Queens Acclimatization

Over the Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I headed up the to Queens River Trailhead Campground. On the drive up Saturday morning, we passed by many crowds of campers at more accessible sites. I began to dread what we might find at the trailhead campground, especially when the site right before it was chock full of people.

But at the edge of the wilderness we found a nearly empty campsite. We took the site next to the bathroom and the river. Already settled in across from us were three men and their ATVs. Not long after I set up the car camping tent, they set off, leaving us in peace for the afternoon.

The weather wasn't as inclined to leave us in peace... But it held for good stretches of time. And I took the opportunity to practice lighting a fire with flint and steel.

Ambrose and I had recently watched the finale of Survivor where two contestants had to compete in a fire making challenge. They took over 53 minutes to spark their coconut husks. And so I was inspired to make sure I knew how to start a fire with flint.

My first attempt was not very effective. I was too sparing with the magnesium and unprepared for what to do once the moss caught. Ambrose stepped in and demonstrated setting up a home for the sparked moss and scraped more magnesium on my bundle of moss tinder. Then it caught and we made a small fire together.

After the fire pit cooled down a bit, I set up my own little fire bay, ready to receive my sparked tinder. I shaved way more magnesium into my bundle of moss than I thought was necessary and in less than a minute I'd sparked it and started a fire. I would imagine that if I didn't have instruction, I might have labored for over an hour. But I can't imagine being on Survivor for more than 35 days and not getting fire making practice in.

The next fire challenge was to build a fire bow, and I started that day by finding and notching a flexible piece of wood. And then I took a nap. A really nice nap. Something about the sound of water rushing by a warm tent just makes for the best sleep.

After dinner, Ambrose and I holed up in the tent. And the ATV guys came back with a friend. They proceeded to scare the heck out of us by shooting a variety of guns. Though they didn't shoot them at us, the sounds were loud and scary. And then, after they stopped, they started blasting a radio. It's not that there's anything wrong with music, per se. It's just that it's not the kind of sounds we go to the wilderness to enjoy...

We were up fairly early the next morning. Well before our neighbors began to stir. The sky was clear and the sun was starting to peek above the ridgeline. We ate breakfast and then headed out for a day hike, filling out the permit that we brought, anticipating that there wouldn't be any stocked at the trailhead so early in the year (and there weren't).

Ambrose said he'd let me go on ahead at my faster pace, but he almost immediately called me back after we crossed the bridge to show me the benchmark that I wasn't sure we'd noticed the year before.

We hiked on up the trail along the Little Queens River. The plan was to take a leisurely hike down to the ford of the Little Queens, determine if we could make a crossing or not, and then hike back and hunt for mushrooms since last year we saw people taking quite a haul of morels out. 

It was clear that some maintenance had been done at the first little side stream crossing since the big washout last year. The modified trail was more clearly marked and it was not too difficult to cross. Ambrose splashed down with one foot while trying to step across the narrow spot, and I did not. So I won the crossing. 

The trail now diverts to the left to cross a side stream.

We almost stopped at the next stream crossing, because it was a little deeper than we wanted to navigate. But Ambrose remembered that there was a convenient fallen log that could assist us, and we crossed on it. 

A little too deep for comfort... 

A pretty good crossing log - except for that narrow section at the end. 

It wasn't far from there to the ford. And this year, the water level is much lower than last year. In fact, last year at the same time, this area still had a good amount of snow. 

Yeah, we can cross that...

It's just gonna get wet. 

Then we took a moment to sit and drink before turning back. We had three areas we wanted to explore. First, by the last bridge was where we saw the mushroom hunters last year. Next, there was an old track heading away from the river I wanted to check out. And then there was they mystery of the old bridge. 

Ambrose had read that morels could be found near burnt logs that had been on the ground for at least two years. So we examined burned logs and hiked up the steep ridge next to the trail. Before too long, I'd found an old trail and we decided to follow it towards camp for a while and hunt along it. 

We found a lot of mushrooms. 

But not a single morel. 

So we headed back to the trail and sat on the bridge and ate a snack. Then we walked back towards the trailhead to the track I wanted to explore. 

The track soon petered out, but we found even more mushrooms. 

But still no morels!

We made our way back to the trail and walked almost back to the intersection of the rivers before diverting to our left to see more of the mysterious bridge. From the trailhead, it looked like half a bridge, a board pinning back a massive bundle of washed down logs. Up close, it was even more impressive. 

Bridget to nowhere

Reclaimed by the river

The far bank used to be there, I think. Under all that water...

The bridge appeared mostly intact. I kind of wanted to scamper out on it, but I didn't even need to ask to know what Ambrose would think of that idea. It looked like the far bank had been completely washed out some time in the past, and instead of rebuilding, it was left where it was and the trail and bridge further down the trail were built. 

I also photographed a good number of the flowers that I saw on the hike: 

I swear at some point I'm going to get around to identifying all of these. 

We came back to the campground around 1pm. The sun was shining down through fluffy clouds and the forecast rain seemed to be playing hooky. 

But we actually got back at a good time. I did have some time to complete my firebow and spindle, but afternoon showers kept me largely to the tent. And I took another nap. 

The early evening brought us not just rain, but thunder, lightning and hail. 

Pea-sized hail

I sat up in the tent, spying through a flap in the rainfly as the hail tapped down. I love being outside in such weather, protected from the wind and ice by only thin sheets of nylon. I feel close to nature, a step away from danger. 

And, even with a nap, I slept well that night. 

We drove out on Monday morning, beating any crowds on the road. Next weekend is backpacking. The season is on!

Outdoor Encounters...

There's nothing quite like a night spent in the wilderness.

Okay, I'll admit that an established campsite isn't quite wilderness, not to an exacting standard. But it is outdoors. It is out there, at least, the one that I visited is out there. And in Idaho it's still early enough in the season that we had the Willow Creek Transfer Camp all to ourselves... for the most part.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I took Friday off of work last week so Ambrose and I could drive out to the Pine and Featherville area and check out the trailhead that I'd be starting at for my solo this summer. Unfortunately, this plan necessitated getting up just as early as if I were going to go to work...

We were on the road by 6:30 a.m. and ended up making it to Pine well before we anticipated. The plan was to get lunch at a local cafe, but we arrived at 9;30 in the morning and didn't have high hopes. So we figured we could get some breakfast and eat that for lunch.

We underestimated the kindness of folk who want your money.

The cook/cashier/waiter on duty offered to cook up some lunch and we ordered grilled chicken sandwiches and fries. It was a good thing that we did, because, for some reason, I got really hungry not long after we left the restaurant. (Could it have been the delicious scent coming from those styrofoam take out containers?)

I started my lunch around 10 and finished it well before 11. While I munched, Ambrose drove. We stopped at the Willow Creek Camp Ground (not the same as the Transfer Camp). It was there we had our first encounter.

Now, I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. My experience with wildlife, and wild death, is minimal. So I got pretty excited when I saw the bones.

And I was even more fascinated by the nearly whole forelimbs strewn near the fire pit. 

After I finished marveling at the carcass, we drove on. Ambrose wanted to drive into the Baumgartner hot springs area, but it was barred off. So we drove on, hoping to circle around to the Big Smoky campsite and find a spot to spend the night. The next day we would drive out through Fairfield and get a burger. 

That was the plan. 

But in the outdoors, you can't always get what you want. We wanted to keep driving, but encountered a tree lying across the one lane road. To the right, a steep drop down to the water and to the left, a steep bank. No way around it. Not even a way to turn around. Ambrose had to back out until we found a turnaround. 

We explored the Kelly Creek camping area and the Iron Mountain trailhead, but ended up deciding to head back to Willow Creek. This time we passed the place we found the carcass, exploring because we could. We had no timeline, no schedule. 

We ended up at the Willow Creek Transfer Camp and settled in. Of course, it was pouring rain when we set the tent up, and stopped soon after we finished. After the tent was erected, we relaxed. Okay, I took a nap and I don't know what Ambrose did. 

When I woke up, I looked around a bit. I had a thought, to get something from the tent, when Ambrose said the word that makes any camper's hairs raise. 

Bear. 

But not in that urgent way. More an alert. The bear was across the Willow Creek. Way up high on a hill. I could hardly get a picture of it on my highest digital zoom. 

Where bear?

There bear.

The only problem was, the bear was heading down. And heading down fast. We tracked its movements until it disappeared behind a copse of trees. 

Now where bear?

At this point, I retrieved my bear spray from the tent. I keep it tethered to a belt, which I slung across my body for hands free carry. I made sure I could remove the safety cap and followed Ambrose as he walked on the road that circled the campsite as far from the creek as possible. We knew the creek would pose no barrier to the bear's passage, but where would it emerge? 

I went back to the tent to fetch the monocular so we could get a closer look without actually getting closer. I wanted to run, but I didn't. I forced my steps to be even and unhurried as I walked back to Ambrose. He faced the creek, which was flowing briskly enough to drown out quieter sounds. I heard a few crunches that I thought might be a bear stepping on branches, but I couldn't pinpoint the location. 

Then I saw the bear, less than 20 yards past Ambrose, emerging from behind a little hill just beyond the road. 

"Ohmygod!" 

Yep. That's what came out when I saw that bear, so close, so unexpected. And the bear heard me. It turned its head, pausing for just a moment. And then it galloped off in the direction it had been going, ignoring us. And I mean galloped. That bear was fast. Way too fast for me to get a picture.

Imagine a bear popping up.

Why yes, I am planning on hiking by myself here later this summer...

The rest of the day was much more relaxed. We had dinner. I read a lot (Kameron Hurley's Infidel mostly). And we slept as rain tapped on our tent. 

The next morning, as we drove towards home, I took a picture of what I actually found to be the oddest encounter of the whole trip. 

I didn't know payphones still existed, let alone on forest service roads. 

We also found a piece of the Idaho Centennial Trail. 

In all, it was a great first trip of the season. 

The Season Begins

Over this past winter, I’ve tried to keep up with backpacking training more. I’ve had a bit of a slump since the worst allergies ever took residence in my sinuses around January, but I feel that once those are under control I’m going to be able to refocus on my conditioning. And my big trips won’t be until August, so there’s time to build up strength and endurance.

But this weekend is when the season really begins.

Sure, it’s just going to be car camping, but my husband and I will be driving out into the woods for the first time this year. We’ll be well beyond cell phone range, so I might go a little nuts if the Blackhawks are playing on Friday night and I won’t know what’s going on.

The plan is to check out the trailhead from which I’ll be departing in mid-August for my high-mileage solo hike. We will spend the night there, and maybe take a peek down the trail, weather permitting. And by weather permitting, I mean, if there isn’t deep snow obscuring the trail.

I’m excited to see the trailhead, but I’m also excited to formally begin our backpacking season. Okay, camping season. Backpacking season won’t really get into swing until June. Weather permitting…

Still, I’ve missed being out in the woods. I’ve missed the quiet and darkness of a night spent with only nylon between me and the sky. I’ve missed the crackle of tires on gravel and getting dirty and the thrill of seeing wild animals large and small. I’ve even missed the hard parts. The rain storm flooding out our campsite, the unexpected blizzard and the bushwhacking.

Maybe this will be the year that I stand up to my husband when I know he’s going the wrong way on the trail. Or the year that I camp in the snow with confidence. Or the year I learn to make fire without matches or flint.




The important thing is the season is finally here and I’m about to find out.

Hating Pullups

Yesterday as I did my weekly run with my running partner at work, I mentioned my plan to do a pullup this summer.

"I hate pullups," he said. To which I replied, "I hate not being able to do pullups."

That's a bit of an exaggeration, at least for me. It isn't really hate that drives me. I just passionately want to be able to do pullups. I want to prove to myself that I can do them.

And, after giving myself excuse after excuse - oh, I don't have a plan, oh I don't have time, oh I'll never be strong enough. I'm finally putting in some effort. I have a plan. I'm making the time. And the strength... it will come with hard work. And I hope to work hard enough to make it enough to be able to lift the weight of my body.

After the first week and a day of my pullup program, I'm feeling as sore in my upper body as starting to run felt for my lower body. Aches and strains and having to scale back the workout just to finish it. I'm going to accept that and keep pushing.

Even though I do kind of hate scaling back...