Mount Sentinel

Two naked, treeless goddesses stand watch over the Missoula valley. Mount Sentinel and Mount Jumbo (seen at right) rise to heights of 5158’ and 4768’ respectively. Together, they each loom two thousand feet above the valley floor. They are the ancient guardians of the valley. The eastern traveler who enters Missoula cannot miss either one. Interstate 90 passes through the narrow gap that separates these two giants. Historically, the squeeze is known as Hell Gate Canyon. The Blackfeet Indians would lie in ambush for the numerous western tribes who would use the pass on their way to the fertile buffalo ground of eastern Montana. Mounts Sentinel and Jumbo stand witness to a long and proud history. I wonder what their futures will bring?

Yesterday, I climbed Mount Sentinel. This was my second hike to the summit since I moved to Missoula. The last time was during the previous May. I went with a friend, and we both had just completed a year of graduate courses at the university. As I climbed yesterday, I couldn’t help but think about how much has changed since last May. My friend went on to further graduate school in New England. I spent an entire season in the heart of the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, where I fell in love with the most wonderful woman I have ever met. As I climbed, I thought if the juxtaposition of timelessness and change.

Certainly the mountain I climbed has seen its changes. Missoula is at the confluence of five glacial valleys. Where I now sit and type at my computer was once covered by an ancient lake. At some point, the glaciers gave way, and the contents of the lake spewed to the west. I’ve heard it said that not even the rocks live forever. But the land, even though it changes, seems to outlast us all. As I put one foot in front of the other and climbed, I wondered how many countless people have summited this mountain before me. What were their hopes and dreams? Who did they love? I felt a strange connection to these unknown individuals.

As I climbed, I saw tracks in the snowy mud. Deer (likely mule deer), elk, dogs (likely pets) and even a mountain lion where scattered among the human footprints. Few people other than avid hikers and backpackers realize that animals also use the trails created by man through the wilderness. Like flowing water, animals will also follow the path of least resistance. I will admit, the fresh mountain lion tracks did make me glance over my shoulder every few dozen yards. Having encountered them before, little scares me more than the prospect of being stalked by a mountain lion (not even grizzly bears). Nevertheless, I climbed upward. There is a certain risk in hiking and backpacking. It’s something I am perfectly willing to accept.

I stood at the summit and beheld the fog shrouded valley below. Here I felt at home. I don’t belong in the valley. I realized this when I returned last summer, having not used the internet, had a phone conversation, watched a television or used an automobile for an entire season. That world makes no sense to me. Missoula is a high altitude desert. Yet the university insists on keeping the grass green and well groomed throughout the summer season. The sight of sprinklers and riding law-mowers made me livid last September. I spent considerable time watching people. Everyone was in a hurry, on a phone, on a computer, talking about the latest Hollywood movies. I don’t understand that world. Perhaps I never did.

As I stood at the summit of Mount Sentinel and beheld the valley, I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. The rocks may not last forever, but one thing is for sure. These mountains will outlast our civilization. There is nothing sacred about our culture or democracy. Ask the Greeks who outlived Pericles. Or the Romans who saw the end of the Republic. America, too, will fall. The history our students fail to learn in school is stacked against us. No civilization has yet endured beyond geological forces. The mountains will live on. What will they overlook in a thousand years? Will Mount Sentinel silently stand guard over the ruins of our civilization?