Trip Report: Glacier National Park - July 2025

July 20 – Arrival at Grouse Mountain Lodge

Everyone met at Grouse Mountain Lodge this afternoon, and as we settled in over dinner, introductions flowed into laughter and shared stories. A good portion of our crew hailed from Ohio, and as a former Clevelander myself, it was an unexpected and welcomed connection. There’s something uniquely satisfying about watching a group of strangers slowly become a team, and it’s one of the most rewarding things about being a trip leader with Backcountry Journeys. The excitement was palpable—we were standing on the threshold of one of North America’s most photogenic landscapes, and I could already tell this group was ready to embrace it!


July 21 – Lake McDonald to St. Mary
​​​​​​​
Our first shoot took place at the Apgar Boat Launch on Lake McDonald, where thick fog hung low over the water and the light filtered through like watercolors. Lake McDonald is Glacier’s largest lake, carved by Ice Age glaciers and flanked by peaks shaped by both fire and ice. This is my favorite location to start our trips because it’s simple from a compositional approach, but it’s still rich with mood and story.

After warming up with coffee, we followed a lesser-known trail to McDonald Falls. Here, we experimented with shutter speed—some went for silky motion, others froze the chaos of the water tumbling over ancient, striated rock. It was impossible to stay dry, but the mist added a layer of drama that made it all worth our time.

Back at Sprague Creek Campground, breakfast was casual—a spread of fruit, bagels, and snacks under the curious gaze of local ravens just waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in on our feast. A few folks wandered over to photograph the glacial “Fruity Pebbles” in the shallows. I made sure to set expectations: those internet-famous neon stones are usually the result of heavy post-processing, but even in their natural hues, the mineral-rich creek bed tells its own quiet story.

Later, we stopped at the Howe Ridge burn area—a stark, beautiful reminder that Glacier is just as much a park shaped by beauty as by disaster. Columbian Ground Squirrels popped out of their burrows, and fireweed bloomed defiantly amid the charred trunks. I reminded the group that these scenes, though somber, are essential to understanding the full story of this landscape.

We spent the midday hours at Red Rock Point and Crystal Point. These outcrops reveal some of the park’s most fascinating geology: ancient sedimentary layers pushed skyward by the Lewis Overthrust fault. The rock here is among the oldest in North America—more than a billion years old in places—and it shows in the way the peaks wear time like armor.

​​​​​​​We caught a glimpse of Birdwoman Falls, one of the tallest in the park, fed by unseen glaciers far above. That same storm system had given the valley dozens of ephemeral waterfalls, and it felt like we were walking through a world still being made.

The real treat of the day was our first bighorn sheep sighting near Oberlin Bend—thanks to Annalies and her eagle eyes! The group fanned out silently, lenses focused, rain jackets pulled tight. Rain or not, moments like this are what we come for!

Bighorn sheep used to be widespread across the western part of the continent, but the effects of colonization devastated their populations through new diseases and direct competition with the Europeans’ domestic sheep. The sheep we see here in Glacier are truly unique because they were neither eradicated nor have they been supplemented with translocations from other herds of sheep. The bighorn sheep in this park have been living continuously in this specific area for generations and generations! It’s fascinating to encounter historic wildlife like this because it makes you develop a special connection to them and their land.

By late afternoon, we reached the east side of the park and checked into St. Mary Village. The light is harsher here, the skies feel bigger, and the sense of scale more dramatic. Dinner at the Snowgoose Grille was relaxed, and we ended up hitting bed early since the storm clouds prevented sunset from showing us any color this evening. This was a blessing in disguise because we had an action-packed week and we needed all the rest we could get!


July 22 – St. Mary Lake & Going-to-the-Sun Road
​​​​​​​
This morning, we boarded a wooden boat at Rising Sun and drifted across the glacial fjord that is St. Mary Lake. Framed by the jagged silhouettes of Dusty Star and Little Chief Mountains, the lake has a cinematic stillness that begs for a wide-angle lens. On our hike to Baring Falls, the group got to try their hand at long exposures in a more intimate setting—a gentle cascade framed by canyon walls and wildflowers. Personally, I couldn’t get enough shots of Wild Goose Island as we sailed across the lake. The temporary waterfalls created by yesterday’s storm were pointing directly at it in the background of every frame.

Back on the road, we climbed the legendary Going-to-the-Sun Road, a marvel of early 20th-century engineering that took over a decade to complete. Fog rolled in and gave us what I call a “gift from the light gods”—trees ghosting into view, mist smoothing the edges of every frame. The minimalism of that moment is something I don't get a lot of back home, and I was living for it! Sometimes less really is more.

We stretched our legs at Lunch Creek and tried our hand at some abstract compositions—slow shutter, wide aperture, narrow depth of field—letting the water lead our eye through the rocks and flowers. And of course, we ended the day at the Wild Goose Island overlook. It's a postcard scene, yes, but standing there in person, watching the clouds shift and the lake ripple, I was reminded why it’s iconic.

Dinner at Two Sisters Café wrapped things up with a dose of Montana roadside charm. Vintage signs, good food, and laughter—the kind of atmosphere that fuels creativity.


July 23 – Chief Mountain & Two Medicine
​​​​​​​
We left early again, chasing the possibility of color at Chief Mountain. What we found was even better: low fog, layered hills, and a cow (yes, a cow) who wandered into our sunrise shoot. The peak itself, sacred to the Blackfeet, rose like an island of stone above the prairie. These rocks are ancient—Pre-Cambrian—and they’ve seen a world long before we arrived.

In the Two Medicine region, we took to the water again. This place feels like a secret. Fewer crowds, fewer cars, and a sense of calm that allows you to listen. To look. We glided across the lake and hiked to Running Eagle Falls, where the dual flow created a mesmerizing, almost surreal composition. I saw several guests get their best waterfall images here—learning to balance exposure with movement, to shoot deliberately and slowly.

That afternoon, we encountered mountain goats near Logan Pass. While I did the glamorous job of circling the parking lot endlessly, the group quietly captured images of goats as they clambered across sheer rock like they were out for a casual stroll.

Most hoofed animals—“ungulates” if we’re feeling fancy—basically walk around in hard little clogs with just a thin soft layer underneath. Functional, sure, but not exactly built for rock climbing. Mountain goats, on the other hand, are wearing the animal version of high-end climbing shoes. Their hooves are mostly soft and flexible, with a grippy, sandpaper-like rim around the outside. This setup lets them flex their feet, grip with their “toes,” and basically pull off moves that would make a seasoned rock climber jealous.

That’s why you’ll see them trotting up cliff faces that look completely unclimbable—sticking to tiny ledges the width of a graham cracker. The payoff? Access to a buffet of lichens, grasses, and other snacks no other critter can get to. It’s also a survival strategy. By setting up shop in the steepest, most treacherous alpine terrain, they stay well out of reach from predators like mountain lions and grizzlies.

Climbing talent isn't the only thing keeping mountain goats safe—these animals can jump. We’re talking 12 feet, straight up or straight across, from a complete standstill. That’s like leaping onto the roof of a one-story house without a running start!

What’s even wilder is that baby mountain goats—“kids”—start working on their jumping and climbing game within hours of being born. One minute they’re wobbling around on spindly legs, the next they’re scaling ledges that would make most of us freeze in place. That early start means they can quickly get to spots where big predators simply can’t follow.

The practice sessions are pretty adorable, too. Young goats play by chasing each other, leaping from rock to rock, and scrambling around on cliffs like it’s a playground. All the while, their mothers stand guard, scanning the horizon for trouble and ready to step in if needed. I watched the kids pictured here for a good 15 minutes... they were jumping around and weaving in and out of traffic until the mother lost her patience and decided it was time for everyone to head to lunch.

We ended the day along Looking Glass Road. The light was splendid—soft gold spilling across hills, grasses swaying in the breeze. A black bear appeared on the ridge above us, watching, then disappearing without fanfare. We stayed respectful, alert, and inspired. This kind of moment lingers long after the shutter clicks.

 July 24 – Two Medicine & Logan Pass
​​​​​​​
Back at Two Medicine Lake before dawn, we were gifted with glassy reflections and soft pastels that washed out the cloudless sky. The scene begged for symmetry and simplicity. Later, we visited Two Dog Flats, where Peggy redeemed her “golden ticket” to shoot wildflowers in full bloom. Each of my guests gets one of these tickets where they can create a mandatory photo stop along our route during the week.  It’s easy to get caught up in Glacier’s grandeur, but the intimacy of a single flower is just as powerful and I was quite proud of Peggy for recognizing this photo opportunity. This ticket redemption was actually an incredibly serendipitous moment for one of our other guests…  it turned out to be along the same route that John’s brother was taking with a group of motorcyclists not even 5 minutes into our photo shoot! 

After we had recovered from the shock and disbelief of that special moment, we headed up the road to Logan Pass where we discovered that the bighorn sheep had returned! It was almost as if they were waiting for us. We took our time and I did my familiar routine of circling the parking lot until everyone got their “money shots” of my favorite wildlife in Glacier.

We took a midday break (and a few well-earned naps) and then we returned to Oberlin Bend for what turned out to be one of the week’s most unforgettable shoots: mountain goats in golden light, alpenglow spreading like watercolor across the peaks, shutters clicking in unison. It was the kind of shared moment that defines these journeys!

If you haven't grown tired of my fun mountain goat facts yet, now is the perfect opportunity to share even more about these impressive ungulates, and maybe even make you question everything you thought you knew... For starters—they’re not goats. Not even close. They’re actually distant cousins of gazelles and African antelope, but try telling them that. They’ve clearly committed to the goat lifestyle: they look like goats, smell like goats, and have the same stubborn “I’ll stand on this cliff just because I can” attitude.

Back in the early 1800s, when Lewis and Clark first made it into the Rockies, they were on a mission to document every new plant and animal they came across. The trouble was, when they found something unfamiliar, they often just named it after whatever it most reminded them of. That’s how we ended up with “mountain goats” that aren’t goats at all—just one of many species that wound up with a name that’s more guesswork than accuracy.

But, enough about goats or non-goats... let's talk about our final sunset in the park. This vista was just a short boardwalk away from our furry friends, and it was an indescribably beautiful way to conclude our week of learning, adventure, and bonding. There are few sunsets that have brought me to tears throughout my life, but this one has been added to my list!

July 25 – Farewell at Wild Goose Island
​​​​​​​
Our last sunrise brought us back to Wild Goose Island, but under different skies—gentler, more contemplative. I found myself tightening my compositions, focusing on texture and mood rather than scale. The scene had changed. So had we.

We drove the Going-to-the-Sun Road once more and it truly felt like home after a week of exploring its hidden gems.

We closed the loop back at Sprague Creek for one last group photo, and then we enjoyed our final breakfast at Eddie’s in Apgar Village where the conversation lingered longer than the food.

As I packed up for the airport, I thought about what Glacier gave us—yes, goats and glaciers, waterfalls and wildflowers—but also presence. Here, the land stretches backward through deep time. And somehow, being in that presence makes me see more clearly, it makes me see how fragile our coexistence with nature is, and it makes me see just how lucky I am to be sharing these moments with friends I’ve made through my explorations with Backcountry Journeys. Our trips aren’t just about taking better pictures—they’re about creating moments worth remembering.