The Wilderness
My father and uncles were great hunters - never a shortage of venison, elk, bear, or moose steaks in my house. Growing up in the american west we had access to tremendous outdoor resources. We had a large farm, and maintained both horses and mules for the express purpose of camping and hunting.

A couple times a year my father and I would pack our supplies and regalia into our stock truck, load Princess Jaba and Shazam, the horses; and Henry, Bubbles, and Little Joe, the mules, and head out.

Our favorite spots were in the Selway-Bitterroot wildferness. The forests there are pristine, and primeval in their wildness. No machinery or engines, no trace of modern life. On one trip up the Selway river we negotiated a cliff-face trail with our little pack string. 18"-wide trail: look down off the toe of your right boot and you can see the river 200' below, reach out with your left hand and touch the cliff that rises 300' above you. Ran into an 18-head string going the other direction, longest string has the right-of-way. Spurring our horses and dragging the mules into playing mountain goat is a special kind of thrill.

Our most memorable trip was up Warm Springs creek off the Lochsa river. We were kitted up in our wool trousers and shirts, pistol belts strapped on (in case of snake or bear), leather creaking as we headed up the trail. We you would have to dig into our packs to see any difference between us and prospectors of centuries before. We passed the first springs, a muddy hole that attracted most casual traffic, not that this trail was well-used. We turned a corner a mile farther and beheld something wonderous:

The trail widened into a grassy meadow. On the left steam boiled off an impossibly hot spring. The water flowed down across the trail, mixing with the ice-cold creek (snowmelt, even in July) in a series of rock-walled pools. Sitting in and around the pools were a dozen or more flower children - all nude. They stared at us, amazed and likely wondering if whatever they were smoking had caused a hallucination. We stared back at the unusual but not unwelcome scenery.

We rode 100 feet up the trail, in silence, before my father turned around with the biggest grin I've ever seen. "Pretty good camping trip so far, huh?"

That trip saw him get kicked in the head by Bubbles, Shazam and Little Joe upside-down in the creek, and us being stalked by a grizzley for a few hours, but yeah - best trip ever.
(danalan Pretty good, for an amateur., Fri 30 Mar 2012, 5:24, 1 reply)

awesome

( zulu eh?, Fri 30 Mar 2012, 13:56, closed)