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Tobacco Root Mountains,
days 12 - 19
Day 12
Lih-An, Andrew, and Ruby arrived just before dark yesterday with my resupply. Lih-An and Ruby (dog) are going to accompany me for the south half of the 'Roots. We set off west on an old mining road. When it heads south onto private land, we head cross country to a ridge that climbs towards Ramshorn Peak. Pass an old cabin, which is probably still used by hunters. There is an old 30's era Chrysler or such sedan sitting there. An interesting character.
The ridge trip up is very nice -- again, following and old jeep trail. When we break through a saddle with a view of Ramshorn, the ol' heart picks up. A pretty staggering peak. Now we begin dealing with snow. Some hard, some not. Where we reach the main ridge and get a view, the world has changed. South Meadow Lake is frozen, except at the outlet, and the whole basin is snow covered. Up to this level, little fresh wildlife sign. But lots of last years cow plop. I certainly expected to see more on those lower flanks of south-facing ridges. Just an occasional fresh track and scattered scat. Our ridge, too good to be true, leaves us rocked out with no place to go but down. We drop down the edge of a talus slope into a totally snowy and wet Mill Gulch Basin. Too wet for good camping, we follow the Forest Service trail that switchbacks out of the basin to the ridge west -- the normal route to Ramshorn. Conditions are better -- the snow is dry. We set up camp in a small dry patch facing southwest and watch a major thunder boomer moving in over the Ruby Range. We have plenty of time to rest, eat and nestle into our bags when it hits -- fog, swirling wind, rain, and thunder and lightning like a whole herd of mad ghost moose trampling back and forth over us.
Day 13
The day dawns sunny, with heavy clouds below in the Madison Valley and over the Gravelly Range. We are able to hang bags and shelters in the sun. The snow is hard enough to stay on top of most of the time, and we are on Ramshorn early. Outstanding! Ward Mountain, to the northeast, is dramatic with the clouds below and fog swirling through a pass and around its face. The cornice along the east rock wall of this ridge/peak is massive -- complete with a few good cracks showing. Cow plop. Did I mention that on the top of a 10,200 foot mountain is a cow plop. I think it odd when that is what I can remember. We are on the ridge for nearly a mile before we drop west into the drainage below. The north-facing slopes boast huge, very skiable snowfields.
The transition between hard snow and dry road--another mining road--is a long one. A wet walk. Bare ground runs with water, the road is practically a creek in spots, and the creek is a screamer. A couple fresh elk tracks. A few miles down, we turn up the main drainage, a maintained road, towards the Branham Lakes. A few more elk tracks in the mud along the road. We hit snow, impassable to the many rigs that have tried, about a 1/4 mile before the lower lake. Imagine -- the next round. The snow on the road is mostly hard. The lower lake is open only around the outlet; the upper one still covered. We talk with a few folks. No one has gone past the lower lake. We tramp around and head past the upper lake with the snow getting punchy.
Exhausted, we sit, look at maps, and re-plan a little. A couple different locals who use this area a lot said the lakes are usually open by now -- the 4th of July weekend -- and are crawling with campers. One family noted a very late, very heavy snowfall. They live just out of the mountains on this creek. Well, I wish I could do as planned. But 2 more passes and a 10000 plus foot ridge walk with a long steep drop to Lost Cabin Lake, where we are supposed to be in 1 1/2 days to meet Andrew. Easy without the snow. So we turn around and walk down Mill Creek to find a nice campsite.
Day 14
A pair of muley does greet us in our little meadow at breakfast. It is a long walk out on a hard road. That takes a heavy toll on our feet; almost makes wet postholing seem kind to the feet. We see many folk driving into the mountains to celebrate their independence.
Day 15
I camped at the bottom of McGovern Creek after Lih-An and Ruby departed. Having skirted a hard mountain day, I pick a spot to park a few days. Marked Cabin Creek Lake on the map, it is now a big, wet meadow. Seems like perfect critter heaven. I decide to spend a few days here. After I drop my gear, I grab a few necessities and head for Brownback Mountain, the northernmost alpine peak in the Tobacco Roots. From it, with my little pika buddy I met, I can look south into the very snowy core of the range or north out over the Dry Lake Mountains and on to the Jefferson River Valley and the corridor route. After the jumble of old downed pines (probably fire killed 50+ years ago) climbing over Dead Mountain, there is something appealing about the patchwork of order in the valley. We are so capable, when we apply ourselves with a humble spirit, that we readily should be able to strike accord with that natural world of which we are a part, even when we seem to forget.
Day 16
A domestic day. I wander around the immediate area looking for critters, but for the most part I lounge, read, write, eat chocolate pudding for lunch and take a nap. I plan an approach to the mountain just south of me. Darn few critter sightings in the 6 days so far in this range. Do they stay out of the center of the range or hang to the east or west edge? The east edge is one of the more viable corridor routes north. As I looked it over from Brownback, I thought of changing my route, but most of it is drivable and can be looked over on a roadtrip. Where I am I cannot.
Day 17
A perfect day. Cloudless dawn. Glad I waited to climb Manhead 'til today. Followed the trails around to the east side of the mountain and then went up. Good approach. Near the top, it becomes thick with small whitebark pine. And then, bam!, you break out to the rim of Hell's Hole. It's a jungle of trees and rock in and around the basin. The main rocks of Manhead Mountain are a wonderfully kipped jumble of rock with all kinds of nooks and cranies.
As I walk the rim, I see endless goat pellets. Then fresh ones; then fresh tracks. I move more slowly and look down all the chutes and through all the notches for moving white spots. None. At the main ridge, nearly the top of the mountain, I work my way into the rocks to look down for the goats. All of a sudden, behind me on the slope, a tumble of rock. There they are. Leaving. No sneaking up on goats. 15 in all with 5 or 6 kids. After they have safely rounded the finger below, a billy comes back to challenge me over intruding onto their turf. I melt into the rocks to watch. He blusters and snorts and stomps for a bit, watching. He must have decided he chased me off, for after about 15 minutes he leaves. I move just over the high point and just hang out to watch them hang out. I never do exactly see that group, perse, again. There are 9 or so over on the ridge to the south, and I spot a few hunkered down on the rocks here and there. As I move for a better view I realize there about 5 or 6 in a "canyon" just below me. I leave them to their rocky solitude and head back down. It is so hard to leave the top of a mountain.
Quite a wonderful experience. And some amazing veiws, especially to the still-snowed-in basins of the core of the range to the south. I look back before I drop off the rim of Hell's Hole &endash; shouldn't it be called Goathead Mountain? I was spared the afternoon thunderstorm; the Highland Mountains to the west are getting hammered. Back on the trail, I notice a set or two of fresh elk tracks. Better.
Day 18
I check the meadows one last time before breakfast. No luck. No critters, but someone must have come through last evening &endash; there are fresh horse tracks coming from the direction I'm headed. The various birds were extra noisy as I made breakfast and broke camp. I guess the are just wishing me farewell.
As I head to the northern end of the 'Roots, I find a shortage of running streams, oddly enough, and was pretty parched when I reached the ERA Spring (a spring developed for livestock). On the way as I watched for wildlife sign, I came out of a dry wash and right there on the edge was a huge, fresh bear scat. I was looking for tracks when I looked up and there was a huge, fresh bear. A beautiful, big black bear of the prettiest brown color. He didn't see me, so I slowly undid my pack and got out the camera. He looked up just as I was focusing. Click. He was gone.
At my camp above the ERA spring, as dark came on, I heard sounds. I had seen more bear activity, so naturally paranoia sets in. No sound I could recognize; not moose, elk, deer, or whatever. Kind of like a snorting, a weird bay in the distance. And from different directions. Monsters? (I finally figured out later: Nighthawks swooping for bugs and their wings shuddering from the force.)
Day 19
Down to Guymon Spring to wash some socks and shirts. Elk, deer, or monster beds where I am drying my clothes. From here, it is a few miles of bushwack to the edge of the Tobacco Roots and the probably most major obstacle in this corridor. I hit the last ridge and park to look over the crossing. I walk a few miles of the ridge glassing the route and doing some thinking as best a migrating critter could. On both sides of the river. Farming in the riverbottom is the major use. But there are a lot of homes springing up. I got a look from above in a unique fashion. And made the 5 mile to the river in a full moon. A night crossing. Only banked at once, no cars on the 2 miles or so of road. But the next half of the crossing is difficult--an interstate hiway. Of the still shot as the valley now exists, the interstate is the obstacle. This is where the more easterly route may be better--through the south Boulder and London Hills. Better opportunity for crossing a busy highway.
