A Color I Can’t Name, Cracker Lake
An often overlooked hike in Glacier National Park that's worth putting in some miles for
A color I’ve never seen before—not quite turquoise, sometimes blue, other times green. It eludes description.
Glacier National Park is dotted with tranquil, eye-catching lakes. But if you’ve only visited once or twice, you might have missed this one. It’s my favorite.
Most people start hiking from the Many Glacier Hotel, where trails fan out in every direction.
Instead, cross the parking lot towards the Cracker Lake Trail and put in some miles to reach my personal heaven: Cracker Lake.
You’ll have to work a bit, through forest and patches of huckleberry, but before long the imposing face of Mt. Siyeh comes into view. A shimmer of “the color” appears up ahead.
We pass two campers retreating from the shoreline, driven back by the wind. We keep going. The wind howls, it seems to have blown all the vegetation away. But we continue toward the towering granite face in front of us.
Soon the lake comes into full view, the glacial silt suspended creating a milky green hue. How this color—this place—exists on Earth is perplexing.
We’re the only ones at the shore of the lake, the wind has stripped all the overnighters. It’s barren and Siyeh’s towering presence looms over us. One of the tallest, most imposing vertical rock faces in the lower 48 shadows us. Is a mountain climber peering down at the dot of color we’re standing next to?
The remains of the Cracker Mine from 1897 sit scattered in the brush — a failed attempt to pull something from a place that already had everything.
We ford and hop across streams, through brambles and thickets in an attempt to stand at the head of the lake. What does peering down an indescribable color into the distance feel like? My husband’s hazel eyes are transformed, illuminated. I wonder if mine look the same.
I’m shivering. The wind whips the water into white. The color drains from it. Cracker Lake’s color can’t compete with reality. We have to move on.
The lake is magnetizing, pulling at us against the cold. Siyeh, towering above, dares us to climb her 4000-foot wall of rock. Horses and more hikers are approaching on the path, and I know it’s time to head back to the comforts of our hotel. As others arrive, something shifts. It no longer feels like ours.
Turquoise, maybe. Green and blue — easy insufficient answers. It still resists description. For an hour, standing in the wind, I just called it mine.
If You Go
To find “the color,” break away from the crowds heading for Grinnell Glacier and Iceberg Lake and head toward the Cracker Lake Trailhead at the south end of the parking lot.
It’s roughly 12.6 miles round-trip with a steady climb. You’ll weave through dense forest and huckleberry patches—prime grizzly territory—so bring your bear spray.
As you approach the head of the lake, the protection of the forest vanishes. The wind off Mt. Siyeh is relentless. Even on a blue-bird day, pack a windbreaker or a light puffy jacket so you can actually stay a while once you reach the shore.
The milky turquoise color is thanks to glacial flour—fine silt suspended in the water that refracts light in a way that is unique.
Keep an eye out for the rusted remains of the Cracker Mine near the lakeshore.
Start your trek early to enjoy a moment of solitude—but not too early. The color from the lake isn’t at its most vibrant until the shadow from Siyeh dissipates.
If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.
Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to meet you.






I really enjoyed your storytelling, and the photos are beautiful! It truly looks like a unique place!!
I'd like to be there, how nice. I've seen this (or similar) color before, in waters that came emerged from limestone cavities. I think this is called karst spring. One spectacular example of this I saw in Bosnia. Could it be the same?