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Rafting,
skiing, skydiving, backpacking – they’re all gravity
sports. Sometimes you’re cooperating with gravity and sometimes
you’re fighting it. On a recent backpacking trip, gravity
really “whooped up” on me.
Andrew Ashmore works at one of our good customers, Mountain Gear,
in Spokane, Washington. We’d talked about doing an outdoor
trip but had never put anything together. I mentioned a trip I’d
done some 15 years ago, a winter backpack into Stanley Hot Springs,
in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area here in North Idaho. |
Stanley
is a 5-½ mile hike from US Hwy 12, up above the Lochsa River. You
start out at an elevation of 2,200 feet, top out at 3,800 feet, drop down
to cross Boulder Creek, then back up to the springs at 3,400 feet. In
my earlier trip I’d gone solo, which now seems risky and foolish
for a winter hike. I had the springs to myself that first night. Walking
from my tent through the snow to the hot pools and lying there looking
up at the stars in the total still and quiet has always been a special
memory of mine.
Andrew
thought it sounded like a good trip so he was for it. Now, he’s
a seasoned mountaineer who’s climbed Denali (Mt. McKinley)
in Alaska, peaks and volcanoes in Mexico and South America and been
up to 23,000 feet on a satellite peak to Everest in Tibet. I hadn’t
done much backpacking since that trip into Stanley, but I’d
been jogging and really wanted to see Stanley again, so I said,
“Let’s do it”.
I borrowed some high-tech snowshoes and ski/hiking poles from my
boss, Laura and a foam sleeping pad from my coworker, Pam. I still
had my old external frame backpack, a leaky ¾ Thermarest,
a down sleeping bag and gaiters. Lots of my boating gear crossed
over. NRS splash wear for my rain gear, a medium Sea Stow Bag was
a perfect dry stuff sack for my sleeping bag and Pursuit Sandals
in case we needed to wade Boulder Creek. Since we wouldn’t
be able to dig “cat holes”, we took PETT Wag Bags for
our human waste. |
Up
the trail under threatening skies |
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On
a Saturday in mid-March we met in Lewiston, Idaho, halfway between Andrew’s
home in Spokane and the trailhead. We divided up the community gear and
set off for our adventure. The heavy rain we drove through worried me.
The footbridge across Boulder Creek washed out in 1999, so if the creek
was high, we’d have trouble crossing it. At the trailhead it hadn’t
rained but the clouds looked ominous.
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There
were many signs of wildlife in the lower portion of the trail -
deer, elk and moose poop galore and an elk carcass. The trail itself
was terrible! Much of the snow at the lower elevations had melted,
but heavy traffic on the trail had compacted the snow so it hadn’t
melted there…and it was soft. Since exposed sections of the
rocky trail were bare, using the snowshoes was only possible for
about the last mile. Two-thirds of the way in, it started to snow.
Slipping, sliding, breaking through in the deeper places wore me
out.
Fortunately there were still snow bridges over Boulder Creek, so
we didn’t have to wade it. From the creek up to the springs
was the longest half-mile I think I’ve ever traversed. By
the time we got camp set up and had dinner it was dark. We trudged
up to the hot spring pools and found them occupied. When planning
the date, I hadn’t thought about it being Spring Break season.
We met students from the U of Idaho, here in Moscow, and the U of
Montana, in Missoula. |
Wow,
that warm water felt good on my sore muscles! The hot water bubbles out
of the ground into the series of pools at 110-120ºF (depending on
which guidebook you read). Strategically placed logs create the pools
and you just move up or down the series to find the temperature you like.
One of them was just perfect “hot tub” temp at about 104-106
degrees. We lay in the hot water and chatted with our fellow soakers until
fatigue and the warm water made it hard to keep our eyes open.
I
got a good night’s sleep; the two pads and the down
bag kept me comfortable. That morning we’d slept a
bit late. A breakfast of gussied up instant oatmeal, soup
and powdered cappuccino mix warmed the belly, and then it
was back to the hot springs to warm the rest of the body.
Everyone else had pulled out, so we had the pools to ourselves
for a while. Later that day a couple of hikers showed up
and the solitude was broken. We stayed as long as we could,
knowing we had that long slog back through the crappy snow. |
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By the time
we broke camp it was getting late. When we reached the lower third
of the trail it was dusk. I was following Andrew when sounds caused
both of us to stop in our tracks. Above us on the hillside 3 to
4 wolves started to howl. They were answered by a deep, moaning
call from below us. What a thrill! Their howls sent shivers up my
spine.
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For
about a half-mile of the trail they called back and forth and we
stopped to listen each time. Further down the trail there were large
paw prints in the snow that hadn’t been there on the hike
in…and the elk carcass was gone. I know that wolves aren’t
known to attack humans but in the fading light I found myself involuntarily
turning to look back up the trail. I don’t regret my wariness…as
one of my heroes, Aldo Leopold wrote, “Only the mountain has
lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.”
It was fully dark when we reached the car, tired
but satisfied from a great weekend adventure.
Wilderness…where
man is merely a visitor. Howl on.
Clyde
Nicely
NRS Customer Service
e-Newsletter Editor
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