Pacific Northwest Trail - Idaho Section

"How 'bout we set up camp and deal with this shit in the morning?"

Thursday, July 23, 2015: Oh, Idaho!

I'm moving by pretty early to try to get to the next road crossing where Money Shot's note said he would be. It's only a couple miles along the chewed up and very dusty trail. The trail maintenance tractor's destructive work coupled with the dry conditions has left a couple inches of light fluffy dirt to be kicked up along the way. When I get to the crossing, I start in with my signature owl call, "who-cooks-for-you," but there is no answer from Money Shot.

Late in the morning, I reach the paved highway. Railroad tracks separate the road from the Moyie River, and I walk north for a mile or so before arriving at Fiest Creek Resort. It's a beautiful site, a log lodge building with a deck surrounding it and a large coy pond. I'm greeted by Money Shot who arrived a half hour earlier. It's about noon by my calculation, but we've passed into the Pacific Time Zone here in Idaho, so the restaurant doesn't open just quite yet.

The owner, Cliff Kramer, also has a small motel adjacent to the lodge, but the rooms are completely leased out to the Union Pacific railroad to house it's workers. Sometimes, complimentary rooms are made available to PNT thru-hikers, but not today. They are full with railroad employees. But we can use the shower, and it's nice to rid myself of all the grime and stink from the dusty trail.

Money Shot and I enjoy a large lunch of double cheeseburgers with our fellow hikers Sharkey and Bebo. Later, Honey Bee and Stumbling Norwegian arrive, having caught up to us already after leaving the trail for a couple days to attend a wedding. As far as my other three mates, they arrived here yesterday. We're relieved to learn that Mr. Bean found his way out of the bushwack and hiked in with Spaceman Spiff yesterday. Mr. Bean continued on, but Spiff had spent the night here, as did Marathon who arrived last evening. The two had hiked out early this morning.

Hikers are welcomed to tent by the pond. Sharkey and Bebo are staying another night here. Honey Bee and Norwegian will also be staying. Money Shot and I are easily sold on the idea as well. We all stick around for a nice dinner at the lodge, salmon and a huckleberry sundae for me... so good! Another PNT hiker who I had not yet met, Freebird, arrives in the evening. He bedazzles us with a story about his night in the Henry Mountain lookout when it was struck by a lightning bolt a few nights earlier.

After a relaxing day, everyone retires to their tent. It was a very hot day, but it's going to be a chilly night. I'm amazed by the temperature swings here, with daytime highs in the 80's or 90's and the overnight lows in the 40's or 50's.

Friday, July 24, 2015: Life is never going to be the same...

At the first hint of daylight, I hear some of the others scurry to get started on the long hike over Bussard Mountain. But it's cold and there is a heavy dew on the lawn here next to the pond, so I stay put for a couple more hours. I think a bit about what's happened to my life over the last couple years. A year ago I was four months into a hike of the Appalachian Trail. I knew then that the experience would change me, although I was not sure how. Now it's clear to me that I cannot go back to the existence I once knew. I'm free, and I've never been happier, meeting the most amazing, resilient, and determined people I've ever known. All I need is what I can carry on my back. The thought of jumping back into the rat race, just to be able to pay for the things required to participate in the rat race, seems completely absurd to me now. So in between adventures and expeditions, I find myself planning the next big thing and yearning to get back out there. Sadly, it took several decades to learn these things, but thankfully, there is still time.

Saw this somewhere in Vermont along the A.T. So on point,

When I wake up the next time, everyone is gone except Money Shot. Cliff, the owner of the resort and a great host, has invited us inside for coffee. Then he prepares us a free breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast, as much as we want. He is an interesting guy, and we enjoy the stories of his past experiences.

We plan our day as we feast. It's an 18 mile hike over Bussard Mountain to Highway 95, where we must hitchhike 15 miles south to the town of Bonner's Ferry. I'd received a message from Marathon that he'd arrived there last night, and he warned that there are no water sources through that entire stretch. Neither of us is looking forward to the day's hike on a hot day lugging extra water up a 6,000' mountain.

Cliff tells us that this is his town day, that he goes into Bonner's Ferry every Friday. "Hmmm," I look at Money Shot. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Cliff says we're welcome to come along. We would be skipping another section of the PNT, but we'd be catching up to our friends. Soon, we are packed and on our way to Bonners in Cliff's pickup. He stops briefly at the airport there where he has a hangar that houses a helicopter, a glider, and a twin engine plane. He says he could get us to Seattle in two hours, but we decline that offer. We're not ready for this thing to end this soon.

Cliff drops us off in town by the grocery store. Mr. Bean is there having just completed his resupply. He is heading out of town now, and I'm pretty sure this is the last time we'll see our British comrade. Hugs and well wishes are exchanged.

It's a hot day, a good day for town business. We get our groceries and are soon reconnected with Spiff and Marathon. I spend a large part of the day working on hand-written journals, scrolled on the backsides of my printed maps. Later in the day, I go to the post office to mail my journals to my parents. They enjoy reading about my highs and lows, and it's less weight for me to carry.

Since the day we first started hiking into the Rocky Mountains, we've been aware of a young lady hiking the PNT, Rainbow Brite. We'd met her at East Glacier Village after she'd completed the bicycle portion of her summer journey from Los Angeles. We are reconnected with her and her friend Morning Glory here in Bonner's Ferry. The pair had been hiking not far from us the entire time, but it took three weeks for our paths to finally cross here. The ladies will be staying at a motel tonight. We also meet another PNT hiker, an older fellow named Wrong Way, who also has a room for the night. Me and the other guys head over to the fairgrounds after a big dinner of Mexican food. There is a pavilion there where Spiff and Marathon stayed last night. We'll save on the lodging this way.

I decide to set up my tent while the others sleep in the pavilion. Spiff warns that sprinklers kick on in the morning, so I select a spot that seems away from the spray. A little league baseball game is played near us, and we hope our vagrancy does not bother the locals too much. It's a strange lifestyle, but it is growing on me.

Saturday, July 25, 2015: Get the flock outa town!

The forecast is calling for much needed rain today. At first daylight, a thunder shower passes through Bonners Ferry. Then, I hear the sprinklers kick on, as Spiff had warned. Later, when it's time to get up, I make a disturbing discovery. There is an inch deep puddle at the foot of my tent. The culprit is a broken sprinkler head nearby. The only thing I had stashed at the wet end was my zip lock containing my paper maps for the next section of the hike. Unfortunately, there was a hole in the baggy, and the paper maps slurped up the water like a sponge. They are ruined and have to be tossed. But Marathon has the same maps saved to a zip drive, so I'll be able to print out the lost pages, 19 of them. More good news, since I mailed my journals away yesterday, three weeks of hand-written stories have been spared.

We head over to the library and wait for them to open. Some of the others have some library business while I print maps, so it works out for the four of us. We're there until lunch time. A bustling farmers market across the street grabs our attention, so we stroll through. We run into Wrong Way again; he's taking a zero day here to wait for the arrival of some new shoes he's having shipped. Some ladies at a kiosk give us some fresh lemonade which is awesome!

At long last, we are ready to find a hitch back up Rt 95 for the 15 miles to the spot where we would reconnect to the trail. But the police see us and don't like our plan so much. Not only do they not like us hitch hiking, it's also a dangerous stretch of highway to walk on. They police ask us to instead hike on a lesser traveled road that follows the west bank of the Kootenai River out of town. It's a long walk, but we get started.

Before we can get out of town, a storm starts brewing over the mountains, and the radar looks intimidating. I don't mind hiking in the rain, but I think it's dumb to hike out of town into the rain. We're passing by the fairgrounds just as rain begins, so we take shelter there once again. Sheltered from the chilly rain, we all start working on our heavy food bags, now fully stocked for a long stretch of trail days. Then it's nap time, waiting out the rain. It's early evening before we begin the long road walk up to the trail head for the Parkers Mountain Trail.

Less than a mile later, we score a ride from a lady named Lynn. She has a small Toyota truck with a mountain bike on the back, but after some maneuvering, we all fit in. She's a cool hippie type, not quite my age I would guess. She stops along the way to give us a tour of the river valley and the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge, explaining to us the history of the Kootenai Tribe that once called this place home. We're lucky to have met Lynn, but she's also pretty happy that she met up with us and says we made her day!

Our ride out of Bonner's Ferry

Lynn suggests an alternate route that might be better than the Parker Trail. It's a bit further up the gravel road, and it's called the Long Canyon Trail. She bikes it often, and she describes it as lush and beautiful. We're sold! We see a group of hikers walking along the road. It's Honey Bee and Norwegian, Freebird, Morning Glory, and Rainbow Brite. Wow, nine PNT hikers at the same spot at the same time! We have a quick visit, and the four of us in the truck feel guilty a bit that we got caught yellow blazing. But, then I remember that I'm here for fun, let them judge if they want. They are all more purists than we are, so we're not able to talk them into diverting onto the Long Canyon Trail with us.

We finally reach the trail head and say goodbye to Lynn. There's not much daylight left, but we'll hike as far as we can. Within twenty minutes, thunder is crashing around us. The four of us scramble down to a fairly flat forested area to quickly set up our tents. The rain begins, and I'm having trouble getting set up. It's very frustrating and soon I'm caught in a down pour. The others seemed to get situated before the worst of it, but my setup was a total disaster. Everything soaked. I do my best to sop up the excess with a small camp towel, but it sucks being flooded twice in one day. Ah, the hiker life.

Sunday, July 26, 2015: When life gives you a turd...

In spite of the wet tent and gear, the sleep was not so bad. It looks like the rain has moved on and a nicer day awaits. Money Shot and Marathon pack and move out before Spaceman Spiff and myself.

While Spiff is packing, I search for and find a perfect fallen tree behind which I plan to do my privy business. But as I dig my heel into the soft soil to create a cat hole, I unearth the remnants of Spiff's privy business. I guess he also thought this would be the perfect spot for that kind of activity. Great minds think alike. Disgusting, but funny... ah, the hiker life!

Lynn's suggestion to follow the Long Canyon Trail in lieu of the primary route's Parker Mountain Trail seems to have been a good one. The trail is covered with a soft bed of pine needles much of the time, following and occasionally crossing a creek that winds through the shady canyon. I meet up with the others from time to time as they are taking a break. I find a sunny spot beneath the thick canopy to spread my tent for a quick dry.

A glimpse from the Long Canyon Trail of the Kootenai Valley

There are no serious ascents along this trail, but payback comes later in the day. We reach the point where it's time to head up the mountain and reconnect with the primary route of the Pacific Northwest Trail. Spiff and Money Shot are quite a ways ahead, so I'm hiking with Marathon. There is a series of switchbacks for about four miles up to the top of the ridge line near Pyramid Peak.

It's late in the day and we've gone about 15 miles or so. We descend Pyramid Peak toward a campground next to Pyramid Lake. We come to a trail junction at the base of the mountain and there is a box with a log book in it. We find entries from the big group of thru-hikers we passed while Lynn was driving us to the trail head last evening. We suspect there will be a large group at the campground once we arrive there just before dark.

About this time, Money Shot arrives at the junction, and he's approaching from the wrong direction on the wrong trail. He explains that he took one branch for a half mile, then felt like it was wrong because it was going uphill, turned around and came back, went on the other branch that was for sure wrong, and has now returned to the junction, wasting about an hour. He should have stuck with his first instinct. We follow that path a mile or so and come to the lakeside camp.

We expected all these people and a fun night, but only Spiff is there. He has built a big fire. He explains that the two girls and Freebird came by, but they barely said hello and then moved on. Stumbling Norwegian and Honey Bee did the same. Spiff is annoyed and is thinking nobody likes him. I explain that the culture on this trail seems different than on the Appalachian Trail, not as social and perhaps more of a solitary type of adventure, just my observation. But we like Spiff and we are very appreciative of the fire. It's cold and quite breezy here!

Tomorrow, we'll face one of the most dreaded sections of the PNT. There is a six-mile bushwack. We need to be rested and start early to get through it before dark. I'm a bit nervous about what to expect. This is the start of our hike through the Selkirk Range.

Monday, July 27, 2015:This bush is not going to whack itself...

This would be one of the most unpleasant and memorable days of my life. Our travels would take us through one of the more dreaded sections of the PNT, a six-mile bushwhack over a gnarly mountain ridge and through a valley of fallen trees and thick underbrush. If this hike had come with an eject button, I would have pushed it at least three different times on this one day.

It's a very cold morning, probably the coldest of the trip so far. Needless to say, the recommended plan to start early loses out to the warmth of the sleeping bag, and it's well after 9:00 before we get moving. Leaving Pyramid Lake, we meet a group of Boys Life hikers and their wilderness leaders on a four day excursion, just breaking camp at Lower Ball Lake. I spent a bit of time with them, caught up in a question and answer session. But it was cool. They were coming out of the section we were about to tackle, so how tough could it be if all these teenage guys just got through? I filtered some water before heading up the ridge, having just replaced my filter in Bonner's Ferry. Wow, what a difference a new filter makes, so much faster!

On the way up toward Upper Ball Lake, I stopped to take a picture and realized the shutter button on my camera was gone. Dammit! I found the button in my pocket, but I won't be taking any more pictures, except on my phone, until I figure out how to get the button reattached, if it's even possible. There are many other gear issues, a broken zipper on my sleeping bag, gaps in my hiking shoes getting deeper and wider, things like that. But I've got bigger worries today, like getting through this bushwhack.

Lower Ball Lake, Selkirk Mountains (broke my camera here)

The first obstacle is the ascent to the ridge. There is no more trail, so I pick and choose the safest route gradually working my way up the slope at a slanted angle toward the top. I'm having all kinds of problems. Sometimes, I have to scale the side of a vertical rock with only a few inches for footing. At one such point, I'm completely hung up with nothing to grab onto, and the weight of my backpack pulling me back. It's at least a 15 foot drop and an endless roll down the mountainside if I lose my grip. I'm left with no option here but to ditch my backpack. I hold onto a flimsy pine branch with one hand while unbuckling my hip belt and slipping out of one shoulder strap. I switch hands and do the same with the other arm. I watch helplessly as my pack crashes below and rolls down the slope. I'm hoping the dead tree branch below will catch it, and fortunately, that's exactly what happens. I'm able to successfully traverse this rock and then descend to retrieve my pack. I find a better route to the spot where I can hear Money Shot and Marathon shouting encouragement from the rendezvous point above. We all reconvene and regroup.

Money Shot is reading passages aloud from his trail guide. We need to find a saddle (lowest point) on this ridge and then descend into the brush. The guide says this would be the worst place on the PNT to get injured because there is no way anyone would be able to come to help. When we get down to the saddle, all I can find is a 40-foot drop straight down the rocks. We're wondering if we're supposed to try to somehow scale this wall without dying. This can't be right... I convince them to continue on as there are a couple other saddles further along the ridge line.

The views up here are pretty spectacular, and I'm trying to appreciate the grandeur of the whole setting, whilst suppressing the nagging sense that danger lurks all around. While strolling along toward the third and final saddle, my ankle turns awkwardly, and I tumble to the rocky surface, grimacing out loud. Oh my god, I got hurt in the worst place. Now what? After a minute, the pain subsides and I am able to shake it off and rock on.

There have been ominous clouds building in the distance, and now thunder is rumbling. We find a deer trail leading into the brush and back into the treeline as a very cold light rain begins to fall. The animal trails disappear and I quickly become soaked while pushing through the wet thicket of huckleberry bushes. After an hour or so of this torture, I hear Money Shot shout out that he's reached the brook. Soon, the three of us are preparing meals at what I describe to the others as "the worst lunch spot of all time."

It seems like we are way behind schedule, and it is taking much longer than I expected to make any kind of progress. We probably have at least four miles of nothingness to hike through before nightfall, and at this pace, I'm wondering if we'll make it. Money Shot leaves the lunch spot first, and we hope to reconnect at a camp site at the end of the bushwhack near Lion Creek.

Marathon and I assess the surrounding terrain and determine that since we're already soaked, we might as well just walk through the brook. That strategy does not work for very long because of all the old fallen trees blocking the stream. Words cannot express the frustration and even the anger that I feel as I try to solve this puzzle. I question why I would let myself get into this situation in the first place.

"Where Fitty at?"

A few hours go by, and in assessing our current location in comparison to the surrounding mountains, it appears we are nowhere near the confluence of this stream with Lion Creek, and the camp would still be a couple additional miles from that point. Ice pellets fall from the clouds, and hail stones the size of dimes pelt us at times. I'm cold now, and still wet, and very miserable. We still have about an hour and a half of daylight, but I have a new plan.

I leave the stream and climb onto the highest spot I can get to so I can get a better feel for the lay of the land. I'm looking for a place where it might be feasible to camp, but the prospects looks pretty bleak. But in the distance, on the other side of the stream, I spot something that warrants further exploration. It takes 20 minutes to get to that place, a rock the size of a small house. It's a little slanted, but pretty flat, and covered with a thick blanket of lush, green moss. A few trees are growing on it, but I think it will work. I name this spot "Fitty Rock," and I announce to Marathon that I am camping here. He tries to convince me to move on a bit further, but I'm concerned that we won't find another place to pitch our tents. He agrees it's best to stop. My credo in these situations: "We'll deal with this shit in the morning." Soon I am warm and snug in my sleeping bag, nibbling on trail mix and heating water for hot chocolate. I send a brief satellite message to Money Shot's communicator to let him know we are okay and camping in the bush.

I wonder how many other hikers have had to camp in the middle of this mess, or if we're the first two knuckleheads. You read all the time about people who get lost in the wilderness and either don't survive or have to be rescued by search teams. There is something comforting about discovering that we are resilient, equipped for these situations, and capable of surviving whatever is thrown at us. These thoughts warm me as I drift into a deep sleep here in the middle of nowhere.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015: It's a huckleberry heaven!

It is truly amazing how our demeanor can change so drastically in one day. On Fitty Rock, bright sunlight somehow penetrates the thick forest canopy and removes the chill from the early morning air. I set up my solar charger in a patch of direct daylight and move it every few minutes to follow the path of that one sunny spot. I need some juice for my satellite communicator in case something bad happens. After all, even though dawn is radiating a new sense of hope, we are still at the mercy of this seemingly endless bushwhack section.

Money Shot responded to my message from the previous night. He had barely made it before nightfall out of the bushwhack section to the designated campground. I suspect that Spaceman Spiff took an alternate route through this section, a high route that climbs out of this valley and traverses a ridge to Lookout Mountain. I can't imagine that choice would have been any worse than the route the rest of us have chosen.

As I cook up some oatmeal, a hummingbird flutters before me, checks me out, and moves on. The sky is big and deep blue, and the dampness of the thicket is quickly drying out, along with my tent and hiking clothes, now draped over some saplings. Marathon has not yet stirred in his tent. I am just taking in the beauty and the glory of this morning and this place.

When we're packed and ready to continue, Marathon checks his trail guide. Specifically, he finds a passage that instructs us to stay as far to the right side of the valley as possible to avoid the fallen trees and log jams near the stream. I just laugh. That nugget of information would have been great to know yesterday!

So we push on over toward the base of the mountain. I didn't even notice yesterday the abundance of ripe, plump huckleberries all through this valley. I stop frequently and eat no less than a couple quarts, not once having to wrestle a bear for them. Soon, we find animal trails and even open expanses within the forest that make travel much faster and easier.

After not much more than half a mile, we reach the confluence of Lion Creek. We were that close last night! It is still pretty wild along Lion Creek, but by lunchtime, we arrive at the campsite where we had planned to camp the previous night. It is a beautiful place with a long natural water slide nearby. We find an actual trail, and soon it connects to a gravel road. We are back in "civilization," or at least close to it, with some people and cars. It's a pretty long road walk from here. Officially, the trail turns right and ascends a long way up to Lookout Mountain. With showers once again in the area, we elect to bypass that climb and continue on toward the Lionshead Campground in the Priest Lake area. If we hustle, we might get to the camp store there before it closes.

On the road walk, I push pretty far ahead of Marathon, and after about five more miles, I reach an intersection with a paved road and the entrance to the campground. A familiar face emerges from the woods. It is Spaceman Spiff, and he's carrying three large cans of sweet tea! Spiff had been waiting at the camp store all day, and with their internet service, he was able to follow my satellite communicator's track points on my map page. He knew exactly when I would get there. The store was closed now, but he bought us the tea before they kicked him out. These seemingly small acts of kindness and generosity are magnified a thousand times out here, and that's one of the things I love about it.

Marathon soon arrives, and the three of us have a small celebration, exchanging war stories from "The Bushwhack." Spiff did indeed take the high route, and he said he was terrified. He said he was so scared that at one point he was sure he was going to die and nearly threw up. With my fear of heights, I'm so happy I chose the thicket route, as miserable as it was.

We're at a state park area with a beach at the north shore of Priest Lake. We hang out to watch the sun set over the lake, and then we move on with our quest to find a stealth place to camp. We cut through what seems like some private land and some ATV trails. We arrive at Carribou Creek, where the PNT joins another long distance hiking trail, the Idaho Centennial Trail. The trail separates the creek with a spruce forest, and just into the forest, we find a beautiful, peaceful paradise with lots of places to tent, all covered with soft pine needles. It is a welcome sight! I send Money Shot a message with our whereabouts.

Chillin' with Spaceman Spiff

Wednesday, July 29, 2015: Bro time...

We sleep in pretty late, sheltered from daylight in the tall pines. Money Shot never showed up last night or this morning, and I receive a message from him that he passed by and did not see us. He'll wait for us somewhere up along the shore of Upper Priest Lake.

Once we finally emerge from the woods and rock hop across Caribou Creek, we realize that it's going to be a sunny and hot day at these lower elevations. The trail ahead is littered with fallen trees. We're met by a bicycle enthusiast who has become frustrated with the trail conditions and turned around. Much of the morning is spent climbing over and under huge fallen cedar trees. What happened here? We find out that a microburst thunderstorm with 100 mph winds struck this area earlier in the summer and really made a mess of the forest.

We catch up to Money Shot about four miles up the shoreline and stop for lunch and a swim. The four of us hike together for the rest of this uncomfortably hot day. It feels like a long time since we've all been together for this long. There are very busy campgrounds at the north end of the lake, and after that, we reach another long stretch of road walking. At a fork in the road, the official PNT route goes north through the Salmo-Priest Wilderness, but the map's notes warn that this route is much longer and way more overgrown than an alternate that heads south. Naturally, we all opt for the southern route. In fact, we have decided to take the more southern of all the choices between here and Sullivan Lake, based on recommendations in the guide and map notes.

We're able to knock out big miles in the evening after a supper break at the bridge crossing Upper Priest River. Once our road walk ends, things get a little confusing as we cross a series of meadows with no definitive trail. The other guys have way points on their GPS phone apps, so we're able to find the spot where the trail cuts into the woods by some giant cedars. We quickly spot a place along Jackson Creek where we can camp, but Spiff keeps hiking, ignoring our shouts; he tends to go off on his own and that's okay, I get it. We'll run into him in the next town, Metalline Falls, in a day or two.

Watering up at Upper Priest River

Thursday, July 30, 2015: Accidental bushwhack and a slippery slope...

Facing a significant ascent to start the day's hike, I decide to pack up and leave ahead of the younger guys, assuming they'll catch up to me soon enough. I quickly arrive at the trail junction, Jackson Creek Trail to the left and Hughes Creek Trail to the right. As we all agreed upon, I go left.

The trail is pleasant enough for a few miles, but then there are several areas of downed trees to circumnavigate. One is especially bad, where a large tree has taken down several of its neighbors, directly over the tread. I find my way around the mess, but then I can't locate the trail on the other side. I keep wandering to the west thinking I'll eventually run into it, but I don't. I cut uphill, then downhill, no trail.

I continue on, certain that I'll cross the path eventually. I never do. I stop several times to check my maps and my GPS location on my phone. I call out for my mates, who must be within earshot by now. "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you," I sing in a loud owl-like howl. But there is no response, just the breeze in the tall pines. I move on.

This pattern continues for the next hour, then two hours. I'm confused and frustrated. At some point, I determine from my resources that I need to work my way to an elevation of about 5200 feet, and I'm currently only at about 4200 feet according to my phone. So I push up a very steep mountainside in a pine forest. It's not a rocky slope, but rather covered in very slippery pine needles and dry duff. The higher I push, the steeper the grade becomes, and it's getting very dangerous. The grade is 45 degrees at times, and probably steeper. I can barely keep my footing on the slippery surface, and I'm scared of what might happen if I start sliding down the mountain like a human pinball. I set very small goals, moving just 15 feet at a time, then eyeballing the next tree that I hope I can grab hold of. This is the new scariest and most worrisome moment of my hike so far. How did I let myself get into this situation? How could I lose the trail? Where are my friends and why won't they answer? Have I wondered so far off course that they can't even hear me calling?

My movement is slow and deliberate, and very exhausting. I catch a break when I find an animal path in the slippery debris. It's not great, but it's a little safer. Then another break, there is a tiny brook, just a trickle, but it exposes rocks upstream through the brush. I decide to just push straight up the stream bed to see where it leads. A very large toad hops away to let me pass as I use all my strength to push through.

I push hard and fast, and soon I'm rewarded when I find a trail. Woohoo! I'm not sure if it's the right trail, but hey, at least it's a trail. I follow it toward the west. Looking back, there are magnificent views of the Selkirk range, where I had also spent a good deal of time being lost over the past few days. I continue on and the trail becomes very overgrown, just as predicted in my map notes. Maybe this is the right way after all.

This view looking back at the Selkirks almost makes it worthwhile

Soon there is a junction of a few trails, but nothing is well marked. I can't find the one I want, trail #512. The signage at this area only confuses me. I choose the trail which is the best maintained down the mountain. At the bottom, I stop for lunch and try to convince myself that I'm back on the proper route. I'm assuming my mates have moved far ahead by now, since I lost at least a couple hours on my latest off trail adventure.

After another hour or two, I'm doubting myself. I should be heading south, but the sun is in the wrong place. I go through several stages of denial and push on. Late in the afternoon, I intersect with a gravel road and trail head. It's here where that nagging sensation becomes reality. I have indeed been going the wrong way for five miles. But at least I can definitively identify my location on my map. And another silver lining, I can take this gravel road, Sullivan Creek Road, all the way to Sullivan Lake. I'm going to miss out on some great views offered by trail 512, and I've got 12 miles of road walking to the lake. But at this point, I'm just happy to be safe and to know where the hell I am.

I'll cut the road walk in half, six miles this evening and the remainder in the morning. Maybe there is a camp store at Sullivan Lake where I can grab some breakfast and hopefully regroup with my tribe.

I stop for a supper break and then push on a couple more miles to a stealth spot just into the woods. I'm awakened at about 2:00 a.m. and hoot with a nearby owl for a bit. It occurs to me that at some point in this clusterfuck of a day, I probably crossed from Idaho into Washington.

Nest Chapter: Pacific Northwest Trail - Eastern Washington