their bark shredded like newspaper. A bear had marked over 13 trees in the area in the last week; the sap still held its fur and undercoat.

As I kept hiking further back, the terrain became more rugged and untrammeled by humans. Wildlife dominates this corridor and the evidence is everywhere. The tree was never found, so I will return another day, this time with a game camera to document what wildlife makes this area home.

This wilderness is exactly what wild places should be: having primitive character, being unrestricted, and where humans don't direct what happens, but nature and wildlife do. Montana still has places like the Taylor-Hilgard that remain genuinely untamed, where wildlife dominates and its presence is unmistakable.