By Paige Weathers
I crane my neck, and keep craning it, as I look up, up, up, following the mountain’s curve with my line of sight.
And there it is. The beast of a summit I’m slowly but surely climbing, the trail wrapping back and forth like a ribbon draped over the landscape.
Nowhere else in the world has mountains quite like these. The wild magic they hold, the quiet serenity that draws you in like a magnet.
Remember, you are rarely strong when only you feel like it. Fear and bravery feel the same in the face of uncertainty.
Draw your strength up from this mountain and take the next step.
Paige stands among friends on a cloudy day.
This is the inner narrative I recited to myself as I tackled one of many challenging hikes this summer. I’ve visited Glacier National Park twice before spending the summer here, and both trips had such an impact on me that this place didn’t leave my mind until I returned. I’ll never forget the sensation of first driving into the park, when I had no idea what it looked like: utter awe and amazement, a sentiment shared by so many when they behold the wordless wonder that is Glacier National Park.
Even now, as the season concludes, I am still so in awe, so humbled by my experience here. Many long drives have been spent tearfully gazing out my window, at the regal cliffs towering above, and the distant peaks beyond them.
We are all much more similar than we realize. Many days I’ve gone home from working at the visitor center feeling more connected to humanity than before. Each time I strike up a conversation with a visitor about hiking or backpacking, or hear a familiar Southern twang, the world feels a little smaller.
I am constantly inspired by the tireless work of park staff, conservationists, countless donations, and the work of the Glacier National Park Conservancy in preserving and protecting such a wonderful place that so many love dearly.
I remember when I started here, just a few months ago, remarking to friends and family back home how genuine, compassionate, and hardworking everyone is. If my timid childhood self could know I’d work and adventure with some of the kindest souls I’ve known, in the most beautiful place I’ve seen, she’d know we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
This summer, I’ve backpacked to views of my wildest dreams, polar plunged in remote alpine lakes, and traversed more distance and elevation than I believed my feet capable of carrying me. It’s been full of laughter, breathtaking hikes with amazing friends, and a living situation reminiscent of a sweet and fun apartment with your best friends.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned is that courage is often found in the space between your limitations and the mountain peak in front of you. Whether your mountain peak is trying something new, the unknown nature of the future, working a Logan shift on a rainy day in peak July, moving to a new place, or raising money for invaluable work in the park, you are more than capable.
You were made for it. And Glacier National Park, specifically working for the Glacier National Park Conservancy, has gifted me this, among so many things.
