In early May, I roused myself from a cloudy late afternoon daze and drove up to hike the M. This was somewhat unusual for me. After more than ten years of hiking the M a couple times each week, I had stopped after the 2020 fire. None of the M trails had burned, but the Ridge trail just above was a wasteland, and this depressed me. I had been doing my hiking on Drinking Horse, Bozeman Creek, or Chestnut Mountain. I had not been on the M more than a dozen times in over two years, so that day was a homecoming of sorts.

On the way up the steep route just after a rain shower, I pulled over for a young runner coming down. She smiled and questioned her choice to descend that route, and warned me of slick conditions above. We had a quick chat. That was about it for trail interactions. There were not many people on the steep route up and, while I encountered dozens going down the regular way, less than half of them waved, spoke, or even nodded. We all have bad days, become absorbed or distracted, but this was very noticeable. I found it unusual and, later, sad.

Long ago, I gave up on most people knowing the etiquette of the uphill hiker always having the right of way. No matter. I am rarely in a hurry, so up or down, I always pull over. I don’t expect a tip for this, but a glance with a smile would be nice. Or something. I am not the most outgoing or demonstrative person myself. It used to be that I would wait for the other person to address me on the trail. In the last few years, however, I have begun leading groups of hikers on some popular trails. A group is a temporary imposition for others. I have learned to greet people first, smile and apologize for taking up a lot of trail for a short time. This has become a habit, even when I am alone. That day, this did not invoke a response. I noticed that I was beginning to fall back into my old ways after I received silence to a number of my hellos. My own head down, passing through, I was no different than they were. I became that guy. Soon I realized my error, stopped doing that, and went back to a friendly greeting. This sometimes earned a response, many times did not.

What has happened? I have not noticed this anywhere else. Yet. The M is a prime spot for trail running workouts. Have these athletes become too self-absorbed in their training to interact? Visitors from elsewhere surely find the M when they Google Bozeman hikes. Are they not used to, or timid about giving and receiving greetings? For me, the trail has always been a happy spot. If I begin a hike in a bad mood, this will dissipate almost immediately. If I desire solitude, I will go to a place farther away, or higher up. But our local trails are places where all of us should be glad to be, and we should act accordingly.

I am not a fan of clichés, but I fear I may have become one. A gray-haired, stick wielding old guy performing what might pass for a kind of jog down the hill. Yet, I am not invisible. And neither are the people I see there. This silence bothers me, so it is up to me. From now on, everyone is going to get a big, goofy smile and a loud ‘bonjour,’ ‘hola,’ or ‘hey,’ from me! After that, it is up to them.

Another page, a few weeks later... Well, that problem is solved. Relentless, cheerful greetings on the trail worked perfectly. A very few people managed to keep their heads down and remain silent, but a very few. Almost everyone responded. Nice to be able to make a difference. Still, I could use some help. Everyone can do this. It will be contagious. There is not much effort required for a payoff. Happy Trails!