HORSESHOE LOOKOUT AND FISH CREEK TRAIL

Monday (Sept. 26) was a good day for our annual wilderness geocaching excursion. Saturday was the culmination of a few days of unseasonably high, even record-breaking, temperatures. It was 96 at Gilbert Saturday afternoon. Sunday was much cooler with rain overnight. Initially Monday appeared foggy and moist and I wondered if we should even go, but by the time we reached the valley, the sun was shining brightly.

“How long do you think we’ll be out?” I asked Mike. “Will we be back before nightfall?”

“It won’t take all day,” he said. But I remember that in the past it has taken all day, and I can’t think that it won’t.

To continue (see previous post – Indian Post Office), feeling quite contrite – having broken the camera, moved from my assigned spot, and caused Mike some worry – we then traveled to Horseshoe Lookout on these same terrible back roads. (The lookout is a natural one on the rocky top of a mountain and not a tower.) I couldn’t help but think how my dad would have enjoyed this trip. He loved to read about the wilderness, then see for himself.

 

Mike has been to all of these sites before. Last time at Horseshoe Lookout with grandson Jack, they had been unable to find a geocache. Armed with new clues from the cache owner, Mike was determined to find it on this visit, especially since we were in the vicinity.

The back country is spectacular. Nothing to see but the wonder of natural beauty – layers and layers of trees and mountains. No farms, no cows, no shopping, no gas – yet, we’re just a few miles from Highway 12. That’s why they call it the Wilderness Gateway. Even so, problems are to be avoided as help is not readily available. Don’t take your car there and certainly not your motor home.

As we approached Horseshoe Lookout, Mike pointed out a number of rock outcroppings and I took pictures with our crippled camera.

As we stopped at the lookout, I remembered that I hadn’t seen Nellie since she accompanied Mike to Indian Post Office Lake. I wondered if she had been worried, too. Once Mike let her out, she came right to me and made eye contact. “You broke the law of the pack, Kathy,” she seemed to say, then nuzzled my knee. “We’ll forgive you this time, but just remember, you aren’t the alpha dog.” Intuitively she had gleaned something of this upsetting event.

Mike readily found the cache, and while he did the bookwork (which seems to take some time), I took pictures. We might have stayed longer, but it was nearly 4:00 p.m. (late in the day at this time of year) and time for us to move on. It took half an hour or so for us to reach Highway 12. Once there, we headed west – toward home – but we stopped at Fish Creek. “Caution: frequent helicopter landings” read the sign. And that was right – the helicopters were flying in and out constantly. There must have been a fire someplace and they were carrying water from the river.

“Are you up for this?” Mike asked, as he prepared to hike the Fish Creek Trail. “No,” I screamed, but not a sound came out. “Sure,” I heard myself say. “By the way, how far is it?”

“A round trip of 1.8 miles,” was the answer.

“Then we’d better get moving,” I said. “It’s 4:50 now and it’s dark at 7:00.”

So off we went. The trail was narrow but well-maintained and initially the going was easy. However, it became steeper and a bit challenging. I told Mike to go ahead of me and find the cache. He and Nellie hurried off, but I was sure I would get there before he finished the bookwork, which proved to be the case. The trip back down the trail was easier.

It was 6:10 when we arrived at the Dakota. Mike thought to find one more cache as we traveled Highway 12, but by the time we arrived at that locale, it was dark. “You can’t,” I said; “it’s too dark.” He reluctantly agreed.

Between Kamiah and Orofino, we began to contemplate a supper of leftovers. “Or, we could stop at the Mexican restaurant in Orofino,” said Mike. So, that’s what we did – grubby clothes and all.

It was 8:40 when we drove into our farm home, and as we descended Plank’s Pitch we were greeted by a sight straight from a movie about aliens from outer space. We were at the house before we fully realized it was Farmer Kyle planting at night on the Miller place. He worked until 10:00.

That’s it – the close of the annual wilderness geocaching excursion. Once we put our stuff away it was time for bed. KW

INDIAN POST OFFICE

Boy! Did we have an adventure yesterday! One of those things where I became embroiled in the “Mickey Warnock Experience.” In fact, I caused it and it got worse before it got better.

We went to Indian Post Office located on the Lolo Motorway. “Motorway” is a term out of the ‘30s when the road was built with the assistance of the Civilian Conservation Corp along a trail used by the Nez Perce. Don’t let the term “motorway” fool you. It’s a clearly-defined but single lane road, very rocky, and not for the faint of heart. The Lolo Motorway makes the Gilbert Grade look like an improved highway. We traversed it in our Dakota, frequently in 4-wheel drive. Realistically, the best option is a 4-wheeler.

 

Leaving Highway 12, also called the Lewis-Clark Trail or Scenic Byway, we turned onto Doe Creek and proceeded to Indian Post Office, a pile of rocks where the Nez Perce left messages and also came for healing. Mike found a place to turn around so that we could park. After lunch, he set off on his grand adventure – to place a geocache at Indian Post Office Lake. Seeing his walking stick, Nellie waxed excited. “Oh boy, oh boy!” she seemed to say. “I’m up for it, Mike. I’m with ya.” Mike advised me to take reading material.

 

We walked along the crest of the ridge until we could see the lake far below. Mike said I could go if I wanted to but suggested that I sit on a log and wait. Mike is part mountain goat, and I –well, I am not. I knew that I would really slow him down and that realistically, I might not even make it out again before nightfall. I’m not kidding. So, I sat down on the log. Mike left at 1:10. At about 1:30 I saw him crossing the flat to the lake.

 

I was looking at a recent issue of “The Quilter” and dreaming over some of the quilt patterns when a wind came up and the sun went behind a cloud. Suddenly, I was chilly. Looking behind me, I could see the road. “Why did I agree to sit here,” I thought to myself, “when I could be walking and taking pictures?” So, I gathered my magazine and the camera and hiked overland to where the Dakota was parked to get my jacket.

As I approached Indian Post Office, an expanded cab, long bed, 2-wheel drive pick-up in Forest Service green pulled in. I figured they would speak to me just to ascertain that all was well with me and my party, but no. The two passengers appeared not to be Forest Service personnel – at least, they weren’t dressed in uniform. The driver attempted to turn around in the same spot we had used, except that he got stuck. The back wheels kept spinning in the dirt until there was quite a rut. One of the passengers waved to me and shrugged his shoulders. I was about to ask if they needed this grandmother to push when the driver gunned the engine and the earth let loose of the vehicle. With another wave from the passenger, they were off. Odd behavior for the Forest Service, I thought.

It was then, as I stood in the middle of the road, that I dropped the camera, and yes, it’s not quite the same. I felt terrible about it, but I grabbed my jacket from the pick-up, left my reading material, and walked down the road – perhaps three-quarters of a mile or so. I really thought it was going to take Mike a while to climb back up to the ridge – but no. Looking toward the spot where he left me, I could see him nearing the top. I quickly headed back to the Dakota – now too warm in my jacket – but when I got there, he still wasn’t there.

 

Now I was upset about the camera, too warm in my jacket, and worried that Mike would wait for me at the log. Did I think to leave a note at the Dakota? Yes, but I didn’t do it because I was certain I would meet him hiking across the ridge. So, I set off once again to the spot where I knew he would expect to see me, but he wasn’t there. I didn’t see him on the road. I didn’t see him on the cross-country route. And so I knew that he took another route out – but I was standing a good half mile from the Dakota and I knew it would take me ten minutes to walk back.

I started kicking myself for every erring instinct from the time I left the log in the first place. I knew I couldn’t get back to the Dakota fast enough but the overland route was rough and I felt clumsy in my hiking boots. As I approached Indian Post Office I saw Mike moving the Dakota and tried to run. Luckily he saw me. He had worried, he said, and why hadn’t I left a note? He saw the prints of my hiking boots going both ways in the road and couldn’t imagine what I was doing. He had loaded the Dakota, left a note for me under a rock, and was headed down the road to look for me when he saw me coming. All in all, the whole experience reminded me of the time we lost Mike in the Northtown Mall in Spokane.

As for the camera – probably time to replace it, said Mike. And when I told him about the ruts made by the Forest Service, he said, “Thank God! I thought maybe I had done that and didn’t realize it.” Finally it occurred to me that the vehicle was likely a private vehicle -- one previously owned by the Forest Service.

Mike says it took him 22 minutes to descend the embankment and 23 minutes to ascend again. What did I tell you? He’s part mountain goat. I can guarantee that with all my back-and-forthing, it did not cause as much delay as if I had gone to the lake with him.

Tomorrow: Horseshoe Lookout and Fish Creek -- KW

TO SEE WHAT I COULD SEE

Last weekend temperatures sat at nearly 100 degrees, even here at Gilbert. Today I’m wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and brewed myself a cup of cinnamon stick tea. A few days ago sleeping under a sheet seemed barely tolerable. Now we pull up the electric blanket and turned it on. I have traded a nightgown for pajamas. Temp Wednesday afternoon – 74. These cooler temps came with a storm system that moved through Sunday night. It didn’t bring much rain but we had a lightning show and wind.

Now thoughts turn to harvest bounty – apples, pears, elderberries. Here’s a picture of the awesome apple tree. I wonder when I should pick the apples. According to an online comment, it’s when your dog is eating the apples that have fallen. I notice Nellie checking under the trees but I haven’t seen her eating them yet.

Tuesday (Aug. 30), I rode my bike up Plank’s Pitch without getting off to push. I wowed Mike with that astounding information. “Why are you so surprised?” I asked. “Because it’s tough!” he answered. Usually once I do it, I can do it again, but every year I have to work up to it.

Once I was up and out of the bowl, however, my desire to explore got the better of my intent to ride. For years I have wanted to see the other side of the field on the flat, and the best time to explore is right after harvest – before hunting season opens, before it rains, before they plant the field again.  So I parked my bike and Nellie and I walked over to the Clearwater side of the field to see what we could see. 

Naturally it was another beautiful vista that included Dworshak Dam. However, several of the pictures weren’t as good as I expected because the considerable vegetation got in the way. Well, it’s not the dam that’s beautiful. It’s the water and the mountain setting that I find breathtaking.

[I think the text explains the photos fairly well, except for the last one. Below the trees in front of the camera is the main Clearwater River. The bridge crosses the North Fork where it enters the Clearwater. The settlement is Ahsahka, and you can make out the fish hatcheries on the point.] KW

DWORSHAK DAM FROM RUSSELL RIDGE

Yesterday I talked to a neighbor who reassured me that exploration of the ridge was not out of line for those who live here. I described where I had explored, and he explained that the property in question was actually on the original homestead of my great-Uncle Ben Dickson, Ina's brother. That farm is now owned by friends, a family with whom we have an established relationship. Feeling more confident, today I gathered my husband and my dog and headed back to "pie cherry heaven." Yes, I picked a few cups of cherries -- enough to make a cobbler for supper -- and Mike discovered the best vista of Dworshak Dam and reservoir to date. Here are the photos.

Note the clouds. A cold front moved through during the night leaving us with a cool day. I wore a sweatshirt all day.

I was just thinking that ordinarily we would feel the excitement of a pending harvest in the air, but not this year. The fields are brown and barren due to the cold, wet spring.

Where we stood today, however, on the edge of a field, the grain is ripening. I don't think any planting was done this spring on this end of Russell Ridge, so this field must have been planted last fall. (Sorry -- I'm not a great identifier of grain. Perhaps I'll get better.)









I hope you enjoy these pictures and that you can see the dam as well as the reservoir.

Now my next goal is to locate Russell Ridge from the dam. KW

AND FORGIVE ME MY TRESPASSES . . .

While at the farm, I ride my mountain bike five to ten miles every other day. Usually Nellie accompanies me and keeps up quite nicely – or perhaps I should say that I keep up quite nicely. Sometimes she trots right by me. If we go fairly early while it’s still cool, we both fare better.

Tuesday (Aug. 9), we went to the end of Miller Road, about five miles from the farmhouse. Mike gave us a head start, and then he joined us for part of our ride. That pushed us a bit, I think, and the ride / trot tired both of us. 

Wednesday, I decided to ride again, even though I wasn’t up for it. Nellie looked excited as I mounted my bike, but initially she didn’t follow. “But we went yesterday,” she seemed to say, as I looked back over my shoulder to where she stood. “Aren’t you coming?” I called just as my bike gathered momentum. Soon she was with me, even ahead of me. I have to push my bike up Plank’s Pitch, so Nellie has plenty of time to poke around on the flat while she waits on me.

But traveling on down Miller Road, I noticed Nellie was lagging a bit, and I didn’t feel energetic either. When I came to the spot where I can see the reservoir, I decided to park my bike and search again for a better vista of Dworshak Dam and the reservoir. 

At this clearing an old road begins to skirt around the brow of the hill just below a field.  Perhaps it was once the approach to a home site. Yes, I know -- even though no one lives there now, the land actually belongs to someone – one of our neighbors – and I didn’t have permission to be there. However, I was on foot with my dog and I believed I might be forgiven this transgression. Surely everyone deserves to understand the lay of the land. 

It felt as though we were trudging on and on, but it really wasn’t so far. We passed some sort of vine on the uphill side that reminded me of grapes, and that strengthened my opinion that this had once been someone’s home. Watching through the trees for the reservoir, I finally spied it. Yes! There it was – the reservoir and the dam, just visible through the heavy vegetation. I snapped a couple of pictures and a feeling of satisfaction washed over me because I had found this spot.

I then decided to walk on a little farther. Just a little farther, I said to myself. And I came to a place where the road was overgrown with bushes. I lifted and passed through them – and found myself in pie cherry heaven. I mean – the angels sang the big soprano chord – “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” What beauties those cherries were, hanging lush and ripe on the branches. There were two trees – one on either side of the overgrown road. 

Now the conflictive issues washed over me. It was no longer just a question of having trespassed to take a few pictures. Now I knew the assets of the place and the temptation, however momentary, to want what isn’t mine. It’s a shame, I think, that this wonderful treasure is just being ignored – and it is a shame! -- but it’s none of my business.  So, Nellie and I turned around and walked back out of this old place. After all, I have my own heaven right where I am. I don’t need to trespass. KW