hiking Idaho

Backpacker article

2011-12-01T09:15:00.001-08:00

page 52 of the January 2012 issue of Backpacker magazine has a survival feature which has my survival story which occurred this summer on the Idaho Centennial Trail, along the Idaho-Montana state line.

Up the creek without a tent pole

2011-11-09T21:25:00.000-08:00

Video of one of my first hikes on the Idaho Centennial Trail back in 2004.

this took place in north central Idaho, between the Lochsa River and Selway River.

Weiser River Trail (overview)

2011-10-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

Weiser River Trail

2011-10-16T23:51:00.000-07:00

on Saturday October 15th, 2011, I walked 20 miles on the Weiser River Trail, between the towns of Council, Idaho, and Cambridge, Idaho. This was my second completion of the 85 mile Weiser River Trail. for information about the trail, visit http://www.weiserrivertrail.org/index.htm

Close call on the Stateline Trail

2011-09-22T19:01:00.001-07:00

All that was missing from the scene was an umpire standing above me, throwing out his arms in a broad gesture and screaming "SAFE!" Indeed as I slid to a stop I was safe, but this was no sporting contest. The surface I slid on was not sand and dirt with chalk borders, but rather white, cold, and unyielding, a deep snow drift which covered over the safe path beneath. At stake was not the production of a run and the avoidance of an "out" in a game, but rather the continuation of good health and the avoidance of injury on the deadly rocks below. I had slipped during a traverse of a snow field on the Idaho-Montana Stateline Trail, which is also a part of the Idaho Centennial Trail. While closing in on the completion of my 7 year quest to walk across Idaho, I came very close to having it all end in a devastating injury while sliding on this snowfield which stubbornly clung to the western face of the Stateline ridge in late July of 2011. I lost my footing while trying to walk across a snow field. Lacking an ice ax or appropriate footwear such as crampons, I slipped while trying to take my final steps down to the safety of bare ground upon which my hiking partners had already reached. I was down and sliding before I knew it. Events happened faster than I had the capacity to keep up with. I managed to roll face down and attempt to stab my hiking pole into the snow, which was my attempt to self-arrest. The hiking pole bounced from the hardened and slick snowy surface and flew out of my grasp. Acceleration was a frightening force that clutched at me and drug me faster on the slick cupped snow surface. The next thing I knew, one of my hiking partners with whom I have crossed about half of the state of Idaho was shouting "grab the trees, grab the trees" and had managed to get one hand on my GPS lanyard, ripping it out of my right shirt pocket in the process, but at the same time causing me to slow down from the frightening fast acceleration which was taking hold of my large frame. I glanced to the right and saw a tree parallel to the mountain's slope half-buried in the snow. I put a hand out to clutch it and was gratified by the cessation of my slide. I was safe, whether there was an umpire present on the scene or no.....

Class of 2011

2011-08-04T12:49:00.000-07:00

I did it! I finished the Idaho Centennial Trail after a 7 year quest.

it was actually 76 miles left to go, not 65. and I finished on Thursday evening, July 28th, at about 9:10 pm Pacific time, at Lionhead campground. I wanted the big dramatic finish at Upper Priest Falls, but the way it worked out, it was better to go to the falls then work our way south back to Lionhead campground on the northern tip of Priest Lake.

thanks to Stephen Stuebner for his book on the ICT.

thanks to Leo Hennessey for my first taste of the ICT 7 years ago on a work hike on North Fork Lime Creek.

thanks to my chief partner in crime on the ICT, Jerry "Frog" Finnegan. together we are "Doofus and Lark" exploring across Idaho!

thanks go also to the many friends who have joined me for segments of the ICT and for the many family members who have helped me with shuttle rides.

Ron Whittaker
"Llamamoto"

Dressing for success pt 2

2011-03-29T08:16:00.001-07:00

Here's another comparison of clothing. Synthetic, in more recent years.
all cotton clothes, in the past.

Lucky Peak summit, new tower, circa 2006?

Lucky Peak summit, old tower, Memorial Day 2000
showing off my post-operative foot back in action.

Dressing for success

2011-03-28T06:12:00.000-07:00

The following pictures help illustrate how my hiking clothes have changed over the years. I used to hike in all-cotton clothing. Now I hike in all-synthetic (nylon and/or polyester) clothing.

hiking at 49

hiking at 29

Hell's Canyon hike to Kirkwood Ranch

2010-04-17T04:57:00.000-07:00

our recent hike to Kirkwood Ranch on Trail 102 Snake River National Scenic Trail.

tarp shelter

2009-10-11T18:52:00.000-07:00

here is another lightweight shelter that can be set up,
using an 8 ft. x 10 ft. tarp with six stakes and a trekking pole.

this would make a very quick and easy shelter, and not much weight
in the pack.

for bugs and rain, you would need to add another piece of fabric
with some mosquito netting sewn on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkBeZqXU4zk

Wild Oasis

2009-10-11T17:18:00.001-07:00

Six Moon Designs "Wild Oasis" tarptent, shown with fly open

various shelters

2009-10-09T06:00:00.001-07:00

this is the silnylon shelter I am currently using
Six Moon Designs "Wild Oasis" seen at Kirkwood Ranch campground in Hell's Canyon

Brawny Tarptent

correction: it is the REI Roadster tent that I used, not the Coupe (that is the two person version of the Roadster).

the Wake Up Call (part 7)

2009-10-08T05:12:00.000-07:00

ah, tents.....I can never have enough TENTS. During a recent garage clean-out session, I made a big pile of all our tents. Most of them are car camping sized tents. I have used many different types of shelters in my backpacking adventures. I have used small 7x7 ft dome tents. I have used a polyethylene green tarp. Once in the Seven Devils mountains I experimented with an orange poly emergency tube tent (it was lightweight, but slept very cold with the wind blowing through both ends!). I also have spent a couple of nights sleeping without a shelter with just a small 5x7 ft. tarp beneath me for a groundcloth. For a couple of years I had good results with the REI Coupe, which is a double wall tent that weighs 2 pounds (+ a few ounces). Although the REI tent was a bit small for my size (I am 6 ft. 3 in.) I felt very comfortable inside it. It was/is a good ventilating double wall tent with some vestibule space outside. My most successful lightweight shelters have been silnylon tarptents. My first one was a Brawny Tarptent. It weighs about 1 pound. The tarptent I have been using for the last two hiking seasons is a tarptent called Wild Oasis, made by Six Moon Designs. It is based on the successful Gatewood Cape design, with the addition of mosquito netting sewn along the bottom perimeter and with a zipper added for access. It does not have a floor. I lay out my 5x7 tarp as my groundcloth, then tuck the edges of the mosquito netting beneath the tarp to keep the bugs out. I have been very pleased with this shelter system. I have been through three good rains inside this tent and I have stayed dry. My biggest challenge, as with all single wall silnylon shelters, has been condensation on the INSIDE. The answer to the condensation problem has been to keep the bottom edges raised a few inches to allow ventilation. This shelter has a ton of room underneath, and for 13 ounces it saves on weight in the backpack. I will try to post some pictures of the various shelters I have mentioned above.

landing in Atlanta Idaho

2009-09-12T16:53:00.001-07:00

the Wake Up Call (part 6)

2009-09-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

The sleeping quilt keeps a person warm on the top, but what keeps him/her warm on the bottom? The answer is an insulated sleeping mat. A closed cell foam mat can be used, such as Z-rest or Ridge Rest, or an inflatable air mattress with insulation. Here is another area where I gained significant weight savings in my pack weight. I used to carry a twin-sized inflatable blow up mattress which weighed about 6 pounds. Now I carry an REI 48"x20" inflatable insulated mat which weighs about 1 pound. Various sizes and shape configurations are available. The closed cell foam mats tend to be bulkier in size but very light to carry. Next time I will discuss the process of reducing my tent weight.

the Wake Up Call (part 5)

2009-08-27T13:04:00.000-07:00

The sleeping bag, or sleeping *system* as it is sometimes called, is another part of the Big Three. The sleeping bags I carried before were always bulky and had 4 or 5 pounds of loft. I also carried an inflatable camp mattress that weighed 6 or 7 pounds. HEAVY. BULKY. did I mention it was HEAVY? In the Beyond Backpacking book, Jardine describes an ultralight sleeping "quilt." It is not a quilt in the sense that your grandmother made for a bedspread. Using the new ultralight synthetic insulations available today, Jardine describes how they constructed a two person *quilt* by laying the insulation between two sheets of 1.1 ounce un-coated nylon material. It has to be UNCOATED so it will breathe. With the two sheets sewn together, a loop of knitting yarn is threaded through at 12 inch to 18 inch intervals, to hold the insulation in place. It was easy to make one for myself, after I ordered some specialty insulation and fabric. I didn't need the two person model, so I guess-timated about 84" by 60" wide. My wife sewed the perimeter of the two sheets together, after we had them sandwiched over the double sheets of insulation. Then, as shown in the diagram in the book, we laid a ruler over each location to be sewn. The loop of yarn went through the layers, out the bottom, back around the bottom, back up through the layers, then was tied off on the top layer. This helps to hold the insulation in place. The first few times I attempted to use this quilt on a trip, I had to also use a fleece sleeping bag to supplement. I didn't realize that the quilt had to be CLOSED at the foot end in order to keep the feet warm! I think it says that somewhere in the book, but I must have missed it! It wasn't too hard for my wife to retro-fit the quilt with a footbox. We simply folded two corners in towards the center, then used an extra piece of fabric to sew them together. The result is a MUCH warmer and highly useable piece of gear for about a pound. This quilt has now served me for many backcountry nights over several seasons, and is still going strong.

the Wake Up Call (part 4)

2009-08-14T18:31:00.000-07:00

...so now I'm an ultralight hiker, I have this new ultralight backpack that only weighs 14 ounces, I've got it made! Right? Well, umm....not exactly. The pack fit great, since my wife pinned the straps in place before sewing. It is a custom fit for me. Loaded with 25 to 30 pounds of gear, it feels comfortable on my back, although after several miles my shoulders would start ache-ing. Therein lies the main consideration, something that I had to learn by hard experience. When you switch to an ultralight pack, most of the other gear items also have to switch to ultralight as well. I was using my ultralight backpack to carry most of my old items, most of which were heavy and bulky. The ultralight pack should be loaded with no more than 15 to 20 pounds to carry comfortably on your back. I was still loading up with 30 to 35 pounds, sometimes even 40 pounds. With only two straps and no hipbelt, this placed a very heavy load on the shoulders. Not only that, but I also experienced two failures of a strap, on separate hikes, and a complete rip of the backpanel from the main body of the pack on another hike. It really sucks to carry all your gear 7 miles back to the trailhead, loaded in a garbage bag that you carry out in front with your arms! It was a painful learning process, and subjected that backpack to an enormous amount of abuse that it was not designed for. Each time I have torn it up, my loving wife has patiently sewn it back together. But the failures taught me the hard lesson, that all my other gear has to change with the pack in order for the ultralight system to work as it should. Now the stage is set to talk about the next items in the Big Three triad of backpack, sleeping bag, and tent. In the next installment, I will discuss the creation of an ultralight sleeping *quilt* with specialty synthetic insulation, that weighs about 1 pound.

the Wake Up Call (part 3)

2009-08-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

Silnylon lightweight backpack made by my wife.

This was the first piece of ultralight gear that we made.

This was a learning process, not only in making the pack, but in purchasing the specialty fabrics needed to make it with. These fabrics are typically not carried by craft stores like JoAnn Fabrics. We found this out by stumping several employees with our inquiries. We did find several online retailers. We selected Seattle Fabrics. I bought 2 yards of maroon 1.3 ounce silnylon fabric, and 1 yard of 330 denier coated nylon in navy blue for the side of the pack that goes against the back, and for the bottom of the pack that touches the ground. The mesh fabric for the 3 pockets also came from the specialty fabrics. For the padding in the straps, we found a thick spongy green 3/4" foam at JoAnn Fabrics.

Using the pattern from the "Beyond Backpacking" book, I cut out the pieces for the sides, front, back, straps, pockets, and top extension cover. I didn't have a real sewing pattern to work from, I just used the dimensions suggested in the book and eye-balled it. The pack roughly measures 24 inches height x 12 inches width x 9 inches depth, with a 12 inch tall extension collar at the top. My wife, an experienced sewer, shook her head at my rough cuttings but was able to make it work. I had made 1/2" allowances at the edges for sewing the seams. But I did not cut the extension collar piece correctly. She made it work by adding an additional piece of the silnylon fabric. I also screwed up with the mesh pockets. She said it would have been better for her to sew the pockets on the side pieces and the front piece first, THEN sew the big pieces together to form the pack. My other rather glaring error we found out after the pack was sewn together. I had her put the coated side of the fabric, which is supposed to face the internal side, on the OUTSIDE! Oops...

Pictures of the finished product can be seen above. It turned out very nice, thanks to my wife's expert skills, and despite my errors with rulers, scissors, and getting the fabric wrong side out!

More on the loading and carrying of the backpack in the next posting.

the Wake Up Call (part 2)

2009-07-22T06:13:00.000-07:00

Some time after this hiking incident, I came by chance across the phrase "ultralight backpacking." I do not remember what the link was, but I do know it was life changing with respect to reducing the weight of my backpack and increasing my mileage. I am not going to present myself as an EXPERT in ultralight backpacking, since there are many equipment companies now specializing in ultralight backpacking gear, and many books, articles, and forums with information on the topic. I do, however, want to emphasize the contributions of a man named Ray Jardine. His book, "Beyond Backpacking," has probably done more than any single source to influence my thinking and practice in ultralight backpacking. The book is now out-of-print, but has recently been updated, upgraded, and re-released as "Trail Life."
Jardine's system of home made gear, presents a departure from the heavy gear of traditional backpacking. He advocates increasing mileage while decreasing the load one is carrying. (End of commercial).

As I read and learned more about the ultralight philosophy, I began to see how I could incorporate ideas into my own collection of hiking gear. The easiest changes to make with the greatest weight reduction were to be found in what is called "The Big Three" : backpack, sleeping bag, and shelter.

The first piece of gear I changed was the backpack, and it is the backpack that I want to make the topic of my next post.

the Wake Up Call (part 1)

2009-07-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

the summer before I turned 40, I went on a hike in the Sawtooth Mountains with my son Daniel, who was 14 at the time. It was 10 miles from the trailhead at Stanley Lake to Alpine Lake, our destination. I was carrying a large external frame backpack loaded down with 50 pounds of gear. Over the course of two days I struggled up to the lake and then back down again. I couldn't believe how much I struggled with the hike. Had I gotten that old so soon? I felt crushed beneath the weight of the pack. I began to wonder if my time for backpacking was over. I can't carry a full backpack in comfort the distance that I need to go. Although we completed the hike, it was discouraging to me to struggle that much.

I am several years down the road from that experience, and now I have 800 + more miles and 70 percent of the Idaho Centennial Trail under my belt. How did I get from there-and-then to the here-and-now? I would like to describe the process by which I reduced my pack weight and increased my comfort level AND mileage. The process of becoming an *ultralight* hiker has made possible my quest to hike the Idaho Centennial Trail.

stay tuned....

Clark Fork

2009-07-13T14:49:00.000-07:00

LUNCH BREAK OVERLOOKING CLARK FORK, IDAHO

Tuesday July 7th 2009 we completed an 18+ mile section of ICT between Trestle Creek Road and East Spring Creek Road.

The view of the picture above is looking at the town of Clark Fork. Although it looks fairly close, we still have another 8 miles of ridges and a 3,500 feet elevation drop down 28 switchbacks to finish. Then it is another 4 miles into Clark Fork.

With the completion of this section and another section of the Stateline Trail, I have now finished the ICT sections in the panhandle from Priest Lake to Interstate 90

Ron

Walk longer, sleep less

2009-03-19T12:47:00.001-07:00

Walk longer, sleep less
a hiking adventure in Hell's Canyon
Granite Creek to Pittsburgh Landing
April 04-06, 2008

The title for this chapter is an adaptation of a line from the Disney movie "Iron Will." In the movie, the character Will Stoneman enters a 500 mile dogsled race. He is trained for the race by the character Ned, a farm hand who happens to be Native American. Ned knows that his young friend will be facing a field of toughened and experienced dogsled racers, as well as brutal winter weather. One of the lessons that Ned teaches Will is "Run longer, sleep less." As the story plays out, Will wins the race by following this wisdom.
Going into this hike, I knew that there would probably be a lot of elite hikers, and probably some trail runners as well. I also knew from past experience that I am usually the slowest person in any given group of hikers. I resolved in advance that I was going to "Walk longer, sleep less" in order to complete the 25 mile hike. At the time I didn't realize just how poignant and relevant this expression was going to become for me.
The following *advertisement* appeared on the Idaho Outdoors Yahoo email group, announcing an upcoming hiking trip in Hell's Canyon:
Carrie Gemmill wrote:
We have a friend with a jet boat who is willing to take approximately 10 people 25 miles upriver on the Snake River from Pittsburg Landing. We will hike about 25 miles back to Pittsburg Land that day. If you are looking for a shorter hike, you can get dropped off at other locations along the river. The trail is a well marked trail along the Snake River with a few steep sections, but mostly level or rolling hills. We did this last year and really enjoyed it. The cost should be about $50 a person for gas if we can fill the boat up. We are going to drive up on Friday, April 4 and spend the weekend camping at Pittsburg Landing. We will get up early on Saturday morning for the hour jet boat trip up the river. We will be back to camp before dark late on Saturday afternoon. Please email me direcly if you are interested in joining us. ---Carrie
On Friday April 4th, I drove north from Boise on highway 55 to McCall, then continued north on highway 95 from New Meadows. Just before reaching the town of White Bird, I turned off on Deer Creek Road (Road 493). This is the road to Pittsburgh Landing recreation area in Hell's Canyon. As I began to drive the gravel road, rain began to fall. By the time I reached Cow Creek Saddle at over 4,000 feet elevation, it was snowing large, fat, wet flakes of snow. It continued snowing as I descended the switchbacks on the western side of the saddle, then went back to rain as I dropped below the 4,000 foot mark. I could see the road descending for miles ahead towards a great big canyon wall which looked a lot like Hell's Canyon. I arrived at the Pittsburgh Landing campground, and looked for a large group of people camping next to a large jetboat. Steve and Jeff Ostrom and their family members had occupied the first campsite inside the gate. I selected a campsite across the road from them, and struggled with getting my tent, rainfly, and extra tarp set up in the wind and blowing rain. Ironically, once I got the tent set up, the wind died down and the rain quit. Figures! I heated my dinner and made a large cup of instant coffee. After eating my dinner, I took a folding chair and my coffee and went to sit by the fire at my neighbors' campsite. In this way I got a little acquainted with some of the folks with whom I would be hiking the next day. Most of them were experienced long distance walkers, and some were planning on running the last 10 miles of the trail. I knew that it would be a test for me, but I was excited about the challenge. My sleep was less that night, thanks to some inconsiderate campers next to me who stayed up laughing and talking around their campfire until the wee hours of the morning.
Saturday, April 5th
Eight a.m. was the appointed gathering time in the morning for the group to assemble. There were about a dozen people and three dogs who would be leaving on the boat, with a couple of people remaining behind in camp. Carrie with her recently broken leg was one of these. It was probably 08:30 by the time they told us to start walking down the road towards the boat ramp. The F350 truck pulling the enormous jet boat circled the campground and came down the road toward where we were waiting, then swung around into position to back down the ramp. It took several minutes to maneuver the large craft down to the water. Captain Steve oversaw the backing process from the stern of the boat while Doug backed the rig downhill. Life jackets were distributed and each person donned one. Once the boat was afloat, the group assembled on a large dock 100 yards south along the river bank and Steve nosed the boat in to the dock. After we had all climbed aboard, we started off to the south on our great river journey. Or at least, so we thought. Steve throttled up the dual 6.0 liter Chevy engines and they roared to life, propelling the boat with great speed against the strong river current of the Snake.
The first order of business on the river was to travel one mile upriver to the official trailhead to pick up some more passengers. Before we got a half mile up the river, I overheard Captain Steve voicing a concern about a temperature gauge on one of the engines. As we approached the river banks near the trailhead, I could see three people waiting for us to pick them up. One of them happened to be my friend Nick Abshire, with whom I have hiked quite a few times and about 100 miles. The other two people were Andy and Julie Rad. Captain Steve maneuvered the boat carefully near the bank and we took the threesome aboard. Then Steve announced to everyone on board that we had to return to Pittsburgh Landing so that he could figure out what was wrong with the engine. Since we were getting a later start than I had anticipated, I inwardly groaned at this news, but the Captain is the Captain, so back we went. They unloaded all of us at the boat dock.
Then Steve maneuvered the boat back onto the trailer, and the F350 pulled the boat and trailer out of the water up the ramp. Steve crawled under the stern of the boat and started investigating. After about 15 minutes, Ben came walking back over to the docks where most of us were milling around. He showed us a small rock, about the size of a walnut. Two such rocks had been found in the water intake for the right engine. Just the two small rocks wedged into the intake louvers had been enough to cause the engine to overheat. With the problem fixed, the boat was lowered back into the water, and within a few minutes we were all back on board ready for re-departure.
The ride upriver through the canyon was very enjoyable. Steve handled his watercraft like a seasoned river runner, expertly picking his way through rapids and around large boat eating boulders in mid stream. The ride was very rough and bouncy in places as the powerful engines propelled us through the wild rapids. I overheard Captain Steve commenting that "this boat is like a Cadillac compared to the old boat." I also heard him saying that, in the calm stretches of water, the boat was reaching 50 mph, even with 15 people on board!
From inside the enclosed cabin, we were able to preview the day's hiking in reverse, from the water level looking up. We passed by Kirkwood Ranch, Suicide Point, Johnson Bar, and Bernard Rapids. After about an hour's travel up the river, Captain Steve began saying that he was looking for a certain mountain which was a landmark for him to know that we were close to Granite Creek. Around another bend in the river, a snow-capped mountain appeared in the distance to the south. Steve pronounced this mountain to be his desired landmark. We were not quite all the way to Granite Creek, but we could see rapids further up the river which corresponded with the approximate location on the map of the creek outlet. I would guess based upon what I remember and looking at the topo maps that we were about three-quarters of a mile from the creek outlet. We pulled in to the bank on the Idaho side and prepared to disembark. I looked at my little clock, which read 11:00 am Boise time. We were getting a much later start than I had hoped for. Steve asked us if we were all *really* sure that we wanted to walk all the way back to Pittsburgh Landing. I answered in the affirmative along with everyone else. Walk longer, sleep less. I tried not to think about the extreme distance, just the adventure ahead of me and putting one foot in front of the other.
The *river bank* at this particular point consisted of lots of irregular shaped boulders lying jumbled at the bottom of a steep slope. The group assembled here, then began to climb the steep bank to reach the trail above us. We had to ascend the sometimes slippery slope at least 150 to 200 vertical feet before we actually could set foot on the trail. I was already huffing and puffing before I reached the trail. We looked below to see the few people still left in the boat pulling away from the bank and setting off down the river. Some of the group members were carrying FRS radios in order to stay in touch with the boat.
Hence began the great journey through Hell's Canyon. Most of the group set off ahead of me, with a few folks behind. It wasn't long before I stepped aside to allow Paul and a couple of others to pass by me. I was trying to settle into my pace and didn't want to try to win the race in the first half hour. For the first mile and a half, the group played a sort of leapfrog game, with some folks stopping to peel off outer layers as they warmed up. I got ahead of some of the faster members, then had to pull right over again and allow them around me. After we had gone a little over a mile, the trail lost all the elevation that we had fought so hard to win when we scrambled up the hill from the boat. The trail came down to a water drainage or creek of some size. The depression was filled in with a lot of small trees and tangled undergrowth. I stopped at the edge, looking around for the trail which seemed to vanish. Great, I thought this was supposed to be a "well-defined trail" and "easy to follow." I wound up doing what the others in front of me did, which was to bend to the left, down into the creek bed, through the thick undergrowth, and down to the river's edge trying to pick my way along through slick rocks and boulders. We fought our way through the brush and came out on the other side of the ravine, then had to fight our way back up another steep cliff section to the trail which now made itself apparent above us. All through this bush-whacking process I kept thinking "I hope I don't see a snake, I hope I don't see a snake." Again, I was sucking lots of wind by the time I clambered my way back up onto the trail. We hadn't gone even two miles yet, and I was already feeling fatigued. I was beginning to think that this trail was going to be a whole lot more than I had bargained for.
Fortunately, after this point, the going became much easier and I settled into a comfortable walking pace to go the distance. The sun had now gone up high enough in the sky to shine down into the canyon. It was becoming warmer but not uncomfortably so. It was still fairly chilly in the shaded sections of the trail. People had by now peeled off a lot of layers and were walking in shorts and T-shirts. I kept my outer shirt on and the zip-on leggings of my pants on, due to the frequent brush we had to go through. I was still on the lookout for serpents and ticks, and didn't want to invite either to sample my flesh.
The overnight group, consisting of Nick Abshire and the Rad's (Andy and Julie), had stopped ahead of me. I jokingly asked them if they were making camp already. Nick grinned and said, "Yeah, we're tired." I passed on by and that was the last I saw of them for the rest of the hike. Their plan was to take two nights to do this section. I hope to return some day and do likewise.
The canyon walls were steep and high on either side of the river for the first few miles. Nearing the four mile mark of the journey, the terrain on the Oregon side underwent a significant change. The high canyon wall receded and gave way to a large valley opening up for a long distance up into the high country on the Oregon side. This valley was the drainage known as Saddle Creek. At the bottom of the drainage is a large brushy triangular area which has the appearance of a river delta. Apparently many centuries of sediment washed down from high above and deposited at the mouth of the creek where it drained into the river. According to the maps, there is a trail that follows Saddle Creek down to the Snake River, where it connects to the river trail going north along the Oregon side. The Saddle Creek trail climbs into Oregon all the way up to Freezeout Saddle, and from there to the National Scenic Trail high on the rim. It looked to me like another great adventure, although it would have to wait for another time. I took a picture of it and continued on my way. On the other side of the creek, the canyon wall once again rose several hundred feet above the river.
From about the three mile mark onward, I was hiking by myself almost the rest of the entire trip. This I was prepared for, since my walking pace is typically slower than most other hikers. I had already accepted that the majority of this group were “racehorses.” That would make me a “Clydesdale,” I guess. The thoroughbred stallions and mares had already taken off and left me behind. I just kept clopping along with my slow steady pace. I did catch up to Lydia at the five mile mark, which was at McGaffee Cabin. She was resting and eating as I passed by. I took some pictures of the historic cabin and went across the bridge. It was time to get my first bottle of water. I had decided to use Potable Aqua tablets for this trip, so as not to have the weight of the water filter. I would simply dip my bottle and fill it in the creek, put two Iodine tablets in, and carry it for a while to dissolve the Iodine. The second part of the treatment is two Ascorbic Acid tablets (vitamin C basically) to clear up the water and take away the Iodine taste. The system worked well for this type of trip. Water stops just took a couple of minutes and then I was on my way again.
As I passed by upper and lower Bernard Rapids, I noted that my topo map showed these were 5 miles along from our starting point. I set my sights ahead to reach the next 5 mile interval, which was near Johnson Bar. I kept cruising along through the canyon, pausing occasionally to admire the snow capped mountains above, to marvel at the river's power and volume as it flowed relentlessly along through the canyon, or to watch a passing jet boat go by. The trail was not hard to follow and I made reasonably good progress as the sun shifted past the halfway mark and began its downward progression through the afternoon. I only caught occasional distant sightings of my fellow hikers as they pulled further and further ahead. The one exception was Lydia, whom I saw again briefly as she was stopped near Johnson Bar for lunch. I took the opportunity to grab a few bites myself as I spread my stuff out on the convenient rock slab beside the trail. By now it was mid-afternoon. I studied my topo maps for my upcoming objectives. I was not quite to Johnson Bar, as Captain Steve had made sure to point out the gauging station on the Oregon side of the river as we had passed it earlier that morning.
Done with lunch, I continued walking and within a mile or so came to a large sandy beach. Across the river I could see the gauging station, and knew that I had arrived at Johnson Bar and the 10 mile mark of my hike. Only 15 more miles to go to the trailhead, then another mile beyond that to the campground. I tried not to think too hard about the miles ahead. I had an awareness that I was racing the daylight, yet felt comfortable with my progress and was not (too) anxious about finishing the remaining distance. I just tried to concentrate on the next mile and keeping my footing on the narrow winding trail.
Another mile or so beyond Johnson Bar I came upon Sheep Creek Ranch. Crossing the bridge over Sheep Creek I saw a sign marker that showed it was 11 miles back to Granite Creek, and 13 miles to Pittsburgh Landing trailhead. Almost halfway there. I briefly stopped here to refill a bottle and drop the treatment tablets in it. Then I came upon a row of trees and a picnic table set up beside the trail. I rested here for about 10 minutes. There was a house and several small outbuildings here and a lawn with green grass. I saw the proprietor of the place headed down another trail toward the river. After several minutes I walked ahead and met him as he was walking back up to his house. We exchanged greetings and I continued on. The trail merged with the broad path that led to the house. Down by the river the trail resumed its single track and continued northward. Here there was a U.S. Mail box on a post. Whoever brought the mail to this address was a dedicated postal employee.
The next several miles were a succession of cliffs and bars. I passed by Pine Bar, High Bar, and Little Bar. Pine Bar was a hillside sloping down to a gravel beach. The pine trees lasted for about a quarter mile. High Bar was a large mounded hill that went on for over a mile. The shade from the cliffs on the Oregon side was starting to get long and cover the trail on the Idaho side as I walked on. At Myers Creek the trail ascended a cliff and turned eastward until it crossed over the creek. A large cliff loomed ahead of me. From the topo map I could see there was supposed to be an old mine ahead, and on the cliff I could see a long section of pipe running from the direction of the creek horizontally across the cliff. Up and over a saddle and I continued marching north. Ahead was a long field on the Oregon side with several buildings, and on the Idaho side adjacent was a long field with a dirt airstrip. This corresponded on my map with Brockman Ranch. The daylight was waning. I paused for a few pictures and then continued on. I wanted to get around Suicide Point before the daylight was gone, but the longer I walked the less likely it looked that I would get there.
Suicide Point. That had to be the massive rock formation I could see ahead of me in the fading daylight. I checked my topo map and compared features on the map with what I could see ahead of me. I decided that it was Suicide Point. I had hoped that I could make it up and around the big climb before I lost the daylight, but it became apparent now that the sun was going down. Not only had the sun already dropped beneath the western wall of Hell's Canyon, the Oregon side of the canyon, but the amount of light in the sky above was diminishing. I continued my dogged pace. The trail was not difficult, and I kept a good measured rate of travel. All the same, even as the physical light was fading, an intuitive *light* was dawning inside me. I was going to be walking in the dark.
At the time, I was caught up in the adventure of my hike. I didn't become fearful or terrified, but I felt great respect for the terrain I was in and the prospects of encountering something big that went bump in the night. There was no way that I was stopping, at least not at this point. I was constantly making mental calculations as I walked, judging the distance remaining against my present speed of travel and the twilight. I still had the strength to continue walking. Perhaps I could make it to Kirkwood Ranch, and then possibly stop until daylight. The air was growing cooler and I felt that I would stay warmer if I kept moving. Walk longer, sleep less.
At about 8:45, the trail turned briefly into the eastern wall of the canyon and began climbing a draw. I decided here to stop and get out my headlamp before I totally lost the daylight. I knew it had fresh batteries in it, and hoped that it would light my way. Suicide Point loomed massively on the other side of the draw. I could see the trail snaking its way up the opposite wall. I would soon be over on that side making my way up for several hundred feet to go around the western point of the cliff where it jutted out into the Snake River.
I slowed my pace down to climb the trail and made steady progress, to the far point inside the draw where it crossed the creek bed. Stepping across, the trail then bent to the west and continued its upward progress now along the southern cliffs of Suicide Point. This was one big hunk of rock! My headlamp made a 2.5 to 3 foot diameter circle of artificial L.E.D. white light on the trail immediately ahead of me. I kept the beam tilted down at just the right angle. My concentration became very intense on the trail. I was very aware of the large drop off the cliff on the trail's edge, so I made sure to keep my eyes on the trail. If I wanted to look at something, like the river below me to my left which was becoming further down with each step, I made sure to stop, plant my feet, plant my hiking stick, then look.
One worry began to gnaw on me. I had no way to contact the hikers ahead of me or the ones remaining back in camp. By now Captain Steve would have pulled the boat off the river. It was too dark to take a boat out on the Snake River, no matter how good of a boat driver one might be. I wondered if the group back at camp was wondering about my well being? I didn't want to create worry, and I didn't want to create extra work and extra searching for anyone. This in part became my driving motivation to keep walking. I was tired for sure from an already long day, and feeling the chill of the evening beginning to seep in. I had another layer if I needed it, but did not want to put it on and then sweat it up inside. As long as I kept moving I was generating warmth.
By the time I reached the *top* of the trail around Suicide Point, it was a very dark night. Stars were out, but so were some clouds. My headlamp continued to shine the way for me. I pursued it like some animal chasing an enticing morsel of food dangling on a string perpetually just out of reach.
At the time, it seemed as though I was 1000 feet above the river. But now in retrospect, seeing 3D versions of Suicide Point on Google Earth, it wasn't that high, but it was still a few hundred feet up.
I could hear the roar of rapids somewhere far down below to my left. Occasionally I would stop and shine the beam toward the river. I could see reflections of whitewater. This was a powerful beam of light. I was very glad to have it. For the record, it is an Energizer brand from Walmart, which I bought for about $9, and uses 3 AAA batteries.
Now passing the northern side of Suicide Point, the trail turned to the east and began descending, before bending to the north again. The river's sound steadily became louder as I dropped to within a couple of hundred feet. I was still aware of LARGE amounts of empty space off to my left, so I kept my intense focus on watching where I placed my feet on the trail.
I had thought that Kirkwood Ranch was just a couple of miles beyond Suicide Point. I began seeing small lights of lanterns and campfires down near the river bank. I thought I was nearing Kirkwood, but I still had some distance to go. It was almost midnight by the time I made my way along the trail to the front gate of Kirkwood Ranch. My breath steamed as I knelt on the ground at the official sign for the ranch. I could see a building with lights on and people moving around inside. A creek ran briskly down to my left. I was tired. I rested for a few minutes, eating a snack and drinking some treated water as I considered my options. I could try to catch a few hours of sleep here and continue on at first light. The main drawback to that option was staying warm. Since I only had my daypack, I did not have a sleeping bag. I considered covering up in my rain poncho and wrapping a mylar survival blanket around me to try to stay warm. Where? was the next drawback. I got up and studied the Kirkwood layout on the sign. I could see that campsites were located across the creek. I remembered when we had passed by Kirkwood many hours ago on the river. There had been many tents and many hikers along the river. After resting for a few more minutes, I made up my mind that I wanted to keep moving.
I crossed the creek on the footbridge and slowly made my way in the dark along the footpath. There were several outbuildings that I could see. Then I went through a very large open field with many tents pitched to either side. Off to the right, there was a bathroom, so I made a stop there. To my surprise, it was pleasantly warm inside and had indoor plumbing with a flush toilet and sink. For a few minutes I considered sleeping in the bathroom. There were two of them. Everyone was in bed, no one was up and moving around, except me. The bathroom was heated, and had a locking door. I thought about locking the door and stretching out on the floor with my pack as a pillow. I was tired enough. I had come 20 miles to this point. However, I wanted to finish the hike. Walk longer, sleep less. I made up my mind to continue on, despite the cold, the darkness, and the terrain that I knew awaited me.
(now) Sunday, April 6th
From Kirkwood Ranch, the trail going north makes a climb up several switchbacks before continuing parallel to the river. This was my first challenge, after I had slowly walked across the large open field and followed a narrow gravel road to a fence on the north end of the ranch property. A signpost for the trail helped me to get oriented. As I began ascending the first switchback, I could imagine that people in their tents below probably wondered who that NUT was that was hiking the trail after midnight? They were probably right. I got winded going up the switchbacks, but continued making steady progress. I had to take a couple of brief standing rests to catch my breath, but soon was on top of the switchbacks. The river was now several hundred feet below again. The trail continued north and I resumed my pursuit of the bobbing circle of light a few feet ahead of me on the path. I can remember images from those miles, but the next six miles seemed to go by in a blur. They are not blurred because of my non blazing fast speed, to be certain. They are blurred in my memory because of the fatigue I was feeling. I remember a creek that went across the trail, from which I drew one last bottle of water to replenish my supply. I made sure to keep myself hydrated.
At around 3 a.m. I could tell that the single track trail was getting wider. Then it became a double track trail. Trails always tend to get wider and better maintained in relation to their nearness to the trailhead. The terrain to either side of the trail began to broaden and get flatter. At last, I could see the reflection of vehicles ahead, and then a large trailhead sign. I made it to the Pittsburgh Landing trailhead! YES!!!! Despite the exhaustion and the chill, I had to smile. It was a great feeling of accomplishment.
However, before I could let go of the long hike and allow myself to stop and rest, I had one more task to finish. The trailhead was just over a mile from the campground. I had turned on my GPS about 3 miles back and had been checking the distance remaining to the campground. I had taken a reading the previous evening right at my tent, so this was my reference point for how far away *home* was. I began walking again along the road, past 20 or 30 cars and trucks which seemed ghostly and other-worldly in the beam of my light. Beyond the parking lot, which seemed to go on and on, the road became asphalt and widened out. I trudged along, keeping an eye on the GPS and the arrow which pointed slightly west of north from my current location. As I staggered along, the distance to allowed myself a small celebration with each tenth of a mile passed, telling myself to keep going, another tenth, another tenth, another tenth.
I was unsure of where this road was going to come out on the main road to the campground. When I got within two tenths of a mile, the arrow on my GPS was pointing almost straight west. I decided at that point to cut through the field to my left and trust that I would make a beeline for the campground. What I didn't realize was that if I had just stayed on the road, I would have come to the T junction in another one tenth of a mile. The field that I was going through abruptly began to drop off and became a hillside going down through sagebrush. Ahead I could see these strange twin points of light. I wondered what they were? As I descended the steep hillside, it became apparent that the little points of light were little beady eyes belonging to a herd of deer who were grazing on the edge of the campground. The hill continued to drop until it came to a bank just above the road. It felt confusing to me in my exhausted state of mind. I stepped down the steep bank back onto the pavement. The campground sign should be somewhere close, where is it? I thought. Finally it came into sight. Then there was the bathroom. Then a couple more campsites over, there was the rental car. I was done. The day was done at last. From 11 a.m. Saturday morning to 3:20 a.m. Sunday morning. Sixteen hours and change. For all of that time, I had perhaps allowed myself a total of about an hour resting, and only a couple of times sitting down.
Walk longer. Sleep less.
In reflecting back on this trip, a couple of things come to mind. I would like to re-visit the 10 mile portion that I hiked in the dark in the DAYLIGHT, so that I can see what I missed. Second, I would like to repeat the jet boat ride and hike as a multi-day trip. Nick's group did a three day two night adventure. I would like to do the same so that I would not have to rush through it. There were so many things that I wanted to stop and really look at, such as the many old homestead foundations and old rusted farm implements. There just wasn't enough time to take it all in during a single day excursion. I blasted through Kirkwood Ranch at midnight and didn't get to take in the many buildings and side trips that are available. And then of course, I would like to repeat the 27 mile one day trip, but with a MUCH earlier start than 11 a.m. An overnight stay at Granite Creek and a 5 a.m. departure would be reasonable start, assuming that a boat ride to Granite Creek can be obtained.
____________ _________ _________ _________ _________ _________ _________ _____

Finding my place

2009-03-19T11:56:00.001-07:00

It is interesting to see the progression from the earlier hiking stories to now. When I first started going out in the wilderness of Idaho everything seemed much more frightening. There is just something about the word "wilderness" that evokes images of being eaten alive by something ravenous with sharp teeth. As I have spent more and more time in the outdoors I have found that I am more *acclimated* I guess is the word I am searching for. Not that I want to grow complacent and take the wilderness for granted. After all, there are still large things out there with sharp teeth that can devour you or shred you into remnants of your former self. And let's face it, more people are undone in the wilderness by their own human foibles. It's easy to get mixed up and turned around and lose your sense of direction, or not layer properly and get caught in unexpected weather, or twist an ankle while miles away from anywhere. I'm looking forward to more long distance treks in the wilderness of Idaho this summer. LORD willing.

Towing Pains

2009-03-19T11:52:00.000-07:00

Towing Pains
an Idaho Centennial Trail adventure
Jerry hikes from Rocky Bluff Campground to Five Mile Campground
Ron hikes from Five Mile Campground to French Gulch and return
August 8 - 12, 2008

During the course of our many trips across Idaho, both Jerry and I have experienced car problems. Some trips have been relatively problem-free. Still others have been made, shall we say, more memorable by vehicle breakdowns. In some cases, the actual hiking has been easier than the complications caused by a vehicle breakdown on the way to get to where the hiking is. In the case of this particular hike in central Idaho, a vehicle breakdown caused us to almost abandon our hiking plans. Although it did create a temporary difficulty for me, as well as some unexpected expenses, it also resulted in an unexpected hiking success story for me. The situation showed that it pays to be flexible.
The story of the Apollo 13 moon mission is an illustration which relates well to this story. The Apollo 13 astronauts blasted off from Earth on April 11, 1970 with intentions of landing on the moon and going for a *hike*. However, while enroute, they experienced an explosion in the service module. The ensuing loss of oxygen and electrical power caused them to radically change their plans. Instead of landing on the moon, their mission became one of survival against all odds and returning home to Earth safely. Our hiking adventure, while not quite as dramatic and life-threatening as their mission, shared some general parallels that I can relate to our adventure. Their trip included a launch, travel to a far away destination, a planned excursion when they reached that destination, and a return home. They had two vehicles to begin with, then one vehicle broke down, and they improvised a new plan, using the other vehicle to survive until they could bring the broken one home. I will be drawing from examples of the Apollo 13 story during the telling of our trip in August of 2008.
Our plan was to hike a 40 mile section of ICT, from west to east, along the northern edge of the Gospel Hump Wilderness. We were to begin on Saturday morning at Rocky Bluff Campground. We would hike a few miles along the western edge of the wilderness, then turn east toward Sourdough Peak Lookout and campground. Further along the path we would pass by Twentymile Lake, then descend into John's Creek and then climb out the other side. We planned to come out on Tuesday at Five Mile Campground on the other side of the wilderness. This hike would make an ICT connection for Jerry between Rocky Bluff C.G. and Five Mile C.G. We departed from Boise about 6 p.m. on Friday evening to drive northward. Jerry was driving his Jeep Cherokee, which had replaced the famous Suburban. I was driving my Aerostar minivan.
On Friday night at about 10 pm, as we reached our intended campsite at Leggett Creek, I started hearing weird noises from under the hood. We thought it might be the water pump. During the night, we had a hard but very fast moving thunderstorm which roared through. I was nice and dry sleeping in the van, while Jerry was in the Jeep (and missing the spaciousness of the Suburban). On Saturday morning, we continued on to Five Mile Campground about 10 miles up the Crooked River. This is a remote location south of Elk City. About 3 or 4 miles from Five Mile, I noticed the steering wheel was fighting me in the turns. Great, no power steering. We pulled to a stop at the campground, popped the hood, and saw the belt was broken and water was pouring from the water pump. Oh man. My heart sank.

Jerry's reaction was external and immediate. I had a delayed reaction. Usually in a bad situation like this, this means that first, I go numb. Then, gradually, my response grows into panic mode from the inside out over time as reality sets in. Jerry exclaimed, "well, today is shot." I knew what he meant. It looked like the prospects for the 40 mile hike were blown. We had planned on planting the van at Five Mile, then driving around to the other end to get an early start. Now we had a whole new reality in front of us. We had just "lost the moon." I will explain that saying. We left the van there and started heading back toward the town of Grangeville.
Fortunately, we had over an hour to drive from the campground back to the town of Grangeville. This gave us time to talk and discuss our options. I also prayed for guidance. The options that we discussed were to :
a) get a tow to a repair shop in Grangeville.
b) get a mechanic from Grangeville to go out on site to fix the van.
c) one of the options above *plus* renting a vehicle to have a shuttle vehicle on the other end of our hike.
d) some combination of a + b + c
e) stick out our thumbs after completing our hike.
As Jerry drove, and we discussed the advantages and disadvantages of all the different possibilities, I started thinking about the Apollo 13 story. When the oxygen tank exploded and damaged the service module's fuel cells, both the astronauts and their NASA controller counterparts back on Earth realized that they would have to "improvise a new mission." The commander of the astronauts also told his comrades, "We just lost the moon. " This meant that he realized the reality of their situation. The damage to their craft, and a remedial procedure to isolate their fuel cells, which failed, had killed any chance they had to land on the moon. They had to deal decisively with their new reality. I felt, in a similar way, that Jerry and I had just "lost the trail" as far as our hiking plans went. However, as we drove back to Grangeville, and made arrangements for towing the van and repairing the van, it began to dawn on me that perhaps we could "improvise a new mission."
Before we went to breakfast, we made a couple of stops in Grangeville and made a couple of phone calls to get pricing. It was obvious to me that it was NOT going to be cheap or easy. The most financially painful part was going to be the TOWING charge to retrieve the van from the remote campground 50 to 60 miles from town. We talked to the crusty, hard-bitten owner mechanic at the repair shop, and got a reference from him for a towing service. I made a phone call and talked to the wrecker driver, who said, "Oh yeah, Five Mile Pond, I know where that is, I go fishing there all the time!" He estimated that it was going to cost about $250 just for the towing. Instead of growing pains, I was having *towing pains.* From all the discussions, it had now become apparent to me which of the above options were feasible and which were not.

Over breakfast at the local cafe' on main street, resolve came over me about what needed to be done.

1) Surrender my part in the 40 mile hike.
2) Get the van towed.
3) Get the van repaired.
4) Drive Jerry to the start point, let him go solo.
5) Drive his Jeep Cherokee back to Five Mile and wait for him.

This was my new reality, and it was my problem to be dealt with. There was no reason to drag Jerry down with me. It was a sad feeling, but there was also a settled peace that went along with it. There would be some anxious moments for me in the coming days, but overall the peaceful feeling remained.

Jerry was accepting of my idea to let him hike solo on the same trip we had originally planned. This would allow him to complete a vital connecting section of his ICT quest. He said that he had always wanted to take the challenge of a long distance solo hike. Now was his chance. Meanwhile, I would drive his vehicle back around to the take-out point, Five Mile Campground, and wait for him to arrive 3 days later. This gave me plenty of time to figure out my own "new mission."
After the arrangements were made with the towing guy and the repair shop, we set off for Rocky Bluffs Campground, about a 50 mile drive back to the south from Grangeville. Jerry had been to Rocky Bluffs before on a previous hike. He had completed the ICT from Rocky Bluffs going south to the Salmon River, about 26 miles away. When we arrived at the campground, I hiked the first mile of ICT going north with Jerry, taking lots of pictures along the way. I took one final picture of Jerry as he set off to complete the remaining 39 miles all by his lonesome. After some more photos of road junctions and directional signs, I hiked back to the car. I took a scenic back road back to Grangeville. I had to hang around town until the tow truck showed up with my van in tow. I needed to transfer some camping gear out of the van. That completed, I drove east again on Highway 14. I made a side trip to see Elk City, then drove the Crooked River Road again to Five Mile campground.

After I set up camp and made dinner, a plan started to form in my mind. I had three nights to wait for Jerry. While I waited for Jerry, I wanted to make this trip count for something on the ICT. I didn't just want to sit around camp for 3 days, nor did I want to burn a lot of $4 a gallon gasoline cruising around sight seeing. I *could* have hiked west on the ICT to intercept Jerry somewhere on his way east toward me. But what I really wanted to do now was hike from Five Mile back toward the Red River and French Gulch. Jerry had done this section, but I had not. French Gulch was the last point where I ended our 40 mile Anderson Butte hike back in July. I slept on it, and awoke resolved on Sunday morning to go to the Red River.
If I had actually known just how far it was to the Red River before I started, I might not have tried it. I had traced the route on the National Geographic Topo program, and it looked to be about 15 miles one way, so I knew that it was going to be a long walk there. I didn't realize that it was going to be almost 19 miles one way.

I left camp at approximately 8:30 Sunday morning. I knew that the first order of business after crossing the log bridge over Silver Creek would be to gain 1,000 vertical feet within the first mile. After the first mile, the road would follow the 5500' contour for a long ways, then drop gradually to 5000 feet. Then it would contour along the 5000' line for most of the rest of the way to the Red River, when it would drop the last 500 feet to 4500 feet. So the 1000 feet was front-loaded on the outbound trip. On the return trip, the 1000 feet would be gained in two 500 foot stages.

F.R. 9836 began from Five Mile campground as an ATV width trail. A signpost announced that Elk City was 17 miles away. After the first mile of climbing, the trail widened to a four wheel drive Jeep width road. I took one wrong turn, which dead-ended in a clearing. That was only a half mile added to my day. I continued on the jeep road, until 9836 intersected with 1803, where it became a full width graded all weather gravel road. A sign at the junction showed that this road was part of a network of snowmobile trails in the backcountry.
I didn't see very much wildlife during the ascent. I did see and hear a couple on an ATV who came by me from the direction of camp. They first passed me going the same way I was going. They then met me on their way back around the 12 mile marker. They said they were curious about what I was doing out here? This gave me an opportunity to tell them about the ICT, which they seemed very interested in. They then drove off in the direction of Five Mile, while I continued on toward Relief Creek. There was a fair amount of road construction equipment parked at the big curve at Relief Creek. They were installing new culverts in two locations. Apparently the road had been washed out during spring melt off. Relief Creek was flowing moderately through the newly installed culvert. I noted that it was a good water source should I need one for the return trip.

The ascent along the west flank of Porter Mountain resulted in some fantastic views to the southwest, west, northwest, and north. I topped out at around the 5500 foot mark and took numerous pictures of the sweeping views. At the trail marker for F.T. 844, I chose to deviate from the *official* ICT West route. Jerry had done the hike previously from the Red River, together with Dave and Jeff, back in July, and had reported that they had become seriously lost by following the official trail. He had advised me to take the road around it. After our many bushwhacking adventures, he doesn't have to tell me that twice.

Within another 3 miles from the trail junction I found the forest road that I had traced out on my Topo program at home. F.R. 9803 started north from a five-way road intersection at the 5 mile marker post on F.R. 1803. I had followed 1803 for about 8 miles to this point, and would now follow 9803 for another 6.5 miles down to the Red River. This road was posted as being restricted to motorized traffic, and was only open to foot traffic. That suited me just fine. The road was designated to be returned to a natural state, and it was obvious that it had not been in use for some time. There was knee high grass down the center of the lane, with two paths on either side of the grass where wheels had once rolled by.
This road followed the 5000 foot contour closely for about 2 miles, then came to an unmarked Y intersection. The left fork looked to be the well beaten path. The right fork curved up and to the east and had a fallen tree blocking it about 30 feet up. This seemed to be the right location on the northwest side of Wheeler Mountain, according to the map portion I carried, and the maps I had studied on the computer.

I knew that 9803 had to bend around to the east and contour around the northern side of Wheeler. I followed this lesser travelled section of road 9803 for several miles. To say it was *less travelled* is an understatement. I felt like the first human being to walk upon it in decades. I kept thinking it was going to dead end around the next bend 100 times, but there was always more road to follow. The condition of the growth on the road worsened the further I went. At one point, the trees and brush got so thick that there was just a single track going through the middle. I noted that there were orange ribbons set at intervals along the path. These kept me going until I was through the thick part and it widened out again. I called out "hey bear!" periodically to announce my presence to any bruins that might be lurking about.
As I went along the north side of Wheeler, I could see a large valley below me directly to the north. Within the valley, off in the distance, was the town of Elk City. I knew that I needed to continue in a generally easterly direction to hit the Red River. I came to a bend in the road that went down and to the left, but with what looked like to be a ramp going down forking off to the right. The orange ribbons on the trees were showing to continue along the curve to the left, but this didn't seem to jive with my desired direction. I followed the left path down for about a half mile or so. My bad vibes were getting stronger. I thought since it was descending that it might curve back around to the east, but I seemed to be going west now. I took my compass out and confirmed that I was heading due west. I didn't really want to climb back up the half mile that I had come down, but I thought I would go back and see if that small ramp going down the other way was the correct path. It was now going on 5:30 p.m. I made up my mind that if the ramp was not the right way, that I should turn back even if I wasn't going to make it to the Red River. I didn't want to extend myself out any further along a wrong trail. No one even knew where I was, so I should at least walk back near the main road.

When I got back up to the junction, I examined the ramp again. What I thought before was a sketchy path and undefined now looked much clearer as a trail. I followed it tentatively and saw that at the bottom of the ramp it flattened out and continued due east as a roadbed. My progress eastward continued on for another 45 minutes. I began dropping in elevation and could see glimpses of a valley below through the thick forest cover. I hoped that I was going to come out at the Red River. The trail kept dropping and curving around and dropping some more. I wondered if I would ever make it. Finally I came to a big gate and a sign marker for 9803. YES!!!
I also saw the trailhead sign marker for F.T. 508 which was the *official* ICT route, the one which Jerry said they had gotten lost on. From the gate, 9803 dropped down onto road 1800 for about a quarter mile winding down until it finally bent around to the left and there was the bridge over the Red River. I pumped my fist and said YES!!! It had taken me 10 hours to reach the bridge. After briefly walking over the bridge to put my feet on Road 222, Red River Road, I went back over the bridge and walked down on the western bank of the river to make camp. I put my tarp on the ground and laid down with my backpack for a pillow. I was so spent that it took me almost an hour of laying there before I could make myself get up and start doing camp chores. It was 9:30 by the time I crawled under the tarptent.

I awoke on Monday morning to misty fog over the Red River. By the time I was fed, packed up and ready to hike it was 8:40. I followed the same route back to Five Mile Campground, minus the wrong turns, in 10 hours and 10 minutes. The 1000 foot elevation gain came in two stages on the way back. It seemed as though I had done better climbing the 1000 feet all at once yesterday, than I did climbing it in two 500 foot stages today. Monday was also a warmer day than Sunday. I went through six liters of water on Monday's walk back. I had gone through about three liters on Sunday.
I arrived back at Silver Creek and Five Mile Campground at 6:54 p.m. I didn't know whether I would find Jerry there or not. He was not there. There were new campers and ATV's in camp. I collapsed in a chair and rested for a while before I started boiling water for dinner. Tonight's meal of Mountain House brand dehydrated chicken breasts and mashed potatoes was outstanding. For a dehydrated meal, it was outstanding. Did I mention that it was outstanding? I kept watch for Jerry to possibly arrive, but by 8:30 I was ready to get in the tent to lay down and escape the mosquitoes.

Apart from two bathroom breaks, I did not get out of the tent until 9:30 the next morning. After breakfast I made my way down to Silver Creek and took a quick dunk under the bridge. It was very cold but it felt good to get the sweat and bug spray and trail dirt washed away. While I was there I also washed my dirty trail clothes so they wouldn't smell so bad. There was plenty of time as I waited for Jerry's arrival to hang up the wet clothing and to get my tarptent dried out from the condensation it had accumulated on Sunday night.
Jerry arrived at about noon (11 local time) on Tuesday at Five Mile. He was exhausted from his 40 mile trek. He had already put in 7 tough miles that morning from the place where he camped above down to Five Mile. He was so spent that it took him 30-40 minutes to recover. I unfolded a chair for him and handed him a Gatorade to drink. As he rested and recovered, he began to tell me the details of his ordeal. He said this 40 mile section had been horrific, due to an appalling lack of trail maintenance and proper signing.
He told the story of lost trail, no trail, heavy bushwhacking, falling many times, incredible amounts of fallen trees, coming dangerously close to running out of water....and then things got really tough! He said he pushed himself to the maximum physically every day of the hike, almost to the breaking point. The toughest part had been the massive elevation drop into John's Creek where one side of the mountain had collapsed. Jerry had traversed the western side of the mountain without a trail going down, and then had climbed the opposite side, also without the benefit of a trail. The only evidences of a real trail that he had found were the intermittent wilderness boundary markers on the trees. These markers, and my GPS which he borrowed for the trip, were the only indicators he had that he was heading in the right direction. He sounded immensely relieved that he had survived the experience.
It will fall to Jerry to give a proper and, I'm sure, entertaining, written account of his ordeal.....

For my part, in summary, on Sunday I hiked 17 miles (plus 1 mile added for 2 wrong turns) all the way to the bridge at the Red River. On Monday I walked back without the wrong turns. 10 hours going there, 10 hours 10 minutes coming back. The 2 miles on Saturday, plus 34+ miles Sunday and Monday, gave me 36 miles, plus 163 miles hiking to date, which gave me a new total of 199 miles to that point for the year 2008.

I think, in the long run, it worked out for the best that I didn't go on this particular section hike with Jerry. I will plan on doing a combination of road walking and taking the trail directly through the Gospel Hump Wilderness to avoid this unmaintained trail section in the future.
We drove back to Grangeville to see if the van was ready. I have included a scan of the bill for posterity.

snow crossing above Hunt Lake

2009-03-17T02:48:00.000-07:00

Forty in 48

2007-02-09T01:23:00.002-08:00

Forty in 48
an Idaho Centennial Trail section hike
from Trestle Creek to McArthur Lake
August 3rd through 5th, 2006

This hike was a continuation of the July 4th weekend hike from Priest Lake to McArthur Lake.
Jerry and I had originally planned a hike from Landmark to Boundary Creek for this weekend of August 4th and 5th. One week before our departure date, he suggested returning instead to northern Idaho. Nick Abshire, our friend who had to back out of the Priest Lake hike due to a family emergency, was now available to hike with us. I gladly accepted this suggestion, for the chance to return to northern Idaho.

Thursday, August 3rd
We departed on Thursday morning at 5:20 a.m. from Jerry’s house. Nick drove his Chevy S-10 with a camper shell and I drove the Saturn. Jerry alternated riding with Nick and with me, changing vehicles during fuel stops. We stopped for lunch in the town of Worley at a small café where Jerry and I ate on our last trip. Our trip to Sandpoint took about 9 hours. We made a stop at the Ranger Station in Sandpoint to make trail inquiries. Lorna at the counter was very helpful and gave us a large document with many trail outlines. We inquired about the infamous FT453 over White Mountain from our last hike. She made another trip to the file cabinet and returned with another document of “discontinued” trails which were no longer maintained and were designated to be “returned to a natural state.” Jerry smiled and informed her that the trail was doing quite nicely in returning to a natural state. I added that it was “impassable by humans.” This helped explain a lot why we had so much difficulty in making our way across the ridge from Dodge Peak over to White Mountain and then in descending from White Mountain. Yet FT453 is still listed as official ICT. We also learned that FT67 which we planned to travel on in the coming days was well maintained and signed. Armed with this information, we drove north from Sandpoint to walk the first segment of our hike. On highway 2 heading north, a mile or two north of Sandpoint, there was farm on the east side of the highway. A large sign advertised, "Llamas for Sale," and I could see about 15-20 llamas grazing. I was wishing we could purchase a couple of them to haul our gear on the coming hike. Maybe someday…...

We parked Nick’s pickup at McArthur Lake at the spot where Jerry and I completed our last hike. We then rode in the Saturn and crossed over highway 2 to CR-3 and followed it about 4 miles north. CR-3 is official ICT. The trail that comes down from the mountains to connect with it, FT181, was reputed to be "difficult" to locate. Continuing past that turn, we re-connected with 2 and turned off on Twentymile Creek Road, road 9 (also FR408), and went up the road a ways to a safe parking spot. We were 7.5 miles approximately from the truck back at McArthur Lake. Jerry had plotted an alternate route so that we could avoid the trail section over Kelly Pass which Steven Stuebner’s book describes as difficult, if not impossible, to follow. Jerry had stated he wanted “nothing to do” with any more bush-whacking experiences, and I agreed whole heartedly. I was willing to go a few miles out of my way, in fact, to not have to repeat our White Mountain experience, especially in Grizzly territory. Our planned trail over FT67 would bring us down eventually to Twentymile Creek Road, which we would follow for several miles back to the car.

We set off road walking, without our packs. We each carried a drink bottle, and I had a walking stick. The 7 miles went by in about two hours as we maintained a brisk pace. It was a little uncomfortable walking south on Highway 2 with heavy traffic blowing by us, but the miles went by quickly and we returned to CR-3 which was a gravel road proceeding in a wide arc for several miles. It re-connected with Highway 2 and we were soon back at Nick’s truck. Our first segment of ICT was completed. After returning to the Saturn for a sack of trail clothes which I had forgotten, we proceeded back to Sandpoint, stopped for cold drinks and ice cream (chocolate shake for me!). Then we headed east toward Clark Fork. I was riding in the small jump seat in the back of Nick’s S-10, which was a bit awkward, but a small inconvenience, considering how long it would take me to walk the same distance! I craned my neck around to get glimpses of beautiful Lake Pend O’ Reille (pronounced Pond-o-Ray) along Highway 200. We turned off on Trestle Creek Road, a gravel road which we followed up the mountain for about 13 miles. We were surprised by the amount of traffic on this road, which was used by SUV drivers, ATV riders, and huckleberry pickers. We found a campsite near our starting point at road 1091, about another mile down road 275. There was a large group of car campers with several vehicles, tents, and trailer set up in an adjacent campsite. They didn't seem to be very pleased that we had showed up. A young man approached us from their group, and warned us that they had about “15 dogs” in their campsite. My impression was that they were trying to intimidate us to keep us from camping there. There was really no choice for us. We said that we would be careful of the dogs, and we proceeded to set up our camp. Jerry and I pitched tents, while Nick decided to sleep in his pickup bed to avoid having to pitch his tent. Some dogs came over to check us out. I only saw three; two of them were Pit Bulls, and the third was a Rottweiler. Great……

We started heating our dinners, using the tailgate of Nick’s truck as a table. I boiled water and heated a can of Campbell’s Chunky Soup in the pot. Nick had refried beans and tortillas. Jerry heated a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Dinner was satisfying for us all. When we were finished, the young man returned to our camp with one of the Pit Bulls. Two other scroungy young men came over; one of them had on a shirt with a Marijuana leaf and seemed to be the spokesman of the group. He said they were from California and were up in Idaho picking Huckleberries trying to make some money. He said they could get as much as $35 a gallon, but the berries were not yielding very well for them. That is my nice way of repeating his expletive filled, negative commentary on berry picking and life in general. He asked us if we had any “weed” we could share; we said……Ummmm…..No. After a time of talking with them for a few minutes, they departed and returned to their camp, saying they had to turn in so they could get up early and pick berries. They then turned up their music and made quite a bit of noise for a while. After they had left, I commented to Jerry and Nick: “I would look to your belongings, gentlemen.” I had an uneasy feeling camping next to this group of people. Fortunately we passed the night without having our throats cut or anything stolen.

Friday, August 4th
After rising early, having morning coffee and breakfast, and taking down our tents, we packed up and prepared to hike in earnest. Nick drove his pickup back to the junction with Road 1091 which would take us to Lunch Peak. Jerry and I walked the ICT from our campsite back up the road to where Nick had parked. Then we donned our packs and began the day. The first four miles ascended the road to the lookout tower at Lunch Peak. It was a large two story building which can be seen for miles. I took up my slow and steady pace as Jerry and Nick proceeded up the road at a fairly brisk pace, gradually pulling further ahead. After I had gone about 3 miles, I was walking along and heard a voice behind me saying, “Hello!” I turned around and saw that a hiker was coming up behind me at a brisk pace. He was a tall red-headed guy with a red beard in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, carrying a forest-green backpack and wearing a European-looking felt hiking hat with a yellow sweat stained brow. His name was Chris. He said that he had seen us passing his camp while he was cooking breakfast. The guy was moving to catch us this far up the trail. I told him that two of my friends were ahead of me, and we were following the Idaho Centennial Trail. Chris responded, “So am I.” I asked him where he had started from, and he replied, “I started at the Lochsa. Last year I walked from the Nevada border to the Lochsa, and now I am almost finished.” Wow! I had an instant admiration for Chris’ long distance capabilities. He pushed on ahead and I said I would see him at the top of the mountain. I felt comparatively slow and clumsy as I plodded along uphill, while Chris’ long strides took him quickly up the road. At his pace, I thought he might even beat Jerry and Nick to the top of Lunch Peak.

Before I got to the top of Lunch Peak, I met a family of bike riders coming down, a dad with his son and daughter, each dressed in helmets and cross-country riding garb and with bikes to match their respective sizes. The mom was trailing them in a pickup pulling an empty trailer. All waved at me and smiled as they went by. Fun for the whole family on the ICT! I was somewhat amused when I neared the top of the peak. I could see a Forest Service bathroom at a parking area. Bathrooms on the ICT, what WILL they think of next? Around the switchback was a locked gate as the road climbed to the actual lookout tower.

The lookout at Lunch Peak makes up for its simple appointments with a commanding view of the Kaniksu National Forest and surrounding mountains. As they say in the real estate business, it's "Location, Location, Location." This lookout station and others like it were used in the days when vigilance over the forests required human eyes on location. Satellite imaging and aerial surveillance have largely replaced the need for human observers. The Lunch Peak lookout now serves as a tourist attraction, and is available for overnight rental. As I approached the summit and the ground floor of the lookout, I noticed there was a sign on the stairway side of the building which said, "Access to renters only." I don't remember seeing a door on the ground floor; if there was one it was painted over. The second floor was the observation deck with a railed walkway on two sides, and glass windows on all four sides. The interior was bare save for a picnic table. Renters have to bring all their own bedding, cookware and essentials. The view from the top was, as expected, over-powering. To the southwest was Lake Pend O'Reille. To the east were the mountains which formed the border between Idaho and Montana. Below and to the southeast I could trace the path of Lightning Creek as it followed the valley contours on its way south to Clark Fork. To the west, the Selkirk mountain range which Jerry and I had crossed a few weeks earlier. And to the north we could see mountains which we supposed were in Canada. After a brief rest and early lunch at the top, we exchanged e-mail addresses with Chris and wished him well on the completion of his ICT quest. He only had one more week of hiking to go. How I envied his progress!

Jerry, Nick and I were ready to continue on our way north. Passing by the facilities once more, we met a group of day hikers who had parked their cars and were preparing to walk. A man and four ladies in their bright colors and new hiking gear made the three of us look like grizzled old mountain men with all our drab clothing, floppy hats, and sweat stained backpacks. Everybody had to make a pit stop before departing. I still had to shake my head at the notion of bathrooms along the ICT. What a concept!

Our trail north was FT67. We had been promised at the ranger station that this trail was well maintained. Jerry and I certainly hoped so after our experiences along FT453 between Dodge Peak and White Mountain. The trail cruised along a ridge top for a couple of miles and we held a good pace. As usual, I fell behind Jerry and Nick, and then leap-frogged the day hikers a couple of times before they passed me for good. That's all right, I don't get points for first place but rather for stumbling across the finish line. We descended from one ridge to connect to the southern flanks of Mount Pend O'Reille. Jerry had considered a side hike to a small lake, Lake Darling, a couple of miles to the east, but we decided against it based on the distance off the ICT and the amount of elevation we would have to give up and then gain back again. Also, an early stop today would mean an extra long two days to come. We voted to continue on and make a long day of it. The water situation would just have to be dealt with as we went. I had begun the day with three full water bottles. Even with conserving I had already finished one bottle. It looked to be a long dry stretch ahead of us, but Chris had shared with us that he had heard a rumor of a water source on the trail "this side of" Calder Peak.

We kept watching the top of Pend O'Reille grow closer. I was dreading the climb up and over the top of it, but the ICT did not pass over the summit. It contoured around the western face and maintained a fair grade. As we came around to the northern side of the mountain, we could see distant figures high above us on the summit. It was the group of day hikers who had started with us. We were bucking a stiff wind at our altitude, and imagined that it must have been ferocious up on the summit. We waved at the little ant like creatures up there on top of the mountain and continued on.

After coasting along for a couple of miles over some unnamed ridges, the next mountain in the chain was Mount Willard. Its rocky summit and western cliffs drew closer. The trail appeared as if it would go close to the top of Mount Willard, but instead contoured around to the west staying well below the summit. A small side trail split off from the main trail and headed toward the summit. We by-passed that option and continued on the ICT. The trail then took an unexpected turn back to the southwest and then began to switchback down below the cliffs. I was uncertain if I had missed a turn, and tried to call out to Jerry and Nick. I couldn't hear a reply. I don't know if they heard me or even could have heard me with the roar of the wind. I continued on down the trail another half mile to a mile and finally saw the guys up ahead of me. It looked like they had stopped where there was water over the trail. I was glad to see the water, because I was now down to just a little over 3/4 of a bottle. It's always a relief to find water in the middle of a long dry stretch. Now we would not have to face a waterless camp tonight. The "stream" was more of a tiny trickle coming down the cliffs from Mount Willard above us. There were no lakes or ponds showing on the maps, so we figured this had to be a spring coming out of the mountain itself. It would probably have been all right to drink without filtering, but we filtered it all the same. There were no deep spots to place the filter inlet tube, so Nick used two of his bottles to capture water from the trickle. He would fill them and dump both in a collapsible bladder, and from this reservoir Jerry then pumped water into our bottles. They had already been at it for 10 minutes when I caught up to them, so Jerry almost had his bottles filled. I sat down and placed my empties in a line to receive ice cold water. In using two of his bottles to fill the reservoir, Nick now had to consider his bottles contaminated, which meant that he would be using purification tablets for the rest of the hike. Whether his bottles were actually contaminated from the stream is up for debate, but the safe practice in the wilderness is to assume that they are and purify. Better safe than sorry when it comes to Giardia.

Chris was miles ahead of us by now, so we assumed that he had already replenished his water. There were two mountains in the chain ahead of us to north. The first was Purdy Mountain. The second one does not have a name on my ICT map, but shows one peak of 6000 feet and then a larger one of 6500 feet.. As the afternoon became late we could see Calder Peak in the distance to the northwest. We descended onto a ridge that took us down to almost 5,100 feet in elevation. By this time we had already put in 14-15 miles, and the last two to three miles were tough going, at least for me anyway. The trail never goes where I think it will. I had seen a glimpse of the trail ahead climbing to the west below the summit of Calder Peak, and thought that I would be there within a half mile. The trail was instead routed around the northeast face of the mountain, and then switchbacked up the eastern face and around to the south, before it began to head to the west. Once I reached the top of the switchbacks, the afternoon sun was well on its way down to meet the Selkirks off to the west. I finally caught up to Jerry and Nick who were taking a rest break. I was winded and they were ready to move on. I dallied along the way for the last mile as I passed among many huckleberry bushes growing on the southern side of Calder Peak. I treated myself to several of the delicious berries. It became my dessert before the dinner that I was about to prepare. I finally reached the saddle where there was a Y in the trail. Jerry and Nick had stopped here and dropped their packs. It looked like they were preparing to camp. We had traveled 17 miles for the day.

Three trails converged at this intersection. I was ready to stop and camp, but thought that this large clearing looked like a natural animal highway for big creatures moving around at night. If bad weather were in the forecast, we would have also been exposed on top of this saddle, but we knew the general outlook was for good weather. If an overhead view of this trail intersection could be seen as a pie chart with 3 'slices' then each of us occupied one of the 'slices' adjacent to the intersection. Jerry pitched his tent on some deep grass on the north side; Nick set his tarptent up between some pines on the south side; I selected a site on the remaining third with some deep grass for my tarptent. None of our sites were ideal spots for pitching a tent but we were tired enough that we would make do. Once it was set up, the floor of my tent was suspended about 6 to 12 inches above the ground since the grass was so tall, but this turned into an advantage when it came time to lay down, as it provided extra padding, if a bit uneven and lumpy.

This being grizzly habitat, I had hoped we would eat in a location some distance from where we were going to camp. As often happens on a hike, we were too tired to move away from camp to cook. All we were doing was boiling water to add to our dehydrated meals, which don't generate strong cooking odors. Jerry and I walked down the trail 100 feet away to eat our food. Nick prepared his food and ate while sitting in his Thermarest chair right in front of his tent. We have never had bear visitors in the night on any of our hikes, even when we have been less than rigid in our cooking discipline. We did hang all our food from a tree to at least keep it away from where we were sleeping. It didn't take long before there were no sounds coming from our campsite except the wind blowing through the trees.

Saturday, August 5th

Our night went well, and the next morning we awoke to cooler temperatures. There was a bit of frost on our tents. We prepared breakfast and hot drinks. Our extended day yesterday made it possible for us to finish our hike today, although we were still looking at a 16 or 17 mile day to get to the car. Since we were heading in a predominantly downhill direction, this looked doable, we would just have to see how the water situation and our feet held out.

Leaving the trail intersection, we continued north on FT67 which began to drop almost immediately. We wound down switchbacks through the forest until we came to a bridge a mile later. This was the turn to the new bridge and new trail to Eagle Pass, the one that Chris said that he had heard about. He had planned to take this trail to connect with highway 2. The bridge looked to be almost brand new, with spare timbers lying about on the banks. The low amount of water in the creek did not look to be moving at all, so we decided to push on and look for another water source. From here the trail continued on into the forest. Not too far down the trail, I thought I could hear a far off howling. We stopped to listen and heard it again, the sound of a wolf howling, and then other wolves answering. A little while later we could hear the sound of a large animal crashing through the ravine below us. We couldn't see what it was due to the dense trees and brush, but it sounded to be about the size of an elk or deer. Soon after that we could hear the wolves howling again. Not too close, but close enough. Definitely gives you that '40 miles from Canada' feeling.

Soon we came to a stream crossing and decided to filter water. Jerry and I filtered water and Nick filled his bottles and added the purification tablets. The day was beginning to warm up and Nick and Jerry removed some layers that were no longer needed for the morning chill. Jerry had said we were linking up with a forest road, and I assumed that it was beginning at this stream crossing. However, we soon found ourselves moving through forest on a single track trail again. The trail itself was single track, but the forest clearing that the trail was built on appeared to be wide enough for a 4WD road. Perhaps it had been a road in the past and had been allowed to revert back to an overgrown state. We walked briskly along this trail in a generally northwest direction, crossing numerous small streams periodically. After about 2 to 3 miles the trail finally exited into a large gravel parking lot at the end of a wide, well-graded gravel road. This was FR408, which would take us all the way back to the car.

We stopped here to rest and eat an early lunch. We still had about 12 to 13 miles to hike by Jerry's estimate. We were figuring on about 4 more hours of walking. I was glad to be on a gravel road. The miles go by much quicker. After lunch we continued on. From this point the hike was basically a road march back to the car. Jerry's selected route took us in a wide arc from east to northwest to almost due west. It avoided the section of trail, FT181, that was mentioned as questionable in Stuebner's ICT book. As it turned out, we could have taken the newly cut trail to Eagle Pass, but we had parked our shuttle vehicle on FR 408, and the official ICT route would have brought us out miles south of the car. We can always go back some day and re-hike just the "official" route that we skipped, if we feel it is absolutely necessary to maintain a purist ICT hike. I am currently of the persuasion that we are on our own when it comes to the ICT in the northern part of the state, and will give myself permission to deviate from the official route if the benefits are remaining safe and "found." My primary goal is to hike an unbroken line of trail across Idaho from south to north.

To reach the road we had descended about 1,500 feet from where we had camped up on Calder Peak, which meant that the temperature was quite a bit warmer than the previous day up on the mountain ridges. I thought the day's climbing was over, but the road began ascending up to Twentymile pass. Jerry led us on a cutoff road that went up the mountain, avoiding a couple of miles of FR408 that snaked around up to the north and then back to the west. The cutoff road had a small barrier that said the road was closed due to a washed out bridge. That sounded formidable to a motorized vehicle, but we were foot-powered vehicles and feared no wash-outs. Of course the road had to go UP the entire way, but it was a good shortcut. The road was a narrow shelf that wound through a dense forest. The "wash-out" turned out to be about half of a curve that had collapsed into the ravine. It would have been trouble for a vehicle, but we simply walked around it on the remaining part of the curve. After a couple of miles we reached the top of the cutoff road where it rejoined FR408 near the top of Twentymile Pass. The upper end was also marked with a sign that said Road Closed. Jerry and I were making a habit of not reading the signs.

Once we topped the pass, we knew that it was downhill almost all the way to the car. We could now see the Selkirks off to the west, and occasionally glimpsed highway 2 in the valley below us. Periodically we passed creeks that came down the hillside and under the road via culvert. At one of these creeks, we stopped to filter some more water. We were now seeing the occasional car or truck on the road. A couple of miles further down the road and we began to see the occasional house, or a side road marked Private Property. The road finally came alongside Twentymile Creek, and followed it the rest of the way down to the car. Jerry and Nick were perhaps 3/4 of a mile ahead of me by this point. I was still hiking strong, but just couldn't hold their pace. I passed an unusual pumping contraption set up in the creek, which was apparently pulling irrigation water for some homeowner along the creek. Finally, I rounded a last corner and could see a long straight stretch of road which led to where the Saturn was parked. Jerry and Nick were sitting on their packs when I get there. The time was about 2:30 pm. We were done.

After we were finished, we had to drive shuttle to go retrieve Nick's truck back at the road junction of Trestle Creek and FR1091. Jerry pointed out that we had hiked a distance of 40 miles in a period of 48 hours. Going back in my mind, I realized that he was right. We had begun on Thursday afternoon about 3 pm, when we road-walked seven miles back to McArthur Lake. Then we had hiked 17 miles Friday, and 16 miles on Saturday, finishing a little before 3 pm. 40 miles in 48 hours.

The discussion turned to food, and pizza seemed to be the order of the day. First we returned to Trestle Creek road and drove the long, winding ascent back up to where Nick's truck was parked. We again passed many vehicles and saw many berry pickers along the way. Now I knew where they could really find some huckleberries, but unfortunately they would have had to hike about 16 miles to the southern slopes of Calder Peak to get to them. Nick's truck was still in one piece and started when he turned the key.

We returned to Sandpoint and got the large Meat Lover's pizza at Pizza Hut. Jerry wanted to head for home but it was already 5 pm. Nick and I wanted to camp and then drive home on Sunday. We were a full day ahead of schedule as far as hiking. We had thought we would be finishing the hike on Sunday afternoon. The tough part was finding a place to camp in civilization, especially on a summer weekend. After several full campground signs, we finally happened upon an RV park south of Sandpoint. This had just what we needed and the campsites were only $7 each. The blast and roar of locomotives kept going all night. I felt as if I were back in Haviland, Kansas again. In spite of the trains, I slept reasonably well. Nick left early the next morning before Jerry and I awoke. He needed to visit a friend in Riggins on the way home. Jerry and I got going around 7:30 am and had a pleasant drive all the way back to Boise.

Around the Seven Devils (in....like....5 seconds!)

2007-02-09T01:23:00.001-08:00

AROUND THE SEVEN DEVILS IN.......like........5 SECONDS!

our second loop hike around the Seven Devils,

July 11,12,13, 2005

________________________________________________________________________

Most everything went off according to plan. We left Boise at 6:04 am
Monday morning and got to the Windy Saddle trailhead at 9:57. We
walked 12 miles along the eastern side of the Hell's Canyon Wilderness
to Horse Heaven junction. Our intent was to climb up to the Horse
Heaven Lookout and camp up there, but we were spent after the final
climb up to the junction. I cooked my specialty boiled water for
Steven's dehydrated meal (Pasta Primavera) but was so nauseated that I
couldn't eat dinner. I just drank a cup of hot water. (BTW I need to
show a picture of my new stove to you guys....it is a Go-Torch alcohol
stove and weighs just 1.25 ounces! Works great!) Being too tired to
climb to the lookout, we found a place in the trees 100 yards from the
junction and set up the tent. The next morning I climbed up the trail
to the lookout to start the day. We could have stayed in the cabin,
which looked to be a prospector's type of log cabin. There was no bed
but we could have put our mats and sleeping bags on the floor. Maybe
another time. I took some video footage and then started back down
the trail. I had gone about 200 yards when I suddenly noticed that I
had nothing in my right hand....hmmm...what was I missing?
POLAMA!!!! I left it leaning on the front porch of the cabin!!!!!!!
I turned around to go back up. It was almost like the scene in
Castaway where Tom Hanks is saying "I'm sorry Wilson!!! You're OK"

POLAMA now safely back in my possession I started down the hill
again. I cut across on a game trail on the way down to shorten the
distance. Steven had the tent down and was waiting for me. Our goal
today was Echo Lake or Hibbs Cow Camp. We got a late start so the
morning sun was quite hot. After a gradual climb of about a mile, we
turned to the north and began to descend across some very rugged
terrain. The blow-downs that we had fought our way through, over,
under, and around last year had all been cleared away by a trail
crew. We were so relieved that we didn't have to go through all that
again. The trail is hard enough without them. It was a very warm
day. I struggled a lot with the uphill sections. However, the views
of Hell's Canyon and of the Seven Devils were spectacular. I sure
hope that the video turned out well. What it took us three days to
accomplish, I hope to (with the help of Storm Shelter Productions) be
able to allow each of you to experience a hike around the Seven Devils
through our eyes. That way you, too, can travel "Around the Seven
Devils in....like....5 seconds!"

Somehow we missed the turn to Echo Lake. I remember seeing it last
year, but we were coming from the opposite direction. We didn't
discover how far we had gone until we came to a trail junction that
said Hibbs Cow Camp. That was actually good news to us because we had
made it further than we thought. There was still a lot of daylight so
we pushed on. Soon we found another water source, so we tanked up
again and refilled our bottles. After another hour or so of marching,
we stopped at a rock out-cropping to cook our dinners. I was finally
hungry enough to feel like eating. We both had Beef Stroganoff, and
it was wonderful to feel the hot food going down my throat and warming
my stomach. The nausea is an effect of altitude on me that I just
have to accept if I want to keep doing this. While we were sitting on
the rock I kept studying the terrain and feeling as though something
were not right. We should be traveling across a flat ridge, and yet
we were continuing to climb. To the east was a stunning panorama of
mountains that I didn't remember seeing last year. We never got this
good of a view of the Seven Devils last year. Also there was a long,
flat ridge spread out before us down in the valley. After dinner, we
moved on, intending to make camp soon. We continued to climb and I
kept thinking, I don't remember this part. We realized we were out of
position when we looked down to our right and saw a lake. After
studying the map I believed that it was Bernard Lake and that we had
missed our turn to Iron Phone Junction. It was getting to be dusky on
our side of the mountain ridge and the skeeters were getting very
thick. At about that same time, Steven's pack broke a strap at the
bottom. Our exhaustion, the coming darkness, our wrong position, and
his misfortune all hit us at the same time. We were both very
discouraged. It was the low point of the hike. We turned around and
headed back down the trail, rather than continue going toward Bernard
Lake. We selected a less-than-ideal patch of ground to set up the
tent. After "landscaping" it with our feet, we pitched the tent in
like, two minutes, then placed all our stuff at the door. I told
Steven, we gotta move fast if we don't want all these mosquitoes in
there with us. They were absolutely swarming us in droves. I
said, "Ready? Go!" We zipped open the door, Steven threw his entire
pack inside, I threw my pack and my extras inside, Steven dove
headfirst into the tent, then I dove in, and he zipped the door shut
as soon as my boots cleared. Outside, we could see the mosquitoes
hovering around the mesh netting like several squadrons of Apache
helicopters. They wanted our blood. We were safe inside. I had to
make one very brief trip out to hang the food bag in a tree.

At first I didn't think I would sleep at all. The ground was very
rocky. My air mat helped but I couldn't get my body situated
comfortably. Finally, after we both took a Benadryl, sleep took hold
and we passed a fairly comfortable night. Things looked much better
the next morning. I studied the view out the mesh part of the door
and studied the map. I was convinced that we had missed the fork in
the trail and had taken the left trail that led to Bernard Lake. The
flat ridge I was seeing below us was where we were supposed to be.
And I had an undeniable reference point miles across the valley,
Heaven's Gate Lookout. That point is only 2 miles from Windy Saddle,
so I knew we were supposed to head in that direction. We had strayed
to the northwest. We COULD have gone to Bernard Lake and taken the
loop trail back to Iron Phone, but that would have been twice as long
as simply back-tracking and finding the correct trail. I shared all
of this with Steven when he woke up and that's what we decided to do.

With everything packed up, we found the fork about a half mile down
the trail. I studied the three-way intersection for a few moments,
realizing what I had done the previous evening. I walked by with my
head down and we didn't see the sign way off to the right leading us
to Iron Phone. Case solved. It was a relief to be back on the
correct path again. Steven and I had a discussion (mostly I had a
discussion with Steven) about how this was a good life lesson about
losing the path, then finding it again. Our exhaustion had fueled our
anxiety and made us feel "lost." Everything looked much better after
a good night's sleep and a bright new sunny day. We cruised along the
ridge to Iron Phone Junction. We were now at the high point of my
hike in the blizzard with Glen Liberty from 2 years ago. We descended
a rugged ridge down into the forest, and stopped at the next water
source to cook breakfast. We split the last remaining dehydrated meal
for breakfast (Chicken ala King with noodles). Good stuff. Ahead of
us was a 1000 foot climb up the other side of the valley. It took me
an hour to climb it, doing my turtle shuffle. After that it was
another 3 miles through the forest, a long traverse beneath some
cliffs, and then another hard climb up to the Windy Saddle trailhead.
We made it back to the car at about 3 pm. The ice cold colas and
Gatorade in the trunk were very welcome refreshments, and we knew that
big greasy hamburgers were waiting for us at This Old House down in
the town of Riggins below.

The Lord of the Rings, Napoleon Dynamite, and Star Wars move quotes were
flowing freely between us throughout the entire trip. Right at the end, I told
Steven, "You do not know pain....you do not know fear....you will
taste COW FLESH!!!!!" He raised his Polama Jr. and made the
appropriate ravenous Uruk Hai noises....

:)

Ron

Crossing the Johnson

2007-02-09T01:22:00.000-08:00

CROSSING THE JOHNSON an ICT section hike

Landmark to Johnson Creek

June 17, 2006

"Let's walk in each direction upstream and downstream to see if there's a better place to cross," Jerry suggested. "The ford is here," I thought, looking at the blazes on the tree on the far bank of the creek. "The trail ends at this bank and begins again on the other bank, and besides, there is Johnson Creek Road, right over there! They put the ford here for a reason!" my thoughts continued. I was very tired, thirsty, and frustrated by this large liquid obstacle in our path. Reluctantly, I started heading upstream, but all I could see were more rapids as the creek bed followed the contour of the canyon bending away out of sight. I knew that further upstream lay Whitehorse Rapids, which were even more impassable. I returned to the ford and waited for Jerry to come back from his search downstream…..

________________________________________________________________

Our day had begun at 6 a.m. Saturday June 17th, 2006. I picked up Jerry at his house, and we drove north to Cascade. After picking up his Suburban from the repair shop, and eating breakfast at a local café, we drove east on highway 22 to Warm Lake. As we climbed above the early morning fog of lower elevations we could see that it was going to be a beautiful blue sky day. By the time we got the Suburban parked on one end of the trail as a shuttle vehicle, and drove back to the road intersection near Landmark, it was 11 a.m.

From this road junction, the ICT turns north on road 414. The first two miles were not too bad on graded gravel road. We made fairly good time hiking along, with Jerry in his customary lead position, and me in my customary “heel” position; that is, a stride or two behind him and to the left. We began to climb gradually above 6500'. When the terrain turns uphill, the distance of my “heel” position increases quite a bit since I can’t match Jerry’s pace. When we stopped for a break, Jerry took a GPS reading that said we were at 7300'. We were confused by this until a group of riders on an ATV and dirt bikes came by and stopped to talk to us. They looked at our map and told us that the ICT was further below, so we had to backtrack almost a mile to get to a Y in the road which we had passed. This road was marked 414 B, and another signpost said that FT123 was 0.9 miles ahead. These numbers didn't match anything that showed on our maps, but the direction seemed right. We hoped that the locals had been truthful with us and weren't sending us in the wrong direction.

This trail was not maintained and seemed to match the description on my map of a "single-track trail." The trail descended through the forest and then took another turn, also marked 123. We were looking for FT075 or Burnt Log Trail, but the men on the road above had assured us that this trail was Burnt Log. We followed along through the forest until we came upon a stream crossing. Jerry pointed out a trail marker that I missed, since it was bent over and I had my eyes fixed on the trail. This marker said we were on FT075. That was reassuring to know.

We stopped for a lunch break where the trail came alongside Johnson Creek. We could see the road on the west side about 100-200 yards across the way. We knew from our topo maps that our trail was to roughly parallel the road and the creek for several miles, and we were heading almost due north which was the way we had to go. Things were looking better from our meanderings of the morning. Since I had run out of water, I filled my water bottle and added iodine tablets (my filter still needs repaired).

From this point we knew it was about a 7 mile stretch to make it to the ford across Johnson Creek. The trail climbed back up several hundred feet and Johnson Creek was further to our west. Along the way, I saw a survey marker that had a ¼ etched above the marking S13/S18.

When I relayed this to Jerry, he located a corner on his map (didn’t appear on my topo) where two townships, S13 and S18, met. This helped to pinpoint our location.

From the top of our climb we could see for miles across the wide valley below us. There were mountains and pine trees in all directions. Jerry commented wryly that the view of trees and mountains beat the sagebrush and desert any day. We had been discussing desert hiking versus mountain hiking. Even though I said that desert hiking had grown on me, as long as it was in the proper season, I had to agree with his assessment. These kind of sweeping views are a large part of the reason we hike.

Several miles further north and later in the afternoon, our footpath of a trail met up once again with a gravel road. A trail marker pointed back at the path we had taken and was marked FT123. Very confusing. We were in the correct location according to the topo maps and Jerry's GPS, only the road signs did not match. We continued north along the road, pausing to investigate a side trail that dead-ended. I found a tube of Mary Kay lipstick near a fire ring, evidence of past campers in this location.

Another mile or so further north, we ran into a major obstacle. We knew that our road was supposed to make a steep descent of about 1200 feet, to take us down to Johnson Creek and the ford that was marked on our map. The road, however, ended at a large pile of rocks. There were no discernible trails or trail markers that we could see leading away from where the road ended. We began following the drainage downhill, reasoning that if water could run downhill, so could we. Conditions on the mountain side quickly deteriorated into brush, tangled blown down trees, pine trees, rocks and boulders. Jerry and I kept track of each other by periodically calling out. We were spread out so we could look for a path or marker. As we were struggling along, I remembered an old joke. It would probably be considered as “gallows humor” but I was trying to keep a sense of humor about the way our day was going. I asked Jerry, “If a man makes a decision in the forest, (and there is no woman around to hear him), is he still wrong?”

We could hear Johnson Creek roaring far below us, and see evidence of a road climbing the far western slope. According to our topo maps, this was Log Mountain Road. We knew that Whitehorse Rapids and Johnson Creek Road (and the Suburban) lie below us to the west, and that the ford was ahead to our north. At a rest stop, we consulted the maps again. It appeared that the slope was funneling us over to the western face, when the topo showed the trail descending from the road straight down the northern point and veering slightly to the east. At that point, we decided to stop descending and follow the contour around the mountain to the north and then to the east.

Once we got around to the northern face, we were confronted with a more serious problem. The slope became extremely steep and looked perilous to descend. This pushed us further around to the eastern side of the mountain, which offered a slightly less steep but still perilous slope. All the way, we were fighting our way over, around, and through the tangle of trees, brush, deadfall, rocks, and sloped ground. At one point I said, "We have GOT to get out of this soon, before one of us gets hurt!" The thought of a broken ankle or leg was very much in my mind, for either Jerry or myself. I could envision how much more serious our predicament would become were that to happen.

We continued downhill, angling to the east, then to the west, then straight downhill to the north. As we neared the bottom of the slope, we knew that we were drawing near to Johnson Creek and the ford. Jerry went one direction, and I the other, in search of some sign or trail. I found both. I stepped onto a path that went west, and at the same time saw one of the familiar double hash blazes on a tree ahead. I went back and called to Jerry, who was already heading my direction. We were back on the trail. We hadn't followed it for very long before it brought us alongside swift-flowing Johnson Creek. And then we were there, at the ford over Johnson Creek.

Now we were faced with our biggest, but not our last, challenge of the day:

CROSSING THE JOHNSON

Jerry had been worrying about the ford all day, from the first time we drove along Johnson Creek road and saw the strength and fury of its rapids. I wasn't too worried about it. It was something I knew we would have to do, but first we had to get to it. Now we had arrived, and realization began to dawn on me. I spend hours in the Boise River each summer, tubing and swimming with the kids. The current is strong, the water is cold, and there are some deep places along the way. Johnson Creek, however, was flowing much more strongly with snowmelt and was considerably faster. I had resigned myself to getting wet, but Jerry was very reluctant to cross here. He suggested that we look upstream and downstream for a better place to cross. Once we returned from that search, he suggested that we travel further north to the next creek on our side which flowed down into Johnson Creek. The topo showed this to be about a mile away. The daylight was waning, and I was tired from our bushwhacking experience down the side of the mountain. I pointed to the west and said, "We are going to run out of daylight!"

"Let me give it a try here!" I pleaded with Jerry, and walked down to the bank. He looked me in the eye in a penetrating way and said, "…and what is the alternative?" He didn't say, "You're going to drown, you IDIOT" but rather he asked me a question. There was something in the way he said it and the way that he stared at me that gave me pause. It started my internal wheels, such as they are, to spinning. I thought, "uh…..drowning?"

I stepped into the water near the bank, over my ankles, and probed with my hiking staff to feel for the bottom and it went in over halfway. This was only a couple of feet out from the bank. It was much deeper than it looked, and was running very fast. Here on the banks of "the Johnson," I felt a great deal of respect for the Israelites who were commanded to cross the Jordan River, at flood stage, into the Promised Land. Their first step would have been off the bank in over their heads. Right now, I was wishing that the LORD would dry this creek up for Jerry and me to cross over to the other side.

I was frustrated, but I had to grudgingly admit that Jerry was right. Sometimes you have to trust your hiking partner to watch out for you. Jerry was watching my back.

We began plodding north along the bank, through the tangle of trees, brush, deadfall, rocks, and hillocks, we pair of honyocks. I was extremely thirsty, having finished my treated water from earlier. I had not stopped to fill it beside Johnson Creek. I stumbled on, about 50 yards behind Jerry. Finally, about a mile later, we came to Buck Creek. The prognosis was not much better here. The creek was flowing strongly, although it was not as deep as Johnson Creek. Jerry began taking off his boots. I was desperate for water, so I filled my bottle and added iodine. Jerry turned back from his first attempt to cross. I walked over to another spot, where posts with pink and black striped ribbons marked the ford. I plunged across, boots and all, planting my feet carefully. At one point the current gave me a strong nudge, but I managed to keep my balance and stepped onto the bank on the other side. I looked back, and Jerry had begun to cross again, although he was still trying the same location as before. I watched him struggle about two-thirds of the way and then freeze. He looked like he was very uncomfortable with the situation. I plunged back into the water and began plodding against the current to reach his position. I extended my hiking staff out to him, but he motioned me away so he could toss his boots up on the bank. They contained his camera and socks, and he wanted them obviously to stay dry. That being accomplished, he started wading across again. Before he could reach the bank, however, the current knocked him over. Down he went, pack and all. Fortunately, he was able to get up and climb out of the water.

Now we had to climb steeply up the other bank and locate Thunder Mountain Road. Jerry put his boots back on, and then put on his nylon rain jacket. He said he was freezing and needed to get moving. The evening air was beginning to turn cool, and we both knew that hypothermia could begin to develop in these circumstances. He began ascending the hill ahead of me. I struggled along, still parched and waiting the allotted time for my water treatment tablets. He waited for me above, and then said he was going to push on so he could keep moving. I was only wet from the waist down, and had not gotten my torso wet like Jerry. I knew what he was saying. He said he would keep moving, find Thunder Mountain Road, descend to Johnson Creek Road, cross the bridge, walk back to the Suburban, and come back for me. He wanted me to just follow along at my own pace and he would find me. I agreed and he turned to continue climbing. After only a few steps, he turned back around to me and said, "Here it is! This is Thunder Mountain Road!" I was very glad. He took off down the road, and a few minutes later I got to where he had stepped onto the gravel road. What a relief. Thank you, LORD, I whispered.

From here, it was about a 300 foot descent down the road until Thunder Mountain Road teed into Johnson Creek Road. I turned left and walked over the bridge over Johnson Creek. Crossing the Johnson had been a major obstacle, but this bridge put it all behind us. My water tablets had finally dissolved, and after a few minutes to let the ascorbic acid tablets dissolve to eliminate the iodine color and taste, I took my first drink in hours. It was a little silty, but it sure was refreshing to me at that point.

The Suburban was parked about 3 miles up the road from the junction with Thunder Mountain Road. I made it about two miles, keeping a slow but steady pace. It was about dark-thirty by this time, but I still had enough light to walk by. Whitehorse Rapids was running furiously along the left side of the road, and I could see how it had received its name. Envision the scene in the movie, "Fellowship of the Ring" at the Ford of the Bruinen, when the creek rises up to sweep away the Nine Riders, and the image of white horses can be seen at the head of the frothing breakers. That, in miniature, is a good description of the frothy white current of Whitehorse Rapids as it plummets over the course of a mile through a narrow canyon.

After a couple of miles of walking, and nearing the midway point of Whitehorse Rapids, I thought I could see headlights somewhere along the road off to the south. I was hoping that it would be Jerry. I walked on and did not see the lights again, and thought I might have been seeing things. Soon after, Jerry rounded a curve and pulled up alongside me. TAXI !!!!!!!! He could not turn around at this point on the narrow winding road, so he drove all the way back down to the turn-in at Thunder Mountain Road. The transmission on the Suburban was still misbehaving, and Jerry was worried that we might not make it back up the road. He turned around and we headed back toward Landmark. Thankfully, the transmission began working better and we made it back to the road intersection where the Saturn was parked. It was now 10:30 p.m. We still had to drive home to Boise, which took us until 1:45 a.m. Sunday morning.

With Bells on

2007-02-09T01:21:00.000-08:00

With Bells On

Indian Creek Campground (Priest Lake) to McArthur Lake
an Idaho Centennial Trail section hike
June 29 - July 3rd, 2006

"It’s a sobering thought to realize that as you venture into the Selkirks, you’re entering ‘grizzly country.’ " ---Steven Stuebner, "Discover Idaho's Centennial Trail," page 113.

This was my first trip ever to the panhandle area of Idaho. Jerry and I departed Boise a little after 7 a.m. on Thursday morning for the all day drive north. I could write an entire volume on just the day's drive across the state of Idaho, with all of its new sights and scenery. From the town of Grangeville northward was all new territory for me. I followed Jerry's gray/blue Suburban throughout the day as we wound our way north along highway 95. In Moscow, Jerry took a short detour through the campus of Idaho University. He pointed over to some cows grazing in a field up on a hillside. They had some kind of curious circular ring, about 12 inches in diameter, stuck to their sides. Later when we stopped for lunch, he explained that they were *experimental* cows that had a viewing window installed in their sides so that the Agricultural students could observe the inner digestive workings of a cow. Talk about mooooving pictures! While we were stopped for fuel in Moscow, I saw my favorite kind of llivestock. A truck with a llong trailer pulled up in the gas llane next to mine. At first I didn't notice, but then I llooked over and saw that there was one llone llama inside the trailer. Its wooly coat and diminutive appearance made me think that it was an alpaca, a smaller member of the llama family. I mentioned it to Jerry and told him that we needed to take it along with us on our hike for its lluggage carrying abilities....

I found the lake country of northern Idaho to be very beautiful. Lake Pend o'Reille and Priest Lake are enormous bodies of water surrounded by mountains. We arrived on the east side of Priest Lake around 5 p.m. local time (Pacific time) about 11 hours after leaving Boise. The first part of our hike was a 4 mile section of blacktop road from Indian Creek to Hunt Creek. Jerry had previously completed the section of ICT from Upper Priest Falls, near the Canadian border, down to Indian Creek, so this was a continuation of that section for him. After traveling in vehicles all day, it felt good to be walking, and we covered the distance at a brisk pace. The road mostly stayed about 200 to 300 feet above the lake surface, following the general contour of the lake shore through thick forests which grew on the steep slopes. Below us we could see lakefront homes and boat docks, but only if we walked on the right hand side of the road and looked down the steep hillsides. If we walked on the left hand side, the houses were hidden to our view. With the walk completed in a little over an hour, our next task was to park a shuttle vehicle at the beginning point of our hike, then drive 80 miles one way to the other end of our hike at McArthur Lake. We stopped along the way at the city park in Priest River to cook dinner, and while there we saw a cow moose across the road. It was "dark thirty" by the time we drove through Sandpoint and north along highway 2 to McArthur Lake. We drove around on gravel roads in the dark, trying to locate the place where Forest Trail 453 would exit from the wilderness below White Mountain. We weren't really sure exactly where it was going to come out, so we parked the Saturn at a turnout off the road near the northwestern side of the lake. Then we returned over the 80 mile shuttle route in the Suburban, and parked at a place we had selected near the beginning of our hike into the Selkirks. This was a logging road which followed Hunt Creek. Jerry slept in the back of his Suburban, while I pitched my dome tent just on the other side of a locked gate, on a small Forest Service access road where we had parked.

FRIDAY, June 30th

After breakfast early Friday morning, we were ready to begin our cross-country trek. Today's destination was Hunt Lake. To reach the lake would require a climb of 3,000 vertical feet spread over a distance of about 9 miles, not all of which was on a trail. We first walked back down to the paved road from our campsite to the road where we had stopped walking yesterday, then went back up. Jerry spotted a young bull moose not far from where the "1/2" mile sign was spray painted on a large tree near the service road where the Suburban was parked. We hoisted our packs and began our hiking day in earnest.

In preparation for our hike through Grizzly territory, Jerry and I were carrying our bear pepper spray canisters. We also attached some bells to our gear. Jerry had a string of bells on a length of blue plastic fishing line which was attached to the back of his pack. I attached a bear bell with a velcro strap onto the food sack that I was carrying from a long strap suspended from my left shoulder. And each of us put a bear bell near the top of our hiking staffs, so that they jingled with nearly every step we took. In this fashion we proceeded down the trail for the entire 35 miles through the wilderness sounding like Jingle Bells. We would have sounded comical to the casual observer, but the wearing of bells or other noisemakers is a wise precaution when traveling through Grizzly country. Stories abound of hikers who have happened upon a Grizzly by surprise and been mauled or killed. We didn't want to be statistics. Bears (and other wildlife) find metallic sounds to be annoying and will move away, so we are told. I pondered aloud to Jerry whether *annoying* the grizzlies was really a wise thing to do? And furthermore, do we want to sound like a herd of delicious sheep while we are doing it?

We followed the logging road for about 7.5 miles. Once we had gained several hundred feet in elevation, we were able to see progressively better views of Priest Lake down below, and of Roothaan Mountain and Hunt Peak, above and to the east. The logging road came to an end in a large clearing. The trail continued on through a large boulder field. We followed the red spray painted arrows and red spots on the rocks as we climbed up, down, over, and around large granite slabs, chunks, blocks, and boulders. blocks. It reminded me of walking along a jetty that juts out into the ocean, except this one was much bigger and longer and climbed higher in elevation. This was an exhausting task which required about 2-3 hours to negotiate, until we had ascended another 700 feet to reach Hunt Lake, which was at 5813 feet elevation. Jerry had gone ahead of me, but was coming back to check on me as I neared the top of the climb. Just before we reached the lake, I took a very hard fall. Fortunately, I only got a small abrasion on my right palm and some small scrapes on my left knee. Three guys were already camped at the lower lake, but they had told us that there was another good spot next to the lake. Jerry was amused when I dove into the ice cold lake for the dual purpose of taking a shower and doing the laundry at the same time. I hung my shirt on a rock to dry, and I spread myself out on a large rock in the waning afternoon sunlight to warm up from my dip in the lake, before I started putting up my tarptent. One of the guys had told me they had brought elk steaks for dinner, which they were going to cook unless they caught some fish from the lake, which they did. There went our plans to minimize food smells from our campsite. Jerry hung our food bags from a nearby tree. We would try to be prudent even if our neighbors were not going to be. These younger guys camped at the lower lake were going to party that evening, but I was definitely not feeling like Mr. Socialite after our tough day of climbing. Early to bed and early to rise. I don't think they stayed up too late that night.

SATURDAY July 1st

Our first hurdle of the day, and biggest hurdle of the entire hike, was to climb to the 6,500 foot saddle above Hunt Lake, which would lead us to the eastern side of the Selkirk range. Snow was still deep on the slopes of the mountain leading up to the saddle. To reach the saddle would require a combination of bush-whacking, rock-scrambling, and snow-walking. Jerry and I had studied the slope leading up to the saddle yesterday and planned where we wanted to cross the snow fields in order to minimize our exposure to the steep slope. We rose early Saturday morning and were on our way while the partiers from the previous night were still unmoving in their tents. Our progress was slow but steady through the tangle of trees and underbrush. We climbed at an angle that more or less ran straight toward the saddle. As we drew closer to the snowfields, we went up through a boulder field to gain elevation. We wanted to cross the steepest part of the snow at its narrowest point. Before we got to that part we chose to walk up through a snow field that was about 150 to 200 yards in length and about 4 to 5 feet deep. The snow was crunchy enough on top to get a foothold, but frozen fairly hard beneath. As we came within 200 vertical feet of the saddle, we came to the steep snow crossing. Jerry went first, taking care to plant his staff before each step and kick a step into the snow before moving the next foot forward. I followed in his footsteps, literally. He called back to me to be sure that I planted my staff firmly in the snow and that, if I started to slip, to be sure to hold onto the pole tightly. If one of us slipped here, we would have slid for many hundred yards down to the rocks below. As I neared the far side of the snow crossing, Jerry took a picture of me poised on top of the snow with the backdrop of mountains behind and Hunt Lake far below. He told me that the snow had melted and was eroded several feet beneath the edge where I was standing. I had to be extremely careful to plant my feet as I made my final steps towards the edge and stepped out across the gap onto the rocks on the other side. When I looked back, I could see what Jerry had been talking about. We were glad to have this snow crossing behind us. Although the slope was still very steep, we were climbing ever higher, getting closer to the saddle. Shortly after 9 a.m. local time, first Jerry, then I, struggled the last few steps up to the saddle and saw the spectacular view on the other side unfold before us. Jerry had been waving at someone below, and as I reached the top I could see that 2 men were climbing the snowfields on the eastern side of the pass to reach the saddle. They were Marvin and Les from Sandpoint. Both men were in their late 40's or early 50's and looked to be in good trim hiking shape. Marvin wore a bright red shirt and hiking shorts and carried a telescoping hiking pole. Les had on a green shirt and hiking shorts and carried a wooden hiking staff with a carved bear knob at the top, and he was also armed with a pistol in a belt holster. They had camped the night before at Fault Lake, which we were soon to pass, and were day hiking to reach the top of Hunt Peak. We rested for a while from our respective climbs and visited and shared information about the trail and about hiking in general. They had not heard about the ICT so we gave them the standard marketing schpiel. They then continued their climb up the ridge. Jerry joined them for a while, looking for a good camera view, while I rested and waited at the saddle. When he returned, we continued our journey. The ICT does not exist as an official trail between Hunt Lake and Fault Lake; it is marked on the topo map as a "bushwhack" but even that does not communicate the roughness of the experience. We found our own way down the eastern side, going through snow, rocks, and brush and crossing small creeks as we followed the contour lines down the mountain and tried to find the official trail, somewhere below Fault Lake. Stumbling along through the scree and boulders, we finally came to a ridge where we could look down on Fault Lake. It was very picturesque, a deep blue gem, surrounded by white slopes and with ice still at the edges and under the surface near the edge. It looked very cold. We crossed over Fault Creek near its origin point as it came out of the lake and finally picked up trail 59 on the other side. What a relief to finally be back on an established trail. The afternoon sun was hot as we began to descend, then storm clouds began to move in. Jerry requested that I find us some shade for a lunch break. I glanced up at the approaching clouds from the west and said that I just might be able to find him some shade soon! We stopped at a sparse bit of shade and sat down to eat a few bites. We watched the approaching clouds, and I wondered aloud if rain would arrive within the hour. I had no sooner spoken than a few drops of rain began to fall, and Jerry commented, "maybe not that long!" It sprinkled on us for a short while and then cleared off. The temporary cooling effect disappeared once the clouds had gone by and the sun came out again. It was now much more humid feeling. The trail began to descend and followed a ridge down through the trees. We knew were heading for the Pack River bridge far below. We could see the valley where the Pack River was located, and parts of the road upon which we would be walking later that afternoon far off in the distance. It was a descent of several miles and about 2500 feet elevation. We arrived at a creek crossing, tired and hot, and rested for about 20-30 minutes. We then walked another couple of miles, first going south to intersect the Pack River road, and then traveling north on Pack River Road toward the bridge and the river crossing. At the river, we filtered several liters of water and each cooked a meal. I was feeling very tired and drained. The climb to the saddle and descent from the saddle earlier that morning had really taken a lot of energy. We debated for a while about stopping or going on. Jerry had hoped that we would reach Pearson Creek for our second camp. It was another 6 miles from the point where we were stopped, and was about 1000 feet higher in elevation. Stopping sounded good to me, but I also knew that we were facing an extra long day tomorrow if we didn't reach Pearson Creek, and that whatever distance we gained today we wouldn't have to hike tomorrow. The combination of the hot meal and the rest had helped me to feel somewhat better, and we still had enough daylight that it felt like it would be a waste if we didn't continue on and rack up some more miles before the day was through. I said that I could go on, but I would have to go slow and steady on the climb. We made about another 4.5 miles up road 2605, Pearson Creek road, before Jerry called a halt in the late evening. He had found a side road that would provide some suitable ground for pitching our tents. It wasn't ideal, due to the tire tracks that we could see turning in from the side road. However, by pitching our tents up the hill and around the curve 100 feet off the main road, and by placing a stump in the middle of the road, we felt somewhat protected. At least I felt protected, since Jerry would be the first one to get hit by anyone trying to drive through our campsite! My tarptent fell over with me inside on my first attempt to get in, so I had to get out and make adjustments. The ground was very hard on this road, and I had to find a rock to pound my stakes in so they would hold the tent in place. By the time I got back in my tent and settled, I could hear Jerry's soft steady breathing coming from his tent. He was already asleep after our very tiring day.

SUNDAY, July 2nd

This was to be our most trying and most physically draining day of all. Both of the first two days had involved route finding over terrain that had no officially established footpath. We thought that route finding was behind us, but were to discover once again that not all ICT trails are what they are marked on the maps. We rose early and walked about 1.5 miles up the road to Pearson Creek. I was expecting something much bigger, but Pearson Creek was mostly a large pond on the left of the road and a steady flow coming from a culvert on the right hand side of the road. Jerry filtered several liters of water again. Here, I made a decision on water that would prove to be critical later in the day. We had been passing smaller creeks and springs on a regular basis during the past two days, and I decided that I would only fill 2 bottles at this particular stop. I didn't want to carry the extra 2 pounds of the third liter bottle during our strenuous climb that we faced up to Dodge Peak and then down and then back up to White Mountain. I figured that we would cross a water source somewhere up above and that we could refill there. Although this assumption was eventually proved to be true, it came much later in the day and after much more exertion than we had been anticipating, and caused some anxious moments for both Jerry and me. After an ascent up the western and northwestern side of Dodge Peak, we missed the turn going around to the east side of the peak. We started down a road and I started thinking we were heading in the wrong direction, to the north. We had dropped a couple hundred feet in elevation when I finally caught up to where Jerry had stopped. I asked him, "Does this feel like we're going the wrong way?" After studying the terrain and the maps for a few minutes, we decided that we had turned away from Dodge Peak and needed to backtrack. That was about a half mile detour. We found the correct road back where we had passed it, and continued the steep curving climb up to the backside of Dodge Peak. We rested near the top, then continued to climb. When Jerry reached the very top of Dodge Peak, he found the remains of the Forest Service lookout tower, and he also saw two moose. We had a fantastic view of the Selkirk Mountains and Chimney Rock off to the west. We could make out the saddle where we had crossed the divide. We also knew that we had missed our turn again, this time onto Forest Trail 453. Jerry found it a short ways back down the road, and we began to follow the narrow single track footpath through the forest. We made good progress for about a mile, then the day began to get difficult. It spiraled from difficult to tough, and then from tough to nearly impossible. Every time the path would come to a small hill, it would vanish. Then we would have to search for several minutes and pick it up on the other side of the hill. We found and lost the trail about a dozen times as we descended from Dodge Peak along the long ridge towards White Mountain. Finally, in the mid afternoon, we lost the trail altogether. The path that did descend took a turn that was away from the marked path on the topo maps and away to the north. We could see White Mountain ahead, and we could see a long ridge connecting to White Mountain to the south, and we could see McArthur Lake down in the valley to our east. The prospect of more bush-whacking was not very appealing, but the lack of a clear trail going in our desired direction left us with little choice. We spent a very long afternoon fighting our way through the tangle of trees, brush, rocks, and deadfall, as well as the steep angle of the mountain. I started running very low on water, and was now regretting not filling that third bottle. Jerry was getting very concerned about my water situation as well. As it turned out, our struggle to reach the other side of the long ridge and the slope of White Mountain brought us down into a ravine on the northwest side and to a small flowing creek. It was in the nick of time. I scooped handfuls of cold water over my head and on my face and neck as Jerry filtered several liters of the precious liquid into our bottles. Jerry told me, "Promise me that in the future you won't try to save weight by not carrying enough water!" I agreed with him, and left the creek with three very full one-liter bottles of filtered water. Although we were still faced with a tough climb and traverse of White Mountain, our outlook was now much brighter since we had refreshed ourselves at the creek and refilled our bottles. I noticed a marked difference in my energy level as we resumed climbing. We followed the contour of White Mountain around to the east and reached a point where we could see McArthur Lake below us. We were perplexed that we still had not crossed a clearly established path, as we felt that we should have done, according to both of our topo maps. It wasn't until AFTER we had finished the hike on Monday that we discovered the reason for the poor condition of the trail. Our experience on the ridge and on White Mountain was taking on the character of our previous hike along Johnson Creek. In the absence of a clearly defined trail leading us down from White Mountain, we decided there was nothing for it but to bail off the mountain in the general direction of McArthur Lake. We had followed the contour lines around the northern and eastern sides of the mountain, almost all the way to the summit, and had still not crossed the trail. I felt that if we walked long enough downhill we would eventually come out in the valley below. This was true, in a broader sense, but doing it with the daylight we had remaining this afternoon proved to be harder than it looked. There was no letup in the terrain or in the density of the forest undergrowth. The slope was steep, and the forest clutter was as thick and tangled as ever. We continued in a relentless descent, angling this way and that, until we were so deep into the forest below that we lost sight of our reference mountains on the other side of the valley. We could no longer see McArthur Lake, either, as a reference point. We just knew from the angle of the sun behind us to the west that we were proceeding in a generally eastward direction. At one point, the tangle of the forest and the angle of the slope got to be so intense that Jerry commented, "This has got to be the definition of insanity!" My misery at least had company in this endeavor. We struggled on through the rest of the afternoon and on into the early evening hours. The forest began to grow darker as the sun dropped below the summit of White Mountain, and still there was no end in sight. We found another small creek and filled our bottles again. I had already finished almost 2 bottles since our last water stop. Finally, I reached my limit. I kept thinking we would make it out that evening, even if we had to walk until 10 p.m. I was so tired that I finally told Jerry, "For the first time today, I am ready to quit! I have never dealt with forest like this before!" We were near another creek, so we knew we could refill our bottles in the morning. We were both too tired to cook anything, so Jerry found a place to hang the food bags after we ate a few snacks for our dinner. The slope did not lend itself to pitching a tent, so we basically made an open bivouac on the side of the mountain. I landscaped a small patch of ground near the edge of a drop off, and laid out my tarptent over my blue and silver poly tarp. I put my sleeping air mat and quilt inside, then crawled into the tarptent and draped the mosquito netting over my head and shoulders to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Jerry simply laid his mat on the ground, put on his rain coat and put the hood up, and curled up on the ground. He advised me to sleep with my bear spray close at hand. I had been sleeping with it close by for the last two nights, as I usually do in bear country. Here we were, sleeping on a hillside in Grizzly country. The night passed without incident.

MONDAY, July 3rd

What had seemed insurmountable at the end of the day yesterday worked itself out in the light of a new day. Through previous experiences I have learned where my personal limits of endurance are. Whereas on Saturday afternoon, I had been able to continue hiking after a meal and a rest break, last night I had known that I was at the end when I told Jerry I was ready to quit. We still had not found the trail and we were still somewhere up on the eastern slopes of White Mountain. Jerry suggested this morning that we drop down in the ravine to our right, where we could hear running water, then angle off to the left to follow the gentler slope of the ridge. I agreed, and after we filled our bottles and packed up, we continued our descent. We had only gone about 400 yards when Jerry suddenly called out that he had found the road! Once again, what had looked like a bad situation the night before had worked itself out following a night's rest and the dawn of a new day. That, and answered prayer for the LORD to guide our steps. The road he had found was an old logging road or old Forest Service road, and appeared to be in a fair to poor condition of maintenance. It was such a relief to back on a gravel road! We walked in a continuing descent for a couple of miles. At one point, Jerry held up his hand to stop me at a curve in the road. At first I thought that he had seen a bear. I thought of unholstering my bear spray canister, then he whispered "Moose!" He slowly got out his camera to take a picture. I slipped my hand over the bear bell on my staff to silence it, and eased my way forward to where he was. We could see a young bull moose on the trail about 50 yards ahead. At this point, the moose owned the trail and we waited to see what he wanted to do. He stared at us until first, Jerry, then I, took his picture. Then he meandered slowly away from us and disappeared into the forest. Jerry said for once he had gotten an actual picture of a moose instead of a "picture where a moose used to be 2 seconds before!" We walked on for another couple of miles and came to a set of gates. At the final gate, there were a number of "Keep Out" and "No Trespassing" signs posted on the westbound side (opposite our direction of travel). We had come out of the wilderness on a trail that was supposed to be approved for ICT hikers, yet it was gated and posted for no access on this end. This explained the lack of trail maintenance and general poor condition of the trail on the ridge above. We finally emerged from the woods into the farmland below and we began to see some houses. We walked about another 1 to 1.5 miles along road 4A until we came to the Saturn where we had parked it on the northern side of McArthur Lake. It was about 9 a.m. local time when we got there. Our hike over the Selkirks was completed!

We had to drive the 80+ mile shuttle route again to get back to Jerry's Suburban over at Priest Lake. On the way, we stopped for a hearty breakfast in Sandpoint. After recovering Jerry's vehicle, we then drove up to Indian Head campground near the northern end of Priest Lake. We paid a $4 apiece day use fee so that we could go to the beach and take a swim in the lake, to wash up from four grueling days of hiking. The water was clear and cold, though not nearly as cold as Redfish Lake. I was impressed with the lake and its surroundings, and have determined that this would be a good area for future camping with the family. I already know I will be back to complete the ICT leg from Priest Lake north to the Canadian border.

From the northern end of Priest Lake, it took us 12 hours to get home to Boise, with stops in Worley for lunch, Moscow for fuel, and White Bird Hill for dinner at Hoot's.

During our lunch, Jerry showed me some information that helped to explain the difficulties we had experienced up on Trail 453 on White Mountain. He had stopped at the Ranger Station in Priest River and shared with them our experiences in trying to follow Trail 453 and in coming down from White Mountain. They gave him a photo-copied information sheet for that section of trail that said 453 was "infrequently maintained," "lightly traveled," "overgrown," and in rating of Hiker Difficulty it received a "Most Difficult" rating. Jerry also told them about the "No Trespassing" and "Keep Out" signs that we had seen. The ranger told him that a private landowner had purchased a large tract of land adjoining the road from which we had exited the wilderness. This landowner had posted and gated the access points and would not grant the Forest Service access to their own trail! We had just happened to stumble blindly upon the trail and followed it down to where it exited onto Road 4A and in blissful ignorance did not know that it was posted "No Trespassing." Fortunately we came out very early on a Monday morning and no one in the houses we passed seemed to take notice of us. Stealth Hikers! The problem with this of course is that future ICT hikers will make the same mistakes that we made, unless the ICT route is changed. The ICT route is clearly marked on the official maps as following Trail 453. Steven Stuebner does mention in his book that Pack River Road can be used as an alternate route. Jerry and I agree with that statement and would recommend this alternate route.

While passing through Priest River, we also made a stop at a place called Huckleberry Delight. Jerry had been telling me about this place, and it sounded so good that I had to stop in to get some Huckleberry pancake syrup and Huckleberry jelly for Darla. Jerry got a Huckleberry Shake, which was the first purple milkshake I have ever seen. I arrived home at 3105 Eastgate Drive in Boise right before 1 a.m.

It's Hard to Soar with Eagles

2007-02-09T01:20:00.000-08:00

It’s Hard to Soar with the Eagles, when you’re surrounded by Buzzards

an Idaho Centennial Trail section hike

from Bruneau Canyon Overlook to Hammett, section one

and from Bennett Mountain Road to Hammett, section two

April 20th - 22nd, 2006

Thursday, April 20th

We met at the Albertsons Express at 8:30 a.m. Thursday morning. Jerry and Nick were riding in Jerry’s Suburban, while I would be following in the Saturn.

We drove on I-84 to the town of Hammett. We left the Saturn here as a shuttle vehicle, parked beside the Hammett Valley Trading Post, after some negotiations with the store proprietor. The planned 4 days of hiking called for two major segments: northward along the ICT from the Bruneau Canyon Overlook to Hammett, then southward from Bennett Mountain Road to Hammett. Although I had done most of these trail sections, I still lacked the 15 mile segment of Brown’s Creek road which crossed the Saylor Creek Bombing Range. Jerry needed the entire 47 mile segment, although he had previously hiked the old route of Bennett Mountain Road all the way down into Glenn’s Ferry. Nick had also previously completed the old ICT route, but wanted to get a refresher hike and complete the new ICT route.

We arrived at the Bruneau Overlook at about 11 a.m., and after a look at the scenic canyon, we shouldered our packs and started walking up the road. The first 5 miles was a repeat for me. We paused for photos at the junction where the ICT turned north from the Overlook Road, and then started in earnest. When I had completed this section back in November, I had wished that I had my gaiters, due to the overgrowth on the trail and the stickers I had encountered. I recommended gaiters to Jerry and Nick, and so we all had equipped ourselves. As we hiked along, a pair of F-15 Strike Eagles arrived over the bombing range and made several ground attack runs over the target area. We were glad for the air show as we hiked along. We spooked a couple of different groups of white tail deer, and I spooked a large jackrabbit who started from the sagebrush, only a foot from my left side. He appeared to be the size of a small dog or cat, with large ears. We were to see many dozens of jackrabbits during the next few days.

We reached Hot Springs Road and the turn to Brown’s Creek Road at about 1 p.m., and stopped for a lunch break. After a short lull in the aerial show, more F-15’s arrived and began their simulated attacks on the bombing range. The next segment for our hike would cross the northwest boundary of the bombing range. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Air Force would send a squad of M.P.’s to intercept us as we crossed their territory. The ICT is officially marked across this section, but Jerry had spoken with the Mountain Home airbase commander a few years back, who had told him that he didn’t recommend for anyone to be hiking across the bombing range. The aerial spectacle continued off to our east as we started down the road. The F-15’s alternated between ground assault and air-to-air combat. It was all very entertaining. After yet another lull in the action, we saw a pair of A-10 Warthogs arrive and begin their bombing runs. While the F-15’s had made simulated bombing runs, we began to hear actual concussions in the distance, as though the A-10’s were dropping live ordnance on the target. We were 4 to 5 miles distant from the target area, so we never felt in danger, but the intermittent “WHOMPPP” of the bombs striking their targets was undeniable.

The road in this section appeared to be well-maintained, if not well-traveled. We did notice that some of the ICT white markers were laying on the ground, their posts broken off near the ground. They appeared to have been deliberately run over, although the perpetrator of such an act was a subject of speculation on our part. There is no shortage of thoughtless people who will ruin a good thing when they see it. The lack of signs did not hinder our progress. We came across an area, as a large sign had warned us, of a fenced off area and red boundary signs, which were “red flag” areas of the bombing range, not to be entered on peril of life and limb. I said “I’m not going to cross over and find out” to which Jerry jokingly replied, “Well…..I am!!!!” and he jogged over across one of the red triangle markers and danced around, waving his arms and shouting, “Here I am!!!!” It was quite comical.

At one point, we were being followed by about 7 or 8 buzzards. They were not circling directly over us, but were flying around about 200 yard away from us. This led to many jokes about the buzzards waiting for us to drop along the trail, or waiting for an F-15 pilot to crash in the desert.

We would periodically rest at the side of the road, while the distant thunder of the jets practicing provided our soundtrack music for the afternoon. One of the buzzards swooped above us. Jerry said, “No, we’re not ready for you yet” and Nick added, “Come back tomorrow!”

The road continued sloping gradually downhill toward the Snake River plain off in the distance to the north. We had hoped to make at least half the distance from the Overlook into Hammett. Even with our late start, we had covered about 16 miles by 5 p.m. By the map we reckoned that we were not far from where Brown’s Creek Road would come out on a two-lane gravel section which headed straight north. I had told Jerry that we would have a harder time finding a campsite once we were walking along farmer’s fields and past the front yards of farm houses. Nick and Jerry, walking ahead of me, found a wide grassy area alongside the road, where there was plenty of room for setting up camp. The grassy area was criss-crossed by numerous narrow trails, which later we found out were made by a large family of jackrabbits. This led to jokes about Peter Cotton-tail, and the “bunny trail.”

This location was our camp for night 1.

Friday, April 21st

After a windy night in the low 40’s we awoke to another blue sky day of sunshine.

I was a little stiff from the knees down, as were the other two guys, but overall we felt fairly good and well-rested.

Today’s objective was to reach the town of Hammett, and then to shuttle vehicles. Our planned camping for tonight was at a location that Jerry knew of along Bennett Mountain Road. We were car-camping tonight, so I knew that I had several “luxury” items in the trunk of my car, including firewood, a Coleman campstove, and a bigger tent. I was looking forward to camping in comparative luxury to the Spartan fashion which is a necessity dictated by an ultra-light back-packing style.

Our nine mile walk into Hammett was fairly routine. We started about 8:30 a.m. and arrived in Hammett right at noon. The wind was blowing from the east at a blustery 20 to 25 miles per hour. As long as we were walking north, the going wasn’t too bad, but when we turned to the east it was like walking twice the distance we actually traveled.

When we reached the end of Brown’s Creek Road, we stopped for a rest. I celebrated my completion of the 15 mile section which closed a large gap for my ICT quest. I could now boast of an unbroken line of ICT from the Nevada border all the way to the Middle Fork of the Boise River at Willow Creek campground, just east of Featherville.

Here the ICT turns east and follows Idaho highway 78, a two-lane paved road, for 5 miles into the town of Hammett. I had previously walked this section as a day-hike, back in November of 2005. Jerry and I were out of water, so we planned to filter water from the Snake River, which we would cross in the next 1.5 miles.

Once we reached the bridge, we went down the embankment to the edge of the mighty Snake River, which was nearing flood stage due to the run-off from this year’s heavy snowfall in the mountains. Jerry’s filter plugged after the first bottle was filled, due to the silt and sediment in the water. It was quite a bit more cloudy than the average stream in the mountains, which we are accustomed to filtering our water from. Fortunately, after cleaning the pre-filter on the end of the inlet tube, Jerry was able to continue filtering. My bottle was now filled, although the water was a bit on the cloudy side, not unlike tap water that comes out of the tap highly aerated. We know the filtration process is safe, so we were not scared to drink it. I did use some of Jerry’s Crystal Light Raspberry and Lemonade drink mix to help cut the “river taste.”

We ascended the bank to continue our walk. An Idaho Department of Transportation (IDOT) truck had stopped on the bridge above us, and a work crew was placing signs at the far end of the bridge. As we began our bridge crossing, one of the workers greeted us. He was very friendly, and said, “You guys must be hiking the Idaho Centennial Trail? I just saw a special on that a few weeks ago.” It was nice to have someone recognize our activity as something legitimate, and not just view us as a bunch of homeless vagabonds wandering the highway.

The remainder of the road walk into Hammett went smoothly. It was terribly hard walking into the face of the blustery wind. I managed to stay up with Jerry and Nick until about a mile west of town, when I finally dropped back to a slower pace. I caught up to them as they entered the city limits. We walked the final few blocks as a group, and I quickened my pace so that I could be the first one to reach the Trading Post. ‘

After retrieving the Saturn, and buying sodas from the convenience store, we were on our way back to the Overlook to retrieve Jerry’s Suburban. It felt strange to be driving along at 55 mph over the same road which we had just recently traversed on foot. When we reached the Overlook, Jerry was dismayed to find a flat tire on the left rear of the Suburban. I said that this is becoming a tradition for us, to hike and then change flat tires, recalling our adventure in 2005 near Murphy Hot Springs on the ICT. After the Indy Pit Crew finished changing the flat tire, we were off to the giant metropolis of Bruneau. Fortunately it was Friday afternoon, and the Jumbo’s Sinclair service station was open and had a mechanic who could fix the flat tire. We dropped off the tire for repair, and went across the road for a meal at the Bruneau Café. Nick ordered a breakfast omelette, Jerry had a ham-n-cheese grilled, and I had my customary large greasy hamburger with all the trimmings. Mmmmm. Perfect for after hiking long distance. Then we returned to get the tire. When we entered the Sinclair station again, I was surprised to find a pair of farmers sitting at the front counter, speaking to the guy at the cash register. One of the farmers was holding a Winchester rifle. My first thought was “am I interrupting something?” He didn’t appear to be robbing the store, but the sight did give me pause.

The remainder of the day was down-time from hiking. We drove to the town of Glenn’s Ferry, then headed north and west to reach Bennett Mountain Road, which is a good two lane paved highway for the first 15 miles. The road climbs gradually all the way to the base of the Bennett Mountain ridge. Then the road climbs more steeply, until the pavement ends and the gravel begins. We passed the ICT marker signs where we would begin our hike tomorrow. Jerry led us to a bridge where Canyon Creek crosses under Bennett Mountain Road. We pulled off in a large parking area to the right, along the south bank of the creek, which was flowing strongly from snowmelt run-off. This was our campsite for night 2. We were all sore and tired and ready for a relaxing evening. As I mentioned previously I had brought some extras for car camping, knowing that we were going to be at this location on night 2. I told Jerry that I had wanted to pack chairs, but didn’t think there would be room in the trunk of the Saturn for all our packs and my camping gear, as well as folding chairs. He grinned mischievously, and opened the back of his Suburban. I didn’t realize what he was doing in there, but a few minutes later I came around the front of his Suburban and saw that he had taken the back seat out and placed it in front of the fire ring. We had seating for our campfire! Nick set up his Therma-rest folding chair with his air mattress. It was nice to vegetate in a real chair in front of the fire pit, with the relaxing sounds of the gurgling, rushing creek. We spent a very comfortable night 2 here at this location.

Saturday, April 22nd

My part in the hike was now mostly done. I had already done the entire section from Bennett Mountain Road down into Hammett in the previous year. My role today was support in shuttling vehicles and placing water drops for Jerry and Nick. I also wanted to hike the two mile section of old wagon trail which I had helped Leo mark last year. I wanted to see what the finished product looked like, and also wanted to re-visit this very remarkable section of ICT. After we packed up our camp, I led Jerry back to Hammett along the ICT, which is drive-able for at least 15 miles of the 20 mile route.

The first road we turned on from Bennett Mountain Road was Alkali Road, which would connect over to Wilson Road. Before we reached the ICT markers which came in from the road to the north, I came across a yellow diamond sign that said "Water Over Road Use Caution." One of the creeks crossing the road, which was normally very low flowing, was over the road. Great..... but I was driving the Mighty Saturn..... I plunged forward into the water, which I judged to be not that deep. About three-quarters of the way across, the front end of the Saturn struck a submerged rock amidships. The car lurched and I gunned it. The front tires dug in and pulled me up and over the obstruction while the rock beneath made sickening thuds and bumps. Steam came up from beneath as water splashed up into the hot engine compartment. The Mighty Saturn came out on dry land. I hoped that I hadn't done anything damaging to the front end (no damage has been found to date). Jerry of course had no problems clearing the rocks in the Suburban.

The water crossing incident behind, there were no further obstructions or water crossings the rest of the way into town. We placed a gallon of water near two of the intersections, for their use later that day. Jerry parked the Suburban at the Hammett Valley Trading Post, and then I drove them back up to Bennett Mountain Road where the ICT turns south. I walked two miles with them down the old wagon trail section. It felt good to see the finished product from our trail work of last year, and to hear Jerry and Nick’s reactions to the impressive views and rock formations along this section. When the trail crossed the creek below and the trail turned south, I said my goodbyes and left Jerry and Nick to continue their hike south, while I returned the two miles up the cliffs and back to the car. Then I returned to Boise, with a stop for hamburgers at Wendy’s in Mountain Home.

Later, on Sunday evening, I received e-mails from both Jerry and Nick, telling me that they had completed the entire twenty mile route all in one day on Saturday.

Jerry had this to say:

Ron;
Just a quick note to let you know that we made it back
........... early. It started looking like a wet,
windy night was in store for us, so we took an hour
break, then walked out Saturday night. Feeling a lot
better today than I would have expected! What a first
hike! 45 miles in 3 days! Thanks for the company, and
let me know if your ready to do another the weekend of
May 20th.
Thanks
Later
Frog

I Been Through the Desert (but the Horse never came)

2007-02-09T01:18:00.000-08:00

I Been Through the Desert (but the Horse never came)

Nevada border to Winter Camp Ranch, 51.5 miles

a segment of the Idaho Centennial Trail

March 3-7, 2005

Thursday March 3rd

Darla dropped me off at Albertsons where Jerry and his friend Scott Pressman were waiting. Rode in Jerry's Suburban while Scott followed in his Suburban. Showed Scott where to park at Winter Camp above the canyon. Scott was going to mountain bike south, while Jerry and I hiked north from Murphy Hot Springs. Left Scott there, drove another hour and 15 minutes south to the Nevada border. Camped in the parking lot at the trailhead. No tents, we just threw our ground sheets, mats, and sleeping bags on the ground and sacked out around 9:30 pm.

Friday March 4th

Woke up early to frost on our sleeping bags, low of about 25 F. Jerry found a flat tire on the Suburban. First order of business, hike (without our packs) the 2 miles south to the marker at the Nevada border, then 2 miles back to the trailhead parking lot. Changed the flat tire. Then cooked our breakfast (actually heated water and poured it into dehydrated meals). Packed up and started hiking about 9:30 am. Backpacked 14 miles (+4 without packs this morning for an 18 mile day). Saw about 20 deer, 5 sage hens, Murphy "International" Airport (grass runway, no baggage claim). Stopped along Poison Creek at an abandoned log cabin. Cooked dinner in the cabin to get out of the wind, went to bed as soon as the sun went down.

Saturday March 5th

Hard frost this morning. Low 20's I guess. I thought it had snowed when I first opened the rain fly on my tent. Cold morning. We heated our water in the cabin and ate breakfast while waiting for the sun to dry everything out. It took us a couple of hours to get everything dried out and packed up. Started out about 8:30 am. About 1/2 mile up the trail, after going through a barbed wire gate, I saw a head bobbin up and down on the trail ahead of us. As I watched it appeared to be someone on a bike. It was Scott. He had biked 25 miles the first day, and about 6 already this morning. It was good to see someone on the trail. Scott told us that there was absolutely NO water ahead. Jerry's water drop of last week was our only hope for re-supply. We told him about the trail and Scott told us how tough the trail had been for him. After about 10 minutes, we parted ways. Scott went south, we went north. Scott would drive Jerry's truck back to Winter Camp and park it there for us at the end of our walk. A few miles down the road, we took a small side hike to see the Jarbidge Canyon. A few miles later, the trail crossed over Poison Creek, which was totally dry. Jerry rested and ate lunch while I hiked on for another couple of miles. Then I stopped for lunch and to rest. From this point on the day was very tough for me. The trail took a double-back of 2 miles to the west which seemed to go on forever. Jerry hiked on and was lost from sight for a long time. I finally caught up to him waiting for me near Inside Lakes (basically ponds which were undrinkable due to heavy livestock usage). He said we had only gone 12.5 miles so far. I was almost spent. We had known Day 2 would be tough. I said I could go on for another mile or so. Jerry scouted ahead for a suitable campsite in the heavy sagebrush lining both sides of the road. Finding one, we made camp with about 30 minutes of sunlight remaining. Being low on water, and falling 3.5 miles short of our water stash, we had a cold dinner and fell in bed.

Sunday March 6th

I arose with the sun. Jerry was still snoozing. I quietly started getting ready and packing up. Since I hike slower than Jerry, I would get a head start. I was also concerned about our water situation and was anxious to see if our water stash was intact. I was down to about 2 inches of my last 1 liter bottle. 5 liters had lasted about 31.5 miles. The road intersection was 3.5 miles ahead. Jerry, from inside his tent, asked if I had left and I said I was going to walk ahead since I was slower. Several cows had drifted over and thought I was going to feed them or something. They really thought my shaking of the rain fly and ground sheet was quite strange. They finally decided I wasn't going to feed them and started moving away. As I started walking north, a small black calf popped up from the sagebrush and started bawling at me. He was alone, apart from the others. It sounded like he was saying, "Mom!" "Mom!" "Mom!" I kept saying "I'm not your mama." He started following me down the road, bawling, "Mom! Mom!" Finally, he quit following me and hid in the sagebrush once again. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure MOM wasn't charging at my back. I passed one road at 1.5 miles, then the Bruneau River road in another mile. 1 more mile and I would come to Indian Hot Springs road, where our water stash was supposed to be. With all the traffic apparent on this section of the trail, I was worried that someone may have taken or tampered with our bottles. I was praying "LORD, please let our water be there." We were facing another 17 miles of hiking without water if it were not there. As I approached the Y in the road, I began scanning from side to side trying to spot the bottles. Finally, and with great relief, I spotted 2 bottles hidden behind a big rock. Jerry was about a half mile back. I pulled the bottles out of hiding and set them on the road. I was so relieved and over-joyed to see those 2 gallons of water that I took a picture of them! It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, right there just under the sight of my wife in her wedding gown coming down the aisle, and each of my children the first time they looked at me. 2 gallons of LIFE. I raised POLAMA high over my head and hollered down the road at Jerry as he was approaching. Then I picked up the two bottles and waved them around. What a relief! We heated water for our breakfast, and re-filled our bottles. I had about 2.5 liters left over to make it the rest of the way. We hiked on, passing the historic Bengoichea cabin which was a stone hut built into the side of a hill. On up over a big hill and down through Sheepshead Draw, several miles across. Sometime after noon, we saw a truck approaching from the south. We dropped our packs to rest and waited. A young couple from Boise pulled up in a Toyota Tundra pickup and asked for directions to the Bruneau River. They were out for a Sunday outing. I pulled out my map and we shared trail information. He wanted to know what we were doing hiking the trail, if we were Idaho historians or something? No, we answered, we're hiking the ICT in sections, as a multi-year project, hoping to someday finish. Then maybe write a book about it. He let their 2 dogs out of the camper shell to run a bit. I impulsively inquired if they might have some extra water? He reached in the back seat and held out to me the most beautiful Sunkist orange ever, and tossed it to me with a grin! Then he pulled out a water bottle and topped off our bottles. It was a nice gift. We would need that extra few inches of water before this was all over. After a few more minutes of pleasant conversation, they turned around and headed back south on the trail. We continued on north. Jerry hiked on ahead and soon disappeared. From this point, I began to hit the wall. I was only making about 1 mile per hour. The trail was so rough, with ruts on either side and deep cow hoof print indentations all over the place, that it required intense concentration on each and every step. About 2:30 pm, I caught up to Jerry waiting for me at a barbed wire gate over a cattle guard. A long fence row stretched off to the west toward the walls of the Bruneau River Canyon. Jerry wanted to take a side hike of 2 miles to see the canyon. I was so tired that I just wanted to stay on the ICT. He said we had gone as far as we needed to for today. He would go to see the river while I rested. I ate some and napped some. After about 2 hours, Jerry returned. He said it was a long way down there to see the river, but it was a very deep canyon. I said I could hike on another couple of miles, and we would have that much less to walk tomorrow. He showed me our mileage on his maps, and I figured out why I had been so tired and spent. Since arising early that morning, I had already walked 13 miles by 2:30 pm. We went another 2 miles to Draw Canyon. We pitched our tents in the dry river bed. I did not have enough water to cook supper, so I went to bed. Jerry chided me that I needed to keep up my calorie intake for energy. I knew he was right, I was just too tired to really eat much. I felt good that I had pulled out a 15 mile day after yesterday's dismal 13.5 miles.

Monday March 7th

Jerry was up before me, rising at first light. We "only" had about 6 more miles to go, but the trail was not about to get any easier for this last section. Even though I had been conserving water, I only had about .5 of a liter left. Jerry had a little bit more than that in one bottle and some raspberry tea mix in another bottle. After packing up, we got started around 8 am. We climbed out of Draw Canyon, then had to descend into and climb out of the much larger Juniper Tree Draw. The combination of blisters on my feet, my soreness from hiking 44 miles from the border, slight de-hydration, and my reduced appetite were taking a toll on me. I was staggering and stumbling along. Jerry had obviously slowed his pace way down, but was still hiking 100-200 yards ahead of me. We finally approached the large canyon walls of the East Fork of the Bruneau River, which meant that we were nearing Winter Camp Ranch. Every step forward for me was an act of the will over my tired body. I knew we were getting close to the end, but I just wanted to lay down and quit. I kept telling myself, "you wanted to do this, you put yourself out here, now DO IT! ALL OF IT! This is part of it! It doesn't do you any good to come this far and not finish." I kept myself going. I wasn't about to be carried out of here, no sir. About this time, the most welcome distraction came along. A pair of Air Force F-15's were flying maneuvers at the Saylor Creek USAF Bombing Range. After they completed their air-to-ground sorties, they then engaged in dogfights directly overhead for over an hour. It was awesome! They practiced air combat maneuvers, approaching each with full afterburners, doing head-on passes, each taking turns being the aggressor and the defender. It was highly entertaining, and helped to keep me going. We descended into the canyon and found that there was water flowing in the river. I was saving my last inch of water in my bottle as a reward for getting to Winter Camp Ranch. Jerry informed me at one of our rest stops that, oh yeah, the truck is not parked here, it's another 1.5 miles up the road and out of the canyon. Groan. We stopped at the river and found that the water was flowing reasonably clean. Jerry pulled out his water filter and pumped a bottle full for each of us. I added some powdered Gatorade to my bottle and downed a full liter in about 3 gulps. I was so dehydrated. Jerry looked at me with surprise. That made 10 liters that I had drank over 50 miles. He then re-filled my bottle. That way I would have enough to get to the truck. The stone house and farm house were still there at Winter Camp, though they had obviously been long abandoned. Lots of farm implements and irrigation equipment lay about in various states of usage or disarray. Someone obviously still used the ranch, but no one appeared to be living down here in this canyon. We passed through a couple of gates, heading north along the road down the canyon. A herd of cows moo-ed loudly at us, expecting to be fed. They began running ahead of us down the canyon. It was as though we were herding them along. I took a picture of Jerry which I am going to call "Jerry stampedes the herd." The canyon seemed to wind around on and on. We finally reached a gate at the end. The cows climbed up the south wall of the canyon and stopped at the fence. They finally decided we were not there to feed them. Jerry yelled at them, "Go on, go back" and they all turned around as though on cue and started to go back! It was quite funny. We came to the final quarter mile of road which went steeply up the canyon wall before us. This was it. No let up on this road. All I could do was shuffle slowly up the road, taking small baby steps. I rested about 3 times on the way. Finally I got near the top of the canyon. Jerry came running back down the road toward me, without his pack. He jogged down to where I was, and said, "I forgot my keys to the Suburban, I'm going back to camp, see you in a couple of hours!" He jogged on a few paces beyond me, and turned around. I was so tired that he had me going for a second there. It was a great joke. He walked beside me the rest of the way up the road and back to the Suburban. It was the second most beautiful sight of the hike to finally make it to the truck. 51.5 miles. I looked to the south and could see the tip of the very highest snow-capped mountain on the Nevada side. We had started on Friday morning on the lower slopes of that very mountain, now so very far away. Jerry said, "you walked all that way!" We shook hands with a firm grip and shared a victory cola. The desert section was done. A large chunk of the ICT under our belts.

Devils Schmevils

2007-02-09T01:16:00.000-08:00

DEVILS….SCHMEVILS

Seven Devils Mountains, Hell’s Canyon Wilderness area

July 7th, 8th, 9th, 2004

Glen Liberty and I attempted a loop hike around the Seven Devils in September 2003. We were turned back by blizzard conditions shortly after reaching Iron Phone Junction. The details of that (miss) adventure can be found in my account titled: “When Hell(‘s Canyon) Freezes Over.”

I had been waiting anxiously all winter and spring for another chance to hike the 27 mile loop trail. The hiking season in the Seven Devils is very short, usually late June through early September, due to the high elevation and the snow. Early on the morning of July 7th, 2004, Steven and I left Boise on our way to Riggins.

One of the things that makes a hike from Windy Saddle different from other hikes is the location and the starting elevation. Many hikes begin from a trailhead that is at a lower altitude. The trail then climbs, usually following a stream, creek, river, or some kind of dried-up drainage for a considerable portion of the uphill. The destination of the hike is usually considered to be "up there" somewhere. Some trails, however, begin at the high point or near it and then descend into a canyon, the destination of the hike being considered as *down there* somewhere. Examples of this type of trail can be found at the North Rim or South Rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Black Canyon of the Gunnison in Colorado, Crater Lake in Oregon, and Bryce Canyon in Utah. Examples of the low starting point climbing to a higher one abound. Hiking around the Seven Devils Mountains from the Windy Saddle trailhead begins at a high elevation and then dips immediately down whether you begin to the north or begin to the south.

The drive to Windy Saddle begins one mile south of Riggins, Idaho. Turn off highway 95 onto 517 which is a one-lane road with asphalt pavement for the first three miles, then graded gravel with turn-outs for the remaining 14 miles. The road is actually a greater width than two lanes for significant portions, but it well deserves its one lane designation. There are plenty of places where two cars passing are a very tight squeeze. Steven and I left Boise around 5:50 am. We got to the Windy Saddle trailhead parking lot at 10 am. Due to our early start I wanted to lean my seat back in the car and take a short nap….so we did.

We started our hike at exactly 10:30 am. The weather forecast called for a slight chance of thunderstorms on Wednesday. There were a few wispy clouds blowing in from the west. Since we were around 8000 feet in elevation some of the clouds were floating by the cliffs just above us. We started from Windy Saddle following the same trail in the same direction that Glen Liberty and I had hiked in September 2003.

My plan for completing the hike was for three days and two nights. Simple division of the 27 mile total into 3 days of hiking yields an average of nine miles per day. My starting pack weight was around 30 pounds. My first weigh-in said 29 pounds, but then I discovered that my 50 pound fishing scale was off by two pounds from zero and I couldn't figure out how to adjust the tare to zero. In order to help Steven with the backward sag in his new pack I carried his tent in a stuff bag tied onto to one of my pack straps for the entire hike. I just let the bag dangle from my strap and it banged against my legs with almost every step. Sounds annoying but I got used to it. I wanted to ensure that Steven wouldn't get bogged down by the weight and that he would succeed in this hike. I was also carrying a fanny pack with two full bottles of water. The fanny pack had about three pounds inside plus the weight of the water bottles. In my hand I carried my newly constructed Polama pvc pipe hiking pole. All told I'm guessing that I was packing about 35-40 pounds between pack, the fanny pack, the extra tent, and the staff. This was a heavier load than I wanted to deal with, but I did it.

FIRST DAY 9 miles

(Windy Saddle to Baldy Creek)

We started at Windy Saddle, stopped for lunch at Sheep Creek, and kept going in the afternoon up the switchbacks to Iron Phone Junction. Just a few hundred yards past IPJ was where Glen and I made the wise decision to turn around in the blizzard and descend back into the trees where it was not snowing, only wet. Steven and I reached this point in good shape. The weather had changed from cloudy to absolutely fantastic. The promised thunderstorms spoken of never materialized, and the sky was a beautiful blue with temps in the mid 70's and cool breezes....great hiking weather. We passed by the turn to Hibbs Cow Camp and continued on to the junction with the trail to Echo Lake and He Devil Lake. Continuing on past the turn, we entered the most difficult section of our hike for the day. We thought we might be able to make it to Baldy Lake for our first night's camp. The section between Echo Lake all the way to Baldy Creek had many blown down trees across the trail and a lot of thorny undergrowth. This section came in the late afternoon when we were already tired. Perhaps it wouldn't have seemed so insurmountable to us had we been fresh and rested.

For the next two hours we fought our way over, under, around, and through obstacle after obstacle. Since I was hiking in shorts my legs got very scratched up in the process. Steven fared better because he was wearing jeans. Scrambling over a fallen tree while wearing a bulky pack presents a challenge, especially when the trail is cut across a slope that leans from high inside to low outside. Thorny bushes or other fallen trees at the sides of the trail often complicate an easy detour around the tree on the one side, and a drop-off on the downhill side of the tree often prevents a detour around the tree to that side.

We finally came around the shoulder of Potato Hill and encountered a descent along a creek. Here the creek BECAME the trail, and was interspersed with fallen trees across and parallel to the creek By this time, I had a cut on my left knee and my energy and enthusiasm were flagging. We stopped to filter water into our water bottles from the creek. Our prospects for the evening did not look encouraging from my viewpoint. We were in an area of tangled blow-downs, brush, rocks, and undergrowth. There wasn't a place in sight with enough flat space that looked inviting for establishing a sheltered campsite. It appeared that we would need to push on around the next mountainside and try to locate Baldy Lake. However, it was late in the day and our daylight would be almost gone by the time we reached the lake (if we indeed reached it).

The Bible verse came to my mind that God knows what we need before we even ask Him. Something about the timing of that verse at that point in time and at my point of need resonated with me. I felt my faith combining with the Word. At that point I felt that prayer was in order, not only for a campsite to rest at but for my discouragement and weariness. Here is something close to what I prayed with Steven, "Father, here we are. You know where we're at and that we're getting very tired. We're asking You to please provide us a sheltered flat space where we can camp and be safe for the night. Thanks for helping us get this far. Give us the strength to continue on." It was a heartfelt prayer breathed out of a time of being tired and disheartened, but I felt a peace after I prayed that assured me that I had placed the matter at the feet of my Savior and that He would answer.

We packed up again and started crossing over a big tree on the other side of the creek. I had prayed the matter into the background and now just felt better from the relief of giving the situation over to my Abba Father. We had only gone about 100-200 yards around the curve of the trail when we came to another large tree across the trail. “Oh great!” I thought, then I looked beyond the tree. And then understanding hit me. A small clearing was directly on the other side of the fallen tree, with several other fallen trees cut cleanly with a chainsaw forming a rough outline on three other sides. There were two bare places mostly devoid of brush where some tents could fit. There was also a small creek flowing nearby.

Steven in his own state of exhaustion didn't understand my excitement at first. This flat space framed all the way around by big logs was exactly what I had just prayed for. It was such an immediate answer to prayer, and it met our needs for the coming night perfectly. What a relief it was to stop!

Doesn’t look like much, but this was our miracle in the wilderness.

I always find the house-keeping part of camping to be a tedious chore especially at the end of a grueling day of hiking when all you want to do is collapse on the ground. Getting everything out of the pack…setting up the tent…airing up the mattress…rolling out the sleeping bags or quilts…staking down the tent…securing the guy out lines…hanging up damp clothing…throwing a line for a bear bag....all these things are more difficult to do at a high altitude, and when you are exhausted on top of that it's even harder. The space was tight between two of the large logs but we got our small tents set up. I shared some of Steven's stakes since that was an item I forgot to bring for my tent. I tied one of his side guy-out lines to my tent and secured my line from my vestibule flap to his side guy-out which made both tents more secure. About every five minutes I breathed another prayer of thanks for this place where we could rest. There weren't any suitable trees for throwing a bear bag line and I was too tired to go hiking to try to find one. I finally settled on a compromise solution which I have used in the past. Neither of us felt like eating dinner. One of the side effects of altitude on me is slight nausea. I didn't have much of an appetite during this entire hike and only ate because I knew I needed the energy. I went about 50 yards back up the trail and placed the food bag on a boulder. I had to climb up to the rock shelf and there were about three fallen trees in front of the shelf at differing angles.

I figured that *whatever* wanted to eat the food would have to climb up to get it and would be hampered by the tight space caused by the fallen trees, or that *whatever* would have climb above the bag and reach down to it which would have been equally difficult. Everything inside was packed in plastic bags or sealed in plastic but in an effort to mask any food smells that might emanate from the bag. With the food stashed away it was time to bed down. The sun had faded behind the mountains and our daylight was waning fast.

Day Two 11 miles

Imagine an oval race track.

Now, in your imagination, place a mountain range of roughly 3 miles wide by about 7 or 8 miles long inside this oval. Now give the oval a slight tilt to the right, with the top part pointing slightly northeast and the bottom part pointing slightly southwest. This should give you a basic idea of the hike around the Seven Devils. It seems simple enough, doesn’t it? A walk around the mountains should only involve going around the race track. If the *race track* were as elliptical as the shape shown above, the same elevation all the way around the oval, smooth, free of obstructions, and un-crossed by flowing streams, a circuit around the track would be relatively simple.

Our *race track* around the Seven Devils, however, was none of these things. The smooth elliptical oval shape, in actuality, resembles more of a tilted diamond shape on the map. Rather than a gradually curving arc, the trail follows more of a sine wave pattern, turning northward, curving to the west, turning 180 degrees back to the east, veering south, turning northward again, etc. Not only does the trail make all these turns, but it also drops several hundred feet, then climbs back up, then drops down a thousand, then climbs back up several hundred feet, and on and on. Factor in the reduced oxygen available in the air at elevations ranging from 7,000 to 8,000 feet for that out-of-breath feeling. Now add in a creek crossing about every two or three miles, and for added spice, toss a 1 to 2 foot diameter pine tree over the trail at odd intervals. You should now have a better appreciation of the reasons why this hike is rated *Difficult* in the guide books.

Before retiring for the night, I had taken a look at the trail immediately ahead of us. We had indeed been given a small oasis for the night. It was literally a wide spot on the trail, and our tents were pitched only about 2 or 3 feet off the trail. A small creek (Baldy Creek) bordered one corner of our campsite, and immediately in front of the creek were two fallen trees at about chest height. They would necessitate a crawl to get to the creek bank. There was less than three feet of clearance beneath the trees and they had several branches covering the opening beneath. After rock-hopping over the creek, the trail began to climb once again toward the west and on around the shoulder of Potato Hill. Several trees blocked the trail, so I knew the going would once again be rough as soon as we started walking.

The sky began to lighten a couple of hours before the sun began to rise. We both slept well. The morning air was brisk but it had not reached freezing. I went back to sleep until the sun had risen fully above the mountain peaks and high cliff walls. Then I rose and began the tedious process of breaking camp and packing everything back up. I retrieved the food bag from the rocks where I had placed it. Fortunately, it was intact; none of the smaller creatures had chewed holes in the side to get to the food. An hour and a half later, we were packed up and ready to go.

The first task after we had gone under the two fallen trees was to top off our water bottles. Filtering water is a chore, but a necessary one when in the wilderness. Even the clearest, freshest looking streams can carry the microscopic nasties that can wreak havoc on the digestive tract. Had I known what a long dry stretch lay ahead of us, I would have also filled up one or both of the Platypus 2 liter flexi-packs that I was carrying. It would have been more added pounds, but it would have been nice to have later in the day. That, of course, is hindsight.

We ascended through another mile of switchbacks and multiple fallen trees over the trail. Once we reached the western face of the mountain and began to turn southward, we were high enough to once again regard the Oregon side of Hell’s Canyon. Yesterday evening the massive face of the western wall had been veiled in shadow. This morning it was revealed in stark relief by the morning sunlight. I snapped a few photos but I knew that my tiny camera could not take in the scope of the massive landscape before us. Though not as massive as the Grand Canyon, it is still a very deep and awesome canyon.

We had a long way yet to walk to get to Horse Heaven, which was the southernmost intersection at which we would turn to the north, to begin our traverse of the eastern face of the Seven Devils and our return to the car at the Windy Saddle trailhead. I had hoped that we would reach Horse Heaven by noon, since we started this morning earlier than we did the previous morning leaving the trailhead. As with many of our other expectations on this trip, the walk to Horse Heaven took us longer than we anticipated.

Another hard section of hiking came as we traveled along the slope of the Twin Imps, and continued on up toward the ridge near Devils Farm.

This part of the trail, beneath the Twin Imps, traveled through a section of rocky slopes where the trail was no longer a dirt path, but golf-ball and softball sized hard rocks, broken by thousands of years of wind, water, ice, snow, and the force of gravity. Scenically speaking, I enjoyed this section immensely, though I was out-of-breath for the hard three mile climb up to the ridge.

Small pikas, chipmunks, and ground squirrels darted in and out of the rocks as we passed by. Steven would get ahead of me by fifty or a hundred yards, since I was carrying more weight and generally slow down to a crawl when I am ascending a long section of trail. Just below the top of the ridge, we had to cross a couple of sections with snow over the trail. A steep fall onto hard rocks awaited us if we slipped. Fortunately, the snow was still crunchy and granular in composition and was not glazed over with ice. Someone had been there to cross before us, so there were already some footsteps across the snow banks. We just took our time and chose our footholds carefully, using our poles for balance. We crossed the snow banks un-eventfully and finally made it to the top of the ridge.

A mile-long section of smooth sailing trail flew by as we coasted slightly downhill toward Horse Heaven. We could see the lookout station perched on a mountain directly ahead. It appeared that the trail took another sharp upward tack on its way to the lookout. I didn’t want to have to climb another hard hill again. From the topo map, it appeared to me that our trail did not require us to climb the hill, but my eyes were telling me something different. We reached Horse Heaven at what I estimated to be around 1 p.m. by my *sundial.* A little later than I had hoped but not bad considering the tough section we had just finished. The trail up to the lookout station turned out to be an extra-curricular activity that we elected not to do. The intersection was a wide saddle between two mountain peaks. We took pictures at the signpost and rejoiced that we had made it over halfway on our circuit of the Seven Devils.

Our trail now turned to the north. We began the eastern segment of our loop. We could see a long, rocky downhill section of trail before us of over a mile. It made a few switchbacks as it descended toward the forest. Would we once again enter a section of numerous blown-down trees that made the going rough? Well, no matter for the moment, as the trail right in front of us was smooth sailing. We passed through another area of heavy rock slides and the occasional twisted and gnarled lone pine tree. You have to be a tough, survivor-type of vegetable to last in this harsh environment.

Before we reached Horse Heaven, I was down to about two inches of water in my second water bottle. There had been no smaller creeks flowing down from the lakes above. There was no creek at Horse Heaven, so the next best hope would be a stream coming down from one of the lakes high on the eastern side. Steven still had almost a full bottle left, but even that would be gone before we were to reach the next water source.

Once we descended from Horse Heaven through the rock falls and entered the forest, the trail resumed as a dirt path. There was the occasional fallen tree over the trail, but it became apparent as we walked along that the eastern side of the Seven Devils loop was a much better maintained trail than was the more remote and isolated western side. We moved along at a very fast clip, compared to our pace of the day before and this morning. Mostly I was driven by the thought of reaching the next water source, as I was down to empty. I drank about an inch out of Steven’s now dwindling bottle. I wanted to make sure he still had some left. If we had been desperate, we would have had to scramble up the steep mountainside above us to try to reach one of the high lakes above us, perhaps Horse Heaven Lake. I wasn’t reaching the critical stage yet, but I was sure thinking a lot about a cold drink of water.

It was around 4 p.m., I estimate, when we reached a small stream across the path. I thought it might be Dog Creek, but this was not the case as we discovered later. There is a tendency to over-estimate your mileage and how far you have come when backpacking. It just feels like a lot more miles than you have actually covered. The stream would not ordinarily have been my first choice as a water source. It was very shallow and not very free-flowing. In fact, there was a small stagnant pool across the trail. The trail was muddy on both sides of the stream and had many deer prints where they had come down to the stream to drink. Just above the small pool was a deeper pool which had some slow-flowing water. It was clear and clean. I placed the suction end of my filter in the water and began pumping. After filling all our bottles, I drank down a full bottle and then re-filled it, so as to replenish my water level. Got to stay hydrated in the mountains! We were getting tired so we rested awhile on the other bank. Steven ate some of his snack foods, and I had a Power Gel. It boosted me back up so that I felt ready to go on.

After about another mile we finally came to a much larger, swift-flowing creek. The sign said it was Dog Creek. This became our stopping place for the night. We considered trying to go on to Hanson Creek, since we discovered there was already another group of hikers camped out at Dog Creek. We didn’t see them at first. Their tents were not visible from the creek crossing, and we only saw them when one of the ladies stood up to put on a sweatshirt. There were two large flat areas for camping, one on each side of Dog Creek. They had the north section occupied with two tents. The south section was empty and looked inviting. I was reluctant to set up camp directly opposite from the other group, but it looked more and more inviting as I considered it. Steven and I went over to look at it. Should we stay? Should we try to press on?

I crossed the creek to talk to the other group of hikers. They were two couples and were very friendly. I greeted them and asked if they would mind us camping on the other side? I know when I’m in the wilderness I want to feel un-crowded and I didn’t want to make them feel as if we were crowding in on them. At the same time, I was tired and didn’t really want to go on to Hanson Creek if I didn’t have to. They said they were heading for Horse Heaven and then on to Baldy Lake. I shared the trail conditions with them and told them that the section between Baldy Lake and Echo Lake had been extremely difficult for us. They shared that Hanson Creek was about another hour ahead of us, even though the trail map said it was another 2.5 miles. They were friendly and didn’t *seem* to be put out that we were going to camp across the creek from them, although I’m sure at first they were disappointed when they saw us and probably said, “there goes the neighborhood.” Steven and I talked it over and decided that we would put down roots for the night here at Dog Creek. In parting I told the group “We don’t have any boom boxes and we will be quiet!” They laughed. We wished each other a good night’s rest.

Setting up camp went a little smoother this evening than the previous evening. With Steven’s help I got a proper bear line thrown over a tree that was up the hill a ways from our camp. We hoisted his pack filled with the food up about 15 feet off the ground and tied off the guyline to two adjacent trees. The party *next door* had a Rottweiler and said they didn’t expect that we would get a bear visit, but said that the rodent population was quite aggressive and might chew their way into the food. They hung theirs, so I figured it would be wise to hang ours. Lights out came for me and Steven while it was still an early evening. We were very tired but thankful once again for a place to stop for the night. The group across the creek had a campfire going and talked and laughed and had a good time together, but not obnoxiously so, for a while into the night. We had covered 11 miles on our second day, and only had 7 left to go to get back to the Windy Saddle and our ride back to civilization.

Third Day—7 miles to the Finish Line

Dog Creek to Windy Saddle

Sometime during the night I had gotten up for the usual bathroom break and a drink of water. I carry Benadryl on my hikes because it makes me very drowsy which helps when sleeping in an unfamiliar place with uneven ground beneath. A full moon had risen and was lighting up our small clearing. Since we had gone to bed at about 9 p.m. I figured it was the early morning hours around 2 or 3 a.m. I didn’t want to toss and turn for several more hours until daylight, so I fumbled through my stuff and dug out another Benadryl. This one really put me out, because the next thing I knew the sun was up above the trees. Wow, what a good night’s sleep for being out in the wilderness. I have been on other hikes where I haven’t slept very well, and believe me, this way was much better. Perhaps I’m finally getting the hang of doing this.

Before they left to head up to Horse Heaven and beyond, the two couples from across the creek came over to our side and asked if we would take a group picture of them, which Steven did. We wished them a safe journey and they headed up the trail. One of the guys had an ENORMOUS load, a great big 6000 cubic inch capacity pack that was filled up and also had numerous attached articles on the outside. He also had legs that looked like tree trunks, “Thunder Thighs.” The other guy and the two gals had more reasonable loads on smaller packs.

Seven miles remained from Dog Creek back to the Windy Saddle. I knew that the end was going to be a hard climb back up to the saddle. I just didn't know how hard the climb was going to be. The first segment from Dog Creek to Hanson Creek went very quickly. We covered 2.5 miles in a little over an hour. The trail was wider and better maintained as it was getting closer to its origin. There were only occasional trees over the trail.

It was another couple of miles to Cannon Creek and Bridge Creek. Somewhere along the trail this morning we heard a roar coming from the south. It was the sound of a military jet. As we looked to see it coming a gray ghost of a shape streaked from behind a forested mountain and went screaming by about a mile in distance away from us and just slightly higher than our altitude. I recognized the shape of an F-16. He was doing between 400 and 500 knots but was not in after-burner that I could see. It must have been some kind of low-level flying exercise. I hoped that they had the airspace all cleared out for him. I would hate to have be some hapless tourist out sight-seeing the Seven Devils in a small Cessna, and have an F-16 come screaming by, peeling the metal off the fuselage and whipping off my toupee'. I guess they are cleared down to lower altitudes in sections of western Idaho, although I have seen and heard F-15's in the Sawtooths as well doing the same thing. It was a thrill to see him fly by but it also made me wish I could move that fast and be back at Windy Saddle in a couple of minutes.

The trail continued its west-north-east-north pattern around the shoulders of several more mountains. When we got to within a couple of miles of Windy Saddle we could see and feel a sharp increase of the ascent. Not only was the trail steeper but breathing was getting hard again as we approached the 7,500 foot and then the 8,000 foot mark. This part of the trail at the end is every bit as difficult as the final ascent of the Bright Angel Trail as it approaches the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. The ascent is steep and it is at a high elevation.

We crossed Hanson Creek, Cannon Lake Creek, and Bridge Creek on the way. Steven moved out farther and farther ahead of me, while I had to slow my pace to a crawl as usual to go up the hill. As long as I maintained the Shuffle at a slow pace I would catch up to Steven who would be resting from his fast pace. He would say "Do you need to rest?" and I would usually answer "No, I can keep going.” Then he would set off and pull ahead again. I would keep plodding until I came around the next bend and would find him bent over leaning on his hiking pole resting again. Gotta learn to pace yourself kid. In this fashion we continued our climb up to the Windy Saddle.

Eventually we reached the Ranger Station where we talked to a trail maintenance person. She said the section we were climbing was the hardest part of the whole trail. She asked where we were coming from and I said "we're finishing the 27 mile loop.” She answered that we were the first people this season which she had heard of doing the entire loop. Then she wanted to know how the trail looked. I told her about the terrible section on the west side with all the blown down trees and she said, "let me guess....between Echo Lake and Baldy Lake?" and I told her she was right.

I asked if she was in trail maintenance (kind of obvious since she was driving a Park Service pickup truck and was dressed in grubby jeans, work boots, and a ratty long-sleeve flannel shirt). She said "Yeah...I gotta get another job!" I said that must be hard work, hauling gravel on the trail to re-surface the trail. She replied "we use mules for that part.” Okay, I had wondered about that one.

Though she was a small woman she looked tough enough that she could have carried me and Steven AND our packs on her shoulders UP to the trailhead at Windy Saddle. I would have gladly accepted this or even just a lift in her pickup but then that would have defeated the purpose of our loop hike. The goal was to finish the whole loop under our own power. She gave us directions to go around on the road to avoid fallen trees on the trail. This was actually a bit longer but I was willing to walk on a wide dirt road. Then we turned the wrong way and she drove by us and got us turned around the correct way. We picked up the trail again further up the road and continued our climb.

If this sounds like it's going on and on and on, that's what the climb up to the saddle felt like. But our story does have an end at last. I was missing on a couple of cylinders, but I finally sputtered over the final rise onto the gravel road at the edge of the parking lot. I wanted to take a picture of Steven and me at the signpost but he was already in the car. I yelled his name 2 or 3 times but he already was rocking out to the sounds of Relient K in the car. The sunshade was also still on the dashboard so he couldn't see me and he couldn't hear me. In this situation I can't help but think of Alvin and the Chipmunks where they are singing "we can hardly stand to wait please Christmas don't be late…” And at the end of the song Dave tries to get Alvin's attention but Alvin is busy being the poster child for A.D.D. "uh....Alvin.....Alvin.......ALVINNNNNNN!!!!!!!!

I was way too tired to go yell at Steven for enjoying getting to sit in a real car seat. He came and took my picture and I took his. It was about 2:30 pm when we finished.

Up the Creek without a Tent Pole

2007-02-09T01:11:00.000-08:00

Up the Creek without a Tent Pole
August 27th thru 29th, 2004a section hike of the Idaho Centennial Trail
Lochsa River to Selway River
Trailhead in: Split Creek Pack Bridge
Trailhead out: Boyd Creek campground

I first learned of this hike through a message on the Idaho Outdoors e-mail group on Yahoo Groups. A man named Jerry Finnegan (a.k.a. Frog) gave this description of the hike:

frog99g@yahoo.com wrote: I'll be hiking from the Lochsa to the Selway, along the Idaho Centennial trail the weekend of August 28-29. Will leave Boise Friday night, run shuttle Saturday morning, then hit the trail. spend Sat. night at Louse Lake and hike out on Sunday. Total distance of about 21 miles. I have one couple that is a "maybe" but would like to add another 1 to 3 people to ensure the trip is "a go". If you're interested please let me know.Frog (a.k.a. Jerry)

I replied:

Have you had much interest for this trip? I meant to write earlier but I had to finish my workweek. If you still have room, I would be interested. I have learned of the Idaho Centennial Trail only in the last year and am now interested in pursuing as much of it as I can tackle in sections. Please let me know if you have an opening. I would have to schedule a day off from Micron on the Saturday, and possibly on the Friday depending how late you are leaving.

Jerry then replied:

thanks for responding. Yes, I had a couple of replies to the posting but no one has committed yet. I was off backpacking all last week and am just now replying to these e-mails.

I've been hiking sections of the Centennial trail since last spring and have a lot of info if you're interested. This section is on the Centennial West (as opposed to the east section that travels through the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness). Look forward to discussing it.

I would like to leave Friday evening after work and drive up to the Selway River (Boyd Creek campground). Saturday we could drive up to the Split Creek pack bridge and begin the hike. It is a large climb (nearly 5200 feet in 9.5 miles!) and I don't plan to race anyone. I'm an older (55) hiker and like to enjoy the trail and take lots of pictures. We'd hike the final 11.5 mile drop to the Selway on Sunday and head back to Boise.

I have some equipment issues to settle this week so let me know if you're interested. as of now I have 5 (including you) "maybes" and need to confirm numbers as well as start laying out details. Look forward to hearing back from you.

Getting to go on the hike depended on getting time off from work, since I normally work the shift that falls on Friday and Saturday. As soon as I got the time approved, I fired this off to Jerry:

My boss approved my time off. I am looking forward to the hike. If you have any gear recommendations please let me know. I am planning to really strip down the weight for this one, hopefully without sacrificing on warmth or water proofness. Talk to you soon.

Jerry and I had a couple of good phone conversations in the intervening time, and finally met on Friday 27th afternoon. Darla dropped me off at Jerry’s house, and, after introductions, we departed in Jerry's Sub-division (Suburban) at around 4 pm. The drive up to Boyd Creek Campground took us along highways 55, 95, 14, 13, and 12. Then near Lowell, Idaho we departed from highway 12 along the Selway Scenic River Byway. About 15-20 miles down a gravel road by the river side we came to the campground. It was by now after 10 pm. In a campsite very near the entrance of the campground we met Angie, from Spokane, a frequent poster on the Outdoors group, and her dog Kia, who would be our hiking companions for the next 2 days.
This is the point at which I realized two things I had forgotten: first, the tent stakes. Angie loaned me some of hers since she would be sleeping in her van. I went to set up my tent, and that's when I realized that, not only had I forgotten to pack my tent stakes, but I had also left the single tent pole for my REI tent at home! Sheepishly I gave Angie her stake bag back and said I wouldn't be needing it after all. On some of the other hikes that I have done this could have presented a serious problem. If there would have been rain my night bivouac on the mountain could have been a disaster. Fortunately, we had a window of very good weather forecast for the weekend. I just decided to rough it by sleeping on the ground. The campground was located by the Selway River and was sheltered by towering pine trees. I placed the nylon footprint of my tent and my Tyvek ground sheet on the bare dirt in campsite # 3 and laid my Thermarest mattress and sleeping bag on top. This would be my home for the night under the canopy of tree branches.
My open-air bivouac worked fine for the first night. The temperature was only in the low 50's. There was a light fog this morning over the mountain tops. I seemed to be the first one awake. I stumbled down to the river's edge and splashed some icy water on my face and combed my hair. Angie awoke next, followed by Jerry, who had spent the night in the back of his Sub-division. Today was the first day of our hike. In the morning light I was better able to see Angie as I could not make out her face in the darkness the night before. She appeared to be capably fit for a hike of this distance and duration. Her pack looked to have the right stuff attached to it, and I assumed that she had the correct gear on the inside as well. Kia appeared to be road-ready and enthusiastic. I commented that she was a very healthy and fit dog. I already knew Jerry's hiking resume' which is extensive. I began to wonder, as with my previous hike on the Idaho Centennial Trail with Leo, Chris, and Nick, whether or not I was going to be the "weakest link?"
Our breakfast eaten and our packing completed, we loaded everything into Angie's Windstar minivan for the shuttle to the Split Creek pack bridge and the trailhead. Jerry parked the Subdivision at the trailhead for Boyd Creek. This is where we would hopefully exit from the wilderness sometime on Sunday afternoon.
The drive along the Selway River was incredibly scenic, as was the drive along highway 12 northeast through the small town of Lowell and along the Lochsa River. As Angie drove, a music tape played in the cassette player. I listened for a bit, and then asked Angie “is that Hillsongs of Australia?” which is a worship music group. She said yes, and with that we both realized we were believers in Jesus Christ. This initiated the first of many conversations about our faith over the next two days.

After about 20 miles we came to the parking lot at the Split Creek bridge. The fog was lifting somewhat but the day was starting very cloudy. I was hoping that it wouldn't rain on us later.
I have not been in the habit of stretching prior to my hikes. However, when I saw Jerry and Angie doing stretches in the parking lot, I thought I would give it a try and see if it made any difference with soreness after the hike. I would guess that we officially started our hike at about 8:30 am pacific time or 9:30 am Boise time. Yes, we had driven far enough north in Idaho to cross into the Pacific time zone. We paused for pictures next to the trailhead sign, and crossed over the Split Creek Pack Bridge to the southern side of the Lochsa River. I thought we had really crossed over into a rain forest. The vegetation and undergrowth in the forest was definitely a change for me from what I was used to in the high desert country of southern Idaho. The trail followed the Lochsa upstream for about a quarter of a mile before turning south at the inlet of Split Creek. Here, we began our day's climbing in earnest.
Our day's climbing was to include just over 5,000 feet of vertical gain over a distance of 9.5 miles. I have tried to think of an appropriate word description that will help the reader understand what walking 5,000 feet of vertical gain in one day feels like. The best that I could come up with was "the complete loss of all will to live.” Of course this is a gross exaggeration, but at least humor me.
No one section of the trail was particularly steep in the extreme and the starting elevation was below 2000 feet along the river. The elevation would be a factor later on in the day, but it wasn't for the first few miles as we climbed up to Split Creek Ridge.
We crossed Split Creek Pack Bridge, made the turn at Split Creek, climbed along the trail through Split Creek Canyon as we made our way up to Split Creek Ridge, which eventually took us to the top of Split Creek Point. I'm sensing a theme there..... Switchback after switchback, we made our way up, and up, and up, to about the 5300 foot level, stopping for a breather when we needed to. Jerry was very fleet of foot, even though he was older than me and carrying a 40 pound pack. He would often zoom up several switchbacks ahead of me and Angie and then sit down to wait for us. I maintained my slow and steady shuffle, and so I only needed short pauses which I took while standing with my pack on. I think I only removed my pack once on the climb up to Split Creek Point, at one of our longer rest stops. We took many pictures of the surrounding mountains. When we started the hike we couldn't see the tops of them due to the low-hanging clouds and fog, but as we went higher, so did the clouds, until they had finally lifted from the mountain tops and showed us the full panorama of mountains all around us.

About halfway up the climb to the ridge, Jerry’s keen eyes spotted a bull elk on one of the far slopes. We watched the elk as he made his own way up the hill, without the use of a trail.

As we hiked, I asked Jerry what the story was behind his trail name, “Frog?” Jerry explained that he used to race dirt bikes, traveling all over the U.S.A. During one particular race, he was doing a hill climb and the bike stalled before he reached the top. The bike tipped over and he jumped off and came running down the hill trying to avoid being struck by the tumbling bike. Friends were taping the event, and later commented that his long running strides gave him the appearance of a frog. They watched it over and over and began to call him Frog. The name stuck, and he had been using it as his nickname and on his e-mail address ever since.

As the day progressed, the three of us shared hiking stories and other adventures. I learned that Jerry had many years of experience in the backcountry and as a Scout Master. He has also hiked much of the Idaho Centennial Trail, and I would look to him as a valuable resource for any future endeavors.
Sometime around 1 pm we made it to the top of Split Creek Point. I had mistakenly thought that once we got up on top of the ridge, we would merely have a long relatively flat walk most of the way to Louse Lake which was our camping destination for the night. What topographic maps don't always reveal, however, are the many turns, switchbacks, dips and climbs which add much distance to the "official" mileage calculated by the map program. We were in for a lot more uphill travel that day, but making it to Split Creek Point was quite an achievement in terms of gaining altitude. The foundation blocks and heavy bolts were all that remained of a former look out tower on the summit of Split Creek Point. From here we could see for 75 miles in any direction, all the way to the tall mountains which formed the boundary of Idaho and Montana, to the level plains near Moscow and Lewiston and clear over into Washington and Oregon. This was to be the view that we would enjoy over the next two days.
For a few hundred yards the trail crossed the saddle between Split Creek Point and the next objective, Flea Ridge. Traveling was quick over this section because we lost altitude, but then we knew we would have to regain it on the next ridge. We labored up the other side, stopping to rest around the 6300 foot mark. Taking stock of our water situation at this point, Angie was out and so was I. We began climbing again, and the trail on either side was enclosed by thick huckleberry bushes and wild raspberries. I had a few of the wild raspberries and a couple of the huckleberries. Angie feasted on the huckleberries, calling it her strategy to stay hydrated since she was out of water. Jerry still had water to spare, and I had him put 2-3 inches in my bottle twice. Jerry had been concerned about water sources along the ridge, and now I could see why. We had left Split Creek far below us in the canyon, and had not crossed so much as a trickle across the trail for the last few miles. We kept hoping that we would cross a small stream somewhere up ahead. Otherwise, we were going to have to go thirsty until we reached Louse Lake.
We continued on up the ridge. At times the trail would level out for long stretches which I welcomed. These stretches followed the contour of Flea Ridge on its west side below the summit. After a couple more miles, we found a small clear stream of water flowing across a curve in the trail. It appeared just in time as far as I was concerned. Angie filled her cook pot right out of the stream, intending to boil it for tea. I pulled out my water filter and Jerry came over to assist. He placed the intake of the pump in a small pool below the trail. The stream was only an inch deep by about a foot wide, but it was adequate. Sine there were no other creeks or ponds above it to flow out of, it was safe to guess that this stream had its source from a spring above. The water was very clear. As I pumped it, I felt the relief not only of getting to stop climbing for a few minutes and getting to sit down, but also the supreme relief that I would have water to drink again.

We filled all of our bottles in turn. I took the opportunity while we had the filter hooked up to drink a full 24 ounce bottle with some powdered Gatorade and then topped the bottle off again. Now we all had full bottles once again. Angie boiled water on her special alcohol stove made from a Budweiser can. I had seen these before for sale but had never seen one in use. There were two marks on the interior of the can, one for 7 minutes of heat and one for 15 minutes. She had filled it with de-natured alcohol to the 7 minute level and it did boil the water in that time. It burned itself out and cooled quickly. Perhaps I need to invest in one of these ultra-lightweight contraptions. Kia, not to be left out of the water party, slurped up her fill of the cold water. We were careful to make sure that all the mud she stirred up washed away before we filtered our water.

The day had turned cloudy and windy and I felt chilled. Not one to shirk the lessons of the past with hypothermia, I pulled out a long sleeve shirt and pulled it on over my other shirt. As we shouldered our burdens once again and set off, Jerry and I started a discussion about staying warm and hypothermia. He told me that he had taught his scouts two maxims for the wilderness: IT'S EASIER TO STAY WARM THAN TO GET WARM. IT'S EASIER TO STAY DRY THAN TO GET DRY.

Someone might say, well, duh! Who doesn't know that? Hard experience has taught me that it is wise to pay heed to those two rules. Exposure to the elements in the wilderness for prolonged periods is a lot different than getting caught in a cloudburst when you’re going no further than your office door out to your car, and then getting to go home and dry off. There's no hot shower and a closet of clean clothes waiting for you if you get soaked. I told Jerry that my experience had proven both of those maxims to be true
Our next objective was to climb to the top of Flea Ridge, which we did about a mile later, and then follow it for another mile to the southeast. Along this ridge we got an awesome view of two lakes, Flea Lake and Chimney Lake, both of which were about 1000 feet below. Also along this ridge during a brief rest stop, we thought we heard an animal off in the distance. We listened intently and....there it was. Off in the distance we could hear a wolf howling. It was beautiful. This was my first time to hear a wolf howling in the wilderness. Rather than being frightening, I found it to be spell-binding. We heard the howling at least four or five more times before we got up and moved on. There were a couple of places where our path was obscured by other offshoot trails. Another place near the top of Flea Ridge it appeared that our trail descended down across a saddle and then climbed to the next ridge. Here I discovered the value of having a good GPS and detailed topo maps. Jerry's Garmin GPS was a tiny unit (the Geko) but it gave us readings which confirmed our exact location on the topo map. From this we were able to discern that we were in the right position and that what we thought to be the trail was INDEED the right trail. I was impressed. Gotta get me one of them GPS units!!!
Even from the top of Flea Ridge, we still had quite a bit more walking to do. We reached a point on the ridge where Jerry had marked on his topo map as the 8 mile mark. Wow. It was starting to be late afternoon and we had only managed 8 miles. It had been a very tough day, and we still had another 1.5 miles to get to our campsite. There was nothing for it but to keep going. Fortunately the trail stayed up along the ridge with a couple of climbs of 100 to 200 feet vertical elevation but mostly it followed the contour of the west side of the ridge.

Finally, we got to a place where there were many rocks and cliffs and we could see Louse Lake below us on the eastern side of the ridge. A side trail would take us down the slope to the lake. The side trail turned out to be another 5/8ths of a mile. Twilight was coming on and an enormous full moon began peeking over the distant mountaintops in the Selway-Bitterroot wilderness. I stopped to take a picture of the full moon once it had topped the mountain. It was still light enough to see on the trail but it was fading quickly. We could tell that a group of riders had been here before us because the trail was torn up by horseshoe prints. The closer we got down to the lake the muddier the trail became. At one place a creek crossed the trail and Jerry had plunged into deep mud with one of his boots trying to move a board over the crossing. Once all three of us and Kia had descended several switchbacks down to the lake side, we each began selecting places to camp for the night. Jerry picked an open area only 30 yards from the lake. Angie went back in some trees set about 50 yards from Jerry's tent. Since I had no tent pole or stakes, I knew I was going to have another open bivouac. I selected some large trees slightly up the hill from the lake and crawled beneath them with my pack. I was very tired and simply spread my Tyvek sheet on the ground and laid down with my pack beneath my head for a pillow. Ooof....it felt so good to stop and rest…..for a few minutes, anyway. The ground under the trees was sloped at an angle and I could tell I would be sliding down my Thermarest mat all night if I were to set up here. Also, the wind had started blowing and it was starting to get cold. Angie asked Jerry for help in setting up her tent. He helped her while I continued resting. Then he walked by my "campsite" and asked if I would like him to heat some water for my dinner? I was anxious for him to do just that. Angie had her own stove and I assumed would be heating her own water for dinner. I rested for about another 15 minutes until Jerry called me and said that the water was ready. I brought my dehydrated dinner along with my spoon, ready for something hot to eat! Hooray for Chef Boyardee! Well, almost. The dehydrated dinner was spaghetti.
The place where Jerry had set up his tent was in a marshy area in the flats on the shore of the lake. There were lots of little seeps of water flowing across the flats. In fact it was kind of spongy to walk through it. Down at Jerry's tent I huddled in front of the door as he poured hot water into the inner liner bag of my dehydrated meal. I sealed the bag with the cardboard ring and waited 10 minutes for *hydration* to happen. As I waited I found that lying down on my side beneath the vestibule of Jerry's tent blocked a good amount of the chilling wind. Jerry kept offering to let me crowd into the tent with him. I really didn't want to do that. It was embarrassing enough that I had left my pole and stakes at home. It was wholly within Jerry's prerogative to keep his own tent to himself. I was prepared mentally to huddle all night under my trees. It was my fault and I was prepared to face the consequences.

The more I waited for my food to hydrate resting on my side under the vestibule, the more I thought that the vestibule might be a good compromise. Jerry's tent was an REI tent, same as mine, except that he had the Quarter Dome model, which is bigger than my Roadster model. It featured 2 vestibules and 2 doors. It is advertised as a 2 person tent, but in my opinion it is a very tight fit for two. Perhaps for a husband and wife it would be okay, but with Jerry? uh……no……
The vestibules were very spacious and I felt that if Jerry would let me stay under one of them it would block 90 percent of the wind. He agreed, although he was still offering his other half of the tent. My food was finally saturated and I dove in. The spaghetti was *steaming* as I lifted a helping on my spoon and shoveled it in. Mmmm.....now this was real comfort food. As a portion the meal was fairly small by my standards, but it was adequate, combined with the Honey BBQ Fritos I had been munching on. I would rate my dehydrated spaghetti dinner much higher than many supposedly five-star ***** meals I have eaten in swank big-city restaurants. It was so satisfying to eat something hot and it tasted awesome after our tough day of climbing 5000 vertical feet and 9.5 miles. Jerry then filled my cup with hot water and I drank it just plain. For dessert he handed me a small cup of butterscotch pudding. Man, did it hit the spot! Afterwards I didn't want to move. But since Jerry had agreed to let me sleep under the vestibule I knew I had to get up and move all my gear down from the trees to his tent.
When I got up from my meal, I noticed that my shorts were soaked on the left side and hip. Oh great.....I've been lying in the water. I had not noticed when I sat down, but there was water trickling to the sides and beneath the patch of ground where Jerry had pitched the tent. I began to realize that the entire hillside facing the lake was one big seep with many fingers branching out from the spring above. I would discover in the morning just how much water was flowing down the hill across this broad circle of land sloping down to the lake. It took me two trips to carry my partially unloaded gear and pack down from the trees to the tent. Jerry had switched his backpack from one vestibule to the vestibule on the other side so that I could fit underneath. With my flashlight I took stock of the ground I would be laying on.

There was trickling water down near where my feet would be located, but I was by now too tired to care. I spread out my tent's footprint and Tyvek sheet and then inflated my Thermarest. I arranged my clothes bag at my head under the vestibule, and spread my bag liner on the mat. I had used the sleeping bag last night but did not want to carry the weight. So I took a chance that I could get by with just the fleece liner. Well.....you win some, you lose some. Actually, the night COULD have been much worse. The night sky was devoid of even the tiniest clouds. At least it didn't rain on us. The vestibule would have kept MOST of me dry, but when I zipped it closed and reclined on my mat I discovered that my feet stuck out the end. MOST of me stayed warm throughout the night, but my feet FROZE!!! I kept waking up and rubbing my feet together trying to warm them up. I don't know how Jerry slept any with my constant tossing and turning. I woke up once thinking that it was getting almost daylight. I unzipped the vestibule and looked out. The moon had traveled about halfway across the sky and was low over the mountains to the south. It was still very bright. The night passed uneventfully, except for my frozen feet. I worried that they would get frostbite, so I periodically rubbed them with my hands. I did manage to sleep quite a bit. I hoped that Jerry was getting his sleep as well. In the morning when it was finally was daylight, I awoke to find that I was still alive and my feet were as well. The items that I had left outside the vestibule were covered in frost. The pack, the rain fly, my food, Jerry's stove, the tent vestibule, and more immediate to my situation.....my boots. My hiking boots were covered in frost. This is an excellent way to get wide awake first thing in the morning. There was nothing for it but to slide my half-frozen feet into the fully frozen boots. Yow. I had enough layers on my upper body that the morning air felt fine. It actually wasn't that cold in the air. Down near the ground, though, everything was frosted. The frost didn't last for very long as the sun rose over the mountains. I walked around the lake and did some exploring while Jerry was setting up to cook breakfast. I had to cross a lot of little trickles of water and marshy ground which surrounded the lakeside. We really had spent the night in a bog. It was apparent that from the cliffs up above there was a spring or several springs that seeped water all over the hillside and down to the lake. I crossed over to the higher ground on the east side of the lake and found several areas of flat, DRY ground which had obviously been used by large groups of campers or riders. There was a rock fire pit and lots of DRY places for a tent. Now I find out. Well the night was done and I felt reasonably rested. I wasn't even sore this morning. The stretching yesterday must have really worked. I found a trail sign, the first we had seen since departing the trailhead yesterday. The trail leading down the slope away from the lake led to Old Man Lake. We had no idea how far away that might be. The hoof prints led off down that trail, so I figured a group of riders had passed that way recently. I found a nice sized boulder beside the creek which flowed out of the lake, and sat down to sun myself and warm up. It felt nice. Soon my boots were de-frosted and I was starting to get the feeling back in my feet. Jerry came walking over to admire the awesome view off to the east and south. We were right on the western boundary of the Selway-Bitterroot wilderness and we could see for many miles off into wilderness area.
Then I walked back over to camp and got out my water filter. I didn't really want to filter out of the lake itself due to the obvious large volume of Equestrian traffic that had been tethered around the lake. So I found a seep that was deep enough and put my filter intake in. It was sufficient for pumping water. I filled all the bottles and also filled my 2 liter Platypus flex-pak. We had a long way to go today and there would be waterless stretches to cross. I didn't want to be short on water today. I knew it would make my pack heavier but it would be worth it to have plenty of water. We had 11.5 miles to go today according to Jerry's topo map program, so I wanted to have enough. Jerry heated water and ate his oatmeal. He kept asking me if I wanted some oatmeal, and I kept declining thinking that I would just have some Poptarts. I wasn't really that hungry due to my come-n-go appetite that I suffer from on mountain hikes. The more I thought about it, the better it sounded. After Jerry had turned off the stove, I finally turned and asked if he could heat the water after all. I had changed my mind. After he heated some more water I ate 2 packages of Cinnamon and Brown Sugar oatmeal. It was awesome and filling. Angie was up and around with Kia. She was beginning the process of taking down her tent. After another half hour we were all ready to go. It shouldn't be so hard placing a few items in a backpack, but it seems to take three times as long to do anything at a high elevation. The air was warming up fast as the sun rose higher and I took off all the extra layers I had worn for the night. My pack did feel heavier with the extra 2 liters but I knew it was only temporary.
Our distance for today was to be 11.5 miles, which was longer than yesterday's hike. However we knew that we didn't have to GAIN elevation as we did yesterday. The ridge we were on would be a series of ups and downs before a final descent of 5000 feet to the Selway River at the Boyd Creek Campground. However, we were in for an education on the accuracy of topo maps, even high quality topo maps such as Jerry had generated from the Idaho National Geographic map program. Our first task was to climb back up the switchbacks out of the semi-circular bowl where Louse Lake was located. Jerry darted on up the trail at his usual pace while I started trudging at my slow steady pace with Angie and Kia right behind. I was pleased when we reached the top of the cliffs where Jerry was waiting for us and I had not stopped for the entire 5/8th of a mile climb. Once we were back up on the ridge we followed it for several miles. As we were walking along the ridge, we noticed that there were lots of places where horse and mule poop was left on the trail, in various stages of *freshness* or *dryness.* There was one place where there was an abundance of dried green covering the trail. Kia was just out in front of me and Angie was walking behind me. Suddenly, Kia stopped and rolled over in the middle of the trail, saddlebags and all, rolling and covering herself with good ole horse doo....... We were like....ewwwwwww Kia!!!! No more petting for you!!!

We made excellent time along the ridge before we came to Ghost Mountain. A train of pack mules and riders was coming down the switchbacks above us, so we decided to wait for them to pass at the bottom. The party consisted of four riders, three men and one woman, on four horses, with four pack mules behind the first rider and two pack mules behind the second rider. The two men leading the pack animals I guessed to be guides. The man and woman on horseback at the rear of the procession I guessed to be clients. The woman had a Winchester rifle holstered in a scabbard on the right side of her saddle. The guides were friendly and we shared trail information in both directions. They told us their destination was Old Man Lake. We asked them how far it was from Louse Lake and they said 9 miles. The man and woman behind were not as cheery as the guides. I had the impression that they were wealthy from the way they were dressed and their bearing. They seemed to have little time for our ragtag hiking group and were anxious to press on. The group rode and soon disappeared along the trail we had just traveled. We took a short break and I had a snack. Thank goodness my appetite was active today. I was going to need the fuel.

The ascent up the switchbacks of Ghost Mountain wasn't as fearsome as they had looked from below with the horses coming down. Jerry took off up the mountain and I began my usual turtle pace with Angie behind. Once again I found that I made it to the top without stopping. Kia was once again entertaining with her excited energy. She bolted off the trail, saddlebags heaving as she ran downhill to chase a critter in the weeds. Of course she had no chance of catching the lightning fast rodents that she could see with her keen senses before we humans could. I marveled at her seemingly boundless energy. I kept telling her to save her energy because we still had a long way to go. We continued on around the western shoulder Ghost Mountain and got a view across the valley to Glover Ridge and Round Top Mountain which was to be our next objective.

Glover Ridge was our final climb before we would drop from almost 6800 feet down to the Selway River at 1600 feet. But before we could get to Glover Ridge we had to cross yet another saddle which took us first down then back up on another long climb. Angie lagged behind for a few minutes, and I commenced my slow turtle pace. To observe me doing this, a person might think that I'm taking just tiny baby steps. But I have found that this is the optimum pace for me on long climbs uphill. Faster hikers, such as Jerry, take off uphill at a jackrabbit speed, only to run out of gas somewhere up the hill (except that Jerry seldom runs out of gas). Meanwhile, I come baby-stepping along, one foot at a time, and usually I will catch up to the person ahead while they are sitting down resting with their backpack off. Then they get up again and put their pack on, and take off in a blaze once more, while I have taken a one or two minute standing rest break with my pack still on. Then I continue the trudge. Except that I never caught up to Jerry on the long climb up to Glover Ridge. I continued my slow steady pace until I reached a point where the climb started leveling off. Then I stood resting for about 5 minutes until Angie and Kia caught up.
We hiked along the western contour, just below the long flat section of Glover Ridge. After about another half mile, we finally came upon Jerry who was scouting around. He had his GPS and maps in hand and seemed to be looking for the trail. He told us that his backpack was a ways ahead and that the trail came to a junction. We could see the summit of Round Top Mountain to our east, and there was a 4WD road leading up to the top. We appeared to have come to the junction which would begin our final leg of the journey. Here we rested on some large rocks beside some pines. Jerry went to retrieve his pack which he had stowed a few hundred yards further along Glover Ridge. Angie took out her cook pot and began preparing some tea and Ramen noodles. The time was somewhere between 1 and 2 pm. For the first time since this morning I took off my pack. To me that is a big advantage of carrying a lighter load, fewer stops and mostly standing stops at that. It did feel nice to take the pack off for a while, though. I rested in a semi-reclined position on a granite slab and refilled my now empty water bottles from the
Platypus. I had enough left over for Jerry to top off his 1 liter bottle. With the Platypus empty, 4 pounds was suddenly gone from my back. Well, not really gone.....the weight had been re-distributed into my bottles which are stowed in a side mesh pocket. Psychologically, though, it was as if the weight was gone from my pack. For sure I did not miss the extra bulk riding high in my pack. The Platypus folds down flat when empty and weighs just a couple of ounces. Now I was glad that I had filled it up this morning.

After a half an hour break Jerry was anxious to get going again. Kia, however, had other plans. She had lain down beside Angie, who was eating her lunch. When we started packing up, Angie asked Kia, "Want to go for a walk?" This question USUALLY elicited a very excited response from Kia. She would bolt to her feet and wag her tail furiously, eager to please, eager for a new adventure, eager to have Angie strap on the red saddlebags. This time though, Kia remained stretched out upon the ground with her head resting between her front paws. She didn't even raise up at Angie's voice but merely rolled her eyes at Angie. It was very funny. She seemed to be saying, "I'm done, you go on." Angie prodded her a couple of times and she still refused to get up. Finally Angie had to physically pull her to a standing position so she could put the saddlebags on. Jerry started off down to the road and I followed. Angie and Kia finally got all loaded up and brought up the rear. From our resting place along Glover Ridge we bush-whacked down the eastern slope until we reached the 4WD road. As we were descending, an older couple came riding up the road on an ATV and kept going west up past Glover Ridge. It appeared that we were going to have to climb yet another steep section of trail which switch-backed up the side of Round Top Mountain. However, at the base we found another footpath bailing off the road in a generally southerly direction. There was a signpost where the trail began but no sign marker on the post. This appeared to be our desired trail; it went in the direction shown by the map at the precise place where it should be. With no signs in place it becomes a guessing game at the junctions and forks. We felt that we were playing an educated guessing game, though, with the aid of the GPS and the topo maps. A few hundred feet down the new branch of trail and we were certain we were heading down the Boyd Creek trail.
The previous day we had enjoyed cooler temperatures and cloud cover during the afternoon. This day turned out to be somewhat warmer as had been forecast. The breeze felt great up on the ridge, but when we started descending down the Boyd Creek canyon, we were on the southward facing slope, and so caught the full brunt of the afternoon sun. At least we had the advantage of moving downhill, but it was still turning into a rather warm afternoon.
Previously, I mentioned that the distance shown on a topo map does not always correspond to actual trail mileage. We found this to be very true on the Boyd Creek segment of the trail. The National Geographic topo program shows the route to head more or less in a south-by-southwest direction for about 5 miles. The line comes straight down the contour intervals on the map, descending about 800 to 1000 feet each mile. The ACTUAL trail, however, descends through many switchbacks. Many of the higher switchbacks were as much as a quarter mile in length. We walked a long way and changed direction 5 or 6 times for the little elevation that we lost from the level of the road up on the ridge above. Jerry said according to his GPS we were averaging about 2 miles per hour. According to the GPS we were only about 3 miles from the Boyd Creek trailhead, as the crow flies. We weren't crows, however.... The afternoon wore on and we walked and walked. Switchback after switchback. They did get shorter in length between turns; that at least was a good sign. After a couple more hours of mostly non-stop walking, we still looked to be only halfway down from the ridge. We could not see the Selway River yet, but at least we could see the valley over the next ridges which we knew was our destination. The higher part of the trail crossed a small stream several times. There would have been a water source had we been at the end of our water. That knowledge was at least a comfort. We all still had a good amount of water left so we didn't need to stop. I did take off my hat and wet my head down in the refreshing water. Kia plopped herself down in a pool of water, saddlebags and all. It was very funny. Too bad Angie didn't see it happen. I told her about it when she caught up to me. Had the pool of water been six inches deeper and 2 feet longer in length I would have plopped down in it myself.After a couple of hours of going hard, Angie said she had to have a half hour break. I was not opposed to it, that's for sure. The trail was descending through heavy foliage which came right up to both sides of the trail. There was no clearing to sit down off to the side of the trail, so we just stopped in the middle of the trail. Angie reclined against her pack; Jerry sat on a small berm beside the trail, and I flattened a couple of weeds so I could sit down. I still had 1 full bottle of water left. I gave one of my Power Gels to Angie and then ate the last one. I felt no appetite; only thirst at this point. After sitting for about 5 minutes, I stood up. I knew if I sat there any longer I was going to start stiffening up. I told Jerry and Angie to take their time, that I wasn't trying to hurry them. I still felt relatively strong. After about 20 minutes Jerry stood up and we loaded back up. Angie wanted to linger behind, so Jerry took off again and I started at a slower pace, intending to let Angie catch up. From this point on in the hike, I didn't see very much of either one of them. I went on for a ways and then decided to stop on the trail and wait for Angie.

I stood for several minutes until I could hear Kia's collar jingling as she trotted down the trail. I knew that Angie would be not far behind her. Angie followed me for a while and then asked if I would mind letting her go ahead. She must have been feeling revived. She took off at a brisk pace and soon left me behind. I hiked the next couple of miles by myself through the brush and branches which periodically would slap at me or scratch my shins. I was at the point where I was beyond pain -- merely a walking machine intent on reaching the finish line. As often happens, I amused myself by comparing our on-going ordeal to a scene from a movie, Ben Hur. Judah Ben Hur is made a galley slave (number Forty-One) on a Roman war ship, and is chained in the lower deck with dozens of other slaves. Their days are filled with the back-breaking labor of rowing to the beat of a master’s hammer. The corresponding soundtrack song is called “The Rowing of the Galley Slaves,” and the song reminded me of the way that the trail and our afternoon seemed to keep going relentlessly on and on. “Row well and live” became my mantra.

The trail now departed from the pattern of switchbacks zigzagging down the face of the mountain. For long stretches the trail would gently wind along the crest of a ridge heading to the southwest. Now we were drawing closer to the opposite valley and coming more directly down the hill. Then the trail would start winding around contours of the mountain, ever downward it went on and on. The left side of the trail now sloped downward at a very steep angle. Remembering the fall I took back in the John Day Wilderness a month ago, I didn't want to go tumbling off the edge in this section. Though it was heavily wooded and a tree might have stopped my fall, I just didn't want to go there. I wanted to finish strong. I love to sightsee as I hike along, just as I love to sightsee as I drive along, to my wife's dismay. The woods were beginning to get dark as afternoon faded into early evening. Dusk would be coming on soon. I had a flashlight but I wanted to get done before dark. I started to really push hard, going faster and faster. I kept thinking I would catch up to Angie soon, but it seemed like I walked forever and couldn't catch up. I was wondering if Jerry and Angie would just push straight on for the trailhead and wait for me there. I came to a clearing and there they were, resting with their packs off. Jerry had taken another GPS reading and told me that were only half a mile from the river now. I didn't take my pack off, but simply took a standing rest. I drained the last of my water bottle. I was officially out. We could periodically hear the sound of Boyd Creek, but it was too far down the ravine and too overgrown to be accessible. Just a half a mile, just a half a mile, I thought. Jerry said "Don't use up all your water yet" but I was ready to get to the ice chest of Sam's colas that I had stashed in the Sub-division. I was tired but I was still walking strong and I was in a "whatever it takes" frame of mind. I was not going to be the Weakest Link today....
Jerry and Angie had been there for a few minutes waiting on me. In a couple more minutes they stood up and put their packs on one more time, we were hoping for the last time, for the home stretch to the car. I took off in the lead with Jerry behind me. Soon we started seeing glimpses of the Selway River through the trees. We were now only a couple hundred feet above it but the trail started switch-backing again and we went through 3 or 4 turns with fairly long downhill sections. It sure seemed like it was taking us a long time to get down there. I found my stride again and began pushing hard again. I was straining for the finish line. I was very encouraged by the sight of the river below us and kept hoping the end would be just around the next turn.
When I saw the last stretch of trail with the parking lot at the end and Jerry's light blue Sub-division parked there, I went into overdrive. I was not running down the trail but I really put on the steam for a strong finish. I made it to the trailhead sign and staggered into the parking lot, first to finish. Jerry was only 15 seconds behind, and Angie finished about three minutes later. We were a tired but triumphant bunch. We exchanged high fives all around. At last we had made it. It's always a great feeling when you finish a hike of this length, and you know that no one got hurt, no one got lost, and everyone *enjoyed* the process. *Enjoying* a hike like this is....well "it's a hiker thing, you wouldn't understand." Our idea of *fun* is not always everyone else's idea of fun. It was very grueling, extremely tough, merciless, hard, why you could even say it was difficult! We certainly had had our fill of *fun* over the last two days. Now we were ready for home, except.......home was several hours away for all 3 of us. We finished at 7:30 pm on Sunday evening. Jerry told me that from the top of Glover Ridge, we had averaged two miles per hour for five hours. He thought we had covered 10 miles coming down from the ridge. Since I always tend to over-estimate my mileage in the wilderness, I wasn't ready to admit that we had descended 10 miles from the ridge. I did agree with Jerry, however, that our hike today had been a VERY LONG 11.5 miles! Now that I have had time to investigate this section in the ICT guidebook, it does say that it is 12.2 miles from the Boyd Creek trailhead up to Round Mountain. Adding that to the 4 or 5 miles we covered from Louse Lake to Round Mountain and we probably hiked 16 to 17 miles instead of 11.5.
All during the hot afternoon, all I could think about was plunging into the Selway River when we finished. My legs were filthy from the knees on down. When we finished, though, I was just too tired to walk down to the river and all the way back up to the parking lot. Jerry and Angie both went down to separate spots to wash up a bit in the river. It was after 8 when we loaded everything up in the truck. Jerry offered to buy us dinner in Lowell, if the cafe was still open. We counted the deer which were out grazing in the twilight along the road. It was about 8:45 when we got to Lowell, and the cafe was still open. After you've been eating cold spaghetti out of cans and dehydrated spaghetti out of plastic bags, a full fledged dinner is awesome. With dinner finished, we drove up highway 12 along the Lochsa River to take Angie back to her van. Kia was one whooped puppy, just like all the rest of us, except she could really say that she was dog tired. We said our goodbyes to Angie around 10 pm.

Now came the real endurance part of our day. Jerry had to be at work at 8 am on Monday morning. He estimated that we would get back to Boise about 4 a.m. I offered to spell Jerry on the driving but he made it all the way back to Boise. He dropped me off at home at 3:20 and my long day of hiking was done. I was filthy and in need of a shower, then, since it was almost 4 a.m. I decided to wait up so that I could talk to Darla when she got up for work at 4:30. It was such a huge contrast to be back from the wilderness, showered and dressed in clean clothes, stuffed on grilled chicken and salad, sitting at my PC and listening to a movie soundtrack music sampler. Civilized man once again.

You ARE the Weakest Link (G'Bye!)

2007-02-09T01:09:00.000-08:00

You ARE the Weakest Link………..G’bye!
Idaho Centennial Trail
North Fork Lime Creek, May 17th-18th, 2004

This hike was different for me, in that it was considered a “work” hike. That is, it was arranged by Leo Hennessy, the official Non-Motorized Trails Co-ordinator for the Idaho State Dept. of Parks and Recreation. He gets paid by the State of Idaho to hike all the foot trails in Idaho (it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it!) This particular hike was a small segment of the 1,200 mile Idaho Centennial Trail, which travels from the Nevada border all the way to the Canadian border. The portion we would be working on was a 13.6 mile segment from north of Grouse Butte, following the North Fork of Lime Creek past Sprout Mountain, crossing the Middle and South Forks of the Boise River, and ending at the Hunter Creek campground.

We began on Monday May 17th at the Parks & Rec offices. I had corresponded with Leo by e-mail before some months ago, and had spoken to him on the telephone, but today was my first time to actually meet him. Leo then introduced me to Chris and Nick. That’s all we ever got around to was their first names, and mine, but that worked just fine for the trip.

Chris told me to throw my stuff in the back of his Chevrolet Subdivision (it is actually a Suburban but I can’t help using Dave Barry’s phrase “Subdivision” in reference to these enormous aircraft carrier battle wagon urban assault vehicles). I walked around to the open back door and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a wolf inside the truck, staring at me. Not a real “wolf” wolf, I was to find out later. But this was “her” truck, I was a stranger, and we hadn’t been properly “introduced” yet. I took a couple of steps back and waited for Chris to come to the back of the truck with some gear. The “wolf” moved back at Chris’ command and allowed him to crawl inside so he could arrange the gear that I handed him.

Nick rode with Leo in a brand spankin’ new white state-owned Chevy 4 door 4WD pickup, which still had the new car smell inside the cab. I rode with Chris and we set off toward Interstate 84 and Mountain Home. Chris and I got acquainted as we rode along. I asked him what the dog’s name was and he said “Keba.” She was part Husky, part Alaskan Malamute, and two-thirds Wolf (I’m still trying to do the math on figuring out that geneaology). She was 14 years old and she went hiking everywhere with Chris. I thought: this will be a different hike, kind of cool actually, that we would be hiking with a dog, and part wolf at that.

We got off the freeway at Mountain Home, and Chris got his tank filled up courtesy of the State of Idaho. Not a bad thing when you drive a Subdivision, and gas is over $2 a gallon. This is kind of nice, having the state pay for your transportation to go hiking. We took Highway 20 north and east out of Mountain Home, and turned off on a dirt road called Castle Rock Road. This road, Leo had told us, was a portion of the Centennial Trail which used an existing dirt road, and he had already “signed” this portion of the trail. We could see the brown flexible posts and the small white reflective signs with the ICT logo on them. This was a taste of the work we would be doing tomorrow, Tuesday, on the trail we would be hiking.

We dropped off the state vehicle at the Hunter Creek campground, which would be the endpoint of our hike. We had to drive several miles of 4WD dirt road to get to the campground, and then several miles back to the asphalt, with Leo and Nick now riding with us in the Subdivision. We stopped in Featherville at a “mom and pop” café called Bob and Jenny’s Kitchen (or something like that). The menu actually had elk and buffalo steaks and burgers on it. I thought about ordering elk or buffalo, but settled for the 12 ounce steak special (the ordinary cow kind), which was awesome. A nice big meal the night before our big hike. We then got back in the Subdivision and found the turn-off for Grouse Butte road. It was a nicely graded dirt road, which would be passable for most cars, except it was a bit wash-boarded. Leo was working from distant memories and an incomplete map. We picked our way through a couple of intersections and a Y fork in the road to get to a one-lane winding road that climbed steeply toward a saddle below Grouse Butte.

The saddle was where we found our trailhead. There was a tremendous view to our north of snow-capped mountains which were just before the Sawtooth range. To our south, we could see the top of Grouse Butte, which we would climb tomorrow. Chris parked the Subdivision right in the middle of the intersection. This place was remote enough that we didn’t think there would be anyone else coming along to use the road.

We set up our tents and Chris built a small campfire. He would be sleeping in the back of his Subdivision with Keba. Nick heated water for hot chocolate and we sat in comfortable chairs as darkness came on. Keba laid on the ground about 15 feet away. She seemed to know that tomorrow would not be a day for resting. Smart wolf…er…. dog…..whatever…..

The forecast was for rain starting at midnight, and a 70% chance of rain for tomorrow. I awoke sometime in the night to the pit-pat of rain drops hitting my tent. Then I took a Benadryl and drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain.

The next thing I knew, it was light, it was raining harder, and one of my socks felt wet. The other guys were standing under the trees where I had pitched my tent. One of them said, “Good morning, Ron!” I opened the rain fly and was astonished to see that, instead of the rain I expected, it was snowing! Hard! There were big, fat, wet, slushy flakes falling. Chris called, “Put on your shell gear” and Nick asked me if I wanted some hot water. I didn’t tell him that I didn’t have anything to put in it, but gratefully accepted a cup of hot water to warm my hands with and warm up with a drink. I felt totally unprepared for the snow. Not to mention that I was the last one awake, and they were all ready to go hiking and they were waiting on me to get up and get ready. This feeling of being behind was to characterize my entire day.

If you have ever seen the TV game show “The Weakest Link” you will be familiar with the famous phrase “You ARE the Weakest Link…..G’bye!” Before the trip, I had shared with Darla that I was hoping that I could keep up with the other hikers. I’m not accustomed to being the weakest member of a hiking group, and I was under the impression that I would be hiking with some elite hikers. I told her I didn’t want to be considered as the “weakest link.” However, the realities of the day were about to teach me a lesson.

I frantically got dressed in my tent, suited up in my rain gear, and started folding the mat, sleeping bag, and tent. Everything was getting wetter by the minute, including my head and hands. Not a good way to start off a 13 mile hike in the cold. I didn’t want to hold things up because I knew the guys were ready to start and we had a long way to go. I wolfed down my Blimpie’s sandwich that I had left over from last night. Finally I was packed up. We threw our camping gear into the back of the Subdivision and prepared to set off. Leo said that he was going to “take it easy” and try to pace himself.

We started off climbing, with an 800 foot elevation gain ahead of us to get to near the top of Grouse Butte (elev. 7500+). The snow abated soon after we departed, leaving a light coating of slush all over everything. The trail, thankfully, was just mostly wet now. A light rain contined to fall. Misty clouds hung over the distant peaks to the west of the trail.

The group, including Keba, soon left me far behind. I was already aware that I am a slow climber, but trying to keep up with them soon left me with my heart pounding and my lungs gasping for air. I would have to slow my pace down and rest often, as I usually do when climbing at high elevations. Altitude affects different people differently, and this is the way it affects me. Already, the phrase “You ARE the weakest link…..G’bye” was echoing in my brain. These guys are going to get mad at me for holding them up, I thought. They wanted to keep a strong pace and finish the hike in about 7 hours. As I continued to climb the mile and a half towards the top, fleeting thoughts began, of calling off the hike, that I could offer to drive Chris’ truck back around to the Hunter Creek campground and meet them there. No, it wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do! (a little Chronicles of Narnia there).

I shook off the momentary weakness and pushed on toward the top. Somewhere along the way, Nick came back down the trail to check on me. I told him I was sorry for holding them up, and he said, “That’s okay. We’ve got all day.”

When I joined the others at the top, they were beginning to work on putting up trail signs. They nailed ICT signs and arrows to both sides of an existing trail post. Then a nearby tree was selected to place an additional sign. Leo relieved me of carrying the plastic Tupperware box with the nails.

Now that our trail turned downhill for the remainder of the hike, I was better able to keep up with the group….at least for a while. We began to encounter some snow banks about two feet deep on the eastern side of Grouse Butte. Keba came alive when she saw the snow. She began running and jumping around and playing in the snow as if she were a puppy. She was in her element.
We soon came to another intersection and installed some more signs. Leo had brought a couple of small hand saws, which were amazingly sharp. Nick and I cut down some small trees and branches in the line-of-sight down the trail from the signpost above, so that Chris could tack up a sign on a live tree that would be visible from above. We continued on into thickening stands of aspen, and noted grafitti that had been carved into the aspens many years ago by some Spanish-speaking group of hikers. They had taken a lot of time to write “pages” of material on these tree trunks. The passage of time and growth of the tree had given a “raised letter” look to these letters. I remember the phrase “recuerdos de ruta” or “memories of the trail”on a couple of the trees.

I was keeping pace with the group now, and put on a burst of energy to stay with them for a mile or so. The burst, however, soon went bust….

I had suspected beforehand that I might be the weakest link in the chain; that I was going to be in the company of some very elite hikers. I was right. I soon began to fall behind as they pushed ahead at a very brisk pace.

As the cloudy sky began to clear and the rain gave way to intermittent sunshine, I began to warm up inside my rain gear. The wind had also abated now that the trail had turned south off the saddle and was descending into the canyon through which ran the N.F. of Lime Creek. My shell gear, especially the pull-over nylon pants, was beginning to be a nuisance. The shell pants kept sagging way down, no matter how much I cinched the side straps. It was as if I were wearing a pair of the baggy jeans that are so popular with my boys and their generation. I stopped and wrestled the pants off over my now-muddy and wet hiking boots. I stowed the pants and the wet jacket inside a plastic bag to keep the rest of my pack’s contents dry. Down off the ridge and descending through this canyon, it was warmer and now I could function comfortably in shorts and a T-shirt.

Up again, I soon came upon the other three guys ahead of me, who had stopped to do the same thing I had just been doing: removing their shell gear. I took the opportunity to sit on a log while they changed. It was a respite for me, but it was short-lived. Soon they were ready to push on, and just as quickly I was out-paced again.

This was to be the pattern for the remainder of the day. I would catch up to the group. The group would be resting waiting for me to catch up. I would arrive winded and breathless, and they would be already rested and ready to take off again. I would get a couple of minutes to catch my breath before they were on their feet and ready to move on down the trail. I would be able to keep up with them for a short while, then I would start falling behind……..”you ARE the weakest link! G’bye!” I knew they weren’t intentionally leaving me behind….this was just their natural pace. My natural pace is slower and I take more frequent rest stops, especially when going uphill.

Thus, I spent a good portion of Tuesday hiking through the wilderness by myself. It reminded me of the hike last summer in the Sawtooths when Daniel, Russell, and Dustin raced ahead of me to Grandjean because of the Canyon Creek fire in the distance. I spent about 8 miles of that 11 mile day by myself as well.

Our path continued through the winding canyon of the N.F. of Lime Creek for several miles. We had been told that we could expect between 5 to 7 crossings of Lime Creek, that could be from knee-deep to waist-deep. I had wondered, when I read this, if Leo was a short guy? Would what was considered waist-deep to him be only knee-deep to me? This turned out to be the case. Leo and Nick were in the mid five foot range, while Chris and I were both about 6 foot 3 inches. We made somewhere between 25 and 30 crossings during the day, counting the Middle and South Forks of Lime Creek and Hunter Creek. Leo said he lost count after 22 crossings. Most of the crossings were in the ankle to mid-calf depth for me, with only a couple that reached to my knees or a little above to nip the bottom edge of my hiking shorts. For the first few crossings, I tried to keep my boots and socks dry by rock-hopping or jumping over the creek where possible. As the hike progressed, and I fell further and further behind the group, and the crossings got wider, deeper, and more complicated, with fewer stepping stones or fallen logs, I just took to wading on through in my hiking boots. The water temperature was warmer than some of the icy creeks I have forded in the past, such as Trail Creek near Grandjean.
I was packing my river shoes, but it would have taken too long to stop, take off my boots and socks, put the river shoes on, wade across a few feet, then take off the river shoes, dry my feet, put the socks and shoes back on, stow the wet dripping shoes in my pack, put the pack back on, and continue walking. In fact this was the only way I was able to gain ground on the group ahead. While they were searching for dry places to cross, I just plunged on through and then squish-squish-squished all the water out of my boots as I went.

The sky was now blue and the sun was shining. The day was warming up. Every time we came to an intersection or a branch in the trail, we would install some of the small rectangular trail signs that said Idaho Centennial Trail, with additional arrow signs pointing the correct way. This being my first time on the trail, I found some of the intersections to be confusing. If I were thru-hiking the ICT, I would be grateful for these direction signs. I can’t imagine trying it without maps or directional signposts. A wrong turn could put a person MILES off course way out in the wilderness. The trail IS your lifeline. Some people like to “bushwhack” cross country with map, GPS and/or compass. I’m not there yet. I stick to the trail.

Our lunch break came fairly close to straight-up noon. By that, I mean that I looked up at the sun which was temporarily shining, and it was almost straight up in the sky. Somewhere near Fox Gulch, still to the northeast of Sprout Mountain, I caught up to the guys, who were sitting off to the side of the trail. We had stopped on a steep embankment about 200 feet above the creek. They had their shell gear laid out on the rocks around them to dry. Keba was lounging on the ground near Leo. She was taking the chance to snooze while the snoozing was good. That sounded good to me, but I knew that even in resting that I had to work fast. I spread my vapor-barrier sheet on the trail and started eating my lunch. It felt so good to stop for a break. I had been running behind the pack ever since I woke up this morning. We sat for a while and watched the clouds off to the southwest beginning to build up again. A couple of times we heard the faint rumble of thunder off in the distance. We knew that we would probably soon be wet again.

The curving section of the canyon acted as a wind tunnel. The breeze began feeling chilly again, so back went on the jackets. The rest stop wasn’t nearly as long as I had hoped it would be, but it helped. I put away an entire quart of Gatorade, which dropped my pack weight a pound or so. The packets of cheese nips, peanut butter crackers, and chocolate chip cookies had worked well as lunch material. I saw that Chris had a pack of tortillas and a small block of cheese, and I thought that sounded like a good idea for my next hike. For Keba, he carried a pack of hot dogs.

We hit the trail again. Leo hung back while Chris, Nick, and I headed down the trail. Fueled by lunch, I kept up with the pace for a few hundred yards as we were descending, but then I began to fall behind. I just couldn’t hold their pace. Leo soon came up behind and passed me by. Here we go again….

As we passed to the east of Sprout Mountain, the land began to subtly change. The canyon began to widen and the trees thinned out. About an hour after lunch, the sky got dark and it began to rain again. Everyone stopped ahead under a sheltering tree. They were putting their shell gear on. The rain got heavier, the thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and then it began to hail. The small thermometer on Nick’s backpack strap dropped from the low 50’s down to 39 degrees. The group soon pulled away from me yet again. I stopped to rest under some trees just as the hail began in earnest. Fortunately, I was positioned under a good sheltering tree, which kept the brunt of the hail off of me. I assumed the men ahead of me were doing the same thing; surely they weren’t trying to keep hiking in this hail. The trail ahead began to climb and it was exposed. I wasn’t about to attempt to go on while marble-sized hail was coming down.

After about 15 minutes, the hail slackened, and I continued on. The trail was now covered in thousands of white ice marbles. It wasn’t until a half mile later or so that I caught up with the group again, who had been slowed by a series of beaver dams in the creek which had obscured the trail ahead. The guys were all looking worriedly at me.
Great…..as if I didn’t already feel like the “weakest link.” They asked me if I were beginning to feel hypothermic? I said that my hands were cold, but the rest of me felt fine as long as I kept moving. I have to admit that I was getting a little cold under my nylon windbreaker. The cold and wet day had exposed a big weakness in my gear selection for the hike. My shell gear, namely my jacket, according to Chris, was only water RESISTANT and not water PROOF. What I needed, all the guys were telling me, was a specialty jacket made of waterproof breathable material, such as Goretex, with a fleece liner. This would allow me to both stay dry from the rain, and to ventilate the water vapor from my hiking exertions out through the porous fabric.

I had improved my hiking clothes significantly from past hikes, when I just blindly went off into the wilderness wearing cotton-everything. Cotton is commonly known as “Death Cloth” in hiking circles. I had upgraded to polyester shirts which wick moisture from your body and dry quickly, nylon shorts which dry quickly after wading a creek. So the underlayers were good, but my gloves, hat, and jacket were not keeping me dry. Nor were my socks, which, along with my boots, were soaked from all the creek crossings we had made. I knew what hypothermia felt like, and I wasn’t there yet, but I knew that if I didn’t keep moving along that I was going to be there in about another hour or so. And all I wanted to do was stop moving and catch my breath.

All the guys looked worried that I was going to get it. Chris had probably shared with them my hypothermia story from the Seven Devils hike which I had told him about while we were on the drive up to Featherville. They said they would stop and build a fire for me if I started shivering. I was glad for their concern, but it served to motivate me as well. If these experienced, veteran hikers were worried about me getting hypothermia, I knew that I should be concerned as well. It served to “light the fire” of motivation in me from that point on in through the end of the hike. I had been the “weakest link” all day long….I wasn’t about to make these guys have to go into rescue mode and carry me out of the wilderness like a bundle of firewood. No, sir……

It was time to quit holding back. I had dry stuff in my pack, and it was time to get serious about the weather. My pack had been much heavier than I had planned for this hike. Because of the heavy snowfall this morning, I had panicked and threw an extra shirt in with the dry extra clothes I was carrying, and I had also packed my heavy coat in a plastic bag to keep it dry. See…..I did learn something from my previous cold-weather hike in the Seven Devils. I took off my wet nylon jacket and put on the long-sleeved flannel shirt. Leo loaned me his polar-fleece shirt over the long sleeve shirt, and then I put my coat on over all that. Leo also loaned me his polar-fleece gloves and a fleece skull cap (mine got soaked in my pack’s mesh pocket) to put on under my wet hiking hat.
As a further backup, I still had an emergency space blanket I could use, and I still had some chemical hand warmers, as well as soup and other food I could eat for fuel to burn.

Within a minute of putting all the warm gear on, I could feel myself beginning to warm up. Nick pulled out a Cliff Bar and gave it to me for some quick energy. I gratefully accepted it. I also drank from my water bottle to stay hydrated. The hail came on strong for a second time, but this time it was briefer than before.

We lost the trail for a bit at the beaver dams I mentioned above. The dams had widened the creek and made it a lot deeper in places. We couldn’t tell if the trail continued on the east side of the creek, or remained on the west side. Leo thought it stayed on the west side as the map suggested, and bush-whacked ahead to try to pick it up. Nick, Chris, and I (and Keba) thought it went across to the east side. Leo thought he had found the trail, so we bush-whacked also to catch up to him. Then we could see a clear path over on the OTHER side. Leo said, “oops.” Now we had to get across the much wider and deeper creek. In order to get across, we had to hop or balance over a series of smaller beaver dams to get to a particularly wide section just before the bank. There was a large fallen tree to walk over, but it required a balance beam act, which can be tricky when the log is wet and slick and you are carrying a heavy backpack. The other three guys crossed ahead of me (Keba did a combination of jumping and swimming).

This was the trickiest crossing that I had to do the entire day. I couldn’t just wade on through because the water was much deeper here and I couldn’t see or feel the bottom with my hiking pole. I got about halfway over the log then started to wobble. I thought for a second that I was going to tumble into the drink, which would not have helped my hypo-situation at all. One guy said ‘come ahead,’ one guy said ‘go back,’ and another said ‘do you need another hiking pole?’ I gathered my resolve, regained my balance and took the last few steps over the log. Then I grabbed Leo’s extended hiking pole and made the last jump over to the other bank. I’m glad that I made it across. The guys had been watching me like I was the “weakest link” and a tumble in the creek would not have been a good thing for my already bruised ego.

The group discussed the distance remaining before us. We were now within a mile of the Middle and South Fork crossings of Lime Creek. Leo and Chris were moving the fastest, so they came up with the plan to go on ahead of us and put the signs up at those crossings. Nick, meanwhile, would hang back with me. This seemed like a good idea, but Nick soon realized that he had the container for the nails in his pack. So he zipped on ahead for a while and caught up with the others, then dropped back to walk with me.

We finally came out of the long canyon of the N.F. of Lime Creek, and the land opened up into a wide valley which was full of beaver dams and scrubby brush. We had now passed through the transition zone from alpine forest back into high desert. The undergrowth changed to sagebrush. The trail now turned to the east for about a mile and a half. My progress was slow, but Nick stayed back with me. Another problem had surfaced for me. I was persistently short of breath, and it was not just from the high altitude and fast hiking, as I had been assuming all day long. I now realized that the cold winds of this morning had activated my dormant asthma. This is the reason I can’t really actively pursue walking in the winter time. Another “weakest link” moment for me in a day of moments…

Nick had hiked this portion of the ICT before, but it was many years ago and he was traveling from south-to-north then. He said everything looked different going the other way. I enjoyed talking with him as we walked. I told him where I worked, and he said that he was retired. He looked to me as if he had several more years of hiking left in him. Here’s a guy who’s retired, has two hearing aids, but who has a lot of years experience hiking. Leo had told me earlier in the day that he had one artifical hip. Chris was a few years younger than I am, and has been on the famous “Death Hike” in the Sawtooths. And his wolf-dog, Keba, had left me in the dust several times today. Remember, she was 14 years old…..14 years in dog years is 98 years old to you and me, folks. Talk about a humbling day….

We finally caught up to Leo and Chris, who were resting at the fence before the Middle Fork crossing. They had finished installing the signs, and were now debating whether to put on their water shoes for the crossing, or to just go for it in their boots. Chris finally decided “Aww…it’s only 2 crossings and then 2 more miles to the end after that!” With that he got up and just plunged right on through the creek, as I had been doing all day long. This was one of only two crossings that actually got over my knees. It was also much wider than all the other crossings that we had made.

In less than a half mile, we came to the South Fork crossing; it too was a knee-deep wade for me (almost waist deep to Leo and Nick). All we had to do now was follow the trail up Hunter Creek and we would be back to the parking lot at the Hunter Creek campground, where the state vehicle was parked and waiting for us. Leo said that he thought it was about another mile, but I could tell the further that we walked, and from looking at the map, that it was going to be longer than that. The single-track trail that we had been following all day long became a 4 wheel drive dirt road after we passed through an abandoned trailhead parking lot where there were some hitching posts and a corral for livestock. The road turned to the southeast and then to the east as it climbed gradually. We followed it for two miles before we finally reached the trailhead. My progress was very slow even on a relatively flat trail. I had told Nick that I was going to finish if I had to crawl the rest of the way. Keep 51% of your mind and body going, that’s the formula for successful backpacking.

Leo and Chris had been at the trailhead for about a half hour before us. Their wet gear was strewn all over the sides of the white state pickup. It had been a grueling day, but I was glad that I didn’t give up. We had come over 13 miles in 8 hours. It was sure nice to stop walking and take off my pack. I was very glad to open my ice chest and pull out a cold Gatorade and pass around a Sam’s cola to everyone. I was very tired, but it would be vehicle travel from now until we reached home some hours later. I’m grateful to Leo for putting this trip together and allowing me to go along.

…even if I was the weakest link….G’bye!

Ron Whittaker
May 30, 2004

When Hell('s Canyon) Freezes Over

2007-02-09T01:07:00.000-08:00

This account is from my first attempt (failed, but lessons learned) to hikearound the Seven Devils Mountain in Hell's Canyon Wilderness. _____________________________________________________
When Hell('s Canyon) Freezes Over September 8-9, 2003
"If the mountain defeats you....where then will you go?"

Home. We have returned from a Lord of the Rings style adventure of hiking in the Seven Devils Mountains on the Idaho side of Hell's Canyon. We went to the Misty Mountains, met the Riders of Rohan, crossed the Dead Marshes, journeyed through elven woods, and were turned back by Caradhras.
Glen and I left early Monday morning and drove up to Riggins, Idaho along highways 55 and 95, which are an adventure experience unto themselves. Just south of Riggins we turned on 517 which is a one-lane gravel road which climbs about 5000 feet for 17 miles to the Windy Saddle campground. Here also was the northern trailhead for entry into Hell's Canyon wilderness and the Seven Devils Mountains, or as Glen calls them, the Mary Magdalene Mountains (out of whom Jesus had cast seven devils). Upon arriving we learned why this area was named Windy Saddle. The promised front from the Gulf of Alaska arrivedin full force. The wind began to gust and snow began to fall. Within 20 minutes there was about an inch of snow on the car and the snow was still coming. We hauled our packs over to the bathrooms to shelter from the cold wind and stinging snow, and made our final preparations. Glen was using my navy blue Jansport pack with about 60 pounds of gear, the way I used to backpack. The Llamanator pack weighed 31 pounds, but I knew that about 7 of that was consumables so I hoped to see it drop significantly over the next couple of days. This was going to be a first for me, backpacking in the snow. Our plan was to hike the 27 mile loop trail that goes all the way around the Seven Devils, taking 3 days and 2 nights. We had enough gear and food to handle freezing nights and a long march, but we knew that we needed to stay flexible and reserve the option to retreat if the weather got worse. We started off with a "let's see what happens" approach.
The trail descended to the north about 400 feet into the forest, and then bent around to the west. The wind was not as bad now that we were down off the Saddle and in the shelter of the tall pines. The snow was still comingdown, but it was more like rain after it hit you. The ground was warm enough to keep most of it from sticking. This was just a wet walk in the woods so far. We could tell we were in wide open spaces with sweeping views, but the low clouds and mist and snow kept us from seeing more than the next ridge over. The trail wound along the mountainside, passing for a half-mile beneath a massive granite cliff that towered above. We then entered thick forest again as the trail bent around to the north and began to climb over the bulge of the next mountain ahead.
After about 2 miles we stopped for a rest and ate lunch. It was still snowingand some of the snow was beginning to stick in places. The trail was still just wet and muddy. At one point while we were eating, Glen asked me if I heard something. He had heard a noise off in the trees up ahead. No, I didn't hearanything. We loaded our packs again and trudged onward and upward. We came to a turn and I stopped to examine a curious-looking set of tracks in the snow.They looked like a medium-sized child's bare footprint, except wider and slightly rounded, with individual toes. The way it was still snowing, the tracks did not look very old. I'm guessing that it was a bear, and that could have been the noise that Glen heard. I took a picture of the tracks so that I can compare them to known animal tracks. After seeing the tracks, we began to talk louder and make more noise as we went along, just so we wouldn't surprise whatever it was that made those tracks! The trail continued climbing at a gradual rate, as we wound along with the curvature of the mountainside, turning back to the west and then beginning to make a long sweeping turn to the south. Here we began to descend into a large valley. We switch-backed down through the trees until we came out into the open and crossed a long downward stretch along a rock slide area that went for about a mile. Now we began to see through the mist some very big mountains ahead which we assumed were the northern side of the Seven Devils. Snow was still falling intermittently now. We were making very good progress, despite the snow, mud and occasional water puddle on the trail. At the end of the rock slide, the trail again turned to the west as it descended into thick forests. The snow began to fall heavily again. Winding through the forests, we crossed some marshy ground that Glen dubbed "the Dead Marshes." After our first creek crossing, which was quite low and manageable by hiking standards, we met two men hiking with their dogs. The dogs were soaking wet, shivering, whining, and looked miserable. The men said they were coming down from several days of camping near Basin Lake. They said it was snowing like crazy up in the higher elevations, and that they had seen a bear near He Devil Mountain. I mentioned that the dogs looked like they were shivering, and one guy said, "Yeah, they're pretty miserable. Their paws are sore from walking on all the rocks. Last night I had to let my dog crawl in the sleeping bag with me, she was so cold. We'll get them dried off and out of this as soon as we can." We shared trail information with them and then pushed on. After a mile or so in the trees, we came to another rockfall area and began to climb the switchbacks. Up ahead Glen could see a mule train coming down the mountain. There were about 3 people and about 8 mules. These we dubbed "the Riders of Rohan" later on. They said that they were coming down from their summer camp. The mules were loaded with heavy saddlebags, axes, and supplies. The riders were wearing long overcoats against the wet snow and cowboy hats. The lead guy said that it was miserable weather for us to be out backpacking, implying strongly that we shouldn't be out here. I thought, but you don't understand about having to schedule ahead of time and co-ordinatetime off from work to go do this, and besides we can't control the weather,and we've come all this way, and why are you looking down on us for trying to enjoy the wilderness? We stepped off the trail to let the mule train pass. The wind picked up and the snow was coming down heavily as we crossed the exposed rock slide.
We finally reached the top of the saddle and into a thinned-out forest. The ground became more level, but the snow was also sticking up here and there was more water standing in big puddles or running in a trickle down the trail. We came finally to the Iron Phone Junction, where three trails converged. One trail headed west to Dry Diggins Lookout and Bernard Lakes. The second trail headed back to Windy Saddle, the direction that we had come from. The third trail, 124, the one we wanted, headed south along the western edge of the Seven Devils. Somewhere about 10 miles south was Horse Heaven, where we would turn again back to the north on our planned circuit of the Devils. We continued down this trail, hoping to make it to Hibbs Cow Camp within a mile. At this point, the snow and wind were becoming blizzard-like. I was ready for a rest stop, so we went behind some scraggly trees which only partially kept the wind off. I was becoming cold and reached in my pack for a long-sleeve shirt, which I put on over my other shirt, but under the shell jacket. As long as we kept moving, I was generating enough warmth, but now my hands were getting very cold and so were my feet. We ate and talked about the weather and our hike. At the start of the hike, we said a prayer and asked God for His protection, and that He would give us discernment about the weather and if we needed to turn around. Along with being cold, a tendon behind my left knee felt as though it were on fire with every step I took. It seemed wise to us at this point not to push ahead into the unknown. It was now 4 pm. If we got into heavier snow on the western side of the Devils, or if my knee or Glen's bad knee gave out, we would in a very remote area away from the car and away from help. We both were in agreement that we should turn around and head in the direction of the car. We would seek a sheltered place for the night out of the wind in the forest below us. We would later be glad for this decision. .....continued.....

.......and now for our exciting conclusion.......we find our heroes camped high in a forest somewhere in western Idaho......

We went back down the switchbacks across the rockfall, seeing much evidence on the trail of the passing of the mule train....Bleah.....About 20 minutes after turning around, we were at the bottom of the rockfall area and back in the pine trees. We walked a few hundred yards further and stopped to rest and sit down on a big log by the trail. The snow had tapered off, and now the sun started peeking through the clouds above the saddle from which we had just descended.....great....the sun came out and some blue sky started showing through a break in the clouds. We shook our heads and grinned. Just a while before we had been up there in the middle of what seemed to be a blizzard.
While we were sitting, a pair of hikers came down the trail. The couple saidthey were also chased out of the high country by the storm. They asked about camping sites up ahead and we told them about one a ways back where someone had already built a firepit. Stage II burn restrictions were still in effect statewide, but as cold as we felt in the middle of this soggy wet weather, we were ready to light it up. It felt good to stop and rest, but once I stopped moving I began feeling colder by the minute. My boots were soaked and my hands were only about half warmed up. We shouldered our burdens once again and got moving. It wasn't long before we caught up with the couple who had passed us. They had found the campsite we were talking about, which was a clearing under the trees next to the creek we had crossed earlier. We looked enviously at the firepit, but felt we would be rude to invite ourselves to camp with them. They already had their tent and warm sleeping bags almost set up. We wished them a warm and safe night, hop-scotched across the creek, and slogged on up the trail. After another half mile, we found a place that looked like it would be suitable for the night. It had a fire ring of stones and some semi-flat spots for pitching a tent. It was also nicely sheltered from the wind.In my continuing quest to shave weight from my gear, for this trip I had chosen a simple poly tube tent, which was nothing more than an orange piece of 2.5 mil polyethylene thin sheet tubing. Setup was simply a matter of stringing a guy line between two trees after first threading it through the orange sheeting. When set up, the "tent" was a triangle with a base of about 5 feet across, and a height of 3 feet. If you really want to know the dimension of the hypotenuse of the tent's sloping sides, you can do the math.....I have already solved two/thirds of the equation for ya..... : ) Overall, my poly tube tent did okay. It was very light to pack and easy to set up. It's main disadvantage was that the inside ridgeline was covered with condensation in the morning, even though there was ample ventilation. With my vapor barrier ground sheet placed in a suitable flat space and my guyline strung between the two trees, my little orange house was set up for the night. I crawled in and took off all my wet clothes and put on the dry ones that I had in the pack. Glen was over on the other side of the trail peeling off all his damp clothing and getting into dry stuff. Earlier, I had put on my long shirt which I was planning to save until night time. Even though it was made of a quick-drying material, it was soaked and the air was too cold and damp to do much good in drying it out. We had worn rain gear most of the day, but when you're backpacking you're still generating moisture under all the plastic. So you wind up as wet on the inside as you are on the outside. Now I was in dry clothing, but I was quite chilled. I unrolled my fleece liner and the Llama-hyde quilt and unrolled my ThermaRest mattress. While Glen was getting his tent situated and hanging his wet stuff from a tree, I got under the covers to try to warm up. My covers were warm, but my body was really chilled, especially my feet. Glen made several attempts to get a fire going in the fire ring, but the available wood was soaked along with everything else. We really could have used a warm fire to dry our wet stuff and get warmed up. All he could get was a lot of smoke and a few quick flaring flames from dried pine needles. Oh well, we will have to do without a fire. I stayed covered up for a while, which helped as long as I stayed there. But I had gear strewn all over the rocks outside my tent, and we needed to go filter some water, and go eat, and stow the food for the night. When I got up I started shivering, and I stumbled over my words. Uh oh, I know what that leads to.....the big H....Hypothermia......Glen said he felt it too. It was only the minor beginnings of hypothermia, but you have to act to reverse the process or it can go downhill fast. He handed me one of his extra thermal underwear shirts which he had hanging on a tree. It was only slightly damp. Within a minute of putting it on, I could feel a difference. Then he handed me his down coat, which although wet on the outside was still dry inside. Almost immediately I began to feel it starting to warm me up.
We hiked back down to the creek running beside the trail and filtered some water with my Pur filter. Then we went back to camp and gathered up all the food and trash from our packs and hiked 200 yards up the trail in the other direction. Glen offered me some of his Spaghetti O's and I scarfed down a can. I had been feeling nauseated and none of my food sounded appealing, but those cold Spaghetti O's somehow hit the spot. Then I had some slices of his Cracked Wheat Hazelnut bread....mmm......after Glen ate, we stowed our food bag under a large boulder. We were just too wiped out and cold to try to hang it. We simply ate in a different location than our camp, and put our food out away from the camp. While we were eating, the clouds rolled back in and it began to lightly snow. It was time to get back under the covers. After hiking back down to camp, I gave Glen his down coat back and thanked him. He had really ministered comfort to me in the last hour or so, and I was grateful for the help. With the food in my belly and feeling a lot warmer, I crawled in my tent for the night. To keep the edges of the poly tube tent stretched out, I used a combination of my wet clothes, rocks, the semi-empty pack, and my wet Nike hiking boots.
How terrible all this sounds, the reader might be thinking about now. Why put up with all this yucky weather, cold, wet misery and suffering? My viewpoint is, the going IS the adventure; that is to say, the things that happen along the way are just part of the deal, and they make it interesting to tell the tale of the journey later on. As long as you survive the experience, I suppose.....It's worth the experience, good, bad, and indifferent, for the telling of a true story and for having the memories of going. I can close my eyes and see awesome scenery and remember.....I went there. At some point in the night, the clouds went away and a bright full moon shone down on our little clearing from the jagged peaks above. I slept on and off, seeming to wake about once every hour. I had this kind of rotisserie thing going on, turning one quarter turn every so often, from my back, to my left side, to face down, to my right side, on my back again, and on and on.....but I was warm. I could hear Glen periodically coughing or tossing about over in his tent. He said later that his bag was warm, but he just couldn't get comfortable on his Thermarest mat. I also noticed that his borrowed dome tent looked to be a child's tent. He had no room to stretch out totally except in the diagonal, and even then he still couldn't completely stretch out. He said that he always has trouble getting a good night's sleep while camping. Ron snored, I found out in the morning, though I don't remember it. So I guess I got some sleep after all. There were little sparkles of frost reflecting off the ground when I got up before dawn to visit the third tree on the left (let the reader understand.....) My hiking boots even had some frost on them, as did the rainfly of Glen's tent.
Around 8 am we began to stir and rose to greet the frigid morning. The sun had still not risen enough to clear the cliffs above us, but we were encouraged to see some blue sky this morning. It didn't last for long, though, as the clouds began moving in over the Seven Devils. It took us until about 10 to get everything packed up, and by that time the clouds had begun to turn into darker and darker shades of gray. We knew what was coming. Sure enough, the flurries started to fall as we began hiking. We noticed, though, that the clouds were higher than yesterday. We could see much more of the enormous valley stretching to the north, and the huge mountains to the south. We could also see across the valley to the ridge on the west and our route which we had climbed yesterday. The value of our decision to turn around now became apparent. Everything above 8,000 feet was plastered with white. It was an awesome sight. If we had stayed up there on that high exposed ridge, we would have had to camp right in the snow, and the wind would have been a much greater factor. We were sure glad that we had come down when we did. I may be considered a risk-taker, but I like living also. We were not unhappy at all that we didn't make the 27 mile circuit. We will chalk this one up to experience, and plan for another time to loop the loop.
It snowed on us all the way back to the car, although not as heavily as it had yesterday. It took us about 5 hours to make it back to the Windy Saddle trailhead, retracing our route we had taken. The wind was blowing the snow sideways as we reached the car. It was if we had never started on our hike....a rerun of yesterday. By the way, Glen wants a pack like mine now.

by way of explanation

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A little background will help you understand some of the terminology and equipment that I use, and the passion for long-distance hiking that drives me.

My love for long-distance hiking began in my teens. In 1976 my father led our family on a hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We took the Bright Angel trail from the North Rim of the canyon, a hike of 13.6 miles from rim to Phantom Ranch. We spent two nights at Phantom Ranch and hiked out on the third day. Though it was an extremely tough climb, it is forever etched in my memory. Many of the lessons learned from that experience, such as water management, dealing with heat, with altitude, and with pain, are lessons that are still applied today.

Other family vacations involved hikes of varying degrees as well, though the Grand Canyon was the ultimate. I lost touch with hiking for a number of years, but always day-dreamed about it.
In 1991 the excitement for hiking was re-kindled. A good friend of mine went with me on a hike high in Rocky Mountain National Park. That account will soon follow.
In 1996, I moved with my family to the state of Idaho. This is a hiker's paradise. Over the last several years, I have experienced much of what my new adopted home state has to offer, and I have only begun to scratch the surface.
A few of my earliest hikes in the mountains involved heavy backpacks. Through those struggles, I came to realize I needed to change my style of hiking. In 2003 I encountered the topic of "ultra-light" hiking, and discovered Ray Jardine's book called "Beyond Backpacking: A Guide to Ultra-Light Hiking." I learned new techniques for cutting down on carried weight, and my backpacking mileage has soared in the last two years.
My first home-made pack was sewn by my wife, following the pattern in Jardine's book, using specialty nylon fabrics. I decided to give the resulting product a name, based upon my humorous fascination with llamas. I call it "The Llamanator." She also made an ultralight sleeping quilt for me, and I named that quilt "Llama-Hyde." Then I made a hiking staff out of PVC pipe and I named that POLAMA. No, the nice men from the home haven't come for me (yet) with the strait-jacket to put me in the rubber room! It's just all in fun, so please bear with me and laugh along.
Now you will know what I'm talking about when I use these terms.

Welcome to my Hiking Blog

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This is a chronicle of my hiking adventures in Idaho and in other places.