Angst and Ass-kicking: Cabin Lake, Thompson River Range, Thompson Falls, MT August, 2013

  "I'm going to ask you something and you're going to get mad but I don't care".  These are the words my sister said to me, as I stood in the door, Scott impatiently waiting, ready to leave.  I braced myself for the inevitable disapprovement of my backpacking that I endure every time I go.  "How can you leave your kids, especially when you know DD1 is still afraid to stay alone at night?"  (My oldest does not like to spend multiple nights as the only adult in charge here; she is fine if someone her age or older is with her though, so usually --and was the case this time too--one of my nephews, who are both older, graciously offers to stay here as well).  I endure this interrogation every single time I go anywhere.  My sister and parents, actually.  Not so with my brothers.  My sister went on to inform me how 'dangerous' my backpacking off to BFE is, while despite my best resolution to not bite from last time, I responded with how skiing and boating on a crowded lake in the summer or just driving down the hill to the store are in fact more dangerous than hiking in the mountains.  Scott and I are not n00bs, nor are we stupid.  That area is where I grew up driving and traipsing around.  I could never be lost there.  Leaving your kids though, is something that every parent struggles with.  You do worry about 'something happening', to either you or more so, them.  For us, we worry about not being reachable.  I mean, obviously there is no cell service where we are.  It's spotty on the main highway through that part of Montana itself, let alone deep in the mountains, high elevation be damned.  I think it's an important part of helping kids learn they can separate someday though; that they WILL be able to move out and survive on their own.  That they can handle responsibility.  Where better to practice?  Besides, how do epic movies like House Party get made if the parents are home all the time?  I KID, CHILDREN, I KID.  Seriously though--do I want my kids to think their lives will end for 20+ years if they have children? Is parenting a prison sentence or a deep experience that adds to one's life? My parents traveled, albeit by plane to foreign countries for a couple weeks at a time, when I was at home.  They may not have done several trips a year, but if you want to be stupid technical, they were gone more days by numbers than my measly 2-3 nights a couple times.  And they didn't have cell phones back then either.  We *gasp* didn't talk to them for TWO WHOLE WEEKS AT A TIME!  Funny enough, my grandparents were the ones who actually stayed with us! They didn't give my parents (I don't believe) a guilt trip everytime they left either. It's such a lovely expression of familial support when you walk out the door feeling like you're the worst parent in the world, even though your kids seem to be thriving and are quite responsible themselves.  More drama to ensue regarding this later, though....

     Cabin Lake sits at almost 5900' in the Thompson River range, just east of the Cabinet Mountain Wilderness.  You can drive in from the east to 4700' and hike about 2.5 miles, or do what we did, start on the west side at Winniemuck Trail and hike 6+ miles in.  It's not a written up trail, scanty info on it, but the one guide book said about 3700' of elevation gain.  After getting home, Scott and I double checked to make sure we weren't batshit crazy and sure enough, Google Earth came to our defense.  The trailhead starts at 2700'--the saddle above Winniemuck Lake is just over 6700'.  That makes 4000'.  And in 5 miles.  This might not sound too bad, but this is not a switchback trail....this is straight up.  Unmaintained.  Rockier than hell.  Overgrown, slippery, full of shale and steep sides you don't want to mis-step on.  We were unaware when we left, however.....

   PREHIKE:

We arrived at the trailhead around 8pm Montana time. No parking so we drove down a mile or so and found a little camp spot that looked perfect.  Got out and let the dog out to investigate and we walked a ways towards the sound of a rushing creek.  Thank god he is a sensible dog.  The creek was actually a high, deep waterfall into a gorge.  I mean, yes, there was a creek, but it was a scary one especially considering the drop-off right at the trail.

(Disclaimer:  Ima just say right now, I'm not the greatest at taking Panorama shots with my iPhone. So shove your criticisms up your nose, please.  Mama always said to be polite)

These were taken in the morning, so by night, this was quite a surprise to discover.  Rocket was LOUDLY instructed to stay back.    We set up our little car camp and cracked a beer and sat back to watch the Perseid Meteor showers.  This is a fond tradition for us, since the very first "date" I had with Scott was to watch these.  There is a very funny story that goes with this--well, funny to me but not so much him, heh--but that's another post.  Instead, we saw lots of lightning and the thunder started.  We saw one meteor before the clouds rolled in.

START:

In the am, we scarfed down a quick cup of coffee, a packet of instant oatmeal and a hard boiled egg each.  Scott had two packets, I had one.  In retrospect, this was completely ridiculous, especially given the terrain ahead.  Hindsight....

This second one advises this trail is a bear research area.  Great.

Beginning of trail...and it just kept up.

And up:

We had to cross the creek twice, very pretty:

Seriously, from the very beginning, we felt our asses being handed to us.  We were lucky enough to have some cloud cover, and the trail was soaking wet from the massive thunderstorm of the night before.  The trail was unrelenting, and not maintained well.

Here was a cool fern on a rock, though--you pushed your hand into it (well, I did because I'm a touchy feely freak about stuff like that, just not people) and it sunk a foot deep. If only this kind of stuff grew conveniently on rocks you could sit on.  Ahhhh...

Lots of huckleberries start to appear....we did partake, as we frankly needed the rest and the carbs.

And where there be Huckleberry, there be BEAR.

We finally break into some high alpine country, but so does the sun break out too.  How I wish we could've seen the bear grass in bloom!  About here, Scott again, like last year's Wanless episode, (which would eerily come back to haunt us on this hike) his lower quads, right above his knees, start cramping horribly.  Now, since Wanless was such a nightmare for him, he has been working hard to keep in shape.  I suspect it is due to his bowlegged-ness.  He scoffs at my theory, but I can't otherwise explain it.  I never suffer from quad cramping, ever.  I comfort him by pointing out the dog is stopping a lot, too.

This is seriously the trail now:

We are stopping quite a bit for my poor DH.  He's drinking well, eating well, nothing he can do.  I offer to rub him out-- HIS QUADS, PEOPLE--but he declines and pounds and rubs the spots himself.  Rocket is concerned.

We FINALLY make Winniemuck Lake, Elevation 6200'.  The dog is glad of the break for lunch.

This is not quite 5 miles in, and we briefly consider camping here, because we KNOW there's going to be no people here.  It's quite beautiful and tempting.  Nice little spot too for tent.  But we decide to keep going.  The trail is a bit easier here, but we are reminded once again to take trail guides at face value; the guide talks about how the trail is at times actually in the creek.  But there IS no creek.  We've had such dry winters, springs and summers lately (comparatively) that it is all  dried up.  Plus, the guide was written 20+ years ago.  We can discern where the creek is supposed to be, but we are glad we didn't depend on it for water supply.

After what seems an eternity, we finally make the saddle--6700+ feet, and it is a relief.

It is narrow, and I take the opportunity to soak in the sight of my favorite high elevation tree, mountain Hemlock with it's Dr. Seuss top. 

Our view climbing out, and the trail down:

We can't see the lake, but we know it's only a mile away.  This becomes a very long mile, however.

This basin is entirely Alpine Fir and Mountain Hemlock.  There is quite a bit of dead, which is disappointing.  How glorious and breathtaking it must've been when it was thriving.  Lots of awesome wildflowers, including mountain penstemon.

Cool knarls on many firs:

THE LAKE:

Finally! We are immediately rewarded with the sounds and sights of an enormous bull moose, standing in the lake eating underwater.  When he would lift his head, the water would stream off his rack and cascade into the water.  Incredible.  DH has not downloaded his pictures, or I would post them.  ARGH.

We were so hot and sweaty, dog included, we head to the lake for a skinny dip and to wash out our clothes.  Of course, as we are standing on the edge, DH in his birthday suit and me close to mine, on a Monday afternoon mind you (low traffic supposedly) we hear shouting and laughing.  They sound like younger guys to us--we look at each other, and DH says "Screw em.  I'm too fucking hot to care".  He is facing me, so they can only see his backside, which is lily white and rivals the New Blue Moon.  We get in anyway (total mud here, uck!), Rocket is swimming gratefully and we hear some shouting to the tune of "WE SEE YOU!"  Duh.  We just smile and wave and yell back "ENJOY THE SHOW!"  They made off around the lake and up towards another saddle south of us.

We devour some hot spicy sausages and cheddar mashed potatoes, open the Pendleton 1910 and enjoy the lake.  We retire early, and around 12am I become aware of an incredible thunderstorm taking place.  For the next two hours we're treated to non-stop (seriously) lightning, massive thunder and pelting, hard rain.  This is where I'm incredibly grateful to have a dog that is completely unbothered by thunderstorms.  He lay and slept unconcernedly throughout the entire storm.  I don't know what we would've done if he were a dog who was terrified.  The tent would probably have been destroyed as well as our pads and sleeping bags.  I can honestly say it was one of the best storms I've ever been in.  Truly amazing.  Not much sleep, though.

Morning comes, and as I'm down at the lake an old man (who reminds Scott and I of the dad on Gold Rush) appears with a weimaraner  who rushes Rocket but clearly is afraid and snarky. I make Rocket back off (to his dismay) and we make small talk.  The old man asks if we came in on the Cabin Lake trail and I explain we came from Winniemuck Trailhead.  He doubletakes and says "The Hell ya say!  That's a Helluva hike!  No one comes in that way!"  I concur and add now we know why.  He mentions that his son and two daughters are doing a little fishing at the lake and they move off.

 I want to do a 6 mile loop that takes us to Cube Iron Mountain, 7100'.  The trail passes several small lakes.  Scott is worried about his quads and possibly afternoon thunderstorms on an exposed ridge.  After discussion where we cannot reach a conclusion, we start off, agreeing to go for a while and reassess.

SELFIE!

The other side of the lake, where the trailhead from the East ends, is gorgeous.  Several nice campsites.  Upon reaching the south side, we are treated to the view of the route we must take to bridge the saddle. 

The fauna is so gorgeous I can't stand it.

We don't have full packs though, so I convince him it will be fine. We are rewarded with stunning views of the other side.

We make Porcupine Lake and stop for lunch.  This is one of the best pictures, IMHO.  With DH off to the side, it reminds me of a magazine article photo.

The alpines here are absolutely heart-stopping for me.  25 feet high and 2 feet wide....does it get better than that?

Scott is still uneasy about heading up the trail because of the look of the sky.  I, of course, am bouncing and pressing to go forward.  We go farther on, through some gorgeous wet meadows and pass another unnamed "pothole" and climb a ridge, looking down upon yet another small lake,  where Scott looks at the topo map and decides  the trail bypasses the summit of Cube Iron anyway, and I reluctantly agree to turn around.  We stop on the ridge, where the edge falls sharply away. I was quite nervous with the dog and held him by his pack strap.  Luckily he seems to have a decent self-preservation instinct.  I wonder what dogs actually perceive.....do they sense cliffs?  Do they understand drops?  He seems to stop at the edges of ravines, etc, when we're bushwhacking.  I wish I could know.

We head back, and I later discover the trail DOES attain the summit.  I am disagreeable about this of course.  I grew up where vacations meant you went, you did, you saw.  You got your ass up early and were fed, packed, and on the road by 7am.  I might not ever --highly likely in fact-- get back this way. I will never see the summit now.  I do respect DH's feelings and cautions about the weather, however.  We agree that discussions will be respected and opinions and gut feelings honored.  On the way back, we find an old trailhead marker signed by the man who wrote the definitive guidebook for the Cabinets.  Well, him and his brother.  There is a story behind him, one that haunts and taints every trail we take there.  It's too long to post here, but I will discuss in another post.

As we approach the lake, I get the bright idea to bushwhack around the other side.  All I can say is, well, we made it.  I was a little worried about moose, as an afterthought, since it was afternoon and about the time we saw the two moose yesterday, but I decide to keep this to myself.  We eat, and the clouds roll in and rain starts to fall.  We make a nice fire and enjoy some peace.

So---wildlife.  On the very beginning of the trail, Rocket started up a massive bull Elk that was a pleasure to watch and hear.  Frustrating for Rocket, as he had to stay instead  of CHASE!, but fun for us.  Then we saw about 4 moose, eating and drinking in the lake.  Moose are the ones I watch out for.  They don't give a whit about anything else, any other creature, or where they step, so tenting is a bit sketchy, as they'll just walk right through it if it's in the way.  However, Scott is off to the side pounding some rocks into an old log to split it, and suddenly there is a massive crashing sound.  I see three Elk heading straight for us--a bull and a cow with a calf.  They suddenly (thankfully) see us, and after a moment's hesitation, the bull leaves, with the cow and calf lingering.  Finally they too retreat.  Exciting for sure.  The rain goes on and off, but overall not bad and we enjoy the evening. I hit the sack, leaving Scott to enjoy his own alone time.  I leave him with a parting observation, of "What if I went off to use the bathroom and I just never came back?  What would you do?"  He looks at me and says "JESUS AIMEE!  WTF do you think I'd do?!  I look for you for an hour or so and then I'd grab some essentials and hit the shorter trailhead down to get help!  Why the fuck do you put these things into my head?!"  I can't help it.  I always have these kinds of thoughts.  I mean, the recent kidnapping of the young teen girl who's abductor took her to the Frank Church River-of-No-Return Wilderness affected me.  What if I stand up from a squat and there's a madman staring me in the eye?  I do pack my bear spray with me on the missions for just this reason, but still.....

I break out my new candle lantern to try it and see how it works:

Nice.

Morning comes, and for some reason we are late heading out.  We think the trail down is going to be a breeze, since it's mostly all downhill.  Boy, were we wrong.

We know downhills aren't that easy.  But they are, if they're nice switchbacks.  Notsomuch if they're straight down mountainsides with barely discernible trails that are more accurately man-ways.

One of the few "flat" spots with good trail:

It was my turn to eat some humble pie.  My knees don't actually ever hurt me, but my feet always do.  Running is fabulous for my arthritis except for my feet.  They are constantly inflammed.  Going downhill on them in boots that have proven to be more suited to dayhikes than strenuous backpacks was a lesson in pain.  Plus, it was such a shitty trail 85% of the time, I rolled my knee and every step on my right knee was excruciating.  I just wanted to get down, so I only made Scott stop twice.  Once for aspirin, and once just because I simply couldn't take another jolt on the knee right then.  My nursemaid was at my side constantly.  In fact, at one  point where I did slip on some sticks, if it weren't for him and his rock-steady plant, I would've tumbled off the mountainside.  Raw bones at home!!

The mossy rock at the creek crossing was heaven to sit on.  This time, we were not graced with cloud cover.  It was sun, and sun, and more sun.  HOT.  The breeze blowing down the creek was heavenly.  Scott and I noticed Rocket was feeling it too.  A few times, he simply stopped and laid down for a few.  I'm not sure if his feet were sore from the shitty trail, or if he was just hot from his fur.  He would go as soon as we said "UP!", but he was definitely not quite the same.  His pack only had a little water and the garbage, so I don't think it was weight.  Not quite sure, but that trail was rated strenuous and know we know why.  It totally was an ass kicker.  The shale crossing, which signified the end was near, was a welcome sight.

We hit the car, soaked with sweat and collapsed.  Unfortunately, we didn't enjoy the ride home as much as Rocket did.

We were going to stop at The Rimrock for dinner, right west of Thompson Falls, but they wouldn't allow Rocket inside and the patio was too sunny.  We made for Trout Creek, and The Naughty Pine (which warms my insides every time just for the name alone) where we knew they would let him in, plus the food is damn good.  They did, and we appreciated.  THE NAUGHTY PINE, people.  Stop. Eat. Drink.  Be Merry.


All in all, a good hike, but every time we tell ourselves the next one will be easier.  It doesn't sound like it should be that hard.  Maybe we're just wussies.  I don't think so, though.  I think all things combined to make it so.  The old-timer made us feel better.  Even my dad, when I brought it up originally, said "Hell, Aimee.  You're a glutton for punishment".   But then something irresistible comes along, and the memory fades, much like childbirth.

     As for my family, upon arriving home I discover there has been some drama instigated by my mother and my sister.   I listen to my 17 year old tell me her response, and I'm grateful she has learned some grace under pressure and am proud that she has acted with maturity to adults who unfortunately did not return the same favor.  I hope she, and the other two as well, also absorb the lessons of living life each day, instead of "waiting for when....".  I want them to remember, when they're my age, that age doesn't mean "unfit" or "incapable".  That when they're in their 40's, they feel young and in their prime, instead of "old" and "over the hill".  After this "helluva hike", how can I be sure I will still be able to do it in 10 years?  I think so, I plan on it, I stay in shape in order to do everything I can to prepare, but in reality, we don't know what the future holds.  I may not even be here in 10 years.  I may be in a wheelchair.  Incapacitated.  Brain-injured.  Who knows.  I want my kids to know that life is about living, not about sacrificing every little part of yourself for others.  Of course, parenting is mostly sacrifice.  But not of the spirit.  Not of the  heart of one's self.  Not of living life. It's about making life.  One day at a time, one hike at a time.



Amazingly, there are still photos that did not make this post.  You can view the full stream here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/94951930@N07/sets/72157635114657013/

    

The Winter of My Discontent (Or how I stopped worrying; Granite Lake, Cabinet Mountains July 2013)

     Actually, this isn't even going to be about my winter.  I've thought many times about the blogpost I wanted to write, but nothing moved me enough to write it.  Let's just suffice it to say, sometimes it really is darkest before dawn, but suddenly, the morning is so glorious, all of the anguish of the night vanishes so completely, it's as if it never existed at all.  Spring did this for me, which has passed so quickly that here I sit, on the eve of mid-summer already, with one fabulous backpacking trip under my belt already.

     For the season's break-in, we settled on Granite Lake in my favorite of haunts, the Cabinet Mountains Wilderness.  It's a 6.7 mile each-way hike, rated between moderately-strenuous and strenuous.  It has 4 stream crossings, which we figured would further discourage heavy use, especially at the end of June.  We hate hiking on weekends, but the way it worked out, we planned to car camp at the trailhead on Saturday night, hike in on Sunday, coming back out on Tues.  Our 18th wedding anniversary was on Monday, July 1, and we figured this was a perfect way to celebrate.  Anyone who's ever been in a long-term relationship knows that there are always waves, some worse than others.  To be perfectly frank, we'd been weathering some severe ones for a couple years, and funny thing is, it really can be like the weather.  One day, the storm is over and the most beautiful, clear horizon is ahead of you.  It's such a fabulous feeling to be so fantastically, frantically, crazily in love with your significant other suddenly again.  I feel exactly like I did when I first met him; I can't wait to see him, nor he me.  Needless to say, we were quite looking forward to this trip; plus, my work season has peaked, and my brain is ready for the break.  So with a few minor snags, we left late on Saturday night; later than I wanted, but hey--we were on the friggin way FINALLY.

   The road to the trailhead, (on the eastern end of the town of Libby) which we hit about about 10:45pm or so, Montana time, was paved for the first 5 miles.  This did not give me a good feeling, since those trailheads tend to be more popular.   Scott and I have been extremely lucky on our trips, encountering only people either coming out, or coming in as we're coming out.  We've never had to camp with people at the same lake; I desperately hope that, especially on this trip, this holds true.  The last three miles are unpaved, but hardly "bad", especially by Montana standards.  Hell, this was roller-blading material practically.  Imagine my dismay when we pull in and there's 6 vehicles.  SIX EFFING VEHICLES.  I console myself with the fact that tomorrow is Sunday, and those people are going to be coming out.  I hope. 

    After sleeping on the rock-hard floor of the Suburban, we hit the trail at 9am Montana time.  This also was later than I wanted; we had to hike the last half mile in to the TH, as the road has been blocked off for some reason.  We peeked into the trip cards in the box, and count 13 people on the trail.  FML.  Well, nothing I can do and I take solace that they're all registered to come out that day.  We decided on pants and I wore a shirt over my tank, as it was cool and damp, even though the forecast was for 95degrees. I ended up ditching the shirt relatively fast, but was extremely thankful for the pants, as the trail was full of devil's club (stinging nettles) for much of the way, and the flora was thick and wet.  W-E-T.  Our pants were soaked immediately.  About 1.5 miles in, one of the largest Doug Firs in Montana sits alongside the trail.  The diameter is about 5+ feet:

 The trail starts gaining some mild elevation right away, then down just as steeply again to our first crossing:  here was the original crossing, which obviously is not in use anymore, and the replacement log:

Rocket immediately jumps onto the log and starts across, and inadvertently I yell his name out as he's about 3/4's of the way across.  This causes him to stop, look down, and come running back.  He's never crossed a river this way before, and I guess I was just a bit nervous.  Hell, I get nervous with a 40lb pack on myself.  This is where I decide to add a little excitement, angel that I am.  I decide I'm going to go across with Rocket, against Scott's vehement objections.  He is convinced that Rocket is going to turn around again, try to come back, and knock me off.  I pffft him off and we go onward.  Only to have Rocket do exactly as Scott described.  I had a split second to decide, and I turned tail myself and hauled ass, running back across the log, pack swaying side to side.  I jump off to where Scott is standing, where he promptly grabs my chest strap and starts yelling "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING! DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING DO THAT AGAIN. YOU LISTEN TO ME NEXT TIME",  which is totally unlike my husband, telling me how scared he actually was.  I stand sedately, properly chastised, and turn around to find another couple starting across towards us.  Clearly they heard the whole thing, but we just acted like nothing happened and they inform us the next three crossings are soakers and we're going to get soaking wet and well, WE'D BETTER PREPARE BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO GET SOAKING WET.   Whatevs.  We brought water shoes (well, actually.....)

     This is a sore point with me.  We HAD water shoes...nice, light-weight, grippy water shoes.  All of us.  Last year Scott wanted to take them out of the trailer and throw them away.  I say ok to taking them out of the trailer, but I INSIST and am VERY CLEAR that the shoes ARE NOT TO BE THROWN AWAY.  So of course, they are nowhere to be found, convincing me they were in fact THROWN AWAY.  Grrrrr of GRRRRRS.  So I have to make do with this crappy pair of Keen's that has never ever fit me, my heels stick out of the back and my toes won't go to the front, because they are alternately too wide yet too tight if I tighten them enough to hold my feet in.  As you can imagine, I am saintly about this as we approach the next few crossings.   And if you buy that, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell ya.

     Granite Falls is about 2 miles in; very very beautiful, and worth the hike in just to see it alone.

     This part of the trail is in an old cedar forest.  It's cool, nice, easy, scenic. 

      The next two stream crossings are not as easy.   They were wider than I really wanted, maybe 40-60 feet, and the water was fast, and deep enough that the dog would have to swim.  He's never swam in water like that, and he had a pack on too.  In retrospect, we should've taken his pack off, but there is a nice handle on the back, so we clipped the long line on him, and Scott and I laboriously changed into our sandals, hung our boots off our packs, I held Rocket by the handle, and the three of us started off, Scott and I holding hands and me holding onto Rocket, with Scott holding the long line.  The water was knee high and swift; Rocket started to drift downstream, but I held on, encouraged him on, with lots of happy "Dude, this is good!  You're fine!  You're awesome!", keeping my voice happy and normal and unconcerned-sounding.  He started whining a bit, but I ignored it and kept up the "Hup Hup" and we got across.  We thought about hiking with our sandals on, but my damn things just wouldn't stay on properly, so we had to change back into boots. As we're leaving,  we see the second couple crossing down on some downed, branchy logs, holding their spaniel.  Oh, to have a dog I could pick up sometimes.

Soon, we come up onto the 3rd crossing, and here we meet 3 young people who are using the log.  7 down!  The log is too branchy again, for Rocket to navigate with his pack on, and since he's a young dog with no experience, we decide against trying to use the log and change again into our sandals.  This crossing, Scott holds Rocket's harness and I follow.  Only up to mid-calf, but still fast and I almost slip.  Whew.  By now it's hot and muggy; the trail is still in the cedar forest, but alternates between old alpine openings with old avalanche chutes.  Here we see an old-growth Western Hemlock and the second biggest Doug Fir in Montana, almost 6 feet across:

    Now the trail is up, up, up.  The Devi's Club is higher than I am in many spots;

it is so humid because of the moisture from Saturday's rain, we are soaking wet.  Our boots, which we've been changing, are still wet, albeit not as wet as if we'd forded with them.  We begin to be concerned about the last stream, which the trail crew director had told Scott via phone the week before would have to be forded.  About mid-thigh, he thought.  I knew this would be sketchy for Rocket; that he would have to swim, but again, he's never swam in water that fast.  We meet a party of 5; a husband, wife, young son (around 7 or 8), her younger sister, and a grandpa.  They advise us to try to carry the dog (um.....) and we visit for a minute.  Props to the kid, although he doesn't look thrilled, he's a trooper for sure.  We meet two more young kids (so someone didn't register) right before the last ford, and the young man takes us to the fording spot, as it's easy to miss (he did!) and shows us where the barely visible trail (which looks like a man-way, really and easy to miss) is across the stream.  It looks benign, but the water was fast, and mid-thigh on me.  Scott went with Rocket, and I followed again.

     SO GLAD TO BE DONE CHANGING SHOES.  We heave sighs of relief and laugh, because that was the easiest one of all to cross, really.  We are immediately rewarded with Heidi-like views of what lies ahead:

         I could seriously live here.  SERIOUSLY.  A little cabin with no one in sight (oh all right, I'd give the kids directions!)

   And one looking backward:

     By now, with all the starts and stops, we're ready to get there and it's hot, humid and smack in the middle of the afternoon.  We know there's only a couple miles to go so we crank it up and soon, we are here:

We go to the furthest campsite (there are three, the first one on the outlet stream) and are elated to find NO MOSQUITOES.  No ticks, either.  We set up camp, have delicious fajitas, and a few swigs of whiskey.  We make a fire and enjoy the alpenglow on the peak.  Blackwell Glacier, the last remaining one in the Cabinets, falls 1500 vertical feet down solid black granite and the roar is humbling.  We sit and imagine what it would be like to fall down it; at least, I do.  I speculate this out loud-- that I imagine you might not die RIGHT away, it might take you a third of the way down to do it, to turn and see Scott staring at me with this look on his face like he might be tempted to bivy high up above me.  Heh.  These things always are on my mind, because Death follows you like a little shadow, always there, but even more present out in the wilderness, where innocent mishaps are one's demise.  I humor him and change the subject, pointing out the gorgeous colors of the sunset.

   Unbelievably (to my in-denial-mind), I stand up to see an older couple with a dog at the adjacent campsite (by adjacent I mean not super close, but visible UGH).  I lament, to which Scott reminds me we've been lucky.   I don't know about him, but my version of lucky includes two people only.  We hit the sack early.  Now, my dog is my pride and joy.  He's still young, still working on it, but has shown very, very mature behavior, good judgement, and isn't  barky or a nervebag.  However....he IS a guardian breed.  AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DEER MUST BE GUARDED AGAINST.  Due to the warm night, we of course, hadn't put the fly on the tent.  I awaken a few hours in to my GSD charging the inquisitive (and CLOSE) deer.  The unconcerned deer makes no move to leave, causing yet another charge by the determined German Shepherd.  This goes on for the remainder of the night, leaving a rip in the tent (caused by a snag of his nail) and a hole in my Thermarest (another wayward nail placement, when he decides BOTH sides of the tent need protecting).  Thanks to a patch kit, I am soon lying on my heavenly pad again, but hardly sleeping.  I watch my GSD scanning tirelessly the entire area around us for ROGUE DEER.  Tirelessly for HIM.  Notsomuch for me.  In the morning, both of us haggard and tired, we decide we're putting the fly on no matter the weather!

     The next morning, we see neither hide nor hair of the older couple, and conclude they've moved off, and we decide to try to hike around to the falls if we can.  We pack a bit of lunch and start off, but we don't get far.  The brush is too thick, with steep unseens and the dog even stops; we investigate, but it's basically cliff-like with tall alder and devil's club hiding the drops.  We decide to stop and eat, check out whether we want to try and climb Vimy Ridge to see the lakes below, but decide, hey.  It's our anniversary.  Maybe a little woodland recreation and a nap are good substitutes.  Coughcough.  Judge if you want, but it sure is a helluva way to spend an afternoon.  On the way back to camp I snap my two best friends:

     Upon *ahem* re-entering the world around us, we realize during the "nap", two young people have taken up camp in the adjacent campsite. Jeebus.  Well, it's their own fault for interrupting my anniversary.  I did mention it on the card we left at the trailhead.  Notmyfault.  Someone needs to show the teens how it's done, right?  On a serious note though, it's like a goddamned highway around here.  Sigh.  Well, we make a decadent dinner and enjoy some Woodford Reserve out of my insulated (and still cool) bottle.

  Someone was tuckered out after all the hiking too:

     The next day, after a nice, uneventful sleep (thankyousomuchRainFly!!), we waste precious morning time trying to cook some dehydrated gross, disgusting egg/bean/salsa thing that looks like vomit and takes 45 minutes to approach "done".  It is so bad I give up and eat a peanut butter bar.  On a side note, this trip was entirely gluten-free, and almost grain-free.  I did eat some GF bread, and two corn tortillas with the fajjitas, but other than that, no grains.  Proof that backpacking can be done without tons of grainy carbs.  We go down to say goodbye to the lake, still marveling in the lack of bugs, and Scott captures some great pictures with my iPhone (second side note:  all pictures in this report were taken with my 4s).

  The trail home:  (and how can you resist this?  SERIOUSLY)

     Because of the time wasted changing shoes, I didn't take as many pictures of the wildflowers as I wanted to.  I did manage to capture a few, though:

     The stream was definitely a bit higher on the way out, due to two more days at 95+ degrees.  The first ford was almost hip level on the crossing coming out.  Down in the cedars, we met a party of 4 on horseback, with a pack mule in tow.  Again, never did I imagine what a highway this would be.  Of course, 4th of July probably played a bit part in it, even though we weren't there technically on the holiday.

     We made the car in less than 4 hours, even with boot changes, the dog handled the crossings like an old pro this time.  While this was one of the shorter hikes we did, it certainly isn't what I would call "easy", although either deciding to hike with wet boots or hiking the whole way in sandals (sketchy for me given some of the terrain) would certainly save one time.  Once down,  we stopped in Libby for a burger.  My dearest husband has even gone gluten free with me, and ate his burger with no bun, outside on the patio (since the dog wasn't allowed inside) with 99 degrees registering and the air-conditioning inside beckoning.  Scott isn't a "doggie" person, and the fact that he allows me such free-reign with the dog, weathers my attachment at the hip to the dog, and genuinely shows affection for MY dog is not lost on me.  And it's one of the reasons why such a dismal winter bequeathed such a glorious spring.

     

A Silent Forest

      "How silent the forest would be if no birds sang except those that sang best".  I've intended to sit down and write several times in the last month--each time, I've stopped before I even got started.  I've wondered if what I wanted to say was "interesting".  Was it "blog-worthy"?  Did I have enough to say?  Should I say it? I've always imagined any blog I would write would be more of a funny blog (intentionally, I mean--the 'we're laughing WITH you', not the laughing at me, heh).  Unfortunately, the best laid plans have pretty much guaranteed I haven't found much to laugh at lately.  Everything that's happened in the last couple weeks...how do I make it all work together?  Typically, I just wait until I feel like I HAVE to get it all out--it seems to all come out coherently ( I hope).  Then today, while I was churning internally over events of late and out running, hoping it would work it's magic and straighten me out, I realized if I waited until I felt "good enough", I might never write anything at all.  After all, there's likely nothing I could possibly write about that not only has been written about before, but written a million times better than I could anyway.  The above quote immediately sprang to mind, and I realized I would never want my children to sit out and not take a chance because they were afraid of not being "good enough", and maybe I should walk the talk.  I said in the beginning I couldn't promise anything here except drivel, and I'm writing really to satisfy my own need to see my thoughts on paper instead of jumbled about in this crazy head anyway.  So where to begin with the last month....how about honesty and what we choose to reveal about ourselves?
     The Internet.  How it has changed our lives.  We can now buy everything one would need to survive and have it delivered.  We can view anything past or present on YouTube.  We can  travel to places we've always wanted to visit via GoogleEarth.  We can even make and develop friendships thanks to Social Networking.  Ahhhhh......Social Networking.  The double-edged sword.  Some love it, some hate it, most fall somewhere in between.  There is most definitely good to be had; I have made some very real friends, that I feel lucky to have and hope some day I can meet them in person.  I've met some friends I've made on-line, and they were exactly what I thought they were.  And we felt like friends, because, well, because we were.   I've learned so much about running from my internet friends--practical, hard-won experience that I can apply to my own life.  There are dangers and pitfalls also to be had, though: especially if you're a teen.  I will forever be grateful that the computer age, while there, was NOT what it is today.  My mistakes will forever be confined to my own memory and that of my friends.  There was no record people could return to, enabling them to laugh and point and remind me of how idiotic, or how immature, or silly I was.  Teens are just that--teens.  Maturity only comes with time.  One of my favorite sayings, (one I repeat often to my own teens) is Wisdom comes from Experience and Experience comes from bad decisions.  When I think back to my own teenage years, while I was a good kid, I would venture to say that most of my decisions were not necessarily 'good'.  They were learning decisions.  I seemed to like to learn the hard way.  Sometimes it took more than one lesson, heh.  Unfortunately, a teen today who utilizes a social network, such as Facebook, may very well learn the hard way about leaving evidence of those bad decisions.  It has in no way helped ease the peer pressure--rather, it's increased it ten-fold.  Now there are "standards" to live up to--if you don't post pictures of yourself doing something fabulous, with fabulous people, in fabulous cars, you might be branded a boring loser.  People, kids especially, can basically choose to showcase select bits and pieces of themselves at just the right moments, implying a perfect life. Don't you wish you were as cool and popular as me?  So much so, that kids will "fake" posts.  Yes, they will lie to make themselves sound "cooler".  Now, this is not a new phenomenon, but whereas in the "old days", kids just bragged verbally, and with time things were forgotten (much to the relief of those same kids later), now things can be captured forever with a screenshot.  Their mistakes, true or manufactured, are there for everyone to see.  Forever. Their only hope lies in the fact that new ones, with new victims, are taking place every second, and a new escapade likely will eclipse theirs in a matter of hours. As the parent of three teenagers, I'm finding myself having to deal with things all parents have, but in an entirely different way than my parents did.  It is difficult to try to help your child embrace their singularity, to help them be who they want to be, who they are, while at the same time trying to explain the need for some individual privacy as well.  To try to explain which parts of their lives to keep private.  After all, we constantly tell them mistakes are ok if they learn from them, that everyone makes them, that even if they fall, they just need to get up.  Most of the time they don't even know who they are yet anyway--this is the life and purpose of a teen anyhow, right?  To grow, to change, to learn who they really are.  And learning by mistakes is practically the standard for teens.  But mistakes are something we want other people's kids to make, not our own, right?  Not there in public view for all to see, even the manufactured-for-coolness ones!
     Drama on the 'net is hardly restricted to teens, however.  As people learn to navigate the online world, it becomes painfully clear that it's extremely easy for people to misinterpret even the most innocent of posts.  "Vaguebooking" is a pointed insult, yet many people choose to do it, because they'd rather risk that label than risk having people misunderstand, or worse yet, berate them.  It isn't restricted to anonymous "friends", either.  It can happen with people in your actual, real, day-to-day life.  The one thing the 'net lacks, is tone.  And facial expression.  Without it, it's easy for people's own agendas or thoughts, or little purple dragons sitting on their shoulders to convey meanings that don't exist in one's posts.  It doesn't matter if you didn't intend for it to be taken that way, people remain convinced this is how you meant it.  But does that mean you should only post "safe" things?  Only  sunshine and unicorns pooping rainbows out of their butts?   What about the poignancy of real life?  I have actually lost friends to this.  Now, some may argue, were they real friends in the first place?  I thought so.  I suspect it was only the convenient avenue by which to end it.  There's a propensity to believe as an adult, you're immune to the trappings of friendship drama and hurt of high school--but are we really?  After all, relationships do run their course.  People can and do change.  I think it hurts just as much as it did then, because as adults, we typically invest more time in developing friendships that are close.  We tend to gravitate towards people that have similar interests as us, or at least similar schedules--we make friendships with people we see a lot.  But do we have to have exactly the same interests?  Exactly the same views?  Do we have to make the same choices?  Can friendships survive different lifestyles?  I always thought so.  Of course it's fun to engage in activities together--but it's also ok to me that friends of mine love swimming more than running.  Or couch-surfing more than hiking.  Whatever.  My main requirement of friendship, I guess, is in feeling like I have a hand to reach out to when I need it.  To be supported when things get tough--because it does get tough.  To laugh with--to enjoy good food and drink with--for me, it's how I survive the daily dose of crap I find deposited in my lap.   In return, I feel good supporting my friends.  Who doesn't feel good helping someone else?  It's not about judging their choices--god knows we all feel judged enough today.  What do you drive?  Where do you work?  You're letting your kid do what?  You're hitting the drive-through again? You bought/did not buy them what?  Please.  It's tough enough navigating this instant gratification world, this world where everyone's life seems to be perfect on Facebook but your own--but doing it without the support of friends is excruciating.  It's enough to tempt one to just shut up and stop taking risks in revealing who you are; what you're happy about; even the most innocent posts or thoughts may be spun into who-knows-what.  You might lose a friend.   And there's few things worse than actually reaching out for that hand and feeling only the cold, lonely dark.  With the possible exception of then grieving said hand, and realizing that you're likely the only one doing any grieving. 
     I heard of  someone today who is deathly ill, who was afraid of finding out what a lump in their breast was.  Their friend urged them to investigate--who pleaded, offered their support, but was turned away.  Now this individual is facing a dark battle but has their friend withdrawn their support, hurting and unwilling to be hurt more?  Of course not.  The risk of hurting because they may lose their friend is incomparable to the risk of hurting their friend by not offering them the unconditional love of friendship when they need it most.  They are not judging their choice--they are standing steadfast by their side in spite of it.  It would be easier to turn away, to abandon their friend--no friend, no risk of hurt.  Easy enough for all of us.  No Facebook (or social network of your choice), no opinions, no risk.  Everyone's happy and content, right?   But then I think of the little bird we lost last week: my daughter's parakeet.  Two years old, and according to that wealth of information called Google, I missed the signs of his illness until too late.  A happy, gregarious little bird who was not afraid to sing; who chattered and talked and filled our lives with a joy I didn't realize until it was too late.  Who has taught me with his death that a silent forest is not where I want to live.  Even if my rambling isn't the best--even if my posts are misinterpreted--even if my life is judged by others. That I too will venture out, if for no reason other than because a little bird told me to. And I hope it's to a forest filled with the songs of my friends.
    

Two Roads Diverged in a Wood, and I, I Chose.....

     Choices.  Endless choices.  Big, small, major, minor.  We're all faced with choices.  All day long, every day.  Do I sleep in?  Do I workout before work?  After work?  Do I want salad for lunch or eat out?  What shirt do I wear?  On and on and on...and these aren't even the big ones.  The important ones.  Lately I've been choosing to run in the evening, which has it's own set of pluses and minuses.  Gorgeous scenery, good weather--but darkness falls early; I might be exhausted; a kid or dog might need me; or even worse, a beer.  God knows the call of autumn beers is hard to resist.  Paired with beautiful weather, good friends who love to laugh, why in hell would I want to go home and run instead of to happy hour? But choose the road, I did.  At least tonight.
     My run started normally enough.  I had taken a week off after my last backpacking trip, not intentionally.  It just worked out that way.  That doesn't occur often, but I figure everything has a way of working out, and I believe occasional breaks are highly beneficial.  I only take them a few times a year, so when one presents itself, I don't sweat the small stuff.  Soon my thoughts turned from making sure all my reflective stuff was reflecting, to events of late--my choices to break from running, my food choices--oy vey!--my monetary choices--even my backpacking choices.  My thoughts seem to jimble and jumble every-which-way-but-loose on runs, but somehow by the end, they're all worked out.  As I turned onto the highway, I was treated to a stunning orange sunset.  Bright orange, with a turquoise sky.  Two of my favorite colors.  It was so spectacular, I had to really concentrate on staying on my side of the road.  It was reminiscent of the color explosions music makes for me--but that's another post.  Moments like this make me feel like I could run forever--but as I turned the corner, my knee suddenly begins throbbing.  This is a very busy corner, on a highway, so I was briefly distracted.  Then the sight of a full Snap Fitness, with happy looking people on machines, distracted me further.  I started thinking about the fact that they choose to work out inside, something I loathe and avoid at all costs.  They looked, well, happy.  No grimaces in sight.  THAT in turn started me thinking about how different we all are, and the proof is in our choices. 
     By now, the knee had turned into a full leg-throb.  From hip to foot, it was like someone suddenly stuck a wooden leg in place of my left one.  Except for this wooden leg could feel pain--burning, hot pain with every step.  I was two miles from home still.  This has happened to me before; the nearest explanation I have is arthritis.  If I'd BEEN closer to home, I may have walked.  Only once have I actually stopped and walked.  Which started my brain to thinking, "Why haven't I stopped and walked?"  What is it about me that finds the idea of stopping, when so clearly indicated, unthinkable?  I've been this way since childhood--stubborn, irresolute.  Unable to give up.  Detrimental at times.  This trait, --or choice?-- often spills over into other areas in my life.  (NOT that I argue.  I am NOT AT ALL ARGUMENTATIVE.)  Meanwhile, briefly, the sane part of my brain manages to interject with the fact that continuing to run might not be helpful since every step is so painful and I actually wonder for a split second if I've fractured something.  Most of the time, I choose to ignore things like this.  I ignore the fact that I can't or shouldn't do something.  It's how I deal with my arthritis, which has worked well for me.  It's how I dealt with my arm debacle of 2008-09.  I have several friends facing health battles, and heard of more today.  Diseases, incidents, accidents, all befall us; often we have no control at all over any of it.  Do we control our response?  Do we control our healing?  One can make the case for obvious scenarios, such as amputations, paralysis, etc...can we really control our outcome?  I know personally, not recovering full motion/full use of my arm was NOT an option.  Not discussable.  Absolutely N-O-T.  My arm was Coming Back.  I didn't care what any doctors said, what any physical therapists said; I only knew what I knew.  And that was that this was Going To Go AWAY.   In this case my trait--or choice to be stubborn--was beneficial, desirable, needed.
     What about accidents?  On our last backpacking trip, we knew the trail to Little Ibex Lake wasn't maintained anymore.  What we didn't know was that the USFS had bermed the road, dismantled the trail, basically hid any signs of it.  After two plus hours of packing around, looking for an old spur road, looking for signs of a trail, it was getting later and later.  We made the choice to change plans and pack in to St. Paul Lake instead.  Did we avoid a catastrophe?  Maybe.  If we'd continued on, and gotten lost, or far off the track, causing either a late return (by days, perhaps?) or even a "rescue", would our choice be responsible?  Such events are described after as "accidents" or "tragedies".  But would it have been?  Had we continued, without GPS, a good topo map of the entire area, late in the day, to a lake in an untravelled, remote area of the Cabinet Wilderness, wouldn't that be a "choice" to risk everything?
     Meanwhile, back In Reality: the leg is feeling slightly better.  I've picked up the pace just to make it home.  The thoughts about how we control, or do not control our lives in quite consuming.  I've recently learned new things about how we choose our friendships, our relationships. I mean, not really learned new things, but I guess I'm still surprised by the choices people are willing to make.  Or not willing to make.  The news that Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman are divorcing after 30 years reminds me that no matter how solid or stead we think our life is, we still make major choices all during it--or other people make them for us.  I've had friends "drop" me for choices I don't understand, or I feel are unnecessary.  But to them, they felt it was their only choice.  Or is it that they're letting fear make the choice?  The fear of losing something?  The fear of having to make ANOTHER choice?  People are shocked when they hear things like the Danny/Rhea divorce.  But I feel that's a brave choice.  I wonder if more people want to do things like this, but the fear of the unknown--the fear of change--makes the choice for them.  I don't ever want fear to make those choices.  I wonder if this is where our inherent personality, our genes, comes in.  Are we a person afraid of change?  Of choice?  It's my opinion that we are probably born with tendencies either way.  It's also my opinion we are capable of change.  Of learning.  Of freedom.  That's what choices are--freedom.  We are free to choose our lives, and we do.  We all do--one little choice at a time.   As I started up the hill to home, the leg worsened.  I figured if continuing to run had damaged it, a little farther and a little faster wouldn't probably hurt now.  I sprinted --heh, as much as I could muster-- my last little bit--I chose to run.