Trip Report: Kintla Peak
Sitting across a coffee table from my buddy Charlie, with a laptop open to GAIA, is a recipe for trouble. It was at one of these coffee table sessions where we drew our first dream line up and down Kintla Peak with the thought that maybe, just maybe, it could go in a day.
Turns out, it does.
I hesitate to write all this down due to the route beta that we sought out in order to complete this mission. But, after thinking about it long and hard, I chose to get this out there for two reasons:
- To assist any other Flathead local who could possibly be sitting at their own coffee table, with a similar friend, scheming up trouble. I want my experience to serve as a resource in both inspiration and information if possible.
- We had a freaking great time and I want to talk about it. Sue me.
So, with all that said, let me tell you how some friends and I climbed Kintla Peak in a day.
Kintla Peak is one of six peaks over 10,000 ft. in Glacier National Park. It resides in the remote northwest corner of the Park referred to as the ‘North Fork’, named after the North Fork of the Flathead River, which forms a large portion of the western boundary of the Park. The majority of mountaineers utilize one of two trailheads to access Kintla: Kintla Lake, to the northwest; and Bowman Lake, to the southwest. Each of those lakes create drainages that bracket the slew of craggy peaks within which Kintla is situated. A third option exists by entering the Park to the north from Waterton Lake in Canada and working southwest towards the North Fork, but that’s a more logistically difficult path to take considering you have to cross an international border, something we couldn’t even do in the first place (thanks rona).
Among the Glacier 10ers, Kintla is an outlier. Most of the other tall peaks in the park have a lot more breathing room and are able to be easily distinguished at a distance from the peaks around them. However, in my eyes, Kintla is the most difficult to pick out due to the sea of 9,000+ ft. peaks that kneel around it. It’s not until you get back into the thick of it, gain a lot of elevation and peer around the corner into the Kintla or Agassiz glacier basins that you finally get a look at the monster shark fin of Kintla (that is, if it’s not in the clouds, which is probably rarer than people climbing it in a day).
A stout mountaineer would normally plan 3 days to climb Kintla somewhat comfortably. Depending on which trailhead you use, you’re looking at a round trip of 32–45 miles and probably near 9,000 feet of climbing. A big chunk of that is likely on trail, but the off trail is pretty full value. Most routes will take you through the enormous Agassiz Glacier Basin, aptly named after the behemoth Agassiz Lake that once dominated a large amount of the North American landmass a long long time ago. Once you’ve finished traversing the basin, it’s class 3 picking up a talus ridge and a gully to the summit block, classic GNP style.
The standard climbing route is described in detail in Edwards’ GNP climbing tome, which you should buy here. The approach begins at Kintla Lake, the off-trail at Boulder Pass, where the climber points straight west and heads for the Basin.
That’s not quite the way we went.
When the 2:15 am alarm comes as a relief to your tossing-and-turning body, you know you’re in for it. That was the case on this day. I pounded some brek and coffee, loaded my rig and met up with my coffee table friend Charlie Hoving, and another crazy guy and great friend, Noah Couser, for the sublime 3 am rollout.
We slid into Charlie’s modded (with rust) Dodge Ram and began the two hour drive up the North Fork Highway to our trailhead. As we hit gravel, it started to rain on us, and continued off and on all the way to the trailhead. In early August in the Flathead, it’s hard to be mad about rain because we’re generally in sore need of it. However, it definitely did not bode well for going to 10k later that day. I didn’t dwell on it too much though.
We rolled into Bowman Lake at just before 5 am, stood around grunting and feigning to stretch, as you do. We could see little patches of stars here and there in the sky, but knew we were still under quite a few clouds. We said a prayer, shared a moment of gratitude, and hit the trail just after 5.
The first 7.5 miles we ran along the rolling north bank of Bowman Lake. It felt nice to get some (albeit slow) turnover to start the day. We had a point on our map that we knew was approximately where we would begin our off-trail section to the north off the trail, into some thick woods. As we neared the end of the lake, we began walking to pick out the least formidable spot to start shwacking, which wasn’t really much of a choice, because it all looked a little aggro to me. Especially with the spotty morning rain covering all of the brush in a layer of water. Soupy.
Eventually, we plunged in. Our goal was to hit a low boulder field beneath the slopes of a cliff band that we would skirt to the west. The beta we had received for this route came through a friend of Charlie and Noah’s (thanks Dave) and we had no idea how often this route was used, so we expected very little in the way of trail markings.
So, you could imagine our surprise as we popped out of the shrubby underbrush, into the rocks, and sitting right in front of us, as if placed there by providence, was an honest-to-God cairn. Lots of high-fiving took place.
We followed the slope up and eventually followed an intuitive route around the cliffs in front of us, occasionally finding a cairn to tell us we were doing something right. From there, we stopped and worked our way up a steep low ridge for a good chunk of time. I was amazed to see a decent climber’s trail worked into the ridge weaving in and out of trees, punctuated by the occasional cairn that would always appear at the perfect moment.
We eventually topped out at the southern edge of a ridge that serves as the western border of what I’m going to call the ‘Pocket Creek Basin’. We stopped for a few minutes and I consumed my first burrito of the day.
After working around a craggy part of the ridge on the west side, we descended down the east on short scree slopes into the basin. On the western side, the basin is a beautiful sprawling meadow intersected with rivulets running from a snowfield on the southeastern flank of Mount Peabody, which at that point in time, was still socked in with darkish clouds. We could see more open skies back towards the North Fork, so we pushed on feeling hopeful. However, as we climbed and the chill air picked up, our optimism began to wane.
We moved through the meadows like kids in a playground. In all honesty, I may have shed a tear, it was that serene. We crossed a boulder field as we began to wrap around towards the ‘Peabody Notch’, a lowpoint in the ridge between the western Peabody ridge and the long ridge that encircles Pocket Lake to the north. As we approached the notch, the wind picked up… and it started gropeling. Turns out those clouds sitting at 9k weren’t the kind to be playing around with.
We snuck up next to some big rocks and evaluated our options. No way we were gonna be summitting Kintla in 40 mph winds, gropel, and the white room. But, we also all felt as if the day had hardly begun, and the worst was behind us. We decided to go into the Agassiz Basin and up to the saddle between Kintla Peak and Peabody. In order to do that, we’d need to traverse the whole Agassiz Basin which was sprawled out in front of us, expansive and other-wordly.
The Basin is replete with massive rock shelves, water streaming down from every direction and cascading over smooth stone, and of course, the impressive Agassiz Glacier. I’d give a lot to have been able to see that old guy back in his heyday, it must have been an absolute sight.
The most direct route down into the basin was via a gully in front of us, but our beta told us to steer clear of that path and instead look for an elk trail moving diagonally downhill from us towards the pass. We located it and descended easily down into the basin. We then traversed a moraine to the south and angled our way up the basin following rock shelves, trying to keep a steady and sustainable vert gain.
I’m not sure how long it took us to make it through the Basin, but probably two hours or so. Glacier Basins are not moving sidewalks, and have the tendency to push you away from your target as well as surprise you with unintended obstacles like snow fields, cliffing out, or wide creeks. Luckily, there was none of the ladder and very few of the former; relatively cruiser, all things considered. As we moved towards the saddle, we watched the cloud ceiling ever so slightly push a little higher. It didn’t mean much at the moment, but it was a little hope at the least.
We eventually reached the saddle and were able to look down into the Akokala Valley overhung by steep cliffs. Numa Ridge, to our south (left in view) from the saddle looked diabolical as it surfed in and out of the clouds at a fast clip. To our right (north), was the summit ridge of Kintla, and not too far up that was the stacked cloud ceiling. Things were not looking good.
We, again, took a seat near some large rocks to shelter from the wind and consider our options. The precip had long since stopped and the clouds had raised a little higher from where they were previously, but clouds on the summit block and along the ridge still meant it was a no-go.
At a loss for what direction to start moving, we hung out for about 30 minutes, reminiscing on how good of a day it had already been, and how turning around, even though terribly disappointing, would not render this day a total loss.
As we were discussing, Noah noticed that the clouds to our south, around Peabody, had cleared off and were pushing higher up and away. We saw little holes in the ceiling popping up to the northwest of the Kintla ridge… maybe we would actually have a chance after all.
I suggested that we start working our way up the ridge so that we could at least go as far as the clouds would allow. But wouldn’t you know it, as we started climbing we watched as the final grey clouds moved out, white clouds moved in, and eventually those clouds were sent tumbling away from the summit of Kintla leaving a free and clear route to get the summit. At this point, we were all freaking out. Up until 15 minutes ago, we thought we were going to get denied. Needless to say, when those clouds peeled out, we were stoked.
We knew there still was the possibility that more clouds could blow in however, thanks to the ripping western wind coming up the ridge, so we put our heads down and made a decent effort for the summit. After ascending through some simple class 3 sections, we paused to watch a brown dot high up above 10k on the summit ridge, moving away from us at a quick clip through a talus field — our one and only grizz of the day.
We eventually reached the same talus field, turned east and crossed over to the north side of the summit ridge and finally got a view down into the vast Kintla Glacier Basin on the north side of the ridge.
At last, we finally worked our way up a chossy, unbecoming gully, laced with a layer of rime, to find ourselves standing on top of the world. Again, we freaked out a little.
From the summit of Kintla, you can see… a lot. To the east, the imposing hulk of Kinnerly Peak dominates the skyline. Beyond that, one can see peaks in and around Waterton, all of the intricacies of the Guardhouse and Thunderbird Mountains, and as far south as the slightly distinguishable snowfields of Great Northern Mountain.
We allowed ourselves 10 minutes to take pictures, enjoy the view, and savor the moment, but we all knew the real work was about to begin — getting back to the car.
Thankfully, the rest of the day was uneventful. The weather only improved as the day progressed and we were able to make good time on our return trip. We refilled water in the Pocket Creek Basin and then plunged back into the bushwhack, this time downhill, as the sun set. It wasn’t pretty, but we managed to punch out onto the Bowman Lake trail, where we donned headlamps, and ended the way we started, running the 7.5 miles in the dark (the only difference being that we accidentally ran into the Upper Bowman campsite and crashed a group’s evening fire, which I’m sure was a slighlty startling development for them at around 11 pm).
We strided out the last mile and jogged up to the back bumper of the truck. Entirely spent, but satisfied, something that 18.5 hours in a uniquely wild place will do to you.
All said and done, I think we’d agree we were extremely lucky to have the opportunity to climb Kintla on that day. We got to ride the depression/elation rollercoaster, but it all eventually worked out.
In a bigger picture sense, the day couldn’t have been more clean. The route we pursued suited our strengths as a team, challenged us with all different varieties of terrain, and gave us the chance to digest a whole lot of country under the same sun.
For me personally, it opened up my eyes to my own capacity, and my imagination to the viability of the ‘one-day-push’ fashion of outdoor travel.
Needless to say, I’m really thankful for Noah and Charlie, thankful the day worked out, and thankful that I have the chance to keep doing the thing I love.
If you want to find this outing on Strava, it’s here. I used a minimal GPS setting to preserve battery life, which means the tracking was pretty abysmal, but it at least gives an idea.
Gear list:
- UD Fastpack 25
- LS Akyra shoes
- BD Distance Z poles
- Layers: Pat Strider Pro shorts, Pat Lightweight shirt, Rabbit arm sleeves, Ciele hat, Pat Rainshadow jacket, Houdini, R1 (only used when sitting at breaks, could have ditched), buff, UD gloves
- Misc: Katadyn BeFree, gaiters, first aid kit, SNB, iPhone, Suunto watch
Food:
- 5 x homemade burritos
- Costco fig bars (the perfect mountain snack)
- Epic bars
- A couple waffles, chews, gels
- Perpetuem Solids (thanks Hammer)
- Ginger chews
- Gorp
- Snickers
- Skratch Hydration mix
Final stats:
- ~32 miles (15 on trail), 10kish vert.
- 0 moments of near death panic
- 1 freezing plunge into Bowman Lake to finish things off
