Early Season Trip Up The Selway River
Mar 13, 2020 15:06:06 GMT -8
MTalpine, kayman, and 2 more like this
Post by BorderCollieMike on Mar 13, 2020 15:06:06 GMT -8
A series of old man injuries conspired last year to keep me at home and off the trail. I was determined to make the best of the 2020 season. Over the winter I spent a significant amount of time planning trips, reviewing new gear, repairing and replacing what needed attention. In north Idaho spring comes late and I've learned not to be fooled into thinking the first warm day with sunshine is the end of winter. Still, I've been packed and ready to go since mid-February. My first trip usually coincides with the university spring break (late March) when I head up the Selway river for a few days. The trail head is around 1800 feet and I live at 3200 feet. The woods around our place has been mostly free of snow for weeks, so I assumed it was even warmer at lower elevation.
The road was open all the way in to the trailhead at Race Creek. Half a mile from the trailhead I had to stop and wait while two tanker trucks from the Nez Perce Fisheries dumped 60,000 salmon smolts into the river. The one year old fish were only as long as a finger, but 60K of them make an amazing sight milling about, trying to decide where to go. Once the trucks were done I got to the the trail head and was walking with Border Collie Mike by 11am. Mine was the only vehicle at the trailhead. I could see snow on the north-facing slopes, but the trail and surrounding hills were clear. The first few miles had a lot of blow-down, but nothing that couldn't be climbed under or over. Five miles in, at Cupboard Creek bridge, I hit the first snow.
It was around 1pm and the sun had been softening the snow enough that it was an ankle deep slog to get through. On the stretches of south facing trail along the river, the snow had melted off. But when the trail dove back into a draw to cross a creek there was still lots & lots of snow. By 3pm I had made it to Ballinger Creek, about 7.5 miles in and well short of my hoped for goal of Bar Creek at 11+ miles. Time to reevaluate. I was exhausted and the snow was just getting heavier and wetter. Ballinger is usually a great camping spot with lots of flat spots. But all the flat spots were still snow covered. I was able to find a small, open spot on a bench above the river and made camp surrounded by snow.
I was carrying my BA Seedhouse tent instead of my Duplex. I thought a double-walled tent would be a better choice in cold weather. I slept warm enough and woke at daylight to icy inner walls and 28F. A dense fog had filled in the canyon and it was really tough to get motivated to hike on. I finally was walking by 9:30am. I knew Pinchot Creek was only a few miles further and it had a huge beach on the river with lots of southern exposure. If I could make Pinchot, I could set up a nice camp and reassess my goals. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it to Moose Creek, 22 miles up river.
The sun eventually burned off the fog and it was pleasant walking when the trail was clear. This early in the morning I was still able to walk on top of the snow. In a couple of hours I rounded the bend above Pinchot Creek and saw, yep, lots more snow. I've hiked into here before, maybe two or three weeks later in the year. And often the birds are singing and the trees are blooming. Not this year though. The arrow in the photo points to the only spot on the beach that was clear. This is where we made camp for the second night.
Mike & I tried walking a bit further up the trail, but it was no good. The snow was just too soft and too deep to be any fun. So we spent a leisurely day on the beach, soaking up the sun. Despite the warm rays, it was impossible to forget we were surrounded by snow. It felt a bit like sitting inside a walk-in refrigerator facing a heat lamp. Whatever part wasn't facing the heat lamp was still getting chilled. The mountains-as-refrigerator analogy is a good one; this beach is at 1900 feet, but it was much colder and many weeks earlier in the year than at my house, at 3,200 feet on the prairie. That night it was a bit warmer and the temp when I woke was 34F inside the tent. The bad news was that the snow would not have solidified, so it would continue to be a slog. Mike & I decided to head back down river and out of the snow. So we spent the third day retracing our steps back out and down to Teepee creek, where where we had made note on the hike in of a nice beach on the river, but not covered in snow. Here there were birds out and lots of water fowl swimming and flying up and down the river.
Earlier this year I had read the Suunto Traverse thread in Gear Closet and was trying to decide whether to give up on my 15 year old Vector. It has served me well, but the bezel is gone & the crystal is scratched to the point that it's hard to read the face. So I got a Core in February and have been trying to learn the new interface. I wasn't sure I liked it; we fear change. But the new Profile feature gives me a 24 hr look at the barometric pressure history and I like that. It also has a storm warning feature, both visual and audible. I'd turned off the audible, but you're stuck with the visual.
It was at Teepee creek, sitting in the sun, soaking up the rays and sipping a single malt, I noticed the storm warning had been activated. I hadn't studied up on that enough to know what it meant. But I had descended a bit of elevation today and I decided maybe that had triggered it. I looked at the air pressure Profile and it had fallen off a cliff. Huh. Thirty minutes later I noticed some clouds scuttling in from the west. Breeze was picking up too. Hmmm. I was still sitting, near the tent and on alert, when a micro burst raced up the river and slammed into the tent. I'd left the up-wind door open (oops) and it filled up like a sail and, with all my gear already laid out inside, lifted off the ground, yanking all the tent pegs out of the sandy soil, and started sliding across the beach. I was lucky to be close enough that I could grab it before it headed up river. I had to stand there, tent in one hand and the chair in the other until the wind died back down. Then I had to completely disassemble everything and repitch the tent, this time with rocks on all the stakes and this time making use of the four storm tie outs. I even found all the stakes that had gone flying in the wind. By the time I'd finished reestablishing camp the sky was clouded over, it had grown dark and the temp had dropped a good ten degrees. Mike and I headed inside as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Now the profile on the watch showed the pressure starting to rise again. I think that is typical of a system moving through. It starts to rise again even while it's still raining. We spent another cold night, but by morning the sky had cleared and the sun was hitting the peaks to the west. The tent was covered in ice and wasn't going to thaw out soon. So I overruled Mike (who voted to stay) and decided to cut our trip short by a day and hike out while we had sun to walk in. It was a solid decision because this morning we are in a winter weather advisory with snow and blowing snow expected.
So three nights and four days in the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness to open the 2020 season. I suspect the trail into Moose Creek will be open soon. So I may have to give it another shot in early April. And I still have to remind myself, the worst day of camping is still better than the best day spent at home, surfing the web. I think.
Addendum: Forgot the most important part. Not once, in four days, did I think about the market, the virus or the latest political faux pas. Pure Bliss!
The road was open all the way in to the trailhead at Race Creek. Half a mile from the trailhead I had to stop and wait while two tanker trucks from the Nez Perce Fisheries dumped 60,000 salmon smolts into the river. The one year old fish were only as long as a finger, but 60K of them make an amazing sight milling about, trying to decide where to go. Once the trucks were done I got to the the trail head and was walking with Border Collie Mike by 11am. Mine was the only vehicle at the trailhead. I could see snow on the north-facing slopes, but the trail and surrounding hills were clear. The first few miles had a lot of blow-down, but nothing that couldn't be climbed under or over. Five miles in, at Cupboard Creek bridge, I hit the first snow.
It was around 1pm and the sun had been softening the snow enough that it was an ankle deep slog to get through. On the stretches of south facing trail along the river, the snow had melted off. But when the trail dove back into a draw to cross a creek there was still lots & lots of snow. By 3pm I had made it to Ballinger Creek, about 7.5 miles in and well short of my hoped for goal of Bar Creek at 11+ miles. Time to reevaluate. I was exhausted and the snow was just getting heavier and wetter. Ballinger is usually a great camping spot with lots of flat spots. But all the flat spots were still snow covered. I was able to find a small, open spot on a bench above the river and made camp surrounded by snow.
I was carrying my BA Seedhouse tent instead of my Duplex. I thought a double-walled tent would be a better choice in cold weather. I slept warm enough and woke at daylight to icy inner walls and 28F. A dense fog had filled in the canyon and it was really tough to get motivated to hike on. I finally was walking by 9:30am. I knew Pinchot Creek was only a few miles further and it had a huge beach on the river with lots of southern exposure. If I could make Pinchot, I could set up a nice camp and reassess my goals. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it to Moose Creek, 22 miles up river.
The sun eventually burned off the fog and it was pleasant walking when the trail was clear. This early in the morning I was still able to walk on top of the snow. In a couple of hours I rounded the bend above Pinchot Creek and saw, yep, lots more snow. I've hiked into here before, maybe two or three weeks later in the year. And often the birds are singing and the trees are blooming. Not this year though. The arrow in the photo points to the only spot on the beach that was clear. This is where we made camp for the second night.
Mike & I tried walking a bit further up the trail, but it was no good. The snow was just too soft and too deep to be any fun. So we spent a leisurely day on the beach, soaking up the sun. Despite the warm rays, it was impossible to forget we were surrounded by snow. It felt a bit like sitting inside a walk-in refrigerator facing a heat lamp. Whatever part wasn't facing the heat lamp was still getting chilled. The mountains-as-refrigerator analogy is a good one; this beach is at 1900 feet, but it was much colder and many weeks earlier in the year than at my house, at 3,200 feet on the prairie. That night it was a bit warmer and the temp when I woke was 34F inside the tent. The bad news was that the snow would not have solidified, so it would continue to be a slog. Mike & I decided to head back down river and out of the snow. So we spent the third day retracing our steps back out and down to Teepee creek, where where we had made note on the hike in of a nice beach on the river, but not covered in snow. Here there were birds out and lots of water fowl swimming and flying up and down the river.
Earlier this year I had read the Suunto Traverse thread in Gear Closet and was trying to decide whether to give up on my 15 year old Vector. It has served me well, but the bezel is gone & the crystal is scratched to the point that it's hard to read the face. So I got a Core in February and have been trying to learn the new interface. I wasn't sure I liked it; we fear change. But the new Profile feature gives me a 24 hr look at the barometric pressure history and I like that. It also has a storm warning feature, both visual and audible. I'd turned off the audible, but you're stuck with the visual.
It was at Teepee creek, sitting in the sun, soaking up the rays and sipping a single malt, I noticed the storm warning had been activated. I hadn't studied up on that enough to know what it meant. But I had descended a bit of elevation today and I decided maybe that had triggered it. I looked at the air pressure Profile and it had fallen off a cliff. Huh. Thirty minutes later I noticed some clouds scuttling in from the west. Breeze was picking up too. Hmmm. I was still sitting, near the tent and on alert, when a micro burst raced up the river and slammed into the tent. I'd left the up-wind door open (oops) and it filled up like a sail and, with all my gear already laid out inside, lifted off the ground, yanking all the tent pegs out of the sandy soil, and started sliding across the beach. I was lucky to be close enough that I could grab it before it headed up river. I had to stand there, tent in one hand and the chair in the other until the wind died back down. Then I had to completely disassemble everything and repitch the tent, this time with rocks on all the stakes and this time making use of the four storm tie outs. I even found all the stakes that had gone flying in the wind. By the time I'd finished reestablishing camp the sky was clouded over, it had grown dark and the temp had dropped a good ten degrees. Mike and I headed inside as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Now the profile on the watch showed the pressure starting to rise again. I think that is typical of a system moving through. It starts to rise again even while it's still raining. We spent another cold night, but by morning the sky had cleared and the sun was hitting the peaks to the west. The tent was covered in ice and wasn't going to thaw out soon. So I overruled Mike (who voted to stay) and decided to cut our trip short by a day and hike out while we had sun to walk in. It was a solid decision because this morning we are in a winter weather advisory with snow and blowing snow expected.
So three nights and four days in the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness to open the 2020 season. I suspect the trail into Moose Creek will be open soon. So I may have to give it another shot in early April. And I still have to remind myself, the worst day of camping is still better than the best day spent at home, surfing the web. I think.
Addendum: Forgot the most important part. Not once, in four days, did I think about the market, the virus or the latest political faux pas. Pure Bliss!
