Christmas Walk

I decided that I wanted to get outside and go for a walk for Christmas. Not a long walk, and not a run, but something short to get me out of the house for a bit. I was finally feeling better after a long bout with various nonspecific illnesses. Ambrose was not, which cancelled my earlier idea of hiking up to Lucky Peak or even Table Rock. 

I got bundled up for the 20 degree weather, but I didn't put any traction devices on my Lems Boulder Boots. It might have been better if I had, but because I hadn't, it turned into a good test of those boots. 

You see, many of my neighbors had been good citizens. They had gone out after the snows and shoveled their portions of the sidewalk. Unfortunately, the vast majority of them had not also spread either melt or grit, which meant that when I went out for my walk on Sunday morning, ever bit of cleared sidewalk was covered by an invisible, but extremely slick, layer of ice. 

I slipped on it once, near the dentist's office on Mallard. I was able to divert my fall into the snow, so I didn't get hurt when I landed. After that, I carefully tested new surfaces before trusting them to my boots. Where the sidewalks had been cleared, I walked on snow, either on the grass or the street, depending on the street I was on. 

Walking on the snow gave me better exercise than I'd reckoned on. Some of the snow was just deep and fluffy enough, under the thin skim of ice that my steps easily broke, to mimic walking on dry sand. Where the snow was frozen into harder shapes, I could feel how my feet adjusted to the inconsistent surface. I wish I could go on another walk like that, but Boise just had a big melt. It was nearly 60 degrees yesterday, which is absolutely wild. 

The sidewalk wouldn't stay clear right next to Parkcenter Blvd.

If the surface looked clear, then it was a trap of slickness.

Why did everyone have to clear their sidewalks so promptly?

Newman Peak 2022 Part 2

The next morning, we woke up pretty early. I had been hoping that the vaguely ill feeling that had been plaguing me for the last couple days would be gone after a night’s sleep in the outdoors. Unfortunately, I still felt out of sorts and not really ready for the kind of hike we were planning on doing. Still, I thought maybe if I pushed through the first mile, I’d feel better. 

So I got up and got ready to go. Ambrose got ready as well, and we hopped into the car and drove over to the trailhead. It was close enough, I suppose, that we could have hiked to the trailhead along the road, but we decided against that course of action for this trip. We were going to try and climb a mountain, after all. No need for extra steps! 

The morning air was damp, but smelled strongly of smoke. It almost looked foggy, but it was smoke that had been swept into the valley overnight. I drove us over to the trailhead and parked. There were no other vehicles parked there now; there had been one there yesterday, but it was gone. We would have the trail to ourselves, at least for a while. 

Of course, we then had to make sure we were on the right trail. The trailhead had a sign, but there were a couple of paths that looked like trail coming out from there. We stuck with the one that started by paralleling the road, and that turned out to be the right choice. 

The trail was nothing special in the beginning. The road was still close, so cars were audible. It led us through scattered tree cover and stretches of bushes, angling away from the road and towards the ridge. This hike may start out relatively flat, but it absolutely does NOT stay that way. A light uphill led us to a stream crossing. It was shallow enough for us to ford in boots – even my Softstars, which don’t have sealed seams. I had to be a bit more careful than Ambrose, finding rocks to stand on while he walked right on through. I do hope they come up with some completely waterproofed Softstar Switchback boots, because I love everything else about them. 

Right after the stream crossing, and I mean right after, the trail took a 90 degree left turn and went uphill, angling up along the side of a ridge. Essentially, we were climbing up the side of a wide canyon. The smoke smell was still in the air, but as we climbed higher, it lessened. I was still dragging, but I figured we hadn’t quite gone a mile yet. If I just kept walking, I figured, then eventually I’d feel better about it. Right? 

I looked up at Ambrose, pulling ahead of me again, and saw a deer up above him. I tried to point it out quietly, but he didn’t get it until I yelled “deer” and made a big gesture with my trekking pole. That also alerted the deer, unfortunately, so I wasn’t able to get a good picture of it. I should have taken the picture and then alerted Ambrose, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly. The uphill was making me feel worse, but I kept pushing through. 

We finally stopped for a break, a bit before where Ambrose believed the trail would recross the stream. I was tired, but I figured maybe eating would make me feel better. I had a big snack, including a Built Puff and some candy. I wondered if I had perhaps not eaten enough the prior day. Well before I was ready to keep on hiking, Ambrose called the break over. I dragged myself up and kept on following him like a pack horse. 

We did, in fact, reach the next stream crossing pretty soon after the break, but I think we had a good spot to break. Nearer the stream, it would have been cold and damp. The water was even shallower up here, and I had no trouble rock hopping it. 

I had had some vague hope that the trail would mellow out a bit after the stream crossing. The trail took my hopes and smashed them, proceeding to a series of switchbacks even steeper than the trail we’d just been hiking. 

I tried to focus on moving forward. There have been times on backpacking trips, when I’ve been days out from the trailhead, when I’ve just wanted to sit down and cry and quit. And those times have taught me that I can push further than I think. That knowledge gives me a bit of a reserve to tap into on days like this when I don’t want to hike. And, every time I push, I build up more reserve for next time. 

The trail had a few flat sections. I reveled in those, but they were inevitably followed by another steep climb. And yet, even though I felt pretty bad, I didn’t forget to look around. As we got higher, we rose above the layer of smoke filling the canyons below us. I could almost imagine the smoke as fog, covering up an ocean, and the nearby ridges as islands. 

I made sure to remind Ambrose to look back down, too. When we hiked closer together, he would talk about how the trail used to look. The ridge we were now climbing on was covered in grass and bushes, but the first time he came up the trail was hardly defined, and the grass was trampled to mud by the hooves of deer and elk. We reached a bit of a top out before the next break. The trail was transferring to another ridgeline, and we stopped in the sunshine and looked out over the smoke-filled canyon. 

I made sure to eat heartily again. I was starting to think about where I might suggest turning back, because I was feeling worse the higher we climbed instead of better. I didn’t mind not having shade at this break, because I wasn’t warming up like I should be. I got up with less reluctance after this break, but that was only because the trail was kind of flat, maybe even a bit downhill, in this section. 

We hiked on, crossing another small stream. After that stream, there were some spots that we could camp at in the future. We both knew, at that point, that we might not make the peak on this day, and it would be good to find spots to strike out from for next time. The trail continued to ascend, now through shady forest. Ambrose was looking for a particular spot to start heading off trail towards the peak, based off of his reading of the topo map at home and the GPS now. As the trail broke out of the trees, opening to high meadows, Ambrose found his spot. I was behind him, and still lagging as we neared 8000 feet in elevation. 

I disconnected the camera from my pack and hooked it on to his, telling him to go on without me, because I wasn’t going to hike any farther on this day. I could see him wanting to turn back with me, but I’m glad he forged ahead. It reminded me of when I went ahead when we tried to climb Benedict Peak. I backtracked a bit to the trees so I could wait in the shade. The morning was finally warming up for me. 

I first took a seat on a log, but when I leaned back, I saw the log I had chosen was under another log. Best not to chance that it might fall while I dozed there. So I went to the other side of the trail, where dirt under the trees had clearly been churned by many hooves. I thought the dirt might be comfortable to sit on. 

I was right. I managed to snuggle down into quite a comfortable spot in the dirt. But a few things made me move. First, I thought I might need to dig a hole. Second, the dirt was beginning to leech heat out of me to the point where I was starting to feel cold again. And, lastly, the sun was on the move, as usual, and my spot was about to be no longer in shade. 

I continued hiking down off the trail through the copse of trees. It was almost like a trail. I followed the route down and down, not wanting to go too far since I’d have to climb back up, but also curious. Why did this feel like a trail? 

The answer turned out to be because it is used like a trail. Maybe thirty feet down from the trail, I found a metal post thrust into the ground and a bench made from a large split log. It looked like the perfect place to wait for Ambrose to return. 

After I dug a hole, away from the bench spot, I tried the bench out. It was perfect. I mean, a little lumpy, but no bugs protested my presence. I could almost take a nap! 

But if I were to fall asleep, I needed to make sure Ambrose could find me. I unclipped the carabiner holding my bandana/pee rag from my pack and hung it on a small tree where it would be visible from the direction Ambrose was going to come from. It would move with the wind and, hopefully, alert him to my presence if I were to fall asleep. 

I settled onto the bench and watched as birds started to fly over and investigate – as long as I held still. And not five minutes after I hung up the bandana and settled onto the bench, I saw Ambrose coming down. 

When he got closer, I made some noise and directed him to come down to me. He sat on the bench and marked the spot on the GPS while explaining what had happened. 

He had thought he could take the ridgeline over to the peak, but when he went off trail, he accidentally cut a switchback instead. And as he continued, he realized that this was not an approach that he could safely take by himself. He turned back. 

And then he noticed that there should be water nearby, based on the GPS. I went looking, and there was in fact water, sufficiently deep to filter from, very close to this site. That site would definitely do for an approach camp the next time we try to hike Newman Peak. And there will be a next time. 

Ambrose and I sat and talked for a bit on the bench, letting him get a rest before we headed back down to the car. I realized that I had likely been starting to suffer from altitude sickness, which is why I felt worse the higher we got. I don’t know why, but that kind of thing can be unpredictable. 

The way down was a lot faster than the way up. We probably could have pushed through all the way back to the car without eating lunch, but by now we’ve learned better than that. We stopped for lunch while still fairly high up on the ridge, under the meager shade of a short evergreen. Then on down we went. 

I was hiking faster than Ambrose at this point, in a total reversal of our usual paces. Since I was now hiking faster on the downhill than Ambrose, I figured that was just more evidence that I had been starting to get altitude sickness. I made sure not to hike too far ahead of him, just in case he needed help. But we made it all the way down past the second stream crossing without incident. 

After that, there wasn’t an incident per se, but we did run into some people. They were also hiking down, but they hadn’t gone as far up as us. It was a large family group, more than seven people, plus kids and dogs, and they paused for us to pass just before the last stream crossing. Ambrose heard the kids asking one of the adults why we were so smelly, and he explained that we had been working hard. I thought that was funny when Ambrose told me later, but I didn’t catch it at the time. 

I could hear them pausing at the stream to play in the water a bit. We hiked on the last stretch back to the trailhead and got into the car with relief. 

I almost drove past the campsite; only Ambrose’s reminder got me to turn on time. For the rest of the afternoon, we drank water and chased the shade until it was time for dinner. We listened to an audiobook for a bit, though that was spoiled when some folks decided they had nothing better to do than drive their very loud motor vehicles up and down the little stretch of road we were camped next to. 

Soon after dinner, the sun disappeared behind the ridge and we retreated into the tent for the night. I'd asked Ambrose about the bouncy mattress and he had just expected that I'd finish pumping it. And I would have, if he would have left the pump out instead of putting it away. . . So, I pumped it up to a nice firmness before we settled in for the night. 

The next morning, I got up and made myself some tea for the drive home. Usually, I bug Ambrose to do the cooking, but I decided to let him sleep in a bit. After all, the whole reason I was driving on this trip was to thank him for being my driver for the ICT trip. Why not demonstrate my thankfulness a bit more by getting my own water boiled? 

We had a bit of breakfast, and then headed out. I didn’t want to wait too long. There was traffic to consider, which would probably be worse later in the day. And I wanted to go to the roadside hot spring. I hoped getting there early would mean no one else was using it. Indeed, when we arrived, it was available for us. 

I love that hot spring. It’s so nice to have a “hot bath” after a camping trip. I got my fill of hot soaking, and then I drove us the rest of the way home. We stopped for milkshakes, one last treat for our last outing of the season. 

The sun hadn't crested the eastern ridgeline when we left the tent.

But the morning grew bright before we left the car.

The first stream crossing - notice the sharp turn of the trail on the far side!

The deer was up on the ridge to the right.

It ran far and fast, but I caught its rear.

Sunshine! 

The trail had a little reroute around this fallen giant.

I dragged myself along behind Ambrose.

Smoke filled the valley below.

The second stream crossing of the same stream.

More valley smoke.

I love how these shots turned out.

Ambrose is nearly at the point where I will stop for the day.

He took this picture to illustrate why he was turning back. 

Ambrose's smoky shot of a switchback.

A zoomed in shot of Newman Peak, courtesy of Ambrose.

Metal pole at the bench spot.

Ambrose taking a break on the bench.

The smoke was thinning out a bit.

The descent went faster. Funny how that happens.

The amount of smoke depended on the valley. 

Trail heading down.

People ahead!

Last crossing of the day!

Almost there, the car's just behind the center trees. 

Selfie next to the car.

Grouse Butte Training Hike

Between our Chamberlain trip, and my Idaho Centennial Trail trip, I wanted to get in one last training hike. I didn’t want to rest for all the weekends. Unfortunately, Ambrose wasn't feeling up to a hike, so a short backpacking trip was now out of the question. We had thought about a trip to Johnson Lake in the Queens River area. Ambrose was inclined not to go anywhere at all, but I insisted. I needed that last hike! 

I decided on a short but sweet little day hike in the Boise National Forest. We would drive to Willow Creek Transfer Camp and I would do a day hike up to Grouse Butte. Grouse Butte is almost on the Idaho Centennial Trail. When I did that section of the ICT, I thought about going up to the Butte, but decided against it. It was like an extra quarter mile and 300 feet elevation. But I always figured I’d come back some time and get to the top. I’m not a serious peak bagger, but I like to climb high points. 

I’d actually planned to hike up to Grouse Butte last year, but I wasn’t feeling great that day and I ended up stopping at the top of Virginia Gulch. I hoped that I wouldn’t encounter the same kind of issue, but it was also nice to know that I could get a good hike in even if I didn’t make it all the way up. After all, Virginia Gulch is like 2000 feet of gain in like two miles. It's a challenge. 

I took off from work early on Friday so we could drive out. It's a 3 to 4 hour drive, and we both wanted to get there well before dark to get the tent set up. Ambrose drove, and I finally got a picture of a weird house in Featherville that has a sign reading Qspot. I’ve been seeing it since 2020, but hadn’t managed to get a picture until now. 

When we got to the Willow Creek Transfer Camp, I was surprised. I had been there in late June, and it had undergone some changes. New rocks lined the road near the campsites, and there were no picnic tables. The Willow Creek site was still under construction, and I’m pretty sure they were using the tables from transfer camp down there for something. I hope the tables come back, but we made do without them. 

I got the tent set up, and we settled in for some relaxation time. 

The next morning, I got up early, got dressed and got in the car. Sure, I could have walked the mile or so to the trailhead, but Ambrose was able and willing to give me a ride. How could I possibly refuse? Especially since I asked. 

There was one vehicle at the trailhead already, and I wondered if I was going to catch someone or maybe cross paths as I hiked up. I’ve encountered hikers on this trail before, but not a lot. It’s a tough trail. I think more people go up on motorbikes than on foot. Ambrose parked the car, and we both got out. I got my pack on while Ambrose grabbed the camera to take some pictures of me. He got quite a few, though the lighting wasn’t great. He even caught me in the middle of regripping my trekking poles, and I can see my hands in the flicking position, just slightly blurred. 

I started hiking at about 6:40 in the morning. The sun wasn’t shining on me, but it was up enough to give me plenty of light to hike by. Not as much to take pictures by though. The light in the morning always gives me a bit of trouble with photos. I don’t like using the flash, because it tends to put too much light on foreground objects and completely lose detail in the background. With my point and shoot, I need to get good angles and hold the camera quite still to get decent morning light pictures. 

The start of the trail is a bridge over the Boise River. Ambrose took some pictures of me on the bridge, and then crossed with me. It was clear many motorbikes had been crossing the bridge from the tracks in the dirt. Also, and unfortunately, clear, was the pile of toilet paper behind a large tree trunk. It was as if someone asked themselves, what is the absolute least I could do to get rid of this toilet paper? Because the only way this would have been more disgusting was if it were literally in the middle of the trail. I mean, it was less than 3 feet from the trail, and not buried at all. Plus, they were probably no more than the length of the bridge from their car. Why could they not have just walked it to their car to properly dispose of it? Why leave it there? I just don’t get it. 

So that wasn’t the most pleasant way to start my morning, but I tried to let it go. I can’t make other people respect nature and our shared spaces. I can only try to provide the best example that I can with my own actions. 

The Virginia Gulch trail starts off kind of easy. It lulls one into a false sense of security. Sure, you’re hiking up this canyon, but it’s not that hard. Surely it won’t get any harder! Ha!

After maybe a quarter mile of relatively flat trail through nicely shaded woods, the trail begins climbing. Switchbacks start and they just don’t stop. The switchbacks bring elevation and views, but they also have a relentless elevation. Up, and up, and up. Then some more up. 

Having hiked this trail several times now, I was expecting the pain. And to be honest, it didn’t feel as hard as it had the last time. Maybe I was in a bit better shape this year than I had been in 2020. That would make sense, considering how messed up that summer season ended up being. But I’ve also found that familiarity with a trail tends to make it feel easier. 

It didn't seem to take long at all for me to reach the higher parts of the Gulch. There are some tremendous views, especially when the light is right. Today, I had threatening storm clouds massing in the distance, but no rain. And no one else on the trail. Which either means that whoever parked at the trailhead was walking along the river (there’s another trail that does that) or they were hiking so much faster than me that I couldn’t catch up. But the lack of foot prints made the former more likely. 

I felt pretty good when I reached the point where the trail crosses a road. It actually follows the road for a stretch, so I hoped I was remembering correctly to take a left. I walked for a bit farther than I expected, but I had indeed chosen the right direction. The trail veered up away from the road and I followed it up. This is where the hiking stops being so relentlessly uphill and starts rolling. Plus, the views began to include expansive views of the Sawtooth range. 

I don’t know exactly what it is about those views, but they fill my heart. They uplift my spirit. I try, again and again, to capture their essence in photographs, but I only get poor substitutes. Well, some of them are pretty nice photos, but they fall short. The best they can do is remind me of being there, which gives my spirit some secondhand lift. 

The combination of clouds and sunlight gilded the landscape even more impressively than usual. I probably could have stayed there a while, but I wanted to keep moving. Just because the hardest part of my hike was done didn’t mean my hike was done!

I took a break at the same spot I took a break the first time I hiked the trail, where a sign was posted on a tree, despite there not being any intersections at that spot. I also took that opportunity to go off trail and dig myself a hole. I was glad that I was able to wait until that point for hole digging, because the switchbacks don’t offer a lot in the way of off trail space. Up here, I can find a spot well off trail to do my business. 

Then I hiked on. The trail crosses a road, and then I came upon an intersection that I didn’t remember where the trail split. I decided to stick to the high road, just in case. I was pretty sure that was the route I’d taken last time. It brought me to another road crossing, and I could see where the low trail seemed to join back up right at the road. I figured I’d try that one on the way back, see how it was. 

Here, the trail becomes road. There’s a gate that allows the road to be closed off to vehicles. I think they close it in the winter, because the snow gets too high to safely drive. Oh, and in the spring, it keeps vehicles away from migrating animals. I do know the last time I was up this way, which was in early May of 2018, there was snow on the trail. If there’s snow in May, there’s definitely going to be a lot more snow in, say, January. 

Past the gate, the road wound on for longer than I remembered, with more uphill. And more switchbacks! But soon enough, I could see Grouse Butte up ahead, getting closer and closer with each step. I took another break along this stretch of road. I sat with my back against the embankment and watched as the line of sunshine crept from the edge of the road towards me. I ate a snack and enjoyed the incredible views. 

I was very excited to see the junction where the road I was currently walking on met up with the North Fork Lime Creek trail that I’d hiked before. When I hiked there in 2018, the entire junction was covered in snow. I had no idea what it really looked like. 

I suppose that excitement was why I found the sight a bit underwhelming. And it seemed like the signs must have changed, because I thought that the sign post was in a different position than it was before. Still, it was neat to see where the Lime Creek trail actually met the road – it was nowhere near where I had hiked over the snow. 

Then it was time to climb the butte, at long last. There’s not really a trail up to the top of Grouse Butte. There’s use trail, and maybe old trail, but nothing recently maintained. I remembered when I first saw it that there were tire tracks going up the butte, but I didn’t see any tracks now in the dirt. 

I did hear the roar of a motor in the distance, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if it was a motorcycle or an ATV. I had a butte to climb! 

After a short hike up, I found a sign marking Grouse Butte. The map has it at 6941 feet of elevation, but it’s got fairly good prominence. To the north, the sprawling giants of the Sawtooths dominated the view, while to the south, rolling foothills gave way to green fields. The wind blew, and insects whirred, and I was delighted. 

As I hiked back down, I could see what looked like an old trail going up another butte right across from Grouse. I didn’t know a name for it, but I was out here to train. Why not climb another hill? When I got back to the junction, I could see there was a sign on that old trail. It stated that the route was closed to vehicles, but it wasn’t one of those “area closed behind this sign” signs. Since I’m not a vehicle, I decided to go on up. Especially because the motor I heard earlier was sounding closer, and I needed to dig a hole. What better place than up a hill where no one could see me? 

This butte had less of a top than Grouse. I’m not even sure it’s technically a butte, but I’m going to roll with that anyway. I wasn’t sure exactly where the high point was when I got up there, so I walked around a bit on the lumpy dirt interspersed with grasses and bushes. Then I caught sight of something weird, a shade of orange that I was not expecting to see. I mean, there are some orange flowers out there, but this orange was way too concentrated to be natural. 

I headed over to check it out and found a very strange sight. There were two shades of orange, and even some pink now that I was close. Most of the orange was like cellophane, broken and scattered over about a square yard. Then there were strings and balloon remnants, plus a white tag. At first, I thought it was a weather balloon. I’ve found those out in the woods before, and I think it’s really neat. But there was no box with instructions for return, just the tag that warned against touching if the balloon was still inflated, due to the dangers of explosive gas. 

At that point, I figured it must have been a part of fire retardant disbursement. I’m not sure that makes sense or not, but I couldn’t think of what other purpose sending a balloon like that out would be. Since I was on a day hike, I gathered up what I could (after taking pictures) and stuck it in my pack to take out to the trash. I wished I could take it all, but I wasn’t really equipped to hoover up cellophane from the dirt. I hoped that the cellophane was a modern biodegradable type; it was falling apart quite easily. 

Then I hiked back down to the junction. I had to step carefully, because the old road no longer resembled a good walking surface. I caught a glimpse of the motorcyclist I’d been hearing, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me. Then I started back down the road. Before I had time to get into my rhythm, I heard another motor coming. I stepped as far to the side of the road as I could, while also trying to be visible. Luckily, the driver of the ATV saw me and slowed to go around me. I exchanged smiles with the driver and passenger, and then kept on hiking. 

The clouds that had been threatening as I hiked got a bit more threatening as I descended towards the gate. I even felt a few raindrops. It was also time for lunch. When I got down to the junction below the gate, I picked a spot to sit and eat lunch that was sheltered by evergreens. I might get a little wet if the rain were to start in earnest, but I’d be well protected from sprinkles. I sat down to eat my lunch – a Sans bar. While I sat and ate, two ATVs came down the road. Both drivers looked like hunters, but only one of them noticed me. They drove off well before I finished eating, motor sounds echoing through the hills. 

When I was ready to move, the threat of rain had moved on. It still wasn’t sunny, but that’s not a bad thing when I’m hiking. I had a choice at this point – risk that the low trail would rejoin the high trail or just take the high trail again. 

I took the risk. 

It paid off. This trail was better maintained than the other one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the high trail were closed the next time I got up there. The low trail stayed low longer, which made the climb to rejoin the high trail a bit steeper, but I liked it. 

I continued on the trail, crossing the road again and taking a break at the same spot by the sign that I had on the way up. I spotted a gnarly looking bit of junk on the dirt of the trail. It looked like a fistful of mucous, but it was a weird brownish color. I did take a picture, but I’m not going to post it. I wondered if it was some kind of afterbirth or maybe even part of some animal’s menstrual cycle. Personally, I found it fascinating, but I didn’t have time to linger and examine it more closely. 

The descent of Virginia Gulch is steep and pretty quick. By now, I have a good idea of the trail. I can tell when I’m getting close. But I fell prey to my overthinking. 

You see, throughout this hike, I had been using my InReach Mini to communicate my progress to Ambrose. We were using this trip to test how well the InReach to InReach communication worked since we'd be relying on that for my ICT trip later in the month. I’d sent him a message when I got out of the gulch, another at Grouse Butte. But the main thing was going to be sending him a message when I wanted to be picked up. It’s hard to judge how long it takes the messages to get through. We were hoping to figure out how long I might have to wait if I send him a message right when I need to get picked up. 

So I know I’m getting close to the bottom of the gulch, to the bridge where Ambrose will come and pick me up. I’m within an hour for sure, maybe half an hour. So what do I send to Ambrose? Something that makes sense to me as a “get ready to be at the bridge soon,” right? I tell him I’m on my final approach. 

To me, that means, get yourself ready and head over to the bridge. 

That’s not what it meant to Ambrose. 

I was actually within about 20 minutes of the bridge. I arrived and saw that he was not there. There was another vehicle parked, though not the one that was there in the morning. 

Now, I could have walked to the campsite. It’s not that far. But by now it was the principle of the thing. I’d asked for pickup, and to walk back would defeat the purpose of the exercise! So, I waited. 

Then I sent another message, less subtle. “Pick me up.” 

But that took a while to get through. I parked my pack on the ground so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I sat on a crooked bench that lives near the bridge. I sat on boulders that border the parking area when the shade left the bench temporarily. 

About half an hour after I had arrived, Ambrose finally pulled up. It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten my message about the final stretch. It was that he did not at all interpret that message as a call to come to the bridge soon please honey. I definitely learned an important lesson there. Be clear and specific on my satellite messages. 

We got back to camp around 3:30, and I spent the rest of the afternoon recovering. I made sure to drink a lot of water and eat sufficient fuel, including post hike protein. It was a nice, relaxing afternoon. 

In the morning, we had breakfast and then drove on home. Time to get ready for the Idaho Centennial Trail!

Ambrose got some pictures of me getting ready.

Ambrose caught me mid-trekking pole adjustment.

Crossing the bridge over the Boise River.

I can't believe people just leave toilet paper on the ground like this.

Mmm, ripe thimbleberries.

Virginia Gulch is starting to get steep.

A little sunshine.

ICT sign!

Scarlet Glia.

The clouds were hanging out, but the sun was warm.

Transitioning from trail to road.

The gate is open.

I couldn't get enough of these views.

This junction looks so different when it's not covered in snow!

There's the butte!

Bird in flight.

And here's the top!

Butte selfie!

So beautiful!

Another butte's top.

That butte had a mystery balloon.

I really hoped these clouds would not drop rain on me.

Heading back down.

Teeny-tiny flowers way close up.

I couldn't get the camera to focus on that flower without my finger in the frame.

I love the Sawtooths.

More views.

The threat of rain has passed.

Back to the bridge!

Now to wait at the parking lot...