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by Rob Jones
Background Info: The following paraphrased excerpts are from Ralph
Maughan's wilderness site,
located at:
Idaho Wildlands Page (by Ralph Maughan; also
has links to wolf and bear pages)
The site contains maps, photos, wolf info, and lots of good background info about Idaho wild lands.
The beginnings of the establishment of this wilderness came in the 1930s, when the U.S. Forest Service set aside over one million acres through its administrative authority as the "Idaho Primitive Area."
After the passage of the Wilderness Act in 1964 and a long battle, the United States Congress established the River of No Return Wilderness out of the Idaho Primitive Area, the adjacent Salmon River Breaks Primitive Area and surrounding roadless public lands. The wilderness covers parts of numerous national forests: the Bitterroot, Boise, Challis, Nez Perce, Payette, & Salmon National Forests.
The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness (FCRONRW) was created by Congress in 1980. Perhaps the greatest success of Idaho conservationists, it is the single largest designated wilderness area in the lower 48 states of the United States. It is almost 2.4 million acres large, covering a vast array of ridges, deep canyons, glaciated peaks, meadows, and one large rolling plateau, the Chamberlain Basin, which covers 500 square miles. Located entirely in the expansive Salmon River Mountains, the FCRONRW embraces a portion of the largest continuously mountainous terrain in the United States. Over 3000 miles of trails provide access inside the Wilderness.
The FCRONRW is full of wildlife, especially elk, but also mule and while-tailed deer, moose, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bear, coyotes, bobcat, numerous cougar, pine marten, a few wolverine, and now, quite a few wolves. Only the grizzly bear is lacking. Because the altitude ranges from 2000-3000 feet in the deepest canyons to over 10,000 feet on the peaks, year round range for wildlife is provided. Elk, deer and moose do not need to migrate out of the wilderness to winter range near Idaho towns and cities. After the death of Senator Frank Church in 1982, Idaho Senator Jim McClure had Congress rename the wilderness the "Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness" (FCRONRW) in honor of the late senator Church, who worked tirelessly to preserve this wild heart of the Idaho mountains.
The FCRONRW is separated from the 1.3-million acre Selway/Bitterroot Wilderness, to its immediate north, by one dirt road, commonly called the Magruder corridor.
Two Wild and Scenic Rivers, the Salmon and the Middle Fork of the Salmon, flow through the wilderness. The headwaters of the Selway Wild and Scenic River lie in the northern-most part. Both rivers have extremely high recreation use (floating on the Middle Fork and floating and jet-boating on the main Salmon). With the additional exception of a few popular high lakes areas and the two river corridors, most of the Wilderness sees very little human use.
Thirty-six wolves were reintroduced into the Frank Church Wilderness during January 1995 and 1996. As a result, between 60 and 70 wolves now roam the FCRONRW, the Selway/Bitterroot Wilderness to the north, and adjacent country. Thirteen packs are expected by June 1998 with 80 to 100 wolves in total. At the time of this writing, a court battle is raging about whether the wolves should stay or go. Join in the scuffle to keep the wolves, tune in to Ralph's site (address above).
Link to: The Idaho Conservation League Other Reference Materials:
Some related previous trip reports:
Llamalot at the Middle Fork Salmon?
Mule Hill to Indian Creek to Middle Fork Salmon (1997)
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Day 1: Beam us down, George: (Phillips Transfer Camp (Loon Creek) to Upper Loon Cr. HS, 6 miles.) Hey, we are finally back in the MF Salmon country, almost exactly one-year after the "Llamalot at the MF Salmon?" trip of 1997. This time, we entered via Loon Creek, and planned to come out at Mule Hill. Perhaps all that is needed are a few photos, but I feel compelled to say some other stuff......
I'm writing notes on a low bluff overlooking Loon Creek. After a dip in the magnificent Upper Loon Creek hot springs (HS), the wear of the day is fading as I watch the jagged outcrops of the Idaho Batholith granite and marvel at its lovely dark spires splashed with large swatches of screaming yellow lichen. Memories of the drone of traffic noise, whirring electronics and gadgets, demanding blurting, whining, shrieking phones, etc., the bombardment of electromagnetic impulses from everywhere slip away. We are in the expansive, enveloping Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, and we know we are home.
This time, there are five of us: George, Bruce, Garney, Paul, and me. And, three harmonica-nosed llamas are packing with us: Alfie, Snowball, and Cicero, a beast of a pack llama, and new addition to George's llama troop.
We officially started the trip with a dip in the Sunbeam hot springs (HS). It's a busy HS, alongside the highway between Challis and Stanley. But, when you're at the HS, you are near the Salmon River, so much of the traffic and tourists can be ignored. See the HS in George's HS and Hiking Pages. After eating the lunch we brought with us from Challis, we met Tracy, our shuttle driver, in Sunbeam and headed up the Yankee Fork toward Loon Summit. Along the way, we passed mounded scalloped-rows of what was once the Yankee Fork riverbed. Rocks and gravel were dumped in a chaotic jumble as they left the butt-end of J.R. Simplot's gold dredge (how many decades ago?), without any soil or even the appearance of a riverbed. A few tiny, scrubby, twisted pines protrude from the mounds, reminders of what the "Idaho Council on Industry and the Environment" considers "multiple-use."
Continuing our tour of Idaho's shining mining legacy, we passed the whole-mountain scars of Hecla's Grouse Creek Mine. This mine was mothballed in Oct. of 96 and has had a major landslide, cyanide spills and a proposed EPA fine of $85,000 for water quality violations. Where is this cyanide now? This "development" is a symbol of how your public lands are sold to the lowest bidder, and how you will be required to pay for the leaking (and toxic) leaching ponds abandoned high on the shoulder of what used to be a rolling green (publicly-owned) mountain. We snaked over the lofty Loon Summit before we could no longer see the mine multiple-abuse. Here we entered the Middle Fork Salmon drainage.
Bumping down to Phillips Transfer Camp, we arrived at the edge of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. Tracy headed back to Stanley with the vehicle, and we finished packing and headed into the glorious Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness (FCRONRW). Starting at 5411', we would camp roughly 6 miles later at 5080'. We rolled down alongside and above the turquoise Loon Creek from the Casto to Rock Creek USGS quadrangles. Just after we entered the FCRONRW, passing the FS notices about wolves, moose, wolverines, other wonderful creatures in the wilderness, a flood of a hard rain set in, accompanied by unsignaled booming thunder. I quickly got wet, then stopped under the next tree as my boots began to fill with rain water. I sat out most of the storm, but the others continued on. Twenty minutes later, it stopped raining but there were plentiful opportunities to get wet because the trail was like a serpentine lake.
And, thus began what would turn out to be our 98-mile trip in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. It's 98 ways to enjoy the country of the MF Salmon!
Day 2: Rummy Falconberry, or "Tennis Anyone?": (Upper Loon Creek HS to Mearney Creek, 8 miles.) We were up amidst a heavy dew. While equipment dried, we loafed in the HS, watching the sunlight creep down the rugged Idaho mountains, and a Dipper (Water Ouzel) bobbing his best bob and flying underwater for sweetwater insects, and we hand-panned for flakes of glinting Idaho gold among the dark sands that helped make the HS so luxurious. You may see the rating in George's HS Pages, but to me, this HS rates close to a 9 on a 10-point scale. It feels like luxurious wilderness.
We hiked to Owen Cabin and the resident HS, where the hot water gushes over a ledge and into Loon Creek. A good shower, where you'll get cold feet because the high Loon Cr. has washed-out the man-made HS pool. We drifted on to Rock Creek CG. Yes, it's a campground with a dilapidated one-holer, one and a half defunct picnic tables, and an overgrown manufactured fire ring. From here, the trail winds through open parks where a sea of tawny grass is dotted by white yarrow flowers waving from their long stems, bordered by the dark rocky spires and the rolling rugged Idaho mountains. Onto the Falconberry Peak USGS quad, we hiked past the unattended guard station and the abandoned, disintegrating tennis courts of Falconberry Ranch. We camped near Mearney Creek at 4760' (we started the day at 5080') where we could filter water from this clear-running side drainage, avoiding the turbid Loon Creek. Cocktail hour has arrived and we are enjoying our Idaho home.
Day 3: Looney Tunes: (Mearney Cr. To MF Salmon/Loon Cr. Confluence, 8 miles, 4760-4020'.) A stripe of brown straggles down the South edge of the MF Salmon from the mouth of Loon Creek for about a mile. There's a sharp demarcation between the Dutch chocolate of Loon Creek and the crisp, clear waters of the roiling, rolling, raucous, ribald Middle Fork Salmon of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness.
Today, we finished the delightful 22-mile trek from Phillips Transfer Camp to the MF Salmon (5411'-4020' = about 1400' descent over 22 miles). Early in the morning, we hiked past Biggs Ranch, but we didn't cross the churning Loon Creek to wrestle the bears for the berries and other delectibles in the nearly-forgotten orchard at this defunct homestead ranch. We grazed some on the service berries and wild raspberries along the trail, however, as we smoothly hiked onto the Ramey Hill quadrangle.
Nearing the MF Salmon, we hiked near the spray from Loon Creek as the cliffs forced the trail nearly into the creek. These narrows were delightful. Rain began as we crossed the Bennett Creek Pack Bridge near the Simplot Ranch inholding. Hey, we're approaching lower Loon Creek HS. We threw off clothes and threw a cover over the packs, then slid into the long log-lined pool of 107 degree water. Now, this is so much better than a raincoat. We poached in the hot water, slid into the creek, and languished half-in one or the other for over an hour while it rained.
We established camp near the confluence of Loon Cr. and the MF Salmon, far enough from the boater camp on the other side of the creek to insulate us from these curiously civilized visitors, who arrive with enough tonnage of equipment, food, and garish lycra to supply the entire battalion from the Sheepeater wars.
In 1879, Captain Reuben Bernard and troops began chasing the Sheepeater Native Americans, a sub-group of the Northern Shoshone Tribe, entering the "unchartered" area via Loon Creek. The Sheepeaters were accused of killing several miners farther upstream on the MF Salmon. Here at River Mile (RM) 49.3 on the MF, things have changed since this "unchartered" era. There is a challenging dirt air strip perched amidst the Simplot Ranch pasture. Single-engine planes swoop in with wheels barely clearing the riverside trees, engines stuttering in an attempt to lose speed. The approach and departure look so tenuous that observers automatically pause, waiting for the sound of wrenching metal and fabric. The good news is that flights into most of these grand-fathered fields is limited to early morning/evening because the air is denser at these times.
Day 4: Hospital Hop: (Dayhike to Hospital Bar, 6 miles round trip; and 3 trips to the HS, 3 miles; 9 total miles.) The fading rays of a velvet sunset signal the close of this lay-over day along the MF Salmon. The day began with another soak in the Lower Loon HS. After enjoying a pancake breakfast, we hiked to Hospital Bar HS (RM 52.1). But we didn't try the HS because we could not easily get across the river. It's flowing higher/faster than last year at this time. Hospital Bar was named during the Sheepeater War for a medic facility temporarily located here by the U.S. Army. We watched four groups of boaters pass, then we returned for another soak in the lower Loon HS, this time populated by a boater group. Too crowded, we quickly soaked left. We returned for another soak at dark.
When I pulled the tarp back that covered the llama saddles and my boots, I disturbed two deer? mice who had built a nest in my boot. To my surprise, they didn't seem at all alarmed, so I went to get my camera. I was too late for a shot of the mice in the nest, but I did manage a photo of one of these friendly fuzzballs in a tree.
Day 5: Whitey Poison: (Loon Cr. To Whitey Cox HS, 4 miles.) Something suddenly moved on the rock shelf a few feet ahead. A voice in my primeval brain-stem screamed, "Stop!" so I complied. Bruce stage whispered "What is that, watch out!" "It's a diamond-back rattlesnake," I reported, noting the thudding sound of high-pressure blood in my head. I recalled that with a near-complete coil, this apparently irritated serpent could strike up to two-thirds its length. "Humm," I thought, "he is quite long." During my musing, Bruce was saying something like "Get back, can't you hear it buzzing!?" True, too many years of shooting ducks and putting myself through school operating heavy equipment had nearly eliminated hearing at certain frequencies. The rattler refused to move, even when I rolled him over with a long stick. Plan B, take photos. This was OK for me, but seemed to do little for the rattler's temperament. I rolled over the buzzworm, once again. He took up a new position in the middle of the trail and tested the air with his tongue. We eventually got around Mr. Buzzworm by climbing over the rock shelf where he had been lounging. At last look, Mr. Buzzworm was still coiled in the middle of the trail, apparently guarding our retreat.
The morning began slowly, and we waited to see if any of the kayakers we had talked with at the HS last night would show so George and the llamas could haul their craft up Loon Cr. to the Bennett Cr. Bridge, for a brief, challenging run of lower Loon. 8:00 a.m. was the agreed time. One kayaker showed about 10:30 a.m., after we had soaked again at the HS and were nearly packed for the hike. Kayak trip canceled.
We said goodbye to the Loon country and headed upriver, along new reaches of the MF Salmon. True to form, a thunderstorm squalled in as we explored White Cr. Camp (boater camp), hoping to find some useful "river booty." Pat from Mackay Bar outfitters gave me a few beers to share with the others tonight. We were thrilled with this hiker extravaganza. Pat told us that in his many years of guiding the MF Salmon, we were only the 9th group of backpackers he had seen (he was not counting horse outfitters, who are here with hunters, mainly in the Fall). Later, we encountered the Idaho Falls boaters who had left beer for us at Little Cr. Guard Station, and they plied us with considerable beer before continuing downstream. George announced that we were doing much better, beer-wise, than during the fabled "Begging for beer on the MF" trip several years ago.
We found a good place to camp not far from the boater camp and the HS at Whitey Cox (River Mile 46.2). Whitey Cox is buried on the bench between the HS and the river, squashed by rolling rocks while prospecting the area in 1954. We discovered poison ivy near the smaller of the Cox HS. Two kinds of poison for the day were offered, and we successful avoided both. The larger HS was just right for me, while the others thought it a bit "tepid." The women developed a rash, apparently linked to the HS, but we males did not have these symptoms.
Sitting on a cliff-face overlooking the canyon and HS, I watch as the light fades and the river corridor assumes that smokey-green hue. The rolling mountains are topped with exposed crags and dotted with Ponderosa Pine, and a portion of this vista is reflected on the surface of Cox HS. The burbling MF provides a delightful backdrop, visually and aurally. Although I hope you are enjoying this trip report, no photo or narrative or video can do justice to the magnificence of the Frank Church.
Day 6: 12-packer: (Whitey Cox to Little Cr. Guard Station, 12 miles.) I'm sitting alongside the raucous, rolling MF Salmon, my back against a monarch Ponderosa, watching the clouds turn from powderpuff blue to chiffon pink. The skyline to the West and South is dotted with the silhouettes of ghost trees from the Loon Cr. Fire. Two decades ago it incinerated the area. We have encountered our first mosquitoes, and they ambush us from the lush grounds of the Little Creek Guard Station. A deer and a 6-pack of Ruffed Grouse are about as we meet Al Priddy (of Pocatello) and 3 others, who are hiking from Boundary Cr. to Stoddard Pack Bridge, essentially the entire length of the MF Salmon. They are hoping to find a resupply cache left by the folks we met in the Lower Loon HS earlier this week. The resupply will be left at the Flying B Ranch. This is only the second group of hikers we have encountered on our journey. Our discussion is interrupted by a mechanized asshole performing practice landings on Thomas Cr. Field, immediately across the river, on a low bench. The single-engine plane grunts as it leaves the ground, and we can clearly see the pilot blinking as he tries to gain altitude, as the plane appears to be free-falling down-river.
Today, we hiked across the corner of the Norton Ridge quaqrangle and East to West across the Sliderock Ridge quad. We got up to total cloud cover. Most of us got into the Cox HS prior to packing wet and beginning the slog to Little Cr. Up and down we hiked today, around Red Bluff and other obstacles, high enough to look down on the Mahoney Cr. Landing Field, itself perched high above the river. In and out of wonderful Ponderosa shade, smelling faintly of vanilla, and into hot sagebrush, bitterbrush, and Mountain Mahogany flats, accented by the herbal aroma of sage. Along the way, George encountered another rattler while investigating the puny and vacant Cougar Cr. Patrol Station.
While examining the maps, it occurred to us that a loop hike might be possible by looping back up Cougar Cr. from our current route, and dropping back into Loon Cr. at Falconberry GS. George cautioned not to use the Little Loon option, because much of this route is not maintained, and it has nearly disappeared.
While watching one of the oarswomen rowing past, a rock jumped up, tripped me, and sent me rolling down the hill. More embarrassed than hurt, it took awhile to extricate myself from the turtle position, pack-down. I regained the trail just as George and the llamas stopped, gazed with amusement and wondered "what were you doing down there?"
I procured 4 beers from Travis, a river guide setting up an advance camp at Lower Jackass river camp. Later, we found a 12-pack of beer left by the Idaho Falls boaters, as George had arranged, at the Little Cr. GS. There it was, in a startling lime-green stuff-sack, perched on a fencepost at the GS. It was a fine way to conclude our 12-pack of miles today.
Day 7: Dually Hot, Flower Pots: (Day-hikes to Sunflower Flat and Sunflower (Hood Ranch) HS, 4 miles.) I'm lounging in the increasing shade, watching hot mineral water spouting off the terraces and into the river-side Sunflower Flat pool. The river eddies out here, and the water is a dark jade-green, announcing its depth. Two of the most luscious additions to this gorgeous country are frolicking or lounging nearby, Kandi, and Darlene. Kandi and Darlene are with a private group of boaters camped across the river (organized by Scott, from Heber, Utah). Life is good.
The cool breeze drifted down the MF and through the tent, preceding sunrise. After pancakes, we walked across the Little Creek bridge, across the Thomas Creek airfield, to the MF Lodge. "Private Property! No trespassing!" Signs greeted us as we crossed this forbidden bridge and headed upstream to Sunflower Flat HS. I wondered how or why this manicured eyesore of private intrusion had been spared by the fire that had crowned through the public trees on the ridge above?
It is late afternoon and George, Bruce, and I are at the HS with the Scott group. The others have all returned to camp. We enjoyed a beer and a crab salad/pita sandwich with fresh! lettuce, tomatoes, and onion courtesy of the Scott group of boaters. We have experienced the obnoxious and the best the MF offers: when we got to the HS, there was the Scott group and a commercial group crowding the HS. We waited for the commercial swarm to leave, the swarm and decibel levels dropped, then clothes came off and we enjoyed communing with the MF.
We returned to camp for dinner after our long lounge. Later, we hiked down stream half a mile to the Sunflower (Hood Ranch) HS. What we found was a mud plain that the elk apparently over-use during the winter. They probably lounge on the HS flats warming their tawny butts while the snow flies along the MF. Garney and George were the only ones to brave this HS, such as it was. We visited the Hood Cabin near the HS and the restored Sater Cabin near the guard station. A delightfully clear night is speeding the cooling along the river corridor, and the bright beacons of planets, satellites, and stars are popping-out.
Day 8: Get Your Big "S" Going: (Little Creek GS to Indian Creek, 11 miles.) I'm sitting at the Indian Creek/MF Salmon confluence watching the swallows dive for the rare bugs as we enjoy happy hour in the shade, sheltered from the extensive heat of late afternoon. This is the exact site where I had said "hello" and bid "farewell" to the MF during our oh-so-brief visit to the MF Salmon during last year's "Llamalot at the MF Salmon?" trip: "The trail slid into a jungle of grasses, sometimes chest-high, then improved as we approached the pack bridge across Indian Creek where it joins the cruising, fidgety M.F. Salmon. Two-engine planes roared low overhead as we hiked toward, then alongside the airfield at the Indian Creek Ranger Station." (Quote from "Llamalot at the MF Salmon?" trip report, 1997). It's much the same this year, but hotter.
We got an early start today, and this was a good thing because it got quiet hot. The route snakes like a backwards "S" across the Soldier Mountain to the Pungo Mountain quads. We hiked this gigantic "S" route from Little Cr. GS, past MF Lodge, Ski Jump Rapid - where we saw some Native American pictographs of sheep and such, past Marble Creek where a family boater group from Boise, Hawaii, etc. took about two rolls of pictures of George and the humming llamas, then we swung off the Soldier Mountain quad for lunch on a narrow bench near Teapot Creek. The ticks joined us for lunch. Bruce, the king of tick-gathering, was uncharacteristically the only one without ticks for lunch as we discovered these creepy crawlers on various parts.
We thought we might camp at Aquinaldo Flat, but found it to be a stand of incinerated ghost trees. So, we trudged on the Pungo Mountain quad to Indian Creek, and jumped in the clear waters of the confluence. Ahh, this is beyond refreshing! Then, we located camp near where the East Fork of Indian Creek joins Indian Creek, a few hundred yards or so above the joining of Indian Creek and the MF. We saw several groups of boaters today, but as yet, we have seen only two groups of hikers.
Day 9: Hot as a Pistol: (Dayhike to Pistol Creek Rapids, 9 miles.) The luminous silver slashed with crimson twinkled on the cutthroat trout hanging like Christmas ornaments in the P-Pines. What?! OK, it really is hot, I'm dehydrated, and interesting things are happening on our return hike from Pistol Creek Rapids.
We endured the early morning cacophony of planes coming to and from the Indian Cr. Field in the heavier early morning air. I don't know if this is true, but I have heard that this is the busiest airfield in Idaho. Beginning our dayhike, we encountered Ranger Rick Piva at the GS. We sat at his picnic table and talked about the philosophies of contemplation, ate some amazingly fresh! tomatoes, and learned that Rick plans to leave his job next year, after 12 years at the GS. Then, he will tour Italy, practicing his Italian and using his dual-citizenship while gardening and contemplating. Intriguing. He also told us that it will probably reach 101 hot degrees at the GS today.
We continued into the gathering heat, through the too-large Mecca of mechanized assholes at Pistol Creek Ranch (houses everywhere!), then slipped quietly back into the Frank Church, intermittently comforted by the P-Pine shade. At Pistol Creek Rapids we watched, perched on a rock clifflet, as lunker trout patrolled amidst billions of shimmering bubbles rising through the emerald water below the rapids. Some experienced drift-boaters coursed the rapids with barely a wasted stroke and no clanging or denting of boats. Then, a private group came to scout, then run the rapid, wildly using lots of power and nearly bashing into the rocks. We would later meet this group at the Indian Creek confluence camp, headed by an 82-year-old matriarch permit-holder. She had sat calmly in the front of an oar-boat as it swoshed through Pistol Creek. Then, we endured the long trudge back to camp, accented by a saving submersion in Indian Creek. But first, we begged for beer at the airfield and from fisherpeople, eventually obtaining 2 with the help of the harmonica-nosed llamas. Few can resist these hospitable, calmly alert fur-balls with the humming Roman noses.
The river level is posted as 2.45 at Ranger Rick's, and most boater groups are starting at Boundary Creek. At levels near 2.0, boaters begin flying into Indian Field to start their MF float.
Hospital Bar is at RM 52.1 and Pistol Creek is at RM 21.4, so we have hiked 30.7 miles of the MF Salmon. At RM 96.3, the MF Salmon meets the main stem of the Salmon, making the MF a nearly 100-mile long river (or, well over 100-miles, depending on where you begin measuring).
Day 10: Inverse Llamalot: (MF Salmon to MF Indian Creek, 4 miles, and thrash to HS, 4 miles; 4+4=8 miles.)
Thunder grumbles as we finish cherry cheesecake. The Middle Fork Electric Company is cranking in some jolts of high volts while we scurry about the Maverick Camp at the confluence of Indian Creek and Middle Fork Indian Creek putting away laundry, etc. The storm turned out to be mostly noise, perhaps a reminder of whom is in charge here.
We are through exploring new country and now we are re-exploring the old (see last year's trip report). Today, we left the MF Salmon as the planes made their morning runs on Indian Field. After saying our "goodbyes" to the restless MF Salmon, we slipped into the truly wild Indian Cr. Country. Soon, we passed chunks of shredded elk hides and shards of still-red bones. The Landmark Wolf Pack has left their calling card. We knew this because Ranger Rick had told us about the assumed scattering of the pack after the Alpha male and female suddenly died (the female was found and her body is presently being inspected, detected, infected, neglected, etc. (Remember the song, "Alice's Restaurant?"). And, I say "assumed" because only the alpha pair were wearing radio collars...so, now they are free wolves. The good news is that without the collars, the efforts of the dastardly Farm Bureau to make the world safe for livestock by eliminating every possible predator in the universe will be more complicated. See Ralph's wolf link (the address is at top of this report) for more info about western wolfs.
Continuing on, we passed bear scat. The trail disappeared into the grass and shrubbery. As we slogged through the shoulder-high grasses, raspberry bushes, and occasional thistles (ouch!), the trail reappeared and headed for the first fording of Indian Creek. The water level is lower than when we were here last year, but the trail is no better. We were on the Big Baldy quad and at the Maverick Camp by lunch time, where we met a couple who had 5 days ago backpacked in from the top of Indian Creek, headed for their "primitive" shack at Pistol Cr. (To see how the Maverick Camp earned its name, see Day 5 of "Llamalot at the MF Salmon?" 1997 trip report.)
The storm has left, so we begin the thrash and slog to the MF Indian Cr. HS. When we were nearly to the HS, we encountered huckleberries, just in time for a brief rain to freshen them for gorging. This time, George had brought his tarp, and after some engineering, we enjoyed a real soak in this HS. See George's Hot Springs Pages for photos and a rating. Again, the rain-washed berries slowed our progress, this time to camp. We picked a bottle-full to add to tomorrow's pancakes. Ahh, delayed gratification.
After another well-planned dinner by George, we slumped around a warming Maverick fire and performed a body-check for ticks. The count? Four ticks found today.
Day 11: Tomahawk Jinx: (MF Indian Creek to Tomahawk Cr., 6 miles.)
The contented llamas are lounging in the tall grass mini-meadow below camp, humming their harmonica tunes and flicking bugs off their big banana-shaped ears as the salmon sun-line climbs Big Baldy and twilight descends. They have been the semi-silent, solid, stoic, stalwarts of the Salmon Country. If they would wear a bolo tie and a floppy felt hat, we could enter them in The International Harmonica Festival and Challenge in Yellow Pine, Idaho and they would prance off with first prize.
A cold rain drop plastered my forehead, just preceding the boom of close thunder, and shattered my sleep. I zipped the tent fly. We got up a bit late and enjoyed a Maverick Fire with huckleberry-enhanced pancakes before hiking to the next ford of Indian Cr. Huckleberries along the trail delayed our crossing. Garney sprained an ankle and we inched to Tomahawk Creek, where last year the llamas recuperated during an also unplanned stop here (our destination today was KwisKwis).
Day 12: Almost Kiwah: (Tomahawk to Little Indian Cr., 5 miles.)
Dark is fast approaching and we have settled for camp where Little Indian Creek meets Indian Creek. Little Indian contains delightfully transparent water as it meets the clear shining waters of Indian Creek.
Today was a difficult day because we spent a great deal of time trying to improve the trail so it would present less problems for Garney. The high points of the day were visits to KwisKwis HS and fording Indian Creek.
We visited the tiny KwisKwis HS during the day's hike. The hot water cascades for 100 or more vertical feet (of the 200' from trail to pool side at creek level). The pool water is hot, and we splashed water into it before entering. It's a cozy 2-person pool, and a second pool has been added since last year. Ahh, and the setting is superb. One can reach out and touch the crisp waters of Indian Creek while gazing down or up canyon at the pristine wilderness enveloping Indian Creek. Two garter snakes were living near the HS.
The second ford of the day was deluxe because it followed and preceded some hot trail work kicking rocks and rearranging things where we could. Slipping into the thigh-deep pool, the cool water seamlessly curled around our legs, relieving hot feet and presenting a new perspective on the day.
It's an OK campsite, but barely large enough for our group. Snowball would harmonica and shake the ground near George and Bruce's tent while tearing and munching grass in the moonlight. We were all worried that Garney's assertions might indeed be true that she could "walk no more, this is it for me!".
Day 13: Major Mule Head (or, "Would you like that baked or fried?"): (Little Indian Cr. to Mule Hill TH, and miles beyond, 4 miles (+4 road miles).)
In the conifer-green bowl below us, about two miles away, the forest fire glowed red, sending a swirl of smoke skyward, nearly to the prowling thunderheads, as George and I drove toward Mule Hill TH to retrieve the rest of the group. As we reached the ridge separating Indian Creek from one of the headwaters of the East Fork of the South Fork Salmon, George spotted two more smokers down near Tomahawk Creek in the Indian Creek drainage. It could be a hot time in the old forest tonight. "Pow! Zot!" another cumulonimbus, with its head near 20,000', informed us lowriders that more fun could be expected. George turned on the wipers, removing the latest mud-storm from the windshield. We had been splattered with bursts of rain as we walked the road from Mule Hill to the Monumental Summit Road to fetch the vehicle. Those waiting at the TH later reported that they took refuge under a tarp because of a frantically brief hailstorm. It is sooo unusual to ride in a vehicle after these glorious MF Salmon days.
The day had started in good fashion. I headed out early with my pack and the pack saw to make minor "improvements" to the trail before Garney, and later the llamas, arrived. The Mule Hill section had been chocked with dead-fall last year. Things went well, and soon I was on the Big Chief quadrangle, wading through the hip-high boot-soaking grass of Kiwah Meadow. I paused by the now much smaller Indian Creek to watch fish dart for cover and to marvel at its clarity. Bruce and Garney caught up, moving fast today, before I continued on to the hill. Goodbye to the shining waters of Indian Cr., at least for now. Garney and Bruce were not far behind as I cut some minor trees, then plodded the 2,000' up to the TH amidst expanding views of the Indian Creek and the distant MF Salmon country, now enveloped in those misty-purple rolling mountains.
I arrived at the TH at the appointed time (12 noon) where I was greeted by two day-hikers from Boise. They announced that they had been looking for the TH for two days, navigating with a copy of a map they got out of a (HS?) book. Tracy was at the TH, but the vehicle was not. He had doubts about it making it in to the TH (the FS had reported that the road was out, and perhaps somewhere along its length, it is), and the engine appeared to overheat, accompanied by strange motor noises. An unpleasant report, for sure. George and the llamas arrived. George and Tracy took off hiking to the main road, where Tracy had left the suburban and the trailer. I ate some lunch and followed, thinking that I could help or at least relay a message to the others if needed. Garney and Bruce arrived at the TH as I was leaving. Garney had little apparent difficulty today. Bear scat, some cat tracks, and continued solitude graced the 4-mile walk to the main road. I arrived to find George finishing a vehicle check. Tracy took the opportunity to walk down toward Stibnite, having his fill of driving and driving. Accompanied by mixed feelings of longing for the MF country and fresh vegies, this concluded our 98 winsome miles in the MF Salmon country, 68 estimated trail miles plus 30 dayhike miles.
The fire was not to be seen on our return from the TH, apparently put-out by the rain. We picked up Tracy as we drove to Yellow Pine, past the now-abandoned Stibnite Mine. Someday you may see the area up for sale as "grand condominiums in the Salmon country" without any mention about how it was stolen from the public (you and me), raped, abandoned while you paid to clean-up the fallout, then "discovered" to be private property, now for sale. It's the legacy of that most awful of mining laws that encourages this, and you should ask what your congressional representative is doing to end the carnage.
We ate an early dinner at the Stumble Inn in Yellow Pine (self-proclaimed "gateway to Idaho's Primitive Area," but hypocritically filled with anti-environment slogans; "Earth First! We'll mine the other planets later"), then drove the scenic route along the surprisingly paved corkscrew road along the Salmon to near Warm Lake, then through Landmark, a mere mark of land on the map, and the back way into Stanley. We had too-close encounters with deer and a herd of cattle as we drove into dusk. Yikes.
The road surface turned to brain-beating washboards as we passed the much-used boater entrance to Boundary Creek (Dagger Falls) where boaters begin floating the MF Salmon. We were all exhausted, as we parted company with Tracy at the shuttle headquarters in Stanley. Then, we drove through banks of fog, into the moonlight as the moon rose and set, and rose and set as we paralleled the magnificent Sawtooths and White Cloud Mountains, and climbed Galena Summit, above one of the headwaters of the Salmon. It's inspiring how far one can drive and still be within the tentacles of the serpentine forks of the Salmon River. Some things are right with the world. Once over Galena, we entered the domain of the Wood River and movie stars, Bruce Willis, Hemingway, others helping to turn once-backwoodsy Ketchum, Hailey, etc. into a California-like coffee bar where only rich people from somewhere else can afford to live. It's sad. You won't find many Idahoans living in Ketchum or Sun Valley.
We plowed across the Arco Desert and into the early morning, arriving in I.F. about 3 a.m. I didn't even bother to go to my Mother's house because it was so late and we were so tired, so I stayed at George's.
There's a pile of equipment to dry and inspect before the next glorious adventure in the country of the roiling, rolling, raucous, ribald Middle Fork Salmon of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. A flood of emotions flows over me as I review my trip mind's images and ask you to: Please do your part to ensure that your children's children have the opportunity to experience this most spectacular place as it was by Lewis and Clark when they entered the country in 1805, the way we departed, along the wild flow of Indian Creek, after they had traversed the Nez Perce (Lolo) Trail with the help of the Nez Perce People.
Congratulations for making it to the end of this trip report. And, the best way I can think of to end this too-long report is with words from the Idaho Senator who shares the name of this grand country with a grand river (from a 1961 address by Frank Church to a graduating class in Idaho):
I never knew a man who felt self-important in the morning after spending the night in the open on an Idaho mountainside, under a star-studded summer sky. Save some time in your lives for the out of doors, where you can be witness to the wonders of God. (As reported by Bethine Church, in Margaret Fuller's book, "Trails of the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.")..................
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