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McDonald Pass to Rogers
Pass, days 31 -38
Day 31
Dave asks what the anthropologists of the future will say about all our microwave towers, radio repeaters, and television transmitters perched in clusters on high mountains. He and I hike only a short distance before making camp just down the slope from 5 or 6 of the aforementioned facilities. Hill of the gods. During this last refueling, I tried to pull a few things out of the pack to lighten it a bit, but the single heavy luxury that would make a big difference is the camera (color-glossy photos to document this expedition, y'know!) All this equipment is consumption, and consumption is exploitation of land someplace for resources. We do need to simplify and make last that which we do buy. That will help preserve wild places a bit. It is a pretty evening looking down on the Helena valley and sunset brings an interesting glowing orb as Ra settles down through a thick haze of smoke and dust. Panoramas have been less than crisp the last week or so with the intense hot and dry weather.
Day 32
A deer wakes Dave this morning with a snorting scold. After dark last night we had nighthawks buzzing around. Today proves to be one of the most frustrating of days. I had the energy earlier in the trip to deal with the lack of trail markings, with roads going everywhere to the point you have no idea where you are, or are going, and private landowners blocking off trails. We make the first stretch to the next pass okay, but at the top of the first hill past it, the continental divide trail just disappears, so we follow the obvious route. We spent some time hunting the area for a marked route, but there is only one definitive trail that actually continues on. We feel better when it is heading more the right direction and blazes return. But all-uv-a-sudden it ends in a heavily posted fence, "No Trespassing." This is ridiculous. We climb through the fence and bushwhack to the next road, where we are able to pinpoint our location. We follow the road, and sure enough,where the trail crosses it, it is marked. So north we go along the road that the trail is following to the point where they separate. No markings, no blazes, no indication. Roads and trails going everywhere. We guess, and hike to a spring where we hit what seems like the umteenth road. We make camp; the City of Roads. After dinner, I hike a less major road up the draw towards the ridge and, lo, there are trail markers, not one, but two. Weird. And as you might expect, a day like this brought us lots of cows and little wildlife sign.
Day 33
We are up early, as a motorcycle passes shortly after light. The post-modern cowboy. Then cows start wandering through camp. As we are breaking camp, there is a motorized roundup going on across the draw. We actually only lose the trail once this morning, but are able to search it out. It is walking roads all day today (some are closed to motorized use now). We arrive at Dave's car in the early afternoon. Today seems so easy after yesterday. The route seems pretty straight forward. Other than a few redtail hawks there is little wildlife activity. As we travel along a rolling stretch of low ridge line that is the continental divide, an open and maintained primary forest road, I certainly think to myself how I look forward to some roadless hiking.
Camp is in a saddle as far from the open road as I can easily get. The only problem is that it is a long jaunt for water, but an easy one. In the evening after sunset, I trek back to the spring to load up on water for the next day. As I am nearly back to camp, a lone coyote starts making a racket. He is just below me in a small clearing. I move around a bit trying to catch a good look at him, but never do. No howling, just bark-yap-yap-yap. For a long time with little or no change in the pattern. No answer, though, which leads me to believe he is a lone animal trying to raise some contact with others, either a new pack or other lone individuals. I cannot stay to the end of the call as it is getting dark and I still have a few things to shore up at camp. Nice to hear him; nice to knowÉ
Day 34
A hot, dry night, even on the continental divide in an open meadow; in fact it has been that way, I reflect, for nearly 2 weeks now. No rain. Hazy views with no nice panoramas; everything fades into a blur in a flat light. One thing about hot and dry stands out to me: why am I carrying all this rain gear? I am hiking early enough that the climb up Black Mountain is out of the way before the heat really builds. It is a nice hike along the higher ridge today. I see bear scat on Nevada Mountain, and run into a covey of grouse. Boy, do they get big in a hurry. The tops of both Black and Nevada Mountains show sign of very old, dead trees, but there is a lot of live trees, too, so the mix makes for a wonderfully rugged subalpine feeling. As I hit more open ridges north of Nevada Mountain, it occurs to me that it is mid-summer. The open meadows are no longer green all the time; I am hiking through cured grasses and plants whose flowers have gone to seed.
The ridge is sharper and more defined today. That makes the hiking a little more fun; no route finding to have to puzzle over. But towards late afternoon, I am hiking roads again. Soon that brings me into clearcuts and soon after that, I am greeted by cows. I question my timing as I know I will have to make camp soon, as soon as I find some sign of water. And so I walk the main road to the head of Poorman Creek. Water. But to find a campsite, I end up at a road junction on the edge of a clearcut in a site loggers probably camped in years gone by. Views, anyway?!?!
It is a funny reflection to me that I chewed over the hot, dry, rainless weather this morning. I get the smatterings of a couple small thundershowers this evening. As I take a look around at dark, I see the sliver of a waxing moon in the west. It brings with it forth some mixed emotions, as this is the moon by which I count down my hike. I watch it and I think.
Day 35
Rocky Mountain Roosters. We gotta change their name. This is certainly not the first time I have been awakened by them on this trip, and this one is making an absolute racket in the tree above the tent. Good thing I'm not carrying a gun. I refer to the small animal we usually call a squirrel. But at first light this guy went off with the energy to wake the dead. So what can I do but cut my dreams short and get up. Lots of clouds this morning, but they are high and broken. During breakfast, my mind travels back 2 years. It can't help it; it was 2 years ago today that Burnsie and I loaded up the Toyota and headed for the Brooks Range for 30 days - a dream trip come to life. That was a strenuous trip. I think again to what I noted earlier in this journal: a person or party ought to take a day off early in a long trip and relax into the situation. We did not do that in Alaska, either, but hiked long and hard nearly every day of the first half of the trip before we finally took a day off and just hung or did little day hikes. Remember this, you long-distance hikers. Go to the woods to enjoy the woods, to feel them and be a part of them. Cut your goals back; you will see more and come to understand the natural world around you better.
I climb Granite Butte, an old Forest Service lookout now used as an electronic site. Pretty good views, especially into the Poorman Creek drainage. The fork I am above here has been heavily logged, both by the Forest Service and by private landowners. Yet this is one of the areas that American Wildlands has identified as threatened by proposed USFS timber sales and roading. When a person is on the ground looking at it, walking through it, I can only wonder what is going through someone's mind that wants to expand the development of an already overtaxed area like this. Sure, you can cut more trees, but what will be left of the concept of multiple use?
I can't help think, though, of the reason for logging and mining: consumer demand. It is our big houses, our wasteful building practices, our dramatically increasing use of paper, our disposable mentality that is equally part of the problem. As well as fight the logging, in this case, we need to begin to address rampant consumerism as an issue to take on; we need to develop a way to get Americans to think quality not quantity. We may win some battles, so to speak, but we will lose the war until we recognize who we are fighting. "I have found the enemy, and it is us!" (Pogo, I believe.)
My gaze spreads and I look northwest towards a hazy horizon that portends big mountains. I see a singularly big pyramidal peak. Too bad light is so bad, it would be a great photo op. I guess I'll just have to walk up there and see it. The southward view is similarly hazy, but it is a wonderful opportunity to visually retrace my last week of walking.
Stemple Pass is my next stop, and it is quite the jumble of roads. I meet a couple from Missoula lunching on the pass who are familiar with the corridor concept through the Northern Rockies Ecosystem Protection Act. They give me the dregs of their freshly brewed coffee, and I head north again, looking forward to getting away from roads yet today. As I'm dropping into a saddle off the end of the road system, I realize I have to think water before I climb back up along the ridge, so I drop my pack to scout the saddle. To the east, there is a clearcut and a road, but a trail goes that way. I find a spring at the edge of the clearcut. A loud truck with a noisy dog and a four-wheeler in the back drives by. I don't want to camp here. I head up the trail towards the ridge a ways, but find no sign of water. I turn back when I realize a storm has sneaked up on me and a few drops are falling.
Now I'm just looking for shelter trees. I'm decked out and my pack is covered and cats and dogs is the term to describe the rain. So this is where I'm camping. My boots are soaked through, as is the gortex rain jacket, by the time I find a spruce that can afford some protection. It dawns on me why I carry this silly, little rain fly, when the tree can no longer shed this intensity of rain - it is worth it's weight in pure cocoa! No need to go to the spring. I can collect all the water I want as it pours off the rain fly. I do; spruce-filtered rainwater. Mmmmm. When it lets up, I will try to find a place to set the tent; but I set up the tent in a drizzle at dusk, and am lulled towards sleep by the rhythm as it starts pounding the tent again.
Day 36
It rains hard several times during the night. But this morning brings a ray of sunshine burning through the cloud now and then. But everything is soaked down for a while. It was needed, despite the frustration it causes us humans at times; I get off to a slow start. As I walk the ridge, the day slowly opens from the clouds. At times, I see the road or clearcuts on the hillside below me and think of one ugly way the Forest Service promulgates roads and logging. In an area like I am in, they punch a road many, many miles into roadless lands for a tiny amount of logging at the time, but have insured themselves of a long-term program by logging their way backwards out from the end of such a road.
For 30 days now, I have probably never been more than 2 (at the outside 3) miles from a road. This is quite something to think about. Look at a large map of the forests of Montana and pinpoint my route. From the Lee Metcalf Wilderness on the edge of Yellowstone National Park to the Scapegoat Wilderness still a few days ahead of me, I have never been truly away from roads. What does this say about Forest Service management of our public lands; what the agency's priorities are? For Corridors of Life to be viable, there is going to have to be a big change in how the U.S. Forest Service, the world's single biggest road-building entity, goes about managing our lands. This overall road intensity is an issue, let alone the density of the roads where they are. A couple stretches of non-motorized trail had ATV tracks on them. The majority of the roads and trails I have been on are open to motorized use, yet motorminds cannot stand to see a closed trail un-rutted. I had better walk before I get any hotter under the collar.
I didn't realize how much up was involved in climbing out of Fletcher Pass. It is the end of the day, and I want to get away from the road. Up, I hike, up. When I break out onto the ridge and get a view, it is great. I can see the line of mountains coming in from the east that form the other potential corridor that runs from the Yellowstone Ecosystem to the Glacier-Bob ecosystem. This ridge system will intersect my route tomorrow.
Now on to the next saddle and a camp; the day has turned itself into a beautiful afternoon so I may be able to get things dried out. A bit too many trees here, but the air is pretty dry. I hope no one comes along as I am only 25 feet off the trail, but campsites are a bit thin along the divide here. I've only seen a handful of people in 36 days, so I am not expecting it. Two hawks - maybe the same one twice - cruise by through the pine. Hard to ID a high-speed bird in all these trees but they were either Cooper's or Goshawks. I climb up to an open shoulder on the ridge for a sunset that is smothered by heavy, low clouds to the west.
Day 37
Beargrass only entered the realm of this hike 2 weeks ago and already it is past flower. I am seeing a little more elk and deer sign than for the last number of days. The spring I found below this saddle is getting use. I hike through an old mining district which is spread over the divide with a jumble of roads going every which way. The open rock extrusions and various strong color bands must translate into something an early entrepreneur saw as potential money. I pass out of this area and drop into a timbered saddle for lunch and head off the north side looking for water sign. As must happen once in a while, I get aced. I cannot find water and am not sure how much longer I can chase around this hillside looking. So I have a dry afternoon measuring water carefully. I still like cruising ridges, despite the cottonmouth, and this one has developed into a wonderful walk this afternoon.
I pass a spot where the ridge top pine are beaten so hard by the wind that they actually grow horizontally; I've never seen anything quite like it. A campsite is in the lee of a subalpine fir crumholz, a nice looking camp. I wonder what they did for water; it has obviously been used more than once. From my climb up Anaconda Hill I look back and can see where a spring is not far from that site above Tepee Lodge Creek. Coming from the north, a good eye could pick it out. I don't want to go back, despite all. Thunderstorms are threatening, but this ridge is beautiful - mountains to the north, west, and south, with the plains showing up towards the east - so sore feet combined with being out of water just can't seem to make my legs stop moving.
Wildlife sign, including bear scat and lots of coyote, keep me alert for some glimpses that never come. I even stop to ponder over some scat I can't identify, but then I'm no hotshot biologist. A mouse is the only live critter I see all day. Camp is nestled down a finger ridge in a site somewhat protected from the oncoming thunderboomers. I have a great view to the east of a long stretch of the ridge. The site has two minor drawbacks: it is a ways down the slope to where the draw finally springs water, and I can hear the trucks crossing Rogers Pass when all is quiet. I hike to the top of the knob called Rogers before sunset. The wind is screaming, but the last light through the broken clouds on the plains is ample reward. I get back to camp just as some sprinkles start from the first thunderboomer to catch me all day. Someone sure looks out for me.
Day 38
My socks stink. My feet stink. I stink. All my clothes stink. That's why today is bath day. I have the day off. Nice boss. So I load my pack with all my clothes and some food and head down to the creeklet below. Virtually no bugs; that takes the edge off the cold water I am pouring over myself. Despite the green budeen (pistachio pudding) I get for lunch, my mind is in a muddle. Tomorrow I begin the last leg of this trip and what have I done? Have I solved the corridor issue? What about all the personal things I had planned to work out on this trip? Will my sore foot hold up to the rigors of the next hitch? As clothes dry in the hot sun, I do realize that I have given these thing more thought than I give myself credit for. After a lounge day, I am in better spirits. I read; I nap; I give the boots the last greasing they will get this trip and I just stare at the ridge and think. I am pretty relaxed and really wish I could not see the end of this adventure. Will I see the moon tonight?
It is amazing to me that I have seen no critters at this site. The only sign of life in the creek bottom was where I had been yesterday. A kestrel sums up the day in a fleeting flight across my view. I hit the tent before dark as I need to meet Nick and Mel in the pass fairly early. Heavy clouds to the west again.
