Frank fishing, Boise, June 1998IDAHO MOMENTS
SUMMER 2005 - Floating the Middle Fork (of the Salmon)Although the vertical raft on selway.net was the perfect excuse not to sign up, after 10 years in Idaho this former outdoorsy spirit turned laptop potato finally chose an All American, Wild West vacation--rafting Idaho's famous Middle Fork. Guide Mike assured 3 boats of his buddies we'd be safe. (He was right.) A total of 15 of us (3 guides) spent 5 days/ 4 nights floating through the Frank Church wilderness. One fine adventure (and a heck of a lot of schlepping), from which I'm still recovering!
Waiting around, and piled into the hired Caldwell school district bus that shuttles to the put-in, we customers quickly discovered we were all more or less Idaho locals--no "rich fur'ners" along. Native Idahoan Tomato Tim and I recognized each other from his old Eagle produce stand; he'd brought a buddy, their teens and own boats, and were using the group permit. Otherwise, I only knew guide Mike, we all did. We passengers, it turned out, were perhaps predictably a little heavy on the professional end--especially librarians--short on brawn. Tee hee.
Spent a lot of time jawing with easy going, Norwegian Marsha, self described "not-a-water-person", who reeled off tinted Sven and Ollie jokes as easily as she cast her fly rod. She and spouse were on the "fishing" raft rowed by Kim. Tim's contingent fished dawn to dusk, especially "the boys". Luckily the resident tie flyer thought the boys' panhandling for more flies was charming. (Appreciated how the boys took a break to pump rafts each morning; otherwise they romped like the happy 15 year old, puppies they were.) Although the river is strictly catch and lease, one evening we observed Mark enjoying a fish dinner; he defensively explained he'd accidentally killed this one. We all looked away.
Along with boating experience, we appreciated the strong, younger backs and sturdy legs that continually loaded/ unloaded and schlepped gear to and from the boats--morning, noon and night. By and large I like to think we four women were wise enough to be able to keep our mouths shut and stay out of the kitchen--much as we hated to see potatoes peeled and the dutch oven under or over cook, Amongst us we'd been camp cooks for a century I bet! Why not use the fire to grill? was a question that floated over my head like in a cartoon.
Food was a big deal; however not much new to say on the subject. The guides worked like dogs cooking and cleaning, with much help from Mary and Rick. (Speaking of dogs, I was grateful everyone reluctantly left theirs behind).
Most of the trip, I sat, lay or clung to the back of Mike's lead raft, sort of a rumble seat, while his good friends Rick and Mary took the waves in the front. Of course, sometimes, we went through rapids "backwards", or sideways. Once I realized the Middle Fork wasn't the Grand Canyon, I relaxed considerably, never failing however to hold on like a vice grip, when we poured through or over rocks.
After decades of guiding, Mike truly becomes the river. Any raft he pilots might be called a Nature Raft, or Geology Raft, due to teachings from prof. Mike.
Often yellow swallowtails (butterflies) followed along with us as we floated, probably attracted by orange and yellow life jackets and other colorful gear. Pleasant, indeed. As lovely as the country is and was, couldn't help having the overwhelming reaction that Idaho has burned. And burned, again and again. We floated through mile after mile of dead trees. Mary, Rick and Mike often knew the dates and extents of the fires. Trees, yes, but often, often dead, burned.
The morning of the least rapid day, just as I was about to try my hand at the inflatable kayak, attorney John suddenly jumped in too. We survived a long stretch--as did cameras, backs and our relationship. Not sure what the experience would have been like on my own; thank God for meditation training. John correctly recognized helmets weren't for rocks, but to protect him from the wild paddler in the rear (me).
Even with perfect sunny days blessed with interesting clouds, covered with hat, long sleeves and pants, I baked. Didn't realize my increasingly stiff ankles and bad bug bites were amplified by dehydration. I fell for the assurance the group included serious tea drinkers. Ha. Coffee was available, long, long before tea water and those "tea" drinkers clasped coffee mugs. Shudda know better. A tea drinker scorned, becomes dehydrated, I learned painfully. Next time, I bring my stove.
What was really professional about the trip, was the skill by which campsites were spaced for concurrent float groups, and the way hot springs awaited us as promised. Lovely, generally spacious campsites, cleaner than I've experienced in decades. Imagine--5 days without micro trash, dogs and dog turds! Almost heaven, West Virginia...! I was especially charmed by two evenings camping midst fragrant, flowering syringa.
I was even more delighted, however, when I came upon a real outhouse, No matter how scenic it's venue might be, I dreaded another visit to our portable "groover", without which the river bank would be an open sewer.
I was disappointed no otter appeared in what was obviously otter water. However, the 2nd evening a group of us hustled upstream to peer at a bear the boys spotted across river. S/he climbed up on a high stump and watched us too, before climbing on up the steep hill.
Determined to use everything I brought, needed or not, the last night I put up my tent, hoping to slow the series of bites I was acquiring in every joint and bend--perhaps spider--by sleeping out. Nights warmed as we dropped, depending on the width of the canyon. Clouds moved in the final evening, as I slept the sound sleep of the river, in a relatively bug free tent, no sleeping bag needed. The next day, one by one, we pulled out as yet un-used jackets for the final "heavy water" day that would end at the take out. We got wet, and the sun only peaked. Enjoyed a "lost" pair of gloves in the wind breaker!
Hours and hours later, back in Stanley, I was so mal-adjusted to sudden "city life", I bolted from the restaurant during our post trip dinner. Overwhelmed by noise, alcohol laced conversation, spicy, spendy food, I gasped for fresh air. The new crescent moon was about to drop below the mountains. It peaked through the bank of clouds that moved in our final day, proving I still belonged outside, not in. Postponing a real roof, drove up Iron Creek and happily listened to rain patter on the car.
Although I didn't believe him when he first said it, guide David was absolutely right-- it was the perfect time to be on the Middle Fork. At the rate the river was dropping, we were told we'd be among the last to float the entire stretch. June floaters got rained on. The sun kissed us heartily.
My memory of an epicly painful hangnail the entire trip is fading. Soon the scars of lines of bites (which didn't become inflamed until we got back) will fade; my ankles are back and the tea pot is full--of tea. I'm left with photos and memories of burned hillsides, canyon walls and swifts, timely warm soaks, congenial companions, evening campfires, eggs benedict, good nights sleeps, and huge yawns while rocking on river riffles.
SUMMER 2004 - DOGS--WILD PLEASE--& GOLD PANSAlthough I whined it was not a summer of relentless heat. Some of the hottest weeks we had interesting end of day cloud buildups, one of which wrapped up in a fantastic, if brief wind and rain storm, 6:30pm one Tuesday. It cleared the air, lowered the temperature, ripped off plastic outdoor sunshades, and sunshade fabric. I was grateful to have been home to keep the hammock from smashing the sliding glass door.
I've gotten away for several delightful, sociable outings, as well enjoyed blissful, soul restoring, solitary Sunday nights.
Late June I was included in a delightful church camp out. The core of the group is an extended family who've camped together forever and knew how to set up a serious camp. Frontier style, the men went ahead to blaze the way, establish camp. They put up hunting tents, hung tarps, cut and sawed fire wood, established a first class kitchen—grilled elk burgers, drank beer—generally marked territory for the large group following. I arrived a little early, because I knew I'd miss Friday evening when I went down to Boise to do the prison thing (while the men fetched wives, children and uh… fur bearers).
The variety of dogs and human companions impressed me more than the people! Seemingly sensible folks carried rabbits and mini dogs in vests or arms, all weekend long, as we sat around the fire, even hiking. Couldn't help sensing Jesus wasn't quite enough to feel safe in the wilds. (Maybe having a liberal suspect in their midst made them nervous.)
Evidently while I was down in super hot Boise late Friday, I missed a prime canine photo op—all the dogs gathered to watch on as "Precious", in her fur ribbons, was groomed. Rats—I'd enjoyed capturing the crew pointing one direction.
Loved returning after midnight to the group site, now filled in with tents and trailers fire going, late night socializers ‘round. Feasted on a rare sense of belonging as I greeted the fire tenders (who'd forgot I went to town, wondered who I was). Dived into my nylon home-away-from-home, with new neighbors near, for another night with “church family”.
Sun over church campIn the morning I took one of the men around the fire up on his offer to help reglue the rudder on my kayak—picked up recommended glue in Boise. Felt good to have confident technical assistance with the project (alas, the rudder peeled off again and again with boat goo; ended up regluing with silicone). [A thousand thank yous to Red back in Pullman whose expertise with plastics and glue lasted lo all these many years, until an especially severe whack.] Surrounded by HP techies, I also got assistance on the new Japanese speaking U1--thank you--and help reading keys from a teen studying Japanese! Wow!
I was pleased and startled to find Julie had hung a bag to recycle cans, until I noticed kids enjoying throwing pop cans in the fire and adults putting absolutely everything into big black trash bags. Fished the kids’ cans out of the fire; then to everyone's horror, dug through the trash bags for recyclables, burning paper plates and napkins, recycling cans and glass. No one understood my recycling obsession. The way I see it, although most folks hail from recycling CA, they're sure glad they can kick back and do what they like now that they're in Idaho!
Dogs that weren't being held, had camp chairs. No one evicted a dog from a chair around the fire, but I evicted an irate kid who tried claiming the chair I'd brought. Since it was the only chair that allows you to sit up straight, I held my ground. Cute as she was, it was easy enough for me to be the big bad wolf in a society where most adults ask how high they can jump for kids. Grrr (imagine teeth barred menacingly). Luckily, slumping teens and kids with attitudes lurked and ran in packs, away from adults, had their own fire.
Loved spending the intermittently damp weekend meeting and chatting with folks, more or less cooking as a group, and singing ‘round the campfire. I even enjoyed our attempt to find the hot springs on downstream, crossing the river, tromping over hill and dale before giving up. (One group turned back early; another made it.) By Sunday afternoon, all had packed and headed home. Moved the tent nearer the river, alert for dog mines. Began enjoying the beauty of the river as clouds came and went, in a way I hadn't been able to with the distraction of “family”. My initial loneliness shifted to blessed aloneness. At the end of the day, drove down the way to watch elk and listen to sand hill cranes, as the sun dropped behind the hills surrounding the high altitude meadows of beautiful Bear Valley.
Over 4th of July, returned to Bear Valley to stake out campsites further up valley for northwest outdoor club. This time the kayak got wet; we paddled the upper stretch of Bear River, which is so lovely. Stayed upright this year. Enjoyed this miscellaneous group of highly independent campers who like to hike, bike, paddle together, but do their own thing at meals. I shouldn't have been so hard on the kid in my chair the week before. This time a heavy man lodged in it, stretching the seat I'd hand sewn. If I'm serious about sitting up straight, which of course I am, time to reupholster. I think he was one of the men who criticized my kayak straps for the car and pushed me to hurry.
June wildflowers That's why I look forward to camping alone Sunday nights! No, I'm not afraid of lions and tigers, only finding a beloved campsite destroyed for the rest of the season, shade trees felled, tent sites dug up, toilet paper and waste everywhere.
One late afternoon, I explored back roads, driving up and down for hours, failing to come upon a new to me, agreeable campsite. Logging roads just aren't designed with campers in mind! I did, however, come upon a young coyote, watching the world, from a dip in a gravel pull off. S/he was still there when I returned from exploring on up the drainage.
Ended up back in the same old meadow I frequently camp in, grateful to find an unoccupied familiar site, not too trashed, and the cows still not turned out in the meadow. Finding the meadow cow free meant, the latest bloom of wildflowers hadn't been recycled into cowpies, were still waving in late afternoon breezes. Bliss! Put up tent, as usual sniffing around the area, trying unsuccessfully to locate the special fragrance I identify with the site. This year, nettles and white monkshood grew where I'd never seen them. Every year, new surprises, mix with the predictable early carpet of magenta shooting stars, followed by blue camas, buttercups, geranium....
Dived into tent—no cows, fewer flies and hornets—with books and computer, to enjoy 24 hour retreat. At sunset, I was in for a treat, which I wrote about to a friend later:
“As if this gorgeous meadow weren't enough, God's song dog, (coyote), burst out of the woods when I sneezed once violently (echoed for miles) at dusk. S/he trotted into the meadow, kinda snorting, leaping with each howl, throwing head back, then sitting down, looking, listening (I guess), waiting. Listening to echo? Again and again, enthusiastic leaps and yowls, expectant waits. To the best of my human hearing, no one answered. The coyote was unafraid/unphased, even when I unzipped the tent and crept to the car to get binoculars. It stayed a long while, ‘'til it was thoroughly dark. In dim light, watched with binoculars as it zigzagged along the far edge of the meadow, listening, hunting and watching. The new moon hung over the scene of the meadow with bounding, howling, sitting on haunches coyote.
What a privilege! Never seen anything like it. I've heard coyotes on many of my overnights here, but never seen one. See one I did that evening. Surely that's not what kept me tossing and turning all night (more or less have given up wondering why.) Great spirit of the song dog, thank you for delightful weekend adventures. I return renewed from the semi wilds.”
Old hands
First timer studies panEarlier in June I joined a Mining Museum field trip to pan gold. About time! Up Hwy 95, studying landslides, across to Garden Valley, then back west to the generous leader's mining claim. Always thought I'd be a natural at gold panning, due to my inclination to do not much, especially near water. After all these years, the chance to try a hand and eye at gold panning from those who know how. I was of course dead wrong that it's easy to swirl a pan to separate light grains from heavy. Kids who'd waited impatiently all day lost interest almost instantly. Figured if I kept at it (the story of my life) I'd get better. Went right out in search of a proper black plastic pan with ridges, unlike the slick sided metal one I got to use after hanging on the wall for years. Thus far, the new pan has been used to eat from, when a house guest found and preferred it to china bowls.
Fall's been so gray and mild I returned to car camping Sunday nights in order to get out from under the inversion that hangs over the city, blocking stars, eclipses and auroras. Off I go with thermos, snacks, books and computer. Ever since reading an article by a Durango, Colorado, writer who takes the van out to Ridges Basin--until the reservoir comes to pass--to overnight, all year long, I've known there are kindred spirits out there. After a while his son started coming along; his wife accepted the outings. Any old gravel pit--the nearer the better--will do for me, until I find the perfect spot. Despite plans to "read awhile", I end up hibernating soon after dark 'til sunup! Whenever I get up in the night, I enjoy the sky. When fine streaks "of clouds" began to dance and zip around one night, realized with awe this was faint northern lights. One never knows what's above the overcast. Lately the thought of living the rest of my life under gray winter skies haunts me.
Mentioned in a recent email that my car smells like skunk. Why skunk? came back. I take the 5th. Perhaps because I go off to sniff the wilds now and then, I'm forever smelling something no one else does. I stink, therefore I am! I nest in the car; therefore this morning the sleeping bag's sunning on the hood of the car. Life in Idaho. I wonder.
GETTIN' TO KNOW IDAHO-- FINALLY AUGUST 2003 - SALMON RIVER COUNTRY, NORTH OF STANLEY
Rather than head to Oregon or Colorado for a mid August treat, finally explored my long ignored Idaho backyard. Decades ago scenes of the Sawtooths once fascinated wilderness lover. I chose the long weekend of the full moon and the Perseids meteor shower (didn't see a one, because of the moon). Checked out a stack of Idaho field books from the library and looked for places I'd noted when folks had of favorite places. Stayed clear of the heart of the Sawtooths which require permits, around Sun Valley, Red Fish and Stanley Lakes. By the time I got myself packed and headed outa town it was late; spent the night in familiar territory, near Smith's Ferry. The next day I headed north, turned east to Warm Lake, then took a new to me road south and camped before the crowds and bath tub ring of Deadwood Reservoir, much recommended by neighbor Gary, who'd just visited one of the nearby Lookouts. Probably ate leftovers that night. Next afternoon, I collapsed the tent (but didn't stuff it) and continued on through new to me country, across to Bear Valley, turning off when I noticed a side road. Indeed it lead to an appealing, well used, but clean enough campsite in the trees, near a small, clear meandering meadow creek. First order of business was to cool off; just standing in the stream numbered legs.
My strongest memory of that night is getting up and walking into the nearby clear cut and seeing Mars at one of its closest points to Earth. My eyes flew open in awe. Holy toledo, no doubt about it, it was absolutely HUGE and wonderful. No mistaking it. It was big in Boise, but it was awesome away from city lights. Even the moon didn't dim it.
The next day, packed up; the road joined a familiar one. In such "perfect" warm, cloudless weather, my leftovers were getting a little ripe, so when a road side eatery with outdoor tables beckoned after getting gas in Stanley, I stopped for a burger and fries. Enjoyed the good company of a fellow traveler who'd been coming to Idaho since fire fighting days decades before.
Headed north towards Salmon; turned off into Yankee Fork mining country per Bill Meeker's recommendation--he'd hung out there in the '60s! Lots of places to camp he assured me--40 years later. Humpf, I thought skeptically, recalling mining claims'd become private property in Colorado! New country for me. Past an active mine, up Loon Creek Road, past an unforgettably breath-taking, private ranch nestled in a valley. This was magic, beautiful indeed! Over then down a narrow valley with few campsites; at China Creek (dry) pulled way off the road to what was a nearly grown over campsite. Hung hammock, dug out Bill's Land of the Yankee Fork and dived into history, reliving tales of early miners and pioneers of the area. Seems to me, stories of hardship and courage are the same, whether Colorado, Idaho, any mining district. Romance, murder and deceit, men and women working like oxen building roads and homes, bringing in supplies, raising families, each story more amazing than the last. I'm grateful for those who record them.
As the day grew later, smoke from (no doubt nearby) fires grew heavier, coloring sunset.
I always look forward to shadows of pine branches on the tent, when the moon comes up. Having camped at the base of a mountain behind which the moon rose, shadows came late. Perhaps I heard a most distant owl; no coyotes howls.
Even though I wasn't covering many miles, I was rarely seeing other cars. True, someone else always seemed to already ben in what looked like the best campsites. I was enjoying the feeling of quiet and remote enormously. Spending 5 days and nights reading, writing and cooking might not be someone else's idea of a good time, but it was mine. As I drove afternoons, listened to a new batch of New Dimensions tapes--just received from Ukiah, CA. Traveling with Father Bede Griffiths, and Andrew Harvey couldn't be beat! I rationed these superlative companions. I was listening to prison activist Bo Lozoff as I drove the high Pinon Peak Loop Road, with Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness to the north. How good does it get! Couldn't have driven this road (4WD not needed or available!) in the Corolla stationwagon; at long last the RAV's clearance was just the ticket to get me out. Distant views into the Salmon River Mountains, knife edge ridges, softened by the smoke of fires. Beautiful! At long last--seeing Idaho! Not the snow covered peaks of the Sawtooth Scenic Byway, which look like the Tetons, but very fine country.
The final night out, found a pair of small lakes--the first I'd seen--one right beside the gravel road. Home for the night! A pickup whooped and hollered as it passed. Otherwise, all quiet. Close to dark, lifted nose outa book in time to see an owl float from the far side of the lake and perch behind the tent. Mousies, beware! "Wildlife", at last! Love watching owls swivel heads! Soon I could read no more. Gone are the days of squinting over books and letters by flashlight or candles. I just turn in, enjoy listening to the night, and wait for moon shadows. Now and then I peak out and check the stars. In the morning I call hanging out 'til it's warm, yoga practice. Twist and snooze, right, left, right, left.
The next day, more new country along Beaver Creek; a Washington tagged scout troop gathered fire wood--surely fires were verboten this hot summer!; and a long detour back through Bear Valley due to road closure from fires.
My head dances with future plans to exploring Idaho!
