The Frank Church River of No Return: Narrative

6/2 – 7,020ft?

Today marks the start of this strange three month adventure. Time felt slow in the tight quarters of the passenger compartment of the airplane. There was little room for me being six feet two inches; I felt the weight of my surroundings. All of us neatly packages in tiny seats like boxes being shipped overseas.

All the while my thoughts raced with anticipation. For the next three months I will be living more or less in the backcountry of Idaho. Working as a trail crew member my team and I will explore and battle to tame the wild landscape of central Idaho. The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness Area will be my home, my way of life, and my opposing force. But first, I must endure traveling the immense distances that range from Ohio to Idaho in this rocket propelled tin can. At 550 miles per hour the surface of the Earth moves below you with so much haste it is difficult to grasp just how far you are going. I prefer to walk, mostly. Being this high up in the air feels unnatural and inhospitable, human beings weren’t designed to fly they were meant to walk.

As I Look down at the moving landscapes from my portal window I think about everything that could possibly happen in three months isolated from the rest of the world. Who will I meet? What will I see? Will I get hurt? You know carrying sharp tools in the woods something is bound to happen. Right?

I mostly think about the people. There is something about the wilderness that brings out the best in people. Through everything ,rain, sun, snow, whatever, we survive despite the sometimes inhospitable conditions. From that you bond. Something happens out there the short time spent in such close quarters frees your tongue. There is no embarrassment, judgment, harassment. There is only quiet conversation and keen ears. We all know that we will inevitably have to again return to our respective parts of the globe so we take advantage of the time with one another. In the face of adversity we discover each other. All our faults and strengths become readily apparent.

Out there we measure ourselves. In the depths of what’s left of our worlds functioning natural ecosystem you will struggle. How you deal with the relentless of the natural forces is what eventually defines you. From here I feel ready to conquer the world one steady free falling footstep at a time. The call to the wild has been loud and clear. I fear I must return. I must walk again.

6/3 – First Day in McCall

This morning checking out of the hotel and eating breakfast I met some of the crew. Standing at the counter with a 75 liter pack on my back and a 45 liter pack on the ground they pegged me right away. There were four of them Trish, Bruce, Evan and Joe. Five out of our eight.

I’ve found travelling across the country with a group of people you have never met, flying to the same destination, becomes a scavenger hunt. Any time you see someone with a sizeable backpack your mind instantly flutters to whether their part of your eventual team. And of course the closer you get the more likely you are to find them.

Trish and Bruce had hiked the AT, Evan was a freshman at Brown, and Joe had already become Smooth Joe. The day previous, as they all explored Boise, Joe managed to talk his way into walking on the field at IU. Thus, he was now Smooth Joe.

We lingered for a while then made our way to the bus station. From here we take a two hour bus ride north to McCall, the last “city” before moving into the backcountry. After yelling Kenny’s name on the bus we found him and Sarah at the final stop in McCall. Patrick picked us up at the gas station and began estimating our weight and the weight of the gear. He shuttled us and our gear to a summer camp that let us use one of their bunkhouses for the night. He left us to get settled in and explore the city.

We went to the McCall Brewery ate lunch and had a few of the local brews. Soon after, we found ourselves on the public peer jumping into the snow fed lake. There we met, Ben, one of the rangers and spent the rest of the evening acclimating to our new surrounds.

6/4 – The First Day on the Job

We walked to the Krassel headquarters around 8am only to find that we had beaten Patrick into the office. Shortly after we arrived Patrick showed up and told us to find some breakfast in town while he settled in and prepared for our orientation that afternoon.

We made our way to the Shell station. In McCall it not only serves as a gas station but a bus station, restaurant with beer on tap and a laundry matte. When we arrived back at the station we began orientation. Mostly we discussed how the schedule worked and when food would be delivered into the field followed by a brief introduction of bucking and binds. The rest of the day we helped move items from the basement to a storage facility as the current district office began renovations.

After moving everything to the storage facility those who needed stoves, tents and other assorted gear for the summer we lent them. I am glad I had brought all of my own gear. The stoves and tents showed their age and seemed well used. Today was also mostly devoted to gathering the necessary food supplies we would need for the summer. I bought around $200 worth of groceries that should last two weeks or more.

That night Scott arrived. He is from Utah and was the last of the SCA’s to arrive in McCall. For the rest of the evening we sat outside on the picnic benches and prepared our rations and gear for the morning flight into Big Creek where the real training begins.

8 hours – Orientation/ District office relocation/Rationing.

(From Left to Right: Me, Evan, Joe, Kenny, Trish)

6/5 – First Day in the Field

I awoke at about 6am and took a shower (the last for a while). Ben was gracious enough to lend me his towel and I let the steady flow gently cascade over me, washing away all the anxiety and excitement I now held. I made the walk to Shell and had breakfast with Evan.

When we arrived back at Timothy cabin everyone had started the slow process of waking up and collecting gear used for that nights rest. At 7:50 Patrick arrived with two trucks and shuttled us to the McCall airstrip. We cleaned the cabins, loaded our gear and before long we were waiting at a picnic table next to the airstrip waiting for planes to be loaded and our short flights into the backcountry.

While we waited we watched as rookie smokejumpers loaded the plane and practiced for their first jump. They looked like space men in their flame-retardant suits with neck protectors, helmet and ankle pockets (with necessary gear for righting yourself when a parachute gets stuck in the trees).

The first plane was loaded and ready to go. It would take two trips to get all of the necessary supplies and individuals into the backcountry. I was on the second flight. We watched as our newly acquainted friends sped down the takeoff for their short fifteen minute flight. (At this time the snow had not cleared to provide road access into the Big Creek ranger station).

The plane returned refueled and loaded the second ground into the plane. Ben, Sarah, Evan and I boarded the small plane. There were only four seats in the hull of the plane and from the cockpit our pilot gave us our preflight checks and explained that he used to fly crop dusting planes in a previous life. We flew low, hugging the tips of the ridgelines below us as our pilot negotiated the large aircraft while enjoying a sandwich. The mountains are still largely covered by snow this early in June. And the white capped peaks seemed endless from our vantage point.

Seventeen minutes later we arrived in Big Creek airspace. In order to reach the landing strip our pilot did a backcountry approach. He flew low over the landing area, inspecting the runway for obstacles like people, stock, vehicles, etc. and then turned the plane around in the narrow valley and landed the plane. All around us were rolling ridgelines. From here at 5700 feet they towered above us. To our South is the impressive goat mountain.

We threw our gear down in the ten person yurt and began the real training. We started with a brief orientation to the necessary tools and immediately began working on limbing and bucking deadfall around the station into stash piles.

After work we climbed the short ridgeline to directly to our west called the Hog’s Back. With just a few hundred feet in elevation gain it offered an amazing vista of the Big Creek drainage. Looking down on the valley and the rolling ridgelines makes the anticipation grow even more. I cannot wait to get into the backcountry.

8hrs – Tool Orientation

(Smoke Jumper Plane)

(Pilot giving safety meeting)

6/6 – First Day on Trail

Today we actually started clearing trail. Well kind of, in order to get the trail we had to clear the road of deadfall. The road was about 3 miles in length connecting visitors from the Big Creek station to the Big Creek trailhead. I’m already beginning to love the work. There is something in the sound of wood falling away with each blow that feels satisfying. It’s as if that sound breaks down some barrier between us and the natural processes. The slow steady collapse of these large living creatures combated with primitive tools makes that soul feel good. Slowly but surely with each successful plant of the bit in the surface of the log pulp sprays as millimeters grow to consume the diameter of the log.

I don’t think we could have asked for a better group either. We seem to connect so easily. Laughing and overwhelming silent hills draws us close as we embrace each other’s company. There is something that can be said of those who still work with their hands. Our bodies become our tool and it seems we constantly measure one another. Every tree is a small competition with yourself and those around you. And each of us is here to win.

After finishing the three mile section of road we walked back to the station and were taught how to properly maintain our Pulaski’s (the outdoorsman’s tool of choice). Our instructors are very connected to their personal tools. Immediately I flashed a scene from Full Metal Jacket. “This is my Pulaski there are many others like it but this one is my own.” And after working on our own bits I began to understand the personal relationship our supervisors had with their tools. Filing the blade down to a perfect edge, sanding the shaft to comfortably fit your hands and coating the handle with linseed oil for better purchase is like religion. You and your tool become one in a strange transient act. Their surface changes as you use it, while your hands bear the scars of their weight.

I’m now beginning to really understand having a sense of place. It’s easy to become so attached to these places after physically altering the place with your presence. It is only the second day in the field and I already feel myself becoming attached. Three months can seem like an eternity but now I’m realizing more and more just how short our time will be.

8hrs - Cleared road from Big Cr. Station to Big Cr. TH/ Tool maintenance

(Back Left to Right: Sarah, Me, Kenny, Scott, Joe, Shilo, Evan, Bruce

Front Left to Right: Trish, Brandon, Ben)

6/7 – The Training Hitch

Well here we go. This is the beginning. After walking down the road we cleared the day previously we made our way to the trailhead where Amber (senior ranger) had dropped our packs. The other rangers wait for us at Beaver Meadows where work begins. They had cleared the approach but our job was to begin the heavy maintenance north up the Chamberlain trail.

My pack was heavy for the short hitch. I carried 63 pounds, but it was worth it to carry vegetables and coffee. And after 3 miles we arrived at camp where we set up and headed up trail. We broke up into three person teams and began training on tred width and maintenance practices. I’m sad that these few days will be our last as an entire crew. Soon enough we will break up into our individual stations. Everyone is so friendly it will be difficult to only be able to work with two of these people.

Today though, Brandon (Chamberlain ranger), Sarah and I leap frogged the other groups up trail for three miles. Along the way we talked about relationships. Brandon has been married for five years after meeting his wife working in the Church. He told me he misses her a lot but they write frequently. After already working for twenty-eight days in the field and another three months to pile on that it is understandable that a man could long for his companion. Sarah was funny, currently single, she said that she was she was only really attracted to foreign men. In response Brandon harassed both Sarah and I by asking her why she was not attracted to me as I shoveled dirt. Her response was to ridicule me for only shoveling half loads off the trail.

At the end of the work day we cached our gear on the side of the trail and headed back to camp. It felt good walking back over the work that we had just completed observing each small detail as we travelled back to camp. After dinner I continued reading Perks of Being a Wallflower. Tomorrow we continue north and I look forward to the coming days.

8hrs – Waterbars/Tred work/ Brushing/ Rock removal

6/8 – Getting Into Rhythm

Today we continued our work down the 001 Chamberlain trail. We walked the distance we cleared the day previous, collected our gear from the cache and continued north. The approach from camp is approximately 3 miles and was a relatively quick commute to the job site. It is nice being able to walk over your again and see the weight of your work. Most of the day I spent working with Ben, Joe and Trish rebuilding a rock retaining wall that had begun slowly eroding from the steep talus slope.

We started out by cutting a platform in the sheer face. Using our Pulaski we scoured a platform in order to lay a large flat boulder on top of that will act as the foundation to the new rock wall. After which Joe, Trish and I collected large flat boulders and staged them for being dropped into place. Ben and I delicately balanced ourselves on the loose rock slope and received rocks from Joe and Trish above. The first boulder was so large it took us about thirty minutes to move it down to our staging area and properly seat it in place. After the first rock was set we used more flat boulders piled upon one another to form a solid retaining wall that kept the loose soil in place so that a tred could be formed. Fitting the boulders into position was like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that do not necessarily fit together, it works but is bound to fall apart eventually.

After morning break, where Amber and Patrick (Krassel District Ranger) held a safety meeting, I worked with Jessie (Cold Meadows Ranger) and Sarah fine tuning how to properly use a crosscut saw. We only made four cuts that afternoon. Working with the crosscut gives me a new respect for the people that pioneered the United States. Handling these primitive tools is incredibly dangerous but also demands a level of effort that newer technologies do not. When you finish a cut you feel a sense of relief, like a war ending and life returning again to peace. But then you approach the next log only to realize that the war is never ending, trees will never stop falling as long as there are still trees around.

Push, pull, push, pull

Palms sweaty, pulp spraying

We gently travel back in time

Each stroke engages the blade

As it scours and scores the next year

Push, pull, push, pull

Deeper and deeper we heave and hoe

As time begins to pile delicately at our feet

With all of our might

We continue to fight

As the years keep growing and showing

Push, pull, push, pull

As we near the end

Our thoughts become grim

As our movements require more haste

Finally she gives and falls to her fate

All in the passage of time

8hrs – Rock work/ Crosscut training

6/9 – The Work Continues

I found it difficult to get out of my hammock this morning. My body has yet to acclimate to this line of work. However I can already feel the strength building in my upper body and legs. This morning was slightly more difficult. There was a chill in the air that made removing the comforts of my warm sleeping bag unthinkable. And seven o’clock in the morning is not a time that I am used to seeing.

Last night Evan gave me a bit of a scare. He was star gazing late at night, it doesn’t get dark here until around 11pm. As he walked through camp his headlamp caught my face. I immediately woke up and naturally although not necessarily logically I assumed he was someone not from our crew. The night distorts our senses. As humans living in the forest we have grown accustomed to a healthy fear of the dark. There are predators that lurk behind every shadow. The fear here though is minimal at worst. Here animals remain wild. They have enough room to comfortably compete for resources. In my experience a wild bear is usually more likely to mind his own business than a habitualized bear. But the night still overwhelms us haunting our dreams, no matter how safe we feel.

Later in the day we two abandoned hunting shacks nestled in the trees just out of sight. Their roofs are slowly caving in. Sometimes walls collapse. Others you can only recognize a large heap scrap lumber. They live as ghosts of a former life of the Frank Church. Their decaying ruins give the area a heritage. It gives history and importance to the heritage of these areas.

For the most part the Frank Church was used for mining gold. Other precious metals and gemstones are also mined out the area. When the Wilderness Act was enacted and the Frank Church became a wilderness area claims were lost, others remained being grandfathered in. Littered across the entire wilderness area are of relics of “the Church” pieces of its former life.

In front of the rotting building we were given our station placements. I am stationed at Big Creek with Sarah and Ben. We ate lunch, continued working north before making the evening commute back to camp.

8 hrs – Tred work/ chopping deadfall

6/10 – The End of the First Hitch

We each seemed to pass the initial test of trail work. We worked well together and made good progress for beginners. No one got hurt and everyone was enjoying their job. But just learning how to use the tools is one thing. Using the tools under the weight of a 60 pound pack is another thing entirely. For the first time since we arrived at Big Creek we will be working with packs on back out to the trailhead. The final challenge has been issued. I am accepting.

To start the day we rehabilitated the campsite that we had been staying at for the last few days. We each took shovels, used gloves or simply moved things with our feet. We collected organic matter from under the large Douglas Firs and spread an even coat over all the exposed soil areas.

The rest of the day was spent adjusting to the weight of our packs. Picking up and putting down 50 pounds every few minutes becomes strenuous. Not mention that when your pack does get set down you have to use the remaining muscle strength in your arms and legs to compensate for the load bearing down on shoulders. But knowing that you can do it is worth every step. To know that as a human being you are capable of moving not only the weight of a comfortable life but can actually preform tedious physical challenges under its burdensome weight.

That afternoon when we made it back to Big Creek Amber gave us a tour of the rest of the forest service buildings on the grounds. Most of the buildings were newer construction after yet another fire destroyed the basin. The horse barn withstood the elements and has been standing since the 1920’s. To me those buildings take on a life of their own their history evident in their living faults. In the lofted space above the hay and saddle storage rangers for the Church would sleep. The building shows the marks of these men. The floor curls at the corners. The thick hand planed boards have subsided to the never ending steps upon their surface. Trails of scuff marks lead the visitor to every part of the building.

It’s strange to think about walking in another man’s steps. I mean is that not why we escape to the wilderness? To take on a step of our own? To be a part of history? Here standing on this floor I feel the weight of the past. But I can’t help thinking about what the people before us would have to say. They built this place from nothing. They laid the foundation being able to experience the call of the wild. I just hope I can live up to their legacy.

8hrs. – Orientation to working with heavy load

6/11 – All in the Blink of an Eye

It’s strange to think about the passage of time. An hour, a day, a month, a year, they seem to pass all too quickly. Like grains of sand trickling through the spacing of your fingers succumbing to the untamable forces of gravity. Each hour wanes with more haste as we plan out our existent till its inevitable end. I like to think about growing old but the idea of losing my youth seems more of a tragedy than death.

As I sit here slowly stoking the remaining embers of this otherwise dead fire I digest the changing of light and the overwhelming head that the glimmering remains exude. Just the smell alone is enough to trigger nostalgia. The act of lighting a fire seems archaic. Each individual has evolved past its necessary warm and light. The wild nature of fire has been tamed, used in order to bring complacency to the masses. So why do we still have fires? What does a modern man need a flame for with electricity?

Maybe it’s in our nature. Maybe it’s a necessary natural distraction. Maybe feeling that soft warmth and flickering lights allows us to connect to the past. I contemplate the question late into the night as the darkness of night illuminated with the distant glow of the universe. In that instant I felt small, insignificant in the vastness of the universe. Then immediately I thought of whether we would get out there; if we would ever come to know the worlds eons away.

6/12 – When It Rains It Pours

Mark came over yesterday for an interesting discussion. I’m not sure why everyone dislikes talking to him so much. He’s actually incredibly intelligent and insightful. I guess most people must assume their elders have little knowledge to share that they themselves do not already possess or the internet could not reveal to them.

We talked about astrophysics, global politics economics and a little global climate. It was nice to have an intelligent discussion instead of the usual small talk. That night Trish, Sarah and I stayed up talking about our lives. We shared intimate details that even the people I’ve know the longest don’t know.

At about 12:30 it began to rain for the first time since arriving to Idaho. It is strange how little we care for rain even though it is vital to the survival of life on the planet. The pitter patter of rain on the roof of the yurt kept me up for most of the night. I did not mind the chatter, it allowed me a few more hours to read. This time I’m reading A Fool’s Progress: An Honest Novel by Edward Abbey.

6/13 – Goodbye… For Now

Today marks the last of our break and tomorrow the start of the real work to come. By early morning our newly acquainted friends will be off in worlds of their own for the next few months. As if to symbolize the sad and strange occasion it rained nearly all day. The entire day we spent fortified in the kitchen. We played games, talked and ate watching the clock as it slowly paced on its urgent course.

The day felt slow but we enjoyed the last few moments we had in each other’s company. As I write now the storm grows stronger and stronger heaving thunder and lightning from its tremendous clouds. Hail and rain fell heavy late into the night as tremors of electricity illuminate the night sky. Each strike briefly illuminates the nearby ridgelines warning us of its might. I settle in for bed hoping only that each of us can weather the next three months.

(Left to Right: Evan, Trish, Bruce)

6/14 – The Beginning

After three hour and three chapter of acting out a ridiculous romance novel the plane that will take everyone to their stations landed. There was thick cloud cover with little visibility but the pilot navigated the dense water vapor with ease.

At first I was sad that the others were leaving but there was little time to dwell on the occasion, there was work to be done. Now it is just Sarah, Ben and I against the ever changing natural world. For today our task is to dig a six foot deep hole in the ground to replace the currently flooded latrine. Fitting in a small four foot by four foot wide hole in the ground proved to be a task more trying than expected and for the first time I found the disadvantages of being tall. Between the three of us we nearly cleared the six foot depth in the remaining work hours.

After work Ben came over to the cook shack and we feasted on salad and frozen pizzas accompanied by beer, whiskey and the occasional cigarette. I’ve found myself no longer disappointed with working out of Big Creek. Instead I am rather excited to get the work started and our journey to begin with these folks. Before I know it the summer will be over and I will be missing everyone but for today it is merely the beginning of a fantastic journey of a life well spent.

8 hrs – Dug a new hole for the latrine

(Left to Right: Sarah, Trish, Brandon, Evan, Mark, Brandon, Joe, Bruce, Ben)

6/15 – Getting Into a Routine

This morning we finished the hole for the latrine. After hoisting two humongous rocks out of the bottom and dredging out the remaining soil to we reached the minimum depth of six feet. In order to make the existing structure stand over the new hole in the ground we built an embankment of soil surrounding the surface of the hole to create a level stance for the structure to rest on until a new hole must be dug.

After completing the hole Anthony (McCall District Ranger) and Clem (Payette Supervisor) arrived and took Mark and Ben into town to retrieve their vehicles. It was the first time since arriving in McCall that the road could be passed due to snow. Sarah and I were left to work on odd jobs around camp. I refinished one of the picnic tables that had since succumbed to the elements and had all but dry rotted back into the soil which gave its birth. We found some timber in the horse barn and I made new seats for both sides of the table. While I worked on the picnic table Sarah spent most of the day splitting wood for the station. I found today almost as enjoyable as working in the field. Tomorrow we have the day off as well as Monday. Then as of Tuesday we being our first real hitch in the woods.

8hrs – Prepping new latrine, Refinishing picnic table

6/16 - Intoxicated

After only working for two days we had the next two days off. To prepare for our first ten day I ate an entire bag of chips, read almost all day and hiked to the top of the Hog’s Back where I worked on a drawing of the Big Creek basin and the surrounding mountains. Sarah and I prepared dinner for Mark, Mary and Ben that evening. However Sarah did most of the work. Dinner was a mix of salad, burgers, potato salad, mixed with Vitamin R’s. We ate and drank late into the evening talking and laughing in between drinks. After many hours we each sauntered back to our respective beds.

6/17 – The Day Before the Hitch

Tomorrow our flight leaves for Chamberlain around 9am. We have to be ready at eight to ensure that our bags are packed and weighed for the flight. I am excited to see another of the stations since we had not left Big Creek. From there we will be working a few days out of Chamberlain before making our way down the 001 trail back to Big Creek.

I’m excited to work again, for the pace to hasten a bit. With so much free time it is sometimes difficult to not get lost in thoughts of home. I’m beginning to miss that connection with more than two other people. But I still love every second walking amongst those powerful vistas I only dream about back home.

6/18 – The First Hitch

After digging the hole for the new latrine we were tasked with having to reposition the new structure. Before our plane arrived this morning Ben, Sarah and I negotiated the unstable foundation and framework of the fragile structure. To start we collected eight round logs without limbs to use as rolling bars to move the structure. We laid the logs parallel to the front of the structure, in the direction we wished to move it, hoisted the cumbersome weight onto the logs and began the slow process of rolling the heavy building over the logs and replacing them in front after each had passed underneath the structure. The most trying maneuver while trying to move the structure was turning it 90 degrees so that the user could leave the door open allowing light and fresh air into the dank confined space.

At about 9:40am our plane arrived. We weighed our packs, tools, food and all and made the short flight into Chamberlain. The plane could only hold three passengers and the pilot. I sat up front (one of the advantages of being tall) and watched as the pilot skillfully navigated the narrow valley passages between the rolling ridgelines.

The plane successfully landed and our work began. We cached most of our gear at Chamberlain and began the day’s work travelling three miles down the Chamberlain trail towards Sheepeater peak. We watched as we gained elevation and the surrounding valley opened up, it was a wondrous sight. It was a place to get lost in and never return. It was a place where you could once again feel alive. At the end of the day we made the swift hike back to camp where we settled in for an evening of drinks and food, trying hard to feel at home in this strange place.

8 hrs. Finished Latrine, Flew Into Chamberlain, Started Work on Trail

6/19 – First Day of Rain

This morning we awoke to a dismally dark and dreary day. The temperature had fallen sharply and rain rolled in waves from the south. We all met in the tool shed and waited patiently, hoping that the storm would ease and pass. After a half hour of tossing a Frisbee in the she conditions had not changed so we suited up for the merry march into the hills. With rain suit on we all easily weathered the storm. It was actually kind of nice having the light drizzle cool you as you worked.

Today I carried the crosscut as well as my Pulaski. With both in hand I had become a mechanized force equip for removing anything and everything that lay in the path. Throughout the day brief spurts of rain wet us and the dense understory. At about 1:00 conditions worsened and the ominous roar of thunder bellowed across the valley. Approaching the crest of this ridge we stand as the tallest objects. Most of the trees still standing are snags, relics of beetles and fire. Not to mention that each of us was wielding metal laden tools, ready to conduct any surge of electricity nearby. As a result lightning became our immediate concern. After thirty minutes there was a strike that came within a mile of us. The strike inevitably led to a mad dash of tool storage and hasty descent. We thundered as we raced off the mountain slopes hoping to outrun the coming storm.

The insurgence of electricity and rain did not last long however. Halfway through our descent the skies began to clear behind us and rain trickled until it ceased to fall. Soon enough we were in the comfort of the cabins lighting fires in the woodstoves to dry gear and warm up our extremities. The temperature remained cool the rest of the evening. But at least the rain and lightning had broken.

Tomorrow we pack up for our approach to Hand Meadows. That night we will camp together but the next morning our paths split. We continue our route south towards Big Creek and the Chamberlain guys head to Sheepeater to clear the path to the last remaining fire lookout in the Church.

8hrs – Lots of deadfall, lopping, waterbars

6/20 – To Hand Meadows

Today we roared like thunder. We raced back up the ridge heavily anticipating the day’s work. After making five miles to the tool cache we found ourselves overweight burdened with heavy work and a steady climb. In seven miles we gained two thousand feet clearing large portions of dead fall. The forest had been heavily effected by a large fire in 2003. Most of the area was consumed in a hellfire of smoke and flame. Now in the wake of the fires lay vast wastelands where only shadows stand.

Logs cover the land like matchsticks one delicately dropped on top of the other. Chattered and scattered they were abundant. With a slight breeze these sun backed trees pop and break dropping woody bodies on the ground. With a mighty swing of a Pulaski and the feverish march of the saw we cleared them all. The sound made the sky tremble and the earth shake. Like a mad machine we tore through the woods. All the while little drifts of snow kissed our exposed cheeks as the wind bit at our ears and nose.

It was a good day to be alive and the work felt strong and enjoyable. Like a draw from the bottle it was quick and painful but the job was done. Now the next day awaits as we refuel for the days to come. Tomorrow is just another day in the wilderness…

8 hrs – Extensive deadfall and lopping

(Left to Right : Me, Sarah, Bruce, Brandon, Joe, Ben)

(Chamberlain Basin)

(Hand Meadows)

6/21 – Just the Three of Us

This morning we parted ways with Brandon, Joe and Bruce. They head back from Hand Meadows to Chamberlain for the day where they continue their advance on Sheepeater. For us we continue down the 001 trail from Chamberlain to Big Creek. Luckily we only have a few more miles to clear before reaching the portion of the Beaver Creek trail we had cleared during training week. Tomorrow marks the halfway point on our first hitch and we will be spending a great deal of time working up E-Step from basecamp at Beaver Meadows. This trip has moved much quicker than I had anticipated, four days seemed to flash quickly before my eyes and now with only five more days to go I assume each day will progressively pass with more ease. I find it very strange thinking about my return home. It seems so far away but I know that before I know it I will be back in the routine of school and living on my own. It will be difficult to transition back into the real world but I look forward to the next year and finally being done with school.

8 hrs – Routine Trail work with day packs

6/22 – Halfway There

After one day with light packs at Hand Meadows we move downhill back into the valley making the slow steady approach back to base. We had expected, foolishly, that today like yesterday would involve light work with a decent hike. However we were incredibly wrong. Today hit harder than any days so far. There were downed trees covering every ten to thirty feet of the trail. Some were even stacked on top of one another making the chore of chopping or sawing them even more challenging. With blistered feet and heavy packs we trudged onward. Each step became a competition of self-worth until feeling withered away with the reality of the situation. We were three people carrying a saw, loppers, shovel and three Pulaskis alone and responsible for each log, rock, stem and length of tred. At times it felt a bit daunting but together we pushed through cutting our largest log since starting. It was a whopping three feet or more in diameter, a monster in comparison to most. Today my body is tired but my spirit has yet to be shaken. Here’s to the halfway point of our hitch.

Cheers!

8 hrs – Extensive sawing/ chopping

6/23 – Do the Trees Ever Stop Falling?

Today was another brutal day. We only made about a half mile in eight working hours. There were so many trees it seemed as though we might not make our projected timeline. We had to walk over work in order to make it to camp. Tomorrow morning we have eight logs to retrace our steps to before continuing past camp and continue our southward momentum. Who knows what the rest of the trail will look like but right now the work is grueling.

I wish right now more than anything that I had packed a bit more food. My appetite has increased exponentially since the start of work. It seems as though I can hardly fill myself up and I am seriously craving some sweets. Watching Ben eat his Snickers bar is kind of like gnawing at my own arm.

8 hrs – Extensive sawing/ chopping

(Bear Grass)

6/24 – Nearly There

The last few days have been man versus deadfall. The more we progressed the more it seemed as though the deadfall was going to win. After making less than a mile for two days straight our trouble began to lift their heavy veil. Now with only about ¾ of a mile left on the Chamberlain trail we can finish the work we started. Tonight we are camped beneath a giant spruce protecting us from the steady falling rain.

Amber has joined us for the final three days of our hitch. It will be nice to have a fresh set of hands and feet working with us to wrap up this section. Tomorrow we plan to finish the Chamberlain trail and move camp to Beaver Meadows. From there we will spend our last day working part of the southern Beaver Creek trail. But unfortunately we broke one of the handles to the saw this morning. After about a half hour we rigged up a replacement handle with two sticks and some zip ties. Then from there we spend our final day making the steady approach back to Big Creek. Right now I smell like a garbage can. With rain and cold weather creek bathing has been relatively impossible to stomach. The icy water cascading over your naked flesh seems more like a nightmare than a relief. I cannot wait to eat a hot meal at a table, take a nice warm shower and sleep under a roof. Oh the little things in life.

I also ran out of cigarettes today. Sometimes with the rain and snow they are just about the only thing that can get me through the day. In their absence I made a little jingle to ease the pain.

Oh I wish I had a cigarette…

I wish I had a cigarette…

I wish I had a cigarette to pass away the time

Sometimes these woods can be so lonely

I wish I wasn’t so damn hungry

The rain and snow make things so gloomy

Oh I wish I had a cigarette to pass away the time

8 hrs – Extensive deadfall, lopping, waterbars

6/25 – Drip, Drip, Drip

I watch patiently as beads of water begin to accumulate on the brim of my hard hat. Each one slowly gaining mass as water gently streams down the rounded top and beveled brim. There in slow anticipation each droplet waits until it grows large enough for gravity to pull it heavily towards the ground. By this time everything is wet and although it is not a down pour the drizzle is a nusance when trying to work out of doors. Each step you generate more mass as water soaked leaves saturate your legs with every step. Rain coats, although waterproof seem to only hold moisture not repel it. Your pack and shoulders collect the water like a spounge cascading the droplets further down rank.

The mind screams to make it stop while your body sets itself in heavy motion. Boots drenched, feet blister there is little motivation to continue other than the uncompromising nature of the work. The solid steady swing of an axe becomes a slippery grasp at control. Saws bind with more fervor in the punky waterlogged deadfall. And each step is taken with more caution and grace to prevent the catastrophic collision with the ground. In these moments it is sometimes difficult to remember that you are alive. Your mind has gone to a drier place while your body forces itself to continue its necessary motion. Like skeletons we creep through the forest creaking and cracking with each step. Each of us waits patiently to rid ourselves of the madness of rain. We anticipate only a warm meal and a dry place to hang our heads. We walk with malice intention desperately trying to weather the storm.

I’m not sure I can accurately depict how the suffrage of the elements brings about joy. But there is something magical in these hills that drive a man to madness. Just to taste that sweet intoxicating air or drink from an undisturbed flow might be enough. It’s a strange urge to battle oneself against the environment we so long ago conquered. Possibly it’s a way to deal with the self-doubt bestowed upon us in the new unforgiving world. Or maybe it’s just to find something in ourselves in an environment that we can never have control over. Whatever it may be the fight still remains the same. A man and his wits once again against the odds.

8 hrs – Lopping, Sawing, Chopping, Waterbars

6/26 – The Final Day in the Field

This morning Amber proposed we get out of the rain and make our way back to Big Creek. And of course the tired, wet, sore three of us were happy to oblige Amber’s need to make way back to the station. In the morning we worked the eastern portion of the Beavercreek trail. There was an incredible amount of lopping and I quickly drew tired of trimming the small woody bushes so close to the ground. After eight days I no lnger had the patience for such tedious work and could smell home calling my name.

We worked until noon then made our wat back to camp. There we packed our gear and made the short hike back to the trailhead where the government surplus vehicle lay in wait for us. Ben and I arriving first made our wat to what we thought was our truck. With our packs and tools we waited patiently on the girls. However we were surprised to see a half hour later Amber pull up in another Forest Service truck. Embarassed by our mistake Ben and I removed our packs and loaded them into the proper truck. Sarah and I rode in the bed while Amber and Ben rode in the cab. I enjoy riding backwards in the bed of a truck. Exposed to the open air with no glass or metal to interrupt your sight you can really enjoy the views as they wisp by so quickly.

That night Mark had planned a meal for all of us. Brats, baked beans, fruit salad and chips was a feast for all of us. There to join us as well was the trail crew Brittney, Emily, Tom and Forest. They were incredibly friendly and after a little warming up we spent most of the night telling stories and laughing uncontrollably. It was nice to see some new faces. Not that I do not enjoy the company of Ben or Sarah but it seemed to break up the monotony experienced over the last week and eased the harsh transition back from the woods. I guess while we were away the governor had flown into our airstrip and even took a moment to have coffee with Mark and Mary in their apartment. The event actually lead to a heated political debate between Mark and Patrick. In all it felt good to be back and out of the rain.

8 hrs – Lopping, travel back to station

(Home)

6/27 – The Last Day of the First Hitch

Today had to have been one of the most relaxing and enjoyable day I have spent with the Forest Service yet. To finish off our first hitch we drove to Lick Creek trail head and made the steady 2000 foot climb in three miles to Lick Lake. Ben drove or at least attempted to. The truck was a manual and Ben had not driven one in some time. After stalling the engine about five times we made the short drive to the trailhead. There was very little work to be done on the trail. Mostly we just fixed waterbars and enjoyed the vast landscape to our North and East as we ascended the trail.

We opted to finish our work before breaking for lunch so that we could take a little time to explore the high altitude lake. Naturally when I arrived I took a dip. Although it was a sunny day and extremely warm compared to the last week and a half the snow fed lake was still bitterly cold. Immediately after submerging myself I lost my breath and had to resurface racing for the bank. But it was wonderful none the less. For a few hours we sat and let the gentle sun warm our weathered skin while a couple fished on the opposite side of the lake.

Eventually we checked the campsites for trash, broke up fire rings and made the short decent back to the truck. On the way down we rain into a preacher from Middletown (it’s a small world) who informed us that the trail crew had an accident earlier when we arrived. They were doing chainsaw training that day and our minds immediately went to the worst. When we arrived at the trail head the truck was gone and a large tree lay in the middle of the road blocking any traffic in or out. A local came by and harassed us for the downed log and showed very little sympathy for the injured person. He was rude to say the least and video taped us as we tried to explain that the situation would be amended shortly.

Eventually Amber and Patrick came by with a truck and saw. They explained that Forest had injured himself limbing a tree. He had been standing on the same side of the branches at his feet swinging violently trying to remove them. Of which neither are standard practices. When limbing you always stands opposite to the branches you are cutting and focus energy on precise cuts not powerful blows. He did not glance off the log when swinging but instead made direct contact with the front of his boot. Axes although not as sharp as a razor with enough force can power through a leather boot with relative ease.

It is incidents like these that really make you realize just how dangerous these jobs can be at times. That could have been any of us. I guess I’m just glad it wasn’t one of us. And even more so I’m glad that it did not happen in the field. Here we are over forty miles from the nearest walkable help at any time. If we get hurt… We not only have to wait… but we may not make it out.

8 hrs – Sharpen tools, waterbars, lopping

6/28 – First Day Back in Town

Ben and I made the two and half hour drive back into McCall today to resupply food and to change the scenery a bit. We had planned to spend today and tomorrow in town getting food, going hiking and just simply hanging out. The drive was on backcountry dirt roads that wandered through canyons, next to rivers, climbed large saddles and meandered through the micro-colony of Yellow Pine. We first climbed the few thousand feet to Profile Pass. Upon reaching the summit the trees thinned and allowed for a wide view of the towering peaks and stunning valleys below.

The mountains in this stretch of wilderness were much more like what I had anticipated the mountains of Idaho to look like. Instead of rolling hills with soft subtle peaks these mountains were rugged. Exposed granite and sheer rock faces towered in every direction. There was little vegetation on these snowcapped mountains. As we approach Lick Creek Summit the mighty Idahoan mountains revealed a much more powerful and intimidating presence. With large granite spires, chimneys and chiseled exposed rock in plain view in every direction I felt the keen urge to instead to these mountains than return home to Big Creek. Large cascading waterfalls caressed the naked chutes into the raging east fork of the Salmon River. And instead of large stands of skeleton forest lush green conifers accented the otherwise grey and inspiring landscape.

When we reached Yellow Pine a city of less than 1000 residents we stopped into a local convenience store. Greeting us at the front door was a large mastiff chained to the porch guarding the entrance into the establishment. I gave the dog a pat and reluctantly he allowed us entrance into the facility. The place was dark and reminded me of a cabin more than the usual stop and go store with bright lights and shiny displays. Instead it was furnished with wood paneled walls, plywood shelves and hand written placards to indicate the price of purchase. I grabbed a bag of Cheetos and waited patiently at the counter that was vacant of a service employee. From the backroom I could hear the quiet chatter of a woman and some children. Ben approached and the lady evacuated the backroom. We each bought a pack of cigarettes and continued on the trail. After a brief intermission at Slick Rock where Ben and I planned to climb a ten pitch 5.6 and 5.8 later in the summer.

We made the final few hours driving down the dirt road until it changed back into the familiar pavement at the city limits of McCall. Once there we sat down at My Fathers Burgers and enjoyed a hearty cheeseburger accompanied by a smooth cool Shift from New Belgium in Colorado. It was a blistering hot day with temperature exceeding 85 degrees. The pavement seemed to amplify the heat radiating in the unseeable humid air. I called my parents and asked for them to send me my harness so that I could climb on days off. They were happy to hear from me and told me that my sister may be unable to get to go on internship to the Canadian Rockies due to a raging flood.

(Slick Rock)

6/29 – Just Another Day Off

Today was rather uneventful. Other than the constant stream of airtraffic flying into the strip for a breakfast function raising money for the Big Creek Lodge. The sound of engines reving up and dying down became rather maddening. I had hoped for a more desolate environment where the sounds of front country chaos would become more of a nightmare than an everyday occurance. But we endured. Deeping ourselves into our reading and sealing the cabin from the outside world we attempted with little success to return ourselves back to a state of peace and serenity. As the day progressed the mountains once again took their calm quiet disposition and we were able to refocus our energy on enjoying the subtle silence the woods lend. In the evening Amber showed Sarah and I how to let the horses into the pasture. They are quite personable beasts. Each one has a personality of their own but together they are like children prancing playfully through the pasture chasing and pestering one another. In all it was a relaxing day and I’m beginning to really enjoy my stay at Big Creek. At first I was a little upset with the placement. But the more time I spend here the more I am glad to be working here with the people that I am. I just wish it was a little more natural so that I could escape once again into the solitary existence of the woods. But I feel I will be enough of that on our hitches. For now I’m extremely happy to be here.

(Planes lining backcountry airstrip at Big Creek)

6/30 – The First Summit, The Last Day of June

Its officially the end of June. The last twenty-six days have gone by in a flash. It seems like only yesterday we were all getting acquainted with one another. Now each of us is at our respective station slowly progressing day by day to the end of August. I feel as though the next two months will pass with an even more rapid pace than the last has. To celebrate the occasion Ben and I made the daring dash to the summit of Goat Mountain. Looming heavily in the distant south of the runway I have been dreaming of the climb to the top that peak since first arriving at Big Creek.

Just over 9000 feet Goat Mountain is one of the tallest and most featured peaks in the surrounding basin. After a fifteen minute drive we found ourselves at its base where a narrow drainage sharply ascending to the high country. Upon the advice given to us by Jesse and Brandon we followed the channel just due west to a sharp ridgeline littered with well-established game trails. The first five hundred were painfully steep your calves screamed as we navigated between the standing and fallen trees while the spikey current scratched at our shins. After exting a relatively densely wooded area we found ourselves at the base of a large talus field that rose to an exposed rock ridgeline. The broken fragments of granite slipped with ease beneath our feet. After another five hundred we reached a bench. There we ate a small lunch, rehydrated and prepared for the sketchy climb up class three terrain and talus fields. As we ascended Big Creek slowly faded into the mountains to our north. The Hogs Back and bare landing strip faded out of sight was we climbed higher and higher. We traversed narrow passages of exposed rock along a steep buttress that lined the eastern walls of the drainage. The more we climbed the more we hoped we would not get cliffed out by the steeping rock face and the worsening rock conditions. We traversed until we reached a narrow couloir. The steep snow line fell over 1000 feet into valley below. Luckily the snow was soft and allowed our boots to sink into a comfortable step with ease.

Eventually the rock proved to be too weak and steep for us to continue up without aid. In response we traversed back and down below the buttress to the talus field below. From there it was a straight uphill approach to the summit. Each forward step seemed to steepen the rocky terrain. In due time we navigated the steep snow fields to the top. At the top lie an overwhelming view of the surrounding mountain ranges. The distance seemed endless as slopping peaks and rolling ridgelines distorted the horizon line. All around us space seemed endless, timeless, almost forgotten. We sat at the summit for a short time enamored by the indescribable beauty that rose right before our eyes. Rested and rehydrated we boot skied down the remaining steep snow packs. Before long we had made our way back to the car. Exhausted and accomplished we rolled slowly back to base.

(Picture to the Left: Big Creek Basin Right: View of Goat from Big Creek airstrip)

(Ben and I crossing a couloir)

(Me on top of Goat)

(The view from on top of Goat Mtn.)

7/1 – The Day Before the Second Hitch

After a strenuous yesterday I felt the serious compulsion to do nothing today. I arose to yet another morning of exhausting back pain. The cot is beginning to really wear on my patience. I believe the source of the pain is from sleeping on my sides however it has become a serious disturbance to my morning routine. Most of the day was devoted to lounging around camp. It was a warm day and I gravitated heavily towards shady places. I also noticed an increase in the bugs. The flies are especially aggravating as they caress every piece of exposed flesh searching for salt. After finishing A Fools Progress last night I started George Orwells 1984. The book is fascinating and I read most of it in between packing up my pack for the next hitch.

7/2 – Back At It

After packing my bags and a good nights rest we were once again on the trail. This time we would only spend a night in the field before our government sanctioned holiday on the fourth. My pack was light and with ease I found myself at Beaver Meadows setting up camp for the night. After a short break we continued down the trail towards Copper Camp. There was little to be done other than brushing the overgrown woody species. Tomorrow we will saw the two longs we stepped over today. We continued down trail until we reached the Ramey Ridge trail which we advanced up and will continue to work up tomorrow.

After caching our tools we made the hike back to camp for the night. Where sheltering himself from the coming thunder storm was the only other non-forest service employee we have camped with. His name was Ron Marquart and he was spending ten days in the field shooting photographs for a Smithsonian photography contest celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the Wilderness Act. I spent most of the night quizzing him on the equipment he was carrying while conversation bounced from conservation to artistic form. He said he shoots mostly film and enjoys the sharp feel and contrast that it gives the image. He also stated that he was disappointed the Kodak’s Kodachrome line had been discontinued. He was a funny old man appearing to be in his late fifties or early sixties. From the top of his glasses he peered down at you with a crooked smile and greying hair. His face was littered with a shadow of stubble, a sign of a man in the field. Long after Ben and sarah had retired to their tent he and I continued talking politics and conservation. His wool pants with padded knees and duck hunting hat reminded me of something my father would wear. Eventually we exchanged websites and promised to rummage through each other’s collections. It was a wonderful encounter in such a seemingly inhospitable environment.

8 hrs – Lopping, Lopping, Lopping

7/3 – Bird of Prey

Sauntering down the trail tools in tow we came upon a large nest seat a top a large snag on the bank of Big Creek. A large ponderosa had succumb to the forces of gravity splitting the tree in half leaving a wide trunk towering over the forest floor. The massive bird lay in wait, watching our every move. We proceeded with caution trying not to startle her but we had been spotted. From the nest emerged an osprey with a wingspan exceeding four feet. It danced in the air calling at us that we had ventured to close. Of all the powers of evolution flight seems to be its greatest achievement. As a terrestrial being the idea of being able to leave the ground and to soar care free in the air is a distant dream. The rest of the day I could not stop thinking how much I would rather be a bird floating carefree than a human tirelessly trudging on the compacted ground.

8 hrs – Lopping, Lopping, Lopping

7/4 – Independence Day

Today, although it was our independence day was rather uneventful. I spent most of the day finishing George Orwells 1984. I have to say it is one of my new favorite books. I need to reread it though to fully understand the ending. In the evening Ben, Sarah, Mark and Mary came over and we made a feast. We had BBQ chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, chips, a cake with the American flag etched in with blueberries and strawberries, beer and whiskey. AMERICA!

7/5 – The Beginning of the Middle

As I aly back gently jostling by the rough shake of the truck crawling desperately up a jagged rocky road I flutter quietly in and out of consciousness. Pacing at a cool fifteen miles per hour the truck idles over the bumpy tred as the trees float by. I sit in the bed comfortably weathering the ride amidst the tools, packs and dust. We slowly approach the beginning of our next seven days in the field. This time we approach from the west heading north up Mosquito Ridge. After an hour of cautious driving we reached our destination. The air holds a bit of chill still remnant in the morning light. It bites softly at your exposed skin, but in the light of the rising sun the sensation of warmth kisses at the biting morning air.

Once again it is time to walk. Our approach is up the Smith Creek cutoff where we will hike until we reach the Mosquito Ridge trail head. The morning seems slow, time ticking with each individual step. Before long we reached the Werdenhoff Mine. Nestled in the rolling mountains the mine is a relic of the Church’s history. The five remaining buildings hang like shadows upon the hills. Each finds itself in a differing state of disrepair. It is strange to think that not long ago these buildings housed people and servered purposes other than succumbing to the natural forces. We walk through the cavernous remnants of the still standing buildings while quiet whispers of those past follow us pace by pace. The floors creak, the roofs leak and from the boarded windows trickles of light fill the enclosed space. But we cannot stop here and we continue our steady climb. In the distance thunder rolls and light rain begins to fall. It does not last long, just a twitch in the sky. The evening remains quiet. Each of us lost in our thoughts until finally the pests seem to be too much to bear. We crawl into our tents and finish the night from the comfortable solitude of the nylon walls.

8 hrs – Sawing, Chopping, Waterbars

7/6 These are the Days We Dream About

After a buggy evening hiding out in the shady enclosed comfort of the tent read from John McPhee’s book and writing letters to friends I awoke to a cold sun filled morning. It was difficult to rationalize leaving the comfort of the sleeping bag but work waits whether or not people are ever going to walk the trail this season. After a short breakfast we loaded up our light packs and journeyed up the steep switch backing trail. The work was light, mostly water bars and hero trees (green trees). I love chopping and sawing trees still soaked with sap, green and moist to the touch. Blades slide through their veins like butter. A swift blow with an ax sends showers of chips with ease. The saw never felt so good either. Each pass sends cascading waterfalls of pulp from the scour. All the while the surrounding area grows more distant, more visually exciting as mountains loom in the distance. High on this ridge we have experienced the best sights yet of the Church. For hundreds of miles large rolling, folded formations of rock cloud the horizon. The scenery is immense, enough to make a man feel small. We progressed with haste making miles feel easy as we worked. Before long it was time to turn around and make the slow march back to camp. Upon our arrival we heard word of a fire north of Sheepeater lookout. A two acre scrub fire had started in a thick stand of ponderosas. We huddled around the radio map in hand listening intently trying to track down the source. It was like watching a television back home, each of us quietly digesting the transmissions. The chatter eventually grew quiet and our interest subdued.

8 hrs – Few downed logs, Waterbar reconstruction

(Enjoying the peaceful evening reading as most nights end up)

7/7 – BEAR!

Well today there was no where to go except up. I left camp a little early so that I could take some photos without slowing everyone up. Plus I wasn’t to sit and revel in the mountains awesome presence for a few more moments instead of speeding by in a quick glance. By ten we made it to our tools and after our first cut Smooth Joe came strolling down the trail. Bruce and him were supposed to be working toward Cow Corrals today but had taken a wrong turn that lead them to us. We were lucky, they had cleared the entire approach trail leading to camp. Joe repeatedly confused the trail we were on for the one they were pursuing. After a few minutes of convincing Joe turned around in a fury racing back up trail.

By noon we made it to camp. We ate lunch and packed day packs to help work towards Cow Corrals. But again Joe and Bruce had already come through this area by the time we arrived. So while Ben went to do a campsite inventory Sarah and I casually strolled down the trail clearing up some things that Joe and Bruce had missed, but mostly just enjoyed the views of the surrounding ridgelines.

That evening as we were all preparing and eating dinner a large black bear strolled through the outskirts of camp. Ben was the first to spot him and immediately a frenzy ensued. Joe, Brandon and Ben grabbed their camera and dashed up uphill chasing after it on foot. Sarah and I remained for a moment when the bear tiptoed back towards camp. In a flash we too raced towards it trying to cut off its advance and push it closer to the guys for a better look. It passed by them and before long it had been scared away and we were each back set into our evening rituals. We ate, drank, smoked and sent ourselves to bed.

8hrs – Downed Logs, Waterbars

(Views as we ascend to the top of Mosquito Ridge)

7/8

Am I dead? I ask myself quietly as the endless stream of insects pick at every exposed and unexposed piece of flesh. The vultures quietly hang in space circling in the barren afternoon. Hungry and patient they wait. I smell and look as close to death as a man can. Covered in dirt, blood, and sweat we more nearly resemble the ground than a man traversing through the trees. Feet ground down, hands oozing sweat and blood, arms hanging, head falling, knees weaker than the trees in a strong breeze we walk. The ground itself seems to move as I try to navigate the uneven ground. Skin sunbaked from the lack of shade we begin slow roasting our fleshy exterior.

My mind steadies, blank as it ever could be. The only focus is found on the short shallow breath. The question rings again. Am I dead? Surely I’m alive. My heart is dancing, my feet pacing, and vitals show no sign of death. But as I walk and the flies scour my body looking for nourishment I desperately wonder why the black masses continue to circle overhead. One misstep, one mistake and they have me.

Further we push into the afternoon sun anxious to rest our weathered bodies. I pull of my socks and tend to my sores, trying hard to brace my broken back. The question rings again. Am I dead? Sitting here lying back watching the day turn into night I ponder the question. If I’m dead so be it, I find peace in the place I stand. With the buzzards and bees as my company I feel I’d rather be a dead man resting on this log deep past unforeseeable future after a hard day’s work than be any living man sitting at home watching life from the comfort and safety of his couch.

8 hrs – Cutting trees, Lopping, Waterbars

7/9 – Just Another Day

Another day of trail work, another mile of trail won. We skillfully progress through sweat and stank to make it just a few more paces, just passed the last log we can see. I find very little to complain about on days like these. The weather seems just warm enough to unfreeze from the morning air but not unbearable enough to hide in the sparse bits of shade. The breeze settles the bugs and lightly cools the otherwise humid and stagnant air. All the while we climb watching the views grow wider, deeper and more sublime. Its days like these that a man seldom forgets. There’s no place like home, but I’m becoming more accustomed to taking home with me on my back where it belongs. Craving the unnecessary commodities of life we progress. Always present in these moments we march trying not to forget.

8 hrs – Downed Logs, Waterbars, Lopping

7/10 – Oh What a Joy to Be Lost

Well on the last day before our return naturally we lose the trail we seek and stack the longest day on top of an already high mileage trek. Damn it feels good to be done with today. I guess I don’t have much else to say. My feet hurt, my back aches and the sun sucked all the water straight out of my pores. I feel intoxicated by the effort exerted today. Now in the comfort of my tent I feel alive, awake and present ready to tackle the next challenging day.

8 hrs - Down Logs, Lopping, Hiking

(View from Ramey Ridge)

7/11 – The Last Day of the Second Hitch

After a long day yesterday there was little surprise that each of us lacked motivation for trail work today. Most of the aches and pains from yesterday still lingered, dulling both the spirit and the physical strength we had left in the final day of the hitch. I’m not sure why but this seven day period seemed much more a struggle than the previous ten days. I’m not sure if it was the mileage or a general lakc of perseverance but I feel tired as hell. And from the looks on both Sarah and Ben’s faces I know that they felt the same thing. Even the tools dangling at my side, usually easy enough to carry held densities unlike their own. Like lead strapped to each hand they pulled heavily towards the ground. My feet creak with each step and my head hangs heavy. Weighed down by the forces of gravity, unable to focus on much but the passing ground we walked.

After a long lunch we repaired our tools. I sharpened mine but found my hands quivering unable to maintain purchase on the file as it stroked the edge of the bit. After a few hours I managed a sharp blade, but it was uneven and easily manipulated by the slightest of strokes. My hands and head weary did little to remedy the uneven edge. As long as it was sharp I rationalized it would do.

8hrs – Travel time, Tool Maintenance

7/12 – Let’s get Out of Big Creek

The summer is nearly half over. And with the short four days off we decided to leave Big Creek and make the six hour drive to Stanley Idaho home of the Saw Tooth Range. Ben had invited Sarah and I along for the trip to visit his friend Heather who worked as a raft guide on the Salmon River. Naturally, Sarah and I were glad to make the trip and explore another part of this beautiful state.

After driving into McCall (mainly so that Ben could try to find new boots, his had recently torn through the rubber toe protector) we stopped for a beer and lunch at the McCall Brewing Company. I cannot begin to explain the joys of eating a meal that I neither have to prepare or clean up after. From there we roamed around the city a bit. Sarah and I walked through some of the thrift store and made contact with the outside world while Ben tried with no success to find new boots.

After a few hours and some ice cream we found ourselves on the road again heading southeast towards Stanley. The drive seemed short as we meandered through the steep canyons passing campers and RV’s enjoying the leisurely drive down the single lane highway. It was strange to be surrounded by people moving at such an accelerated speed. After a long period of walking driving becomes strenuous on the senses. Inertia seems to pull constantly at your organs as the vehicle accelerates and brakes. There is also little time to enjoy the scenery. From the glass enclosed torpedo conversation is limited by the lack of direct contact . Your eyes seem to transfix on the never ending pavement losing contact with all that surrounds you.

In due time we found ourselves in the small town of Stanley, which consists of little more than a small strip of stores, outfitters and restaurants perched along highway 21. In the shadow of the Saw Tooths you can find Salmon River Adventure Company and our friend Heather. We waited patiently in the parking lot for Heather to return from her trip then made the drive to Red Fish Lake for live bluegrass. We listened to music, drank a little and admired the soft reflection of the Saw Tooths on the glassy surface of the lake. The rest of the evening went as most do in a small mountain town. We ate dinner, went to yet another gear shop, and well after sunset found camp and began the slow steady process of drinking ourselves comfortably to sleep.

7/13 – The First Climb

This morning was difficult to convince myself to get up and out of the tent. Nursing the toxic feeling of an intoxicated evening I was reluctant to open my eyes to the morning light even after realizing sleep past the ritual 7am wake up was out of the question. After slowly undressing my bag, careful to not stir to quickly, I unzipped my tent and lay for a moment taking in the vast undulating skyline.

From camp we made the short drive back to Stanley and had breakfast at Diner 21. I had an omelet and copious amounts of coffee, trying hard to nurse the aching feeling in my stomach and head. We sat for a while and talked long after each of us had finished our meals. Conversation seemed to ebb and way more than the unpredictable motion of a wave coming into shore. We lingered for a moment then began the drive to the Yankee Fork where off to the side of the highway there was a nice crag for some sport climbing.

Sarah watched as Heather, Ben and I navigated the short face climbs for most of the afternoon. I was glad to feel rock again. It’s rough texture and strange erosional features call to every climber. I felt a significant loss of stamina in the small static muscle groups that east the process of climbing. It was wonderful to be able to climb again. I had not anticipated being able to climb for the entirety of the summer. Luckily Ben climbs as well or I would have spent three long months yearning for my next high exposure.

After a few hours when our water ran dry and the heat of late afternoon set in we migrated to the sandy beaches of Red Fish Lake. There we spent the evening relaxing in the coarse sand soaking up the remnants of the warm satisfying day. The scenery was breath taking but the constant flow of people proved to be a distraction. I immediately wondered what this place would have looked like before the campgrounds, RVs, traffic and parking lots. I feel as though it may have been more precious then. It would have held more respect and admiration then than it ever could now. The values of these untamed landscapes seem to have been lost to our generations. And I fear it will only continue to lose the grasp and appeal over the continued generations. Wilderness no longer is a matter of importance. Silence and solitude no longer sought after and cherished. We have become people dependent on the presence of others bound by the security of safety in numbers.

The rest of the evening was spent enjoying the failing light, the cool mountain air as it swept over us. A sense of calm whispered us quietly back to camp. It reminded us that we still exist. That these places still exist and that maybe in the length of unknowable time that there is hope for us yet.

7/14 – The Daily

Today we rafted the daily section of the Salmon River. With Heather as our guide we easily maneuvered the less than challenging “white water”. With rapids only reaching class two the paddling was easy but incredibly enjoyable in the warm afternoon sun. We were lucky enough to travel with an afternoon group of two other boats full of families. Rob and Fritz piloted the other two vessels. The water was shallow and rocky but we glided over each feature and even stopped briefly to surf a hydraulic while the other boats quickly shuttled past us.

After paddling we made dinner at HQ, relaxing on the large patio as costumers came and went through the store. When darkness began spreading over the basin and the warm refreshing light left us with cool calm air we made way to a nearby hot springs.

It was an interesting feature along the side of the highway where a large cauldron, an ancient relic of gold mining on the Salmon River, sat with a large drainage pipe that spat out scolding hot water. We filled the tub with a mixture of cold river water and hot spring water until the cauldron was at an optimal temperature. Then the four of us quickly stripped and climbed in nestling in the tight corridors of the tub. The water was warm and satisfying after so many days already spent in the field. It relaxed our muscles and lifted the veil of mental anguish.

7/15 – What We Leave Behind

I've never been a person who would consider himself as a having faith. Quite frankly I find religion to be a bit of a sham. Designed by individuals unhappy or unable to comprehend the world around them I find its fables fictional tales of morality more than a doctrine to subscribe ones entire existence to. However it does seem much easier to believe than to negate the information presented in the varying doctrines. All the scriptures have already been written, beliefs formulated and idealisms constructed. One simply has to sign their own personal understanding of the world and life without really having to think about how to act, feel or react.

For me I find an afterlife the most disturbing of all. I can understand writing a code for morality to describe ways of living but to claim to understand the workings of life after death seem unmistakably misconstrued. For me death is a permanent act. There is not an afterlife. There is no detached spirit wandering the vastness of the cosmos. There is no God to hold your hand for the rest of eternity. There is only your lifeless body buried beneath the ground.

When I tell people this most commonly their reaction is first disbelief and then a question of life’s meaning without the presence of some omnipotent being. Now don’t get me worng I believe in the spirit of a person. But not in the sense of a floating entity who carries the features of the living. Instead I think life after death is merely the presence that individual once held in life carried by those close to us long after we fall from Earth.

I think man’s spirit is his legacy, the embodiment of a once living individual captured vividly in the memories of friends and family. In reality memories are all that a human has to connect to the past, present and future. They are what us conscious beings. Without memories, that strange storage of thoughts and experiences, humans would be no different than any other living organisms. In the lasting memory of the once deceased we capture a lifetime of experience in memory. We relive their life in each passing thought. If no one knew you then surely it’s almost as if you hadn’t existed. You become forgotten, only if you never trusted that life was worth living long enough to share it.

By believing in an afterlife, separate of our physical selves, we selfishly bestow value on our own individual self and neglect that our time is not endless. An afterlife negates the value of this life. The time we spend on Earth only surmounts to surviving long enough to understand that there is some presence larger than us. In doing so, we separate ourselves from this life and the life of those things that surround us. Meaning and value of life come long after we have laid to rest. Our life’s work and those around us live in our wake cherishing those moments in which we were brave enough to give this life a chance.

Eventually those who knew us and carried our existence with them will die too, such is life. But there are those great few who have made enough of a difference to be remembered by history. I hope to never have that misfortune. I believe that in understanding not only that your presence on Earth is not timeless, but neither is your wake keeps a man grounded, humble and generous. In that understanding you have one very short time to experience and share the gift of life with those around you. I think it makes that man more apt to cherish each of those passing days with more grace and understanding than anyone who could ever believe that their spirit is timeless. And it eventually becomes easier to accept death as a final means to living. We can finally be at peace, quietly fueling the living forces of nature instead of becoming disembodied souls wandering through an abyss for eternity.

7/16 – The Beginning of the End

We are officially halfway through July. Today also marks the start of our third hitch in the field. With only 37 days left in Idaho and 29 out of 50 in the field left time has began to sail away at an incredibly fast pace. As of right now we only have eight more days off. I is crazy to think how far we have come in such a short period of time and how rapid our transition back into the “real” world will be. I’m dreading the routine schedule of school. But I am looking forward to the comforts of my apartment and being able to see my frontcountry friends again. And of course I am excited for my bed. I have been having vivid dreams of waking up under the warm comfort of cotton sheets and a roof only to be awoken by my own stench and a cupboard of a tent. I will surely miss Idaho when I’m gone. It seems that every time you venture into the woods all you can think about is home but when you return all you can think about is the woods again.

Anyways today was a difficult day. We gained about 2,000 feet coming over the pass into Cougar Basin. With a seventy pound pack and over ten pounds in tools, I was in rough shape. The climb stiffened my legs and labored my breathing. But the view from on top of that pass was worth every second of struggle. When we arrived at camp it began lightning and thundering. We hurriedly pitched our tents, got on our rain gear and turned on the radio. Two fires had been sparked by the sudden storm. One is even close to Big Creek HQ. It is at the head waters of Big Creek near Profile Pass. The threat however is low and from the chatter on the radio, the professionals believe it will drown itself with the passing rain.

Before long these ten days will be up and it will be the end of July. I’m not sure how but time passes with so much ease out here. Days seem more like hours and they pass before you’ve really even realized they have gone. Tomorrow the real work begins. Luckily I won’t have to carry my pack for the day hitch.

8 hrs – Chopping, Waterbars, Public Contact, Campsite Evaluation

(Views from the pass as we descend into Cougar Basin)

7/17 - A Long Day on the Trail

I’m not sure why but this hitch has seemed much more strenuous than the last. It could be the changes in elevation or maybe it was just the rushed start back from the weekend of fun. Whatever it is I’m feeling rather spent. Luckily though, my pack is getting lighter with each meal.

We cut a pretty big log today it was about 3 ½ feet thick. As the saw bit further and further into the log gravity eventually took its course and lead to satisfying trundle down the steep terrain. Unfortunately though, it seems as though Ben and Sarah are starting to feel ill. Ben and Sarah both have slowed their relatively rapid pace. I think Sarah has it worse though, although she would never admit to it. But from the look in her face I can see that she is in pain. Hopefully over the course of the next few days they can both begin to feel better. I surely do not want to be the only one left well enough to keep up with all the work over the next eight days.

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Waterbars, Tredwork,

(Bear Lake)

7/18 – The Last Climb

I felt much better today and although we carried heavy packs up over 1,000ft in elevation change I do not feel quite as bad as I had previously. However, it seems official that both Ben and Sarah are sick. Ben is suffering from some cold symptoms, headache, runny nose, and nausea, while Sarah seems to be suffering from some intestinal distress. On top of that we have found more trash during the last few days than we have all summer. It really pisses me off that people cannot take care of themselves well enough to not litter. One campsite was a complete mess. We found a whole roll of paper towels, rope, cans, fuel canister and the entire camp reeked of urine. How is that a forest with so little use can get so sullied by people? The fact that people willingly leave trash behind shows a serious lack of character and discipline in our culture. As we moved down trail weirder stuff kept popping up. Someone had cut downed logs and simply left most if not all of the round in the trail. If a horse packer were the person that cut it they would have been unable to pass and a trail crew would not be negligent enough to leave the trail in such disrepair. The person who cut the logs even took the time to limb the trees but neglected to move either the limbs or the rounds from the tred. Even further down someone had made a single cut on a log so that the entire remaining log still hung completely over the trail making it impossible for anyone to navigate around the cut. Laziness seems to be the descriptor word of this hitch. People too damn lazy to clean up after the mess that they create. Oh well its better now, I just wish I knew why.

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Campsite Inspection, Lopping, Waterbars

(Abandoned hunting lodge near Catherine Lake)

7/19 – Fire on the Mountain

Yesterday we spotted a large plume of smoke rising from one of the adjoining ridgelines. We had heard radio traffic the previous day of a fire near Bear Lake and another ridgeline we were unable to distinguish on the map. As we made the approach back to camp we feared that the plume of smoke we saw was a fire caused by us. That morning we had burned some of the combustible trash in a fire ring of a campsite nearby where we camped and we fear from the placement of the smoke that we had not properly extinguished the smoldering embers. We quickly rushed up the ridge towards camp and with relief realized that it was not us that had started the fire. That night we huddled around the radio trying to get a read on what was going on with the current fire. It turns out that when we had passed into cougar basin the lightning storm we encountered had ignited a forest fire near Bear Lake.

This morning as we descended into the basin of Monumental Creek the smoke had seemed to have subsided. Naturally we continued the rest of the days work. Upon our return to camp we noticed that the fire had once again grown and large pillars of smoke billowed from a top the ridge. Little glitters of flame flickered from the base of the smoke and quickly once again we raced back to camp. This time we patiently waited around the radio waiting to hear news of the growing fire.

The Bear Lake fire had grown to twenty acres and held a high threat for spread potential and could very easily make its way untamed into our portion of the adjacent basin. The air was littered with aircraft circling the fire, trying desperately to get a reading on wind, size and forest density surrounding the immediate area. We waited and hoped that we would be clear of the changing conditions as smoke filled the air with a sweet smell of combustion.

Patrick radioed us that evening trying to get a read of our position. Without saying we were worried, we discussed the current direction of the migrating fire and concluded that we were out of the direct path of surging torrents. As far as we could tell and from the information Patrick gave us we were safe for now. As quickly as news of the fire spread across radio traffic, transmission began flying as to whether or not suppression teams would be sent into the region.

It seems as though we may have dodged a bullet, but the fire is still in its early stages of development and it seems we are walking into more over the next few day. More to come in the following days.

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Waterbars, Brushing, Tredwork

7/20 – When It Rains It Pours

After a long hike down into the basin of the West Fork of Monumental Creek I made it to camp. I was worried however, after taking a 10:00 break and chopping through four logs I had seen no sign of Sarah or Ben. Ben had warned me that morning that he would be probably be taking the day off to nurse his illness. My thoughts immediately turned to the worse when I reached camp and had not seen or heard from them. I hoped that I would not have to hike back to make a rescue attempt. Luckily though after about twenty minutes of waiting anxiously at camp both Sarah and Ben arrived at camp looking incredibly ill and feable as they navigated the short descent into camp.

The afternoon was quiet. Ben and Sarah looked like ghosts of their former selves. Pale and thin they both seemed to be losing weight from the lack of appetite and heavy work load. After setting up camp and a short lunch, Sarah and I headed down trail to continue work. However Sarah did not last long. I could feel her weakness with each pull of the saw. After only a short while I directed her back to camp to rest while I continued working the rest of the day by myself. I felt it was better to have two well rested sick individuals than to have one rested and the other on the brink of collapse.

I found the afternoon following Sarah’s departure quite peaceful. Just me, alone in the woods, trying desperately to make progress on the large volume of deadfall was nice. I sang, poorly, aloud while the aching in my back from swinging the Pulaski mellowed softly in the warm summer air. I realized quickly how little I had been able to accomplish alone hiking back to camp. It only took me about a half hour to get back to camp but at least some progress was made however futile it may seem.

On my approach back to camp I noticed something even more worrisome than the collapse of Ben and Sarah. Just over the ridgeline we camped beneath another fire was brewing. Large pillars of smoke clouded the otherwise sunny day. And in to far distance I could see the plume of smoke from the Bear Lake fire. Upon my return to camp Ben and I set off to try and make radio contact and scout the nearby fire. From windspeed and direction we could tell the fire was moving in our direction but we could not make out just how far away the flames were. If the fire were to make it over that narrow ridgeline it would not be long before the flames made their way into camp for the night.

With little radio reception Ben and I hiked up a nearby ridge, but found little luck. As we had been warned reception in this area was incredibly poor and even after hiking up about 1,000 feet we were unable to make contact with Krassel Office. But we did get a broken transmission from a nearby pilot flying around the surging fire. All that we could make out from the transmission was that the fire had been spotted. Without knowing how big or how far off the fire was we returned to camp, hoping that the fire would not move quickly enough to smother us in our sleep we returned to camp. The plan quickly emerged to hike to the end of our expected route, passing over the work that needs to be completed, and work backwards towards the flames. By then our hope would be that the fire had been suppressed and we could sleep safely without worry of being trapt. Out only hope now is that there is not another fire waiting for us just out of sight down the canyon, or else the only way out is to be shuttled by helicopter, which even then is dangerous at best.

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Lopping

(Thunder City Fire Left, Bear Lake Fire Right)

(West Fork Monumental)

7/21 – Things are Looking Up

Well for starters Ben and Sarah seem to have made a full recovery and were even eating full meals by dinner. I’m glad that they are feeling better, I’m not sure How much longer I could have lasted trying to keep us in step with the work that needed to be completed. Second we are completely out of the fires reach. However it seems that one of our other crews is in a much worse situation than we are.

Cabin Creek to our North and East is close to a now one hundred acre fire that will likely not be suppressed unless it begins to creep west up the Big Creek drainage. From what Patrick and Amber told us, when we ran into them in the field, the fire had started near Black Butte and moved its way East to the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. There it has begun heading south following a previously burned region and is projected to move as far south as Wolf Creek. Patrick said that is very unlikely that the fire will move west up the Big Creek drainage, but in the event that it does happen Kenny, Scott and Shilo will be transferred to Big Creek with us to escape the moving front.

After talking to Amber and Patrick we also learned that the rest of our portion of the West Fork had already been cleared by the trail crew the previous day. I guess they are also having problems of their own. Forest is back to work and seems to be doing well although as Amber admits he wouldn’t tell anyone if he were struggling. What was funny was that he has only been eating raw pasta and parmesan for dinner every night. I guess Amber gave him some instant mashed potatoes and some advice on some alternative food choices to mix things up a bit. On top of that he also dropped his pack down a forty foot cliff. Luckily nothing was broken. Emily too has been having some difficulties. Rocking and external frame, she has been putting her pack on by sitting on the ground and trying desperately to negotiate the weight onto her legs. Which as Amber reports usually leads to a shower of gear falling off her rig.

We found a great camp just next to the trail junction of Milk Creek tonight. It has great tent spots, green trees and an amazing swimming hole. Best part is now we don’t have to move camp for another two nights and we get to come back to a cool refreshing swimming hole before we drive back to Big Creek on our last day of this hitch. Seems like everything has come full circle and is back in order.

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Lopping

7/22 - The Final Stretch

Well its officially one month from now I will be done with trail work for the summer and headed back home to a quick transition towards real life. Whatever that means. I feel I have had more real experience here with my feet on the ground then I ever could have experienced in a classroom. The summer is quickly coming to a close and I feel quite ready to be back to a bed and shower every night but as always I will miss this strange place. Some how in some strange way it seems to pull me back with more vigor each time I step away from it. Its like a virus. It infects the host, spreads rapidly, you get sick of it, it wanes and eventually your back again for more. With only two more days left in this hitch I have felt time quickly slip away. In the field day move so quickly but yet with the work we do I find myself pushing, waiting and anticipating the falling sun. it has been a difficult hitch for me and the group but it seems now things are back in order just in time for our hike out on Thursday.

This morning we awoke to chilly mountain morning. The air was harsh and bit hard at the skin. I layered up but even under all my clothes I could feel the soft chatter of shivering up and down my extremities. With much haste we started down trail up the Milk Creek Ridge where tomorrow we will meet up with the Frank Church Foundation to work a reroute project. We ascended the 2,000 feet relatively easily sawing logs as we went. One tree was quite enormous measuring over 3 ½ feet in diameter. With one swift cut the massive twelve foot section of the tree slowly set itself in motion in a tremendous trundle down the steep hillside.

In the background the valley of the West Fork was filled with smoke, an ominous reminder of the last week. A veil of opaque mass disrupted visibility of the nearby ridgelines, it seemed the fires are growing with strong winds and warm temperatures. Smoke billowed from the far away mountain tops clouding the low lying valleys with brown sweet smelling burn. Although we are far out of reach of the flame we have been carefully monitoring the fires progression over the radio. In order to get back to base we will once again have to walk bac towards the blaze and drive to HQ. If it continues to build and burn in the right direction the road may get shut down and our hitch may get cut short. With our tools stashed on top of Milk Creek ridge our hipe is that the flames will hold out and we can safely and easily make it back. The likelihood of the road being closed however is slim and we can comfortably rest and work the next two days.

Unfortunately though when we returned to camp today we noticed a tree had fallen when we were away and it was dangerously close to Ben’s tent. Snags hang over our heads every night we have spent in the field it is strange that now they have chosen to start falling. A forest with this much standing dead makes safe camping a myth. Each day has become a war waged against the constantly changing elements. Our hope is that we can safely evade them all, complete our work, and return home with nothing but stories, not scars.

8 hrs. – Deadfall, Tredwork

7/23 – Demobilization

Well the fire won the battle but we won the war. After spending yesterday working up Milk Creek we awoke to get another chilly morning and an unexpected radio transmission from Krassel Office. The foundation that we were supposed to be meeting up with to work a reroute north of Lookout Mountain was getting pulled from the field which inevitably meant that we too would be getting pulled out that day as well. After check in we confirmed our suspicions. We were getting taken out! All three of us were excited needless to say. After battling illness and the constant threat of fire we were glad to be able to leave the field two days early. But in order to get out it would cost us a full day of incredibly tiring work. Unfortunatley after double checking with Krassel the night before we had cached our tools two miles and 2,000 feet above where we camped in the opposite direction of our exit. So to start the morning we climbed.

After two hours we made it only to our tools. A short break later we were back to descending into camp where we loaded our things with much haste and started the long ten mile hike out to the trail head. We had all hoped that the day could be easier and we could negotiate the long hike with more time but the clock demanded we keep pace. After five river crossings and a scenic sprint down the last mile of Roosevelt Lake I made it to the tail head with legs weary and back and shoulders numb I waited for Ben and Sarah to finish their hike. I gathered water, ate some food, and a half hour later both emerged even more weary than I. Ben filled his water, found some drink mix nd we started the three hour drive back past Sidnite. Each of us was exhausted and without much stress other than the poor condition of the road we made it back to Big Creek. There we found our home packed with people. Nez Perez was still at camp and the Weed Crew had also come into Big Creek to spray the pasture. We ate brats, pasta salad and veggies (provided by the generous Jenn) and quickly found ourselves in the comfort of our cots and bags, ready to rest from the long day and the last two days of work.

8 hrs. – Hike out from the field

7/24 – Grunt Work

After building up some credit hours in the field we decided it would be best to take the morning slow. We started work at 10:00 doing all the unusual work that needed to be done. Ben painted, Sarah cleaned and I sharpened Pulaskis for most of the day. It felt good to be out of the field. Even though the work we were now doing seemed rather tedious and pointless. That night all of the members of each division of forestry hung out at the cookshack well into the night. We drank and ate and talked around the campfire until each of us had stayed up much later than we had anticipated. It was nice, like a party in the woods. All joined together by the same cause sharing a few hours below the dark starry sky. It was a good night.

8 hrs. – Maintenance Around Big Creek

7/25 – Just Another Day at Big Creek

As I walked down the airstrip clouds of grasshoppers danced in the air in front of me like autumn leaves jostling gently in a full breeze. With each step they jumped, set flight for a few seconds and landed only feet in front of me. Each step sent the cloud unanimously in motion. They set and reset their position each time hoping that their brief flight would cast the just far enough out of reach. Ground squirrels and marmots scurried with haste in any hole they could find. They squeaked frantically that my presence was neither welcome nor invited. Everything changed its regular course just so that I could pass the rest of the afternoon with a simple stroll down the airstrip. It still amazes me that in such a controlled and barren environment that is irrigated, fumigated, ridden with herbicides, pesticides and formaldehydes that life still flourishes. We try as we might to control and govern the awesome forces of nature with each step they progress further ahead of us. Rain decaying roadways, grass and roots lifting sidewalks and roadways and even ground squirrels filling a runway with hundreds of burrows, nature is an awesome force. It is one that surely will outlive us whether or not we like it.

8 hrs. – Maintenance on Irrigation System

7/26 – Leisure Day

Not much happened today. Mostly I just napped in the cool breezy summer air. It was nice not having much to think about or do so I just rested. I Let my body drift from conscious to unconscious most of the afternoon. I also started reading Catcher and the Rye. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet but it was a nice relaxing day. Preparing for the final two hitches on this the last of eight days off in Idaho.

7/27 – The Hogs Back

Today with little else to do I walked up to the top of the Hogs Back. This strange feature in the Big Creek drainage is a geologic relic of the past life of the Frank Church. The bowl that we now live, eat, drink used to be covered in a large accumulation of ice. The Hogs Back itself is the glacial pavement. The dense granite structure of the Hogs Back would not give to the slow powerful ice carving at the valley floor. Now in our current viewing time the Hogs Back is the primary feature that remains. It reminds me of the small foothills of the Appalachian except the slopes are covered with talus and its crest is littered with small less than vertical cliffs. From its highest point one can see immense distances, the head waters of the Big Creek, the entire face of goat, and the surrounding ridgelines. Big Creek weaves itself through the valley banking heavily at the entrance of the floodplain creating a large wetland field until it gently alters her course reaching the eastern face of the Hogs Back.

From the top the sun warms the granite slab I now sit on warming the beaten hides of my feet and thighs. The cool breeze makes the day feel refreshing. I sit for a while inspecting the different elements of each mountain trying my hardest to create just enough value, to shade in just enough light. As hard as I might try with pencil and pad, camera or computer the view will never be the same. Each day the light will be different as clouds move on and over the peaks. Snow accumulates and ablates on the narrow ridgelines and couloirs. And as fall and spring come around the forest shows its true colors. Each moment becomes unique and precious. The sterile whitewalls and blinding flickering lights of home become a nightmarish dream. Polluting our sense of vision with only the same bleak environment. Out here the senses become alive, each shadow, the subtle change in light and the overwhelming silence makes us whole. We are free to let out minds wander in the open empty air. As our senses readapt to the foreign environment. We hear the air, we taste the water, we feel the incredible warmth of the sun, our feet ache from the taxing terrain and we smell the surging torrents of fire. We become part of the environment, a living and breathing entity a kin to all those species around us. Sometimes we lost ourselves. Other times we find ourselves and explore the natural state of life. From a top these mountains we see ourselves. We see what is, isn’t and what might come next. We live for each precious moment to be sitting on top watching the world slowly change before us.

(View from the Hogs Back)

7/28 – Calorie Up

Calorie up is a term we have coined for the four days between hitches. Those four days are devoted to nothing but maximizing intake while minimizing output. We do nothing but eat, sleep, drink. And when I say eat I mean gorge, there is no sanity when it comes to a meal when work not working. You eat as much as your body will hold without the flood gates bursting open. But we maintained regimented. Snack comes at 10:00 sharp then lunch at noon, another snack at 2:00 then dinner around 6:00 followed by desert and tea, a classy touch on an otherwise dishonorable day of indulgences. Most nights sleep begins around 9:00 and if the airplanes wake you up at six you tend to roll out of bed around eight with a regimented nap sometime in the late afternoon. No strenuous activities are permitted on these few precious days. Exceptions do occur on the occasion to bag peaks or climb rocks or run rapids. Few exceptions are made but are necessary to the mental and physical health of the participants. Warning however all outdoor activities do run the risk of physical injury. Do not get injured! The risk of monetary loss is substantial. In a field with little benefits other than simple living and endless beauty wages are minimal. Do not risk another ski bum season or awesome dirt bagging season for an on the job injury. Even if you do have medical insurance or your company provides workmen’s compensation your physical health is the only thing that can sustain you. Actually as a general rule of thumb practice proper techniques and know your ability so that injury does not occur. In the mean time enjoy your heart clogging food, yout adrenaline sports and precious feet because before you know it your feet will be on the ground again, carrying the weight of your existence trying to find a place just to curl up at night as you work yourself like a pack mule. Because when your old calorie ups and thrill seeking will be moments of the past. These are times that you wished could always last.

7/29 – Red Neck Golfing

Yellowpine Idaho, population, well depends on the season. A precious backcountry paradise equip with everything a man could need, three bars, a general store, ATV’s and a golf course. The golf course is probably the gem of Yellowpine. It is a golf course with sand for greens, rocks for bunkers, dirt tees and trees weaving through the seventy yard wedge competitions. The cost to play is free. Just make sure to grab your balls and clubs from the general store. Make sure you greet the owner and get yourself some beer and food and walk just a quarter mile down the road to the first tee. If there are campers there be cordial ask about their trip and be ready for chuckles as you take a shot in the dark through the trees. In all honesty its one of the most fun course I have ever played. Bring a wedge and a putter and the game becomes a mid range chipping war. Just hope that you don’t kick up too much dirt as you tee off. You even get to hit a ball down the dirt road in town. Just please be careful not to hit a window there are a lot of empty hills close by.

7/30 - Estep

The morning commute is the time that it takes to get from camp to the working location. During this time you are walking with packs on until the work day begins. Some commutes can be long and tiring, there are few breaks taken sometimes for hours at a time. The pack seems to weigh the heaviest during these hours. It pulls desperately towards the ground taking with it your shoulders, back and hips, as your mind wanders and sweat begins to drip. Commutes on the first day are usually the worst. Ten days woth of food can be a taxing load to haul up and over ridges and through switchbacking terrain. Tools become a nuisance as they constantly jostle from hand to hand as one arm fatigues from the heavier tool. However some commutes are short and incredibly scenic. Carrying only a light pack with lunch, water, raingear, first aid kit and sometimes a camera you feel swift, removed from the burdensome weight of shelter and security you glide over trails like a car travelling at high speeds on a superhighway. The work too becomes lighter, faster and more controlled without the weight of a pack. With a pack work becomes tedious after long commutes. Already fatigued your body struggles to stay balanced as you preform small tasks with you load n to prevent another unloading and loading of the pack. You wrestle you pack each time you put it on, trying hard to negotiate the weight to your shoulders. You jostle the weight back and forth tugging at straps to get just the right seating. Then finally with pack loaded you must bend to the ground to retrieve your tools. Sometimes working becomes a short break from the weight, a chance to breathe, feel just your own weight in action loosens the tensed muscles and joints until the work is done. Then the process repeats itself day after day. Sometimes the days harden you. You build strength with each step, each cutting blow. Your step sets in place as you finally balance breathing, heart rate, and pace. Others the mountain breaks you. Sometimes the most difficult part can be just dealing. This job is strenuous and not for the faint of heart. It takes motivation, determination or sometimes just plain lunacy to push yourself through some days. But in the end after you settle into camp you feel nothing. Your body feels light, stomach full with comfort and safety within reach. There are no more worries, only quiet conversation. We fight a war every day and by the evening we settle gently into peace.

7/31 – The End of July

Your hands and feet are the two most critical components of the human body for backcountry living. Your feet support the heavy weight of easy living. Without proper care they begin to disintegrate like the rocky fragments that they carefully glide over. Their surfaces will soon take on the image of bark on a tree. Bruised, callused and blistered the skin to the touch feels rough and inhuman, like spongy sandpaper. Time weathers them creating feet strong as iron, they no longer feel they just do. Hands themselves when hiking are only slightly important. But in working and living in the backcountry they control everything that you do including those things entering and exiting the body. Needless to say keep them clean, getting sick on the trail is never a good time. But when the trail is your work they are what keeps you precise, they hold and use all of your tools. Blistering typically occurs but with little fuss. But cuts and breaks will make each day much more painful. The step is the way to combat these ill experiences. Your heart rate, respiratory rate, the calm of your mind, and the perfect pace come together at the climax of each day. In the step work is easy, walking becomes just a stroll as each hour grows more rhythm and momentum making accidents less likely keeping your body health and happy. Instead of pushing yourself you propel yourself up steep and rugged terrain. The fight is over and your body acclimates itself to the load. Like pack animals driven end to end we march.

8 hrs. – Heavy Deadfall

8/1 – Lightning

On a ridgeline, with little standing next to you but a few dead snags, storms become a persons worst fear. Lightning no longer resides high in the sky with large plains and high tree stands to dilute itself. It sits right next to you, ready to strike. With metal tools and little cover we are the highest objects on the ridge carrying lightning rods. If we are not the tallest, the little standing tree cover are snags waiting for the right winds to push its roots to a thunderous collision with the ground. Each of us counts the seconds between strikes. The storm draws more and more near. The temperature drops sharply, the wind accelerates and marble sized hail begins to pour. From the cover of the remaining living trees we wait as the hail accumulates like snow at our feet. It subdues for a short time and we continue working. However, it returns again this time with stronger winds and more fury. We retract back into the trees waiting once more for the storm to calm. As it wanes we cautiously emerge back into the open spaces. This time as we look upon the adjacent ridgelines and deep connecting valleys there is little to see. Clouds have engulfed the entire region. Now only shadowy peaks loom in the otherwise grey and ominous stage. The mind still races, rain still falls and we continue the days work waiting as thunder rolls like massive rocks through the cavernous space. The clouds grow darker, the thunder more sharp as the storm grows closer and closer. Lightning strikes within a mile and with much haste we father our things and descend. There we find relative shelter from the slopes and the trees. Try as we might there is nothing more mighty than a storm.

8 hrs. – Heavy Deadfall

8/2 – Huckleberries

Sometimes food is downright lousy in the backcountry. I guess it is just the way it is when dehydrated or freeze dried food are among almost all the main courses. Fruit, especially fresh, is hard to come by for entire trips. When it does appear any camper is glad to take whatever chance they can for the deliciously sugary treat. Right now in the hills of Idaho, it is huckleberry season. Ben and I have taken full advantage of that fact. Surrounding our camo are endless bushes of tiny blueberry like fruit. As part of our nightly ritual we prepare dinner upon our return to camp, eat our food, relax for a moment and then the hunt begins. Tonight especially was one of our greatest yields yet. The night previous I located a lush patch less than a foot high that had eight to twenty berries per bushel. We sat in the fallen logs and fireweed plucking at the stems like bears (At least neither of us started to gnawl at the branches). With both satisfied with our kill (Ben mostly done because his large cup was filled to the brim). We returned to camp to enjoy our savory morsels.

8 hrs. – Heavy Deadfall

The State of Nature

It feels like we are chasing ghosts. We emerge to a ridge up the remnants of an old dirt road. It steeply switch backs the shallow face of the ridge. The Earth has shifted casting stones and soil over the wide two track tred. Saplings nestle themselves in the wide patches between the remaining tire tracks. As we reach the ridge birds begin cooing and cawing as we approach the barren wasteland, warning others that our presence is near. We the men who chase ghosts. A soft creak of a broken log cracks in the distance. They feel like footsteps in this forest filled with skeletons. The dead hand in towering lines casting little shade upon the ground. The wind continues to blow and the trees start rattling and laughing. The sounds of the forest haunt you while you sit in silence. With each step you relive your past. Memories quietly dance in the fallen trees but yet your feet keep their saunter. Weary form the physical struggle your mind begins to wander. In the quiet distance all seeing eyes watch from jagged granite towers. The wind groans as the sky turns black. Our feet thunder in the cloudy silence. As we walk the trees whisper. When we stop footsteps dance just out of sight. We find ourselves alone in the presence of the spirit of nature pretending to be men, waiting desperately for them to show their faces.

8/3 – The Good Days

If you didn't know there are both good and bad days while living in the backcountry. Bad days include but are not limited to; wetting rains, hail, forest fires, bears tearing apart camp, mice eating holes in your socks, deers stealing your underwear, not showering for days on end and remembering you smell like death, uncomfortable tent placements, garlic powder in your coffee, blisters on your hands and feet, sunburns anywhere, twisted ankle, serious injury, too much exposure, hypothermia, hyperthermia, tick on your ass, lots of dead fall, broken boots, a heavy pack and steep terrain, too many damn airplanes, eating the wrong edible berries, pooping and or peeing on your shoes or anywhere else, forgetting your toothbrush, not having a place to set up your tent, accidentally starting a forest fire… etc, etc. But no matter how bad it gets there are always good days. The good days in the backcountry are the ones that make sleeping on the ground in the middle of winter worth it. Any trip can easily have bad days (they are usually the most common). But any good day makes any bad day worth it. For the summit to the deepest cave on Earth the wild and untamed life still exists. But in order to be able to properly explore you gotta be able to take the good with the bad. Because the kind of good we experience out here is earned, there are no gold metals, no winners or losers. The good days are when you accomplish something within yourself. The good days change the way we see the and live our lives. They not only alter our vision of beauty but infect who we are. On the good days we find ourselves, pushing through what some may consider bad for a chance at self-exploration.

8 hrs. - Heavy Deadfall

8/4 – Project Time

Sometimes large trees fall. A heavy gust of wind, a winter loaded with snow, or maybe a fire could be to blame. Usually a free falling in the woods is a slow end to an otherwise fully symbiotic relationship to the forest around it. For a trees entire life and most of its death it feeds, shelters, expels oxygen, stabilizes soil and serves as a mating ground for other species. In life their standing limbs and bountiful fruits and nuts house and protect canopy dwelling species while simultaneously feeding the organically productive ground. Grasses, saplings and forest floor species feed off the trees large root system and falling debris with new footing in the otherwise unstable and chaotic ground. After hundreds, thousands of years or maybe less than a decade the tree lives for the forest. But eventually we all must meet an end. As the tree dies its sturdy branches become weak and fall to the ground. But the soil, bacteria and fungi don’t mind as they slowly decay the fallen limbs. When available rodents, birds, reptiles and alike find or make crevasses in the standing snag. Insects tunnel networks of tunnels through their core. With more use the snag becomes fragile as roots and trunk deteriorate. Patiently it waits for anything to knock its massive truck to the ground. Soon that day comes and it lands with a thunderous crash. Sometimes the tree falls alone, other times their battle with gravity takes others with it. Slowly the trunk will decay and in its wake a fertile soil appears. It is only man that dares to wake these sleeping giants. They become a chore to our cities, back roads, and trails. So we chop them up when they’re in our way. Casting the giants aside they wait in silence for the next tree to fall and imped our hungry progress.

8 hrs. – Beavercreek Project (Large tree fell over trenched section of trail)

8/5 – The ULTIMATE Trundle

Today’s work, clear seven trees ranging in diameter from 1-4 feet thick. Usually cutting a large tree is not much work. Sometimes there are tricky binds that can lock up the saw but if either end is hanging a large log can sometimes be easier to make a cut on than smaller logs. However in some cases trees do not fall alone. Actually more often than not one standing tree is likely to knock down many more in its thunderous battle with gravity. In this case several large logs fell and slid down the steep slope of Estep and congregated in a close quarters cluster. With a chainsaw there is little problem with a tight congregation of trees. However using a crosscut is another story. For the most part a saw is used by two people on either side pulling the saw over the surface of the grain scoring and lifting pulp as the blade passes. But in some cases it is necessary to remove one handle and negotiate the long flexible metal blade without the aid of another person, this is called single bucking. But the worst of all is always the single under buck. Here one person not only cuts alone but must hold the saw teeth facing up and out from the bottom of the log clean through to the top. In theory the process is simple but in practice the weight of the saw pulls at the small muscles in your forearms and shoulders while your face is only inches from the seesawing upward facing blade. After a cut is finished the round is pushed off the edge of the trail for ease of passage. In order to clear the Estep pile we would have needed to make at least two cuts per log just to be able to start the process of clearing the impasse. The ultimate reward we all seek in clearing these agonizing trees is the rare trundle. Trundles are when large objects (or even small) when moved off trail accelerate rapidly downslope in a chaotic thrashing of skips and jumps. After making our first cut the five of us rolled a three foot wide ten foot long section off trail but it never stopped. The large round sped downslope for hundreds of feet of vertical loss. And of course we all stopped and watched. It was a good day.

8 hrs. – Estep Project

8/6 – Beavercreek Project

It was like using elephants in India. Just a few crude tools and a very big tree. The tree itself was about 70-80 feet and the entire mass from top to root wad lie hovering over the three foot drop to the tred. Next to it lies a similar length and diameter tree. The trick to this cut would inevitably be to not let large rounds into the tred. Not only was the tred sunken below the cut but if the tree were to be cut too largely and we could not move it there would be little chance to cut the round again. If a round were to fall into the tred and we could not maneuver the weight only a horse or a come along could pull the round out of the way. The current wall was mostly large rocks and large previously cut rounds, neither of which we had time or strength to move. In order to move the log to ensure success was to have the rounds cut float across the massive void and land securely off trail. In order to aid in that process we found sections of fallen logs from the surrounding area to use as trusses to catch the weight of the fallen log. The first cut would inevitably be the crux. If the tree were cut and its weight shift on to the trusses was too great they may fail causing an incredibly large tree to be sitting in a narrow corridor where it cannot be sawed or lifted except maybe by chainsaw or explosives. The other difficult decision would be how far down the 70-80 foot length to cut. The top lighter end lay resting on the ground causing incredible top and side binds. The root wad heavy and on the opposite end as hoisted in the air standing on top of a decaying round. So if we cut too close to the top the saw gets stuck, too close to the end the root wad falls pulling the cut high into the air and possibly the sawyers. The middle seemed to be the best bet although it did rely heavily on the structure to hold the shifting weight. Luckily the system held and worked even better than anticipated. The resting place of the log was slightly uphill from the rounds resting place. So when the cut was made a round would barely need to be pushed to roll steadily off the trail. After five cuts we had finished the top section. There was a short pause however for the sixth. There was a thirty foot section of four foot thick tree sitting on the truss system floating in the air and I wondered if the three of us could simply roll the log with enough momentum off the trail. We tried it nearly worked but failed. With little effort we made the sixth and final cut and gently rolled it to the ground.

8 hrs. – Beaver Creek Project

(Completed Estep Project)

8/7 – Misstep

Well it seems I have done it again. With the slightest of mistakes you can render yourself immobile. It seems I have for the first time really fucked up in the backcountry. While cutting a log first thing this morning I stood up to go get a wedge and found myself just too close to the saw. I knicked a deep 3-4 centimeter deep cut into my left knee with a touch of the saw. The rest of the day was excruciating. Every step felt like a battle with the ground, my knee felt like it was opening and tearing. Now I wait till tomorrow morning to hike out and hopefully see a doctor. I feel stupid as hell. The second to last day of the second to last hitch at least it was now. What about slick rock??!! Oh this is going to be a chore. I guess we’ll have to wait and see…

8 hrs. – Downed Logs, Waterbars, Tredwork

8/8 – The Hike Out

Well this morning things have become grim as the reality of the day sets in. I am injured at least five miles from the nearest trail head and unless a helicopter is coming to get me there is no way out but to walk. My knee itself has shown no sign of improvement from the previous day and painful bursts of electrical signals now flood my already weary mind. I am still perplexed as to why my knee has become so swollen and painful. I have had injuries similar to this before and have found little to no direct cause to link the small wound to the otherwise large painful problem I am now enduring. With much remorse I dressed my wound and braced the aching joint with rolling gauze and cravats. I tried my best to position each so that it provided adequate support for the unstable joint. But with most things in the backcountry supplies were short and the necessary remedies for fixing my ailment lie a half days hike away. After preparing the injury I made haste in trying to gather my belongings. However I found it difficult to follow my usual routine of collapsing camp into a pack with limited mobility. In time I had my bag packed and Pulaski steady in hand ready to absorb the passing weight. Ben and Sarah were more than gracious in offering to absorb weight. But I was stubborn as always. I did not feel I should make them have to work any harder when I caused the slow progression myself. If I could walk I felt I needed to carry my weight to relieve the already burdensome pressure of an injury in the field. Luckily or unluckily however you chose to look at it I was able to manage bearing some weight on my foot. But to call what I did walking would be a considerable stretch. I hobbled trying hard to relieve any pressure I could from my foot into the steady grip of the Pulaski. I crutch forward like a near the end of his life trying desperately just to keep moving. Using the ads end of the Pulaski as a grip I sank the handle into the ground like a cane. With each left step I shifted my body weight to the short handle. I rocked back and forth tossing the relative weight of myself and pack into rhythm. It was like being in a trance. Eyes only focused on the tred, mind moving and body on self-preservation I found the day to be blank. Thoughts hung still and the constant chatter of a day dreaming mind went blank. I did not think of pain. I did not think of weight. I hardly thought of anything at all. My focus aimed itself at locomotion, with blank thoughts I pushed myself forward with each step trying to create rhythm in the chaotic dancing steps. I took few breaks. I found the more time I lingered in one place too long the more likely I was to recall the uncomfort of currently living. When I sat down the blank thoughtless force moving me evaporated and my mind once again danced with pain. After five hours hobbling at half pace while Ben and Sarah picked fruits behind me we made it to the trail head. Relief was the only emotion I could sense. Tired and in pain I once again found myself in the safe realm of human civilization. Here I no longer had to worry. As I crossed that line between wild and civilized fear was replaced with comfort, pain with ecstasy and hopelessness with security.

8 hrs. - EVAC

Pages

Narrative

6/2 – 7,020ft?

6/3 – First Day in McCall

6/4 – The First Day on the Job

6/5 – First Day in the Field

6/6 – First Day on Trail

6/7 – The Training Hitch

6/8 – Getting Into Rhythm

6/9 – The Work Continues

6/10 – The End of the First Hitch

6/11 – All in the Blink of an Eye

6/12 – When It Rains It Pours

6/13 – Goodbye… For Now

6/14 – The Beginning

6/15 – Getting Into a Routine

6/16 - Intoxicated

6/17 – The Day Before the Hitch

6/18 – The First Hitch

6/19 – First Day of Rain

6/20 – To Hand Meadows

6/21 – Just the Three of Us

6/22 – Halfway There

6/23 – Do the Trees Ever Stop Falling?

6/24 – Nearly There

6/25 – Drip, Drip, Drip

6/26 – The Final Day in the Field

6/27 – The Last Day of the First Hitch

6/28 – First Day Back in Town

6/29 – Just Another Day Off

6/30 – The First Summit, The Last Day of June

7/1 – The Day Before the Second Hitch

7/2 – Back At It

7/3 – Bird of Prey

7/5 – The Beginning of the Middle

7/6 These are the Days We Dream About

7/7 – BEAR!

7/8

7/9 – Just Another Day

7/10 – Oh What a Joy to Be Lost

7/11 – The Last Day of the Second Hitch

7/12 – Let’s get Out of Big Creek

7/13 – The First Climb

7/14 – The Daily

7/15 – What We Leave Behind

7/16 – The Beginning of the End

7/17 - A Long Day on the Trail

7/18 – The Last Climb

7/19 – Fire on the Mountain

7/20 – When It Rains It Pours

7/21 – Things are Looking Up

7/22 - The Final Stretch

7/23 – Demobilization

7/24 – Grunt Work

7/25 – Just Another Day at Big Creek

7/26 – Leisure Day

7/27 – The Hogs Back

7/28 – Calorie Up

7/29 – Red Neck Golfing

7/30 - Estep

7/31 – The End of July

8/1 – Lightning

8/2 – Huckleberries

8/3 – The Good Days

8/4 – Project Time

8/5 – The ULTIMATE Trundle

8/6 – Beavercreek Project

8/7 – Misstep

8/8 – The Hike Out