|
|
Boulder River to McDonald
Pass, days 26 - 30
Day 26
Interstate 15 is audible from my camp at Bear Gulch. It represents the the core of the next antithesis to the corridor concept. Most highway routes are also lined with private land, and this one is partially so. The first thing I do after I start hiking is walk through a stretch of subdivided land. Very big houses. But today I am thinking of the ranch I will walk through on the other side of the interstate as I head up Red Rock Creek. And the beautiful Monarch butterfly I see visiting with a bristle thistle flower. It helps take the edge off of several miles of frontage roads. I chat a moment with a F.S. employee who is spraying weeds where public land comes right down to the highway.
Corridor maintenance is synonymous with working with farmers and ranchers to get conservation easements on much of their lands. It is getting state and federal agencies to work together with non-governmental interests to develop a program for wildlife over- and underpasses on major highways and interstates. In this area, there is little development as yet, and the interstate crosses over the Boulder River many times, so large animals have an easier path. Now. But what about in 15 or 20 years?
There are a few cabins and one horrendously ostentatious lodge on private inholdings that I pass after I get onto public lands again. Even after I reach the trailhead, the trail is still an old road. I find some ruins and an old logging sledge. They got around at the turn of the century. A motorcycle is the only fresh track on the lower part of the trail. I see a few deer up higher, and quite a few tracks. Near my destination, I hit clearcuts (of course) as I approach a major access road. Saratoga Campground is what the horse party I meet at the site call it. A couple good springs and a couple trails taking off. The two couples camped here know the area quite well. They warn me of the difficulty following the trails and of a big blowdown on one trail that kept them out of Cottonwood Lake. We are still on the Deer Lodge National Forest, so I'm not surprised. We share a few stories over smoors and Big Spring spring water. They hit the sack early, as they are elk hunting - with cameras. In a few more months they will be back to put some elk in the freezer.
Day 27
Rob Ament, program director for American Wildlands shows up bringing news of 100 degree temperatures in the valleys. We head up the trail towards the continental divide. Even on Thunderbolt Mtn., the highest point for quite a ways, it is hot and windless. Early on, we meet the first person I've seen in the actual backcountry (not on a drivable road) since the first few miles on Day 1. Wow, now that I think about it, that is amazing; I've come a long ways! He is from Polson, Montana, and is riding his horse the length of the continental divide trail through the state. We see beargrass in bloom. This is great to me, as a born and raised west-sider, as beargrass meadows are one thing I miss. We see a few tracks in the trail. The divide here is not a classic ridge, but big and broad with a number of springs along it, so we find a nice high spot with a spring near for camp. Rob fills me in on all the latest news and we plan a day trip for tomorrow.
Day 28
We get a good start and head down towards Blackfoot Meadows, another of the popular recreational roadless areas that the Forest Service keeps threatening to road and log. It is a very nice hike down into the meadows, where we see it is an obviously a destination area by the number of hardened campsites. As we stroll along the meadows, several bicyclists glide by. We take a quick dip in the cold creek and head on up the drainage and cross the divide into Cottonwood Lake. It is really a pretty little lake with marsh grass edges and ducks cruising around. We eat a great lunch of Brie, crackers, and tabouli. Then we hunt out a trail to take us back up over Thunderbolt to the main trail and back to camp. It has been a long, hot, and satisfying day even though we have seen little sign of wildlife use. Over dinner, we talk about the issues of the corridor concept and what needs to be done.
In the tent, I think about the fact that this is only the second time on the trip that I have spent more than one night in the same camp. I believe this is the wrong approach. In my other extended backpack trips, it has been the same thing: too much focus on destination and goal. On a trip like this, a full day should be taken near the beginning of the trip to just sit around or take a short, simple walk so you can relax into the backcountry you have come to enjoy. Slow down to meet the more natural pace and to gather a sense of being with natural systems. After all, what am I here for?
Day 29
Rob heads back up the trail today to the civilized world, and I continue north along the continental divide. My thoughts, as I hit old roads again, is that I am not in wilderness. I keep trying to put everything into a wilderness or roadless recreation standard. But this is just not the case with this "corridor." It simply represents essentially continuous remnants of acceptable wildlife habitat between major ecosystems. I've spent much time hiking roads and old roads through, around and past mines, logging, grazing and motorized recreation. It may not have to be designated wilderness to be viable habitat, but many areas cannot stand too much more development before it may not be viable anymore. The corridor question is: how do we assign a socially tangible (and acceptable) value to these remnants in order to maintain a corridor? How do we bridge a few major barriers? How do we do this without sounding like we are crying wolf one more time? (Sorry, bad analogy.)
I see a mule deer in Bison Creek and she strikes that classic majestic pose that only a deer can, so I stand and watch her until she walks off. Near the ridge, I walk into a covey of blue grouse. They are sure growing up fast. They scatter a little, but mom just stands there, so they all soon gather back around and wait for me to leave. The head of Telegraph Creek brings me back onto a major gravel road and I soon see my first truck. Then a few more, then some permanent-looking camps. I walk on and as I round a corner in a clearcut - Bam! - a backpacker walking towards me. She is as shocked as I to see a hiker. A continental divide hiker. We have a good, but abbreviated visit as we both still have a few miles to go today. Having started the same day I did, her trip will go on until the snows of fall stop her. Makes my trip pale by comparison. She is a unique individual to set off alone on a 3 month hike and I wish her the best. I camp on the creek that night, next to the road, only a couple hundred yards from a travel trailer couple with a yappy dog.
Day 30
I break camp early today to head back up toward the divide and on to McDonald Pass. I see a few animal tracks and some coyote scat, but sightings consist of ravens, squirrels, and a very cute bunny. Tracks increase the higher I go. I encounter a big puddle in the middle of the old road I am walking, so I stop. It is chock full of life - water skippers and tadpoles I recognize. But there is also another surface bug aplenty and lots of what look like minnows. The spring that trickles into it is small and it is a long way to the creek so I really wonder the duration and cycle of this vibrant little system.
On the divide, it is fun hiking through open meadows and over a couple high points with good views. I can see the pass and the highway in the distance. I am not too careful about staying on the trail in the meadows and am lured off the route by countless wildflowers in bloom. Oh, well, I know where I'm going, don't I? I end up with a wild bushwhack through seemingly endless doghair lodgepole pine, a good handful of steep draws, a few very tight fences to heft the pack over, and a couple of messy clearcuts before I finally make the pass.
Here I encounter a lot of stares from nearly a dozen tourists who are at the scenic overlook, as close as they will get to being in the mountains, who stare at me as if I'm a wild critter from the woods. Is it going to be possible to educate the public? Have we become so soft that we don't want wild lands interfering with our lifestyle? Have our color-glossy, posed-picture magazines and cinemaxes become the Nature-surrogate?
