Idaho – backpacking over the hill

My Worst Day

July 14, 2018 From Pyramid Lake to stealth camp on Lion Creek.

I woke up way early and forced myself to stay still for a bit. I knew the family wouldn’t be up. I snuck out to get a sunrise pic of the lake and grab my food hang.

Another sunny day. It would start with a climb to two nearby lakes. From there it would be bushwhacking. In case you are wondering, bushwhacking means taking a course between two points with no established trail. As the name implies, you must go through bushes, downed trees, bogs, etc to achieve your goal. Without these obstacles it would be walking or traipsing or strolling or perambulating or something.

The first lake (Upper Ball) was beautiful and I regret not having the daylight or energy to get there the previous day. The second lake (Lower Ball) had families with barking dogs.

I scaled a hill and the first part of the bushwhack began: cross a mountainside. It was a little steep, but manageable. Until the rock slides. Then, I had to edge my way uphill to get above the steep area with no apparent footholds. This happened a second time as well. Falling here would be unpleasant, to say the least.

The only consolation was that some of the rocks at the ending ridgeline appeared to have fossils. It reminded me of Sandia Crest near Albuquerque where I found fossils at 6,500 feet elevation. This old earth sure moves around.

The rock on the left had formations that looked like fossilized sea anemones.

The next installment was to go down a heavily vegetated hillside, veering west slightly to end up in a particular canyon.

At first there was a trail, but after about 100 yards it disappeared. Most of the bushes are alders ( I believe). They grow about 4 to 8 foot branches. The devilish part is they grow in the same manner as crabgrass: the branches shoot out, then up. So, they end up interweaving their branches. This makes for tough hiking.

Downhill, I eventually made my way to the right location. Allegedly, there was an old faint trail. While this was true at times, other times it wasn’t. In fact, the further down Lion Creek I got, the more frequently the “faint” trail disappeared.

The main point is that it is slow and difficult to push your way through shrubs and step over downed trees on a hot day. I reached a point where the guidebook and GPS map said I should be connecting with a real road, but that was simply untrue.

I eventually stumbled out of the woods sweat-soaked, bleeding from lacerated arms and legs and in a foul mood and odor. Immediately I met a family pulling a wheeled igloo cooler in swimsuits. We both looked at each other like WTH?

After several more people passed me in flip flops and swimsuits, I asked a couple what the attraction was. Apparently there is a natural waterslide famous with the locals. This trail eventually turned to a road, but before it did there were several cool streams that provided needed refreshment.

Exhausted, beat up and late in the day, I weighed my options. The official trail climbed a mountain to a….Lookout! And then climbed down to meet the gravel forest road I was now on. Hmmm.

So I stayed on the current forest road, listening to an audiobook. One kind couple stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride. Tempting as it was, I demurred. Near the bottom where the stream I had been following almost all day (Lion Creek) was going to feed into Upper Priest Lake, I found a stealth camp away from the road but near the creek.

I ate dinner and then washed my wounds in the cool creek water. It reminded me of why I always filter water.

* * *

P.S. an obvious question is why don’t I wear pants. The answer is that pants, on me, get sweaty and thus tug and bunch and chafe. None of us are here for an anatomy lesson, but suffice it to say I chose the coolness and flexibility of shorts even if it means scratches.

A (Not So) Brief Recap of Bonners Ferry

July 12, 2018. Zero Day in Bonners Ferry.

If you have been reading this blog for some time then there are two things: you need to get better reading material and you know I love to hate bad signs. You’ll have to resolve the first thing and I’m not sure where the latter comes from. It could be EOGOG (Early Onset Grumpy Old Guy), but is it really all that much to ask that people who make big, permanent, useful signs take maybe just a second to double check their work?

With that set-up you know exactly what I had to accomplish today: where the hell did the apostrophe go? Edwin Bonner from Walla Walla, Washington ( a town they loved so much they named it twice) had one of the few official licenses to ferry people across the Kootenai River. So, why was it not Bonner’s Ferry?

Until the historical society opened, I first mailed home some extra gear, bought mosquito repellent, and then went to the library to catch up on blog posts, perform some financial stuff, and research the town I was in. I must say librarians, contrary to stereotypes, are generally friendly and extremely helpful.

In case you forgot or are hamstrung by youth, the Ruby Ridge incident occurred here in 1992. Oddly, it happened on Caribou Ridge. Long story short, federal law enforcement agencies had a shoot-out, then a siege, with a reclusive family. The man at the center lost his wife (sniper shot) and son and dog. A US Marshal died as well.

At the time, my simple mind encapsulated it as nut job shoot out with trigger happy feds. More nuanced than that, in the beneficial light of hindsight, it really was a tragedy. Weaver really should’ve just gone with the flow and appeared in court and not escalated things. The feds really made a mountain out of a molehill and got way too aggressive. In short, it was a bunch of guys who wouldn’t back down or compromise.

Back to the hot topic of the day, I noted the time and went to the Historical Society for Boundary County. When I walked in, a bearded fellow who must clearly perform some Santa Claus work in season, put down his browned historical newspaper and greeted me. I explained I am hiking the PNT and like to learn about the towns I visit and asked if he could give me an overview of the museum.

Immediately, I got the sense they tend to get one type of visitor. His smooth opening line explained there was a $2.00 admission fee and the bathrooms were down the hall.

Having cleared that up, he overviewed the following areas / collections

Railroad
Mining
Farming (early, 1930s, today)
Chinese workers
Women’s roles through time
Wooden clock collection
portrait gallery
Saloon
First Doctor
Native Kootenai history
Gun collection

And a whole lot else that I didn’t catch. Fearful he might grab me by the elbow and show me all of it, I broke off to the railroad & farming.

Wouldn’t you know it, one of the first exhibits about farming was a large display contrasting early versus current farming.

I patiently extracted my $2.00 worth of value. They truly had tons of stuff. I’m not sure many people died in Boundary County without naming the historical society as a beneficiary. Indeed, there was a collection of about 30 large wooden clocks. They were all elaborate scroll cut pieces with a generic clock put in it. Clearly these were kits. The blessed retiree obviously spent 1,000s of hours on his hobby. However, I’m sure his long-suffering wife must’ve pleaded like crazy to be sure the entire collection was donated to the historical society to get it out of the house.

The portrait gallery was surprisingly large if not awfully good. One early hero was painted with quite a fetching style.

There was one truly remarkable exhibit. An albino woodland caribou. Native Americans killed it in the late 1800s and a local saloon owner obtained it and made it his mascot.

At last, I returned to the front. I said “I am not an English teacher, but I cannot find an answer to why Bonners Ferry doesn’t have an apostrophe?” He sighed, looked down at the old newspaper and said “For a long time we tried to correct it, but it just became customary to use Bonners.”

I grumbled my way back to the motel. Letting the matter go was cathartic. After all, we have a grocery store back home established by Russell Lund and it is not called Lund’s, just Lunds. I was hungry and just wished this town had a McDonald’s.

On the walk back I noticed a few pickup trucks with Confederate and US flags flying. The ignorant, hopeful part of me tipped my hat to these scholars who were passionate about state’s rights, but the realistic me accepted I was in the heart of Aryan Nation country.

Leaving Bonners Ferry, I was brooding. It is a beautiful town in a sumptuous valley where the untamed Kootenai River created a fertile flood plain. When the river was dammed, the land could be farmed. Mining and lumber come and go. It would be stunning to have a house on one of the local ridges, catching both sunrise and sunset, witnessing the first snowfall on the all-surrounding mountains or the bright yellow canola crops in the summer. However, like many smaller towns, meth is a problem and there is the white supremacists stigma. However, every worker I met from motel owner to the restaurant employees to librarians were all hard working and considerate. Like Montana, people here look you right in the eye. I like that.

In summary, I am glad I spent a whole day in town. A roadtrip here could be in my future. Maybe I’ll get a modified camper van and call it Kevins Van.

A Beautiful Decline

July 11, 2018 From Bussard Mtn to Highway 95.

I woke up at 5:30 and tried to sleep in. It worked a little, but by 6:30 I was too restless.

The fire still had some embers, amazingly. During the night I had to get up once and there was a glow from the fire on the ground and brilliant starlight above. I had not seen the milky way in two years.

I tried to pack slow knowing I had a lot of waiting ahead. I used some of the miracle water to make sure the fire was totally out. I dispersed the fire stones and used forest debris to mask where the fire had been.

Gathering my food hang, I was finally ready to go. It was glorious hiking.

Almost immediately I had views down into the Kootenai valley. There were some low clouds in the valley and the sun shone on the next mountain range to tackle, the Selkirks.

The Kootenai valley was beautiful. Large patches of canola crops made for yellow patchwork.

The other side was beautiful, just without a big valley.

The trail meandered for a few miles. There had been a lot of stabilizing work and trail-raising. I suspect there were motorcycle fees that had been allocated and this trail won. I didn’t mind as long as no motor bikes used it while I was on it :-).

The well-maintained bike trail went right, but my foot trail veered to the left. Of course, the trail sign had misspelled the word Bethlehem.

…and there was no room at the in. Poor baby Jess.

I didn’t mind. As I went down I passed a tree that produced 100s of perfectly shaped pinecones.

There were also some interesting meadows.

These white flowers are about the size of a thumb tip, but can grow in eye-catching clumps.

Finally, a butterfly that would hold still.

This burned tree had about 80% burned through but still stood.

Alas, I arrived at highway 95. I had four hours before the trail angel in town could pick me up. I tried hitchhiking, but it was not an ideal spot. Mostly trucks, family vacation mobiles, and Canadians. After an hour, I gave up, found some shade and waited.

Finally, Sharlene arrived. She was very helpful and thoughtful. She had started section hiking the AT a few years back and found out about the trail angel concept. Coincidentally, after noticing some backpackers in town, she discovered the PNT was in her backyard and desperately needed a trail angel.

I checked in to my motel, the Kootenai Valley Inn. My first reaction was Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, we have a situation. The outside of the office was a decaying mess and the office was a barren room, like a murder had occurredand they had just finished removing the blood-stained carpets and walls.

Ed, the brand new owner, quickly put me at ease. He and his brother had purchased the place as a semi-retirement activity. He was clearly busting his hump and there were some diamonds in this rough. My room was clean and the carpet had been deep cleaned. The bathroom was sparkling.

Next door was a restaurant that both Sharlene and Ed recommended. They both called it the “chicken chop.” I went there. It was “Chic-n-Chop” and while the name made no sense they had classic dinner choices. I don’t know about you, but when I’ve been eating couscous, lentils, and quinoa, I’m jumping all over the special of two pork chops, two broasted chicken pieces, a biscuit and baked potato.

In fairness, I did order a full dinner salad first.

I was asleep by 9:30.

Mount PUD

July 7, 2018

Stealth camp on road to stealth camp near stream.

There is an acronym attributed to hiking the Appalachian Trail: PUD which stands for Pointless Up and Down. Obviously, backpacking through mountains includes a fair amount of going up and down, but today on the Pacific Northwest Trail it went from neccessary to PUD.

The mountain range I am in is called the the Purcells. They all max out around roughly 7,000 feet above sea level and most have rivers between them. They cover the northwestern part of Montana and the eastern part of Idaho’s panhandle. They are not as steep as the mountains between Polebridge and Eureka. This means they are slightly more amenable to forestry. Therefore, a lot of the hiking is through forest that:

could be harvested,
was harvested (30 years ago) or
a burn area.

By far, the “could be harvested” is the most compelling to hike through. Huge trees block out almost all undergrowth with the forest floor mostly old pine needles. This duff almost feels like walking on those really thick shag carpets from 1970s (younger readers use your imagination or Google). It is eerily quiet. And big trees produce big pine cones.

The “was harvested” is okay. It feels like a working forest. While clear cutting was the old method, the newer approach is to leave a few mature trees and let nature runs its course. Impenetrable understory of alder and huckleberries and young conifers battle for space. Except for the conifers, the shrubs top out at five feet, roughly. Unless opened by a landslide or natural meadow, the general feeling is of the understory pushing in. It is very clear why there are so many animal tracks on the trails; these are the only really viable way to get around. Except for moose. There is a lot of moose scat in these woods.

The “previously burned” areas offer some harsh contrasts. Nature abhors a vacuum, so dense stands of young pine and larch grow. On rocky slopes, grasses and flowers make a land grab. The shrubs take what they can. Hiking through these forest offers more vistas, but they can feel a bit claustrophobic walking between dense walls of thousands of tall skinny 15 foot trees.

All of this is backdrop to today. I started in a harvested area. Mostly shaded, the early morning climb was perfect. Except for the mosquitoes who were fast and relentless. (I don’t use bug sprays or headnets when hiking. The chemicals are too harsh and the headnet feels like walking around in shady cheesecloth. At camp, it’s a different story.)

I got up to the first mountaintop and the next several hours were a rolling climb along a ridgeline with ok views. The “highlight” was a climb nearly to the top of Mount Henry which had a lookout tower.

From there it was a kneecap crushing descent from 7,000 to 3,500 feet over 4 miles. It was about 3:30 when I bottomed out at Fish Lakes and stocked up with water. A campsite was available, but the directory noted “rodent problems.” Regardless whether it is eating, sleeping or traveling, my hard and fast rule is to avoid anything with a rodent problem. So, I began a long steady climb up a mountain, in all a seven mile trip gaining 3,000 feet and losing (you’ll never guess… ) 3,000 feet. I was going for Mt. PUD.

About a half hour in to the switchbacks, I saw a trail sign to a forest road. The number seemed familiar. I looked at my map and that road went along the south and west side of the mountain which was where my current trail would connect. Should I stay on the official footpath or take an unknown shortcut? I chose to stay on my current route over what was to become Mount PUD.

Slowly ascending switchbacks through an area that had previously burned, I was in a walled off corridor of conifers for a long time. The trail was losing visibility when it popped out to a grassy area higher up. I got the feeling this trail had not been maintained in the last two years.

While it was nice to be able to have a view, the barely visible trail through knocked down trees suddenly changed gradient. Previously, I had to stop every five minutes from the exertion. Now, the trail designers suddenly must’ve identified a new target market. However, they chose toddlers and seniors as the target. Watching the sun creep lower while making no uphill progress was infuriating.

Eventually I was mostly above tree line. Trails are difficult to see on hard surfaces. Heavily traveled trails will have small stacks of rocks called cairns. Unfortunately, this trail was so forlorn it was hard to tell what was a cairn and what were two random rocks. I was generally able to patch together the trail and reached the zenith where I was to cut through a rock canyon and finally begin my descent.

This rock canyon was v-shaped. As such, all trees that fell on the sides rolled to the bottom. It was blowdown central. Tired, knees aching, light fading and now I have to parkour my way through this.

When I came out the other side of the canyon, my shorts had a new breathing panel where one least expects such a thing. Down to one pair of town shorts.

I surprised many grouse today. Some have no chicks, some have hatched chicks, and some have flying hatched chicks. If you aren’t familiar with grouse, they are primarily land based birds, taking flight just to avoid danger. Agrouse chick flying is the cutest thing in the world, reminiscent of a piglet flying.

The sun was just sliding behind the western mountains. As I was starting to feel some relief, the trail now headed east. Crabby, I cussed the trail designer who created a route to the Pacific Ocean that goes east.

At least it was through ancient forests. It took some stress off these old legs bounding down on a blanket of needles, many years old and many inches thick. The canopy blocked a big chunk of the fading light. I had to get down to a creek at the bottom. Not only for water, but also a flat place to camp.

Around 9:00 I found a relatively open space and cleared a spot. I did not feel hungry, but forced myself to eat. Right after brushing my teeth, I went straight to my tent. Once inside and away from the mosquitoes, I thought I would just drop to sleep. Instead, I listened. There was nothing. The soft ground absorbed any sounds that made it through the silent canopy above. Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping when it is so quiet because even the littlest sound from far away is magnified. Fortunately, a bird somewhere started its evening song and that’s all I needed to fall deeply asleep, ending my adventure on Mount PUD.