July 21, 2018. Stealth camp near Kettle River to unnamed saddle in Kettle Mountains.
The night was very still. I heard some coyotes around midnight doing roll call. No problem with the camping.
As I continued down the road to cross the Kettle River, I walked along a quarter mile of the plateau and not a single private property sign was posted. I was relieved.
After crossing the river and highway 395, I was on a gravel road, passing a large piece of private property which had been logged. As best I can tell, the way landowners make a living is to graze cattle on their forest land and then periodically harvest timber. I would imagine lumber shortages and tariffs probably pushed a lot of folks to harvest lumber sooner rather than later.
Today I was feeling a little sluggish on the relentless gradual climb. I tried hydrating more, but it was tough. Plus, there were about six young guys on motor bikes whipping up and down the trail leaving annoying dust clouds. The scenery was nice, though.
The day changed tremendously when I entered the burn area. In 2015, a massive complex of fires swept over a large swath of this country. I entered an area of standing deadwood, charred fallen logs, fireweed, and lupine. The trail dwindled from a gravel road used to salvage usable burned wood to abandoned forest service roads with multiple blowdowns.
It is such a contrast between the massive carnage of a forest fire and the rapid evolution of plants scrambling to seize the open terrain. Lupine has an explosive takeover strategy. It develops seed pods that twist and then pop open, scattering seeds. The most interesting thing to me was the absence of pine, spruce, and larch seedlings. They must bide their time and rely on their height genetics to overcome the early lead of other plants.
I’ve only seen two sets of footprints. That is, until I got to an intersection with a paved road. Then, a new pair of prints appeared. This was the famous Kettle Crest Trail.
Kettle Crest was a well maintained trail. I could not recall how many days since I had been on a real trail. It was good, but again seemed more like a bike trail than a hike trail.
I was able to get my last water supply and then followed the trail as it switched back and forth uphill. The map showed three turns, but there were at least six.
Eventually, I reached the saddle I was shooting for. There was about 45 minutes before sunset. An odd cloud of smoke hung in the air. Plus, for once, it was windy. So, I made camp quickly, avoiding standing dead trees. I pointed the open end of my tent away from the wind. I had to put on my wool hoody plus my down puffy.
As a shock element, while I was eating my dinner, a mountain bike went whizzing past. Not sure if he saw me, but I hoped he made it to the road before dark.
It was the first cold night in weeks. I liked it and I liked sleeping up so high. It was a long hard day, but tucking in to a warm sleeping bag was a great reward.
backpacking over the hill 