For those of you who are following the hike.
Just to let you know that based on latest contact they seem to be running about 4+ days behind schedule. Looks like the next stop (Wauconda on the map) won't be till the middle of this week.
We got a scratchy 3 minute cell call (!!!) 4 days out from Northport (from the top of Copper Butte) and Dale requested a priority mail drop of the old water filter that they shipped back because it was clogging. The new water filter is also clogging up and they wanted the old one back. Call broke up and discontinued 3 minutes in.
[Posted by Alan and Rachelle Frazier]
August 31, 2009
August 23, 2009
So you say you want a revolution...
More thoughts from slightly above sea level...
I've been taught, and learned from personal experience, that revolutionary change happens only rarely and under extraordinary circumstances while most change occurs incrementally.
Amidst a discussion of caribou reintroduction, the exaggerated tales locals tell of grizzly encounters, and the forest management practices of the US Forest Service in Idaho, Brian Johnson reminded me of this truism. But it didn't sit well with me and I pondered its relevance to human societies. It finally struck me that the sophistication of human societies leads to a subtle shift in the rule – it is not the existence of extraordinary circumstances that matters in fomenting revolution but instead the perception of extraordinary circumstances.
The implications of this idea are twofold. For starters, if society is unaware of the need for revolution, it will not occur. And perhaps more powerfully, if society perceives the need for dramatic change despite the lack of any such need in reality, revolution can be instigated by those controlling the message. This second implication can lead to change that benefits, or harms, the very society that implements it.
I appreciate your skepticism. Naturally the media (the fourth estate) investigates anything that we, the society they cover, needs to be aware of and reports back to us when revolution is warranted. Or do they? Many of North America's raptor populations (including the bald eagle) were in serious decline because of bio-accumulation of the chemical DDT as it moved up the food chain. Dramatic change was warranted. An outright ban on the use of DDT was indicated but it wasn't until the publication of Rachel Carson's book, Silent Spring that action was taken. Society's ignorance led to inaction.
Remember when Greenpeace used to do more than sell calendars, solicit donations, and lobby Congress? The Rainbow Warrior brought whaling issues to the fore of society's consciousness by going to sea and putting itself in harm's way between whalers and their prey. Many referred to those idealistic mariners as eco-terrorists, or dare I say, environmentalists. But their extreme tactics put the over-harvest of whales on the front page. School children were alarmed and “Save the Whales” echoed throughout society effectively changing global monitoring of marine mammal populations.
In addition to outright ignorance of the need for revolutionary change, the suggestion of doubt regarding a particular issue can stymie change, and prevent revolution. For decades the tobacco industry in the US denied a link between smoking and lung cancer despite their own data to the contrary. They stalled regulation by sowing doubt about the need for change. And some of you undoubtedly support the use of genetic techniques to improve the quality and/or nutrition of the food we eat. These genetically-modified-organisms (GMOs) have the potential to extend shelf lives, increase vitamin content, and increase yields making our farmland more productive. For proponents of GMOs the upside seems limitless. Unregulated GMO farming would be revolutionary change indeed. But opponents of GMOs have sown doubt about the unforeseen consequences of the release of new genotypes into the environment reducing the impact of this new technology dramatically.
In each of the examples above, society's perception of DDT, whaling, tobacco and GMOs, rather than the situation itself, dictated the pace of change.
The second implication of how perception leads to revolutionary or incremental change is easily seen in political advertising. For years the National Rifle Association (NRA) has taken a stand in major campaigns implying that the opposition candidate fails to support the Second Amendment to the Constitution. They have suggested that a vote for the opposition will lead to the confiscation of guns by the government – if you plan to vote for the opposition you might as well surrender your firearms to the authorities right now. Despite the obvious falsehood of this view, it creates a perception of revolutionary change.
An example with broader implications is the war in Iraq. Regardless of your support for our troops and/or the war, it has been shown that our own government misled us about the presence of weapons of mass destruction and the degree of threat that Saddam Hussein posed. By manipulating society's perception of the situation, revolutionary change occurred when we invaded Iraq. The result was dramatic loss of life, international credibility, and treasure. Despite the continued call of other governments for incremental change, revolution ruled the day.
Clearly change in human societies in directed more by what occurs in our brains than what occurs around us. And revolutionary change is the product of a perceived need, whether it exists or not. So you want to start a revolution? Spend just as much time documenting the need for change as communicating the message. You may find that spreading the word counts for much more than the veracity of your claims.
Dale contemplating the role of revolution in the Whitefish Range, MT
A real-world case study...
Ask yourself about global climate change – is there a need for revolutionary change? Were we simply unaware of this need until recently? Are doubts being sown about the need for change? Are we being manipulated into believing a crisis is imminent when incremental change is all that is necessary? From what information have you formed your opinions? Might they need to be re-evaluated?
I've been taught, and learned from personal experience, that revolutionary change happens only rarely and under extraordinary circumstances while most change occurs incrementally.
Amidst a discussion of caribou reintroduction, the exaggerated tales locals tell of grizzly encounters, and the forest management practices of the US Forest Service in Idaho, Brian Johnson reminded me of this truism. But it didn't sit well with me and I pondered its relevance to human societies. It finally struck me that the sophistication of human societies leads to a subtle shift in the rule – it is not the existence of extraordinary circumstances that matters in fomenting revolution but instead the perception of extraordinary circumstances.
The implications of this idea are twofold. For starters, if society is unaware of the need for revolution, it will not occur. And perhaps more powerfully, if society perceives the need for dramatic change despite the lack of any such need in reality, revolution can be instigated by those controlling the message. This second implication can lead to change that benefits, or harms, the very society that implements it.
I appreciate your skepticism. Naturally the media (the fourth estate) investigates anything that we, the society they cover, needs to be aware of and reports back to us when revolution is warranted. Or do they? Many of North America's raptor populations (including the bald eagle) were in serious decline because of bio-accumulation of the chemical DDT as it moved up the food chain. Dramatic change was warranted. An outright ban on the use of DDT was indicated but it wasn't until the publication of Rachel Carson's book, Silent Spring that action was taken. Society's ignorance led to inaction.
Remember when Greenpeace used to do more than sell calendars, solicit donations, and lobby Congress? The Rainbow Warrior brought whaling issues to the fore of society's consciousness by going to sea and putting itself in harm's way between whalers and their prey. Many referred to those idealistic mariners as eco-terrorists, or dare I say, environmentalists. But their extreme tactics put the over-harvest of whales on the front page. School children were alarmed and “Save the Whales” echoed throughout society effectively changing global monitoring of marine mammal populations.
In addition to outright ignorance of the need for revolutionary change, the suggestion of doubt regarding a particular issue can stymie change, and prevent revolution. For decades the tobacco industry in the US denied a link between smoking and lung cancer despite their own data to the contrary. They stalled regulation by sowing doubt about the need for change. And some of you undoubtedly support the use of genetic techniques to improve the quality and/or nutrition of the food we eat. These genetically-modified-organisms (GMOs) have the potential to extend shelf lives, increase vitamin content, and increase yields making our farmland more productive. For proponents of GMOs the upside seems limitless. Unregulated GMO farming would be revolutionary change indeed. But opponents of GMOs have sown doubt about the unforeseen consequences of the release of new genotypes into the environment reducing the impact of this new technology dramatically.
In each of the examples above, society's perception of DDT, whaling, tobacco and GMOs, rather than the situation itself, dictated the pace of change.
The second implication of how perception leads to revolutionary or incremental change is easily seen in political advertising. For years the National Rifle Association (NRA) has taken a stand in major campaigns implying that the opposition candidate fails to support the Second Amendment to the Constitution. They have suggested that a vote for the opposition will lead to the confiscation of guns by the government – if you plan to vote for the opposition you might as well surrender your firearms to the authorities right now. Despite the obvious falsehood of this view, it creates a perception of revolutionary change.
An example with broader implications is the war in Iraq. Regardless of your support for our troops and/or the war, it has been shown that our own government misled us about the presence of weapons of mass destruction and the degree of threat that Saddam Hussein posed. By manipulating society's perception of the situation, revolutionary change occurred when we invaded Iraq. The result was dramatic loss of life, international credibility, and treasure. Despite the continued call of other governments for incremental change, revolution ruled the day.
Clearly change in human societies in directed more by what occurs in our brains than what occurs around us. And revolutionary change is the product of a perceived need, whether it exists or not. So you want to start a revolution? Spend just as much time documenting the need for change as communicating the message. You may find that spreading the word counts for much more than the veracity of your claims.
Dale contemplating the role of revolution in the Whitefish Range, MTA real-world case study...
Ask yourself about global climate change – is there a need for revolutionary change? Were we simply unaware of this need until recently? Are doubts being sown about the need for change? Are we being manipulated into believing a crisis is imminent when incremental change is all that is necessary? From what information have you formed your opinions? Might they need to be re-evaluated?
Water works wonders
I believe that water is an incredible substance. I've felt this way for years. Water Works Wonders (trademarked) sums up my feelings more concisely and accurately than anything I've come up with. It took a recreational boating industry group (or probably their marketing department) to sum things up so succinctly. Contrary to my more innocent beliefs, their motivation is to sell more Bayliners (also trademarked). I'll borrow the phrase anyway.
Water brews our coffee, brews our beer, brews our cares away in the hot tub. Water greens our lawns, cleans our cars, lubricates our slip-n-slides. The sound of the ocean surf takes us away, while the sound of a cascading stream muffles the noises of progress all around us bringing us back into ourselves. And the sight of vast lakes and oceans inspires us to ponder larger ideas and consider broader goals.
Webb Mountain overlooking the Lake Koocanusa Bridge (note the white Forest Service Fire Lookout atop the mountain).
When you are hiking up Webb Mountain in western Montana with a full pack on your back in 90-degree heat the presence or absence of water takes on a whole new meaning. We started up our three-and-a-half mile, 3,600 vertical foot climb with only four liters of water – all that we had containers for. The mountain didn't care. We started sweating in the first few hundred feet. We took regular breaks. We felt the heat reflecting off the barkless standing dead trees, remnants from a previous fire. Felt the heat reflecting off the bare rock outcrops teasing us with views of Lake Koocanusa below.
View from ~2 miles up Webb Mountain looking down on Lake Koocanusa.
Our thoughts turned to water shortly after we began the climb. How much water would we need on the way up the mountain? How many breaks should we take? We exhaled moisture with each breath. Each drop of sweat begged for replacement. A break would allow us to cool down, to control our breathing, to save that precious fluid. Yet each break also meant opening a water bottle, making a conscious effort to only sip, not gulp the bottle down as our bodies requested.
What do you do when you're sitting next to your hiking partner? Do you carefully monitor each person's intake? Do you offer to share knowing you'd rather hoard it for yourself? What if your partner is also your wife? Do you have some moral obligation to give her an equal amount of water (or more)? Who would know? Did I really just think that? Am I thinking clearly? Am I already dehydrated? Should I not have caught those drips of salty sweat falling from my nose? Did they contribute to my delirium? Am I still sweating? Why is she staring at me? How long have I been sitting here holding my bottle out for her but not actually letting it go? Is this what true thirst is really like? Because right now I'd do almost anything for more water. I'd carry extra weight. I'd pay major league baseball stadium prices for a bottle of water. I'd sit through Dumb and Dumber - no, strike that. I'd sit through Dumb and DumberER on loop for a glass of ice water. How far are we from the top?
But wait. The top doesn't matter. Once we summit Webb Mountain we'll still have 2.5 miles before we reach a water source. How much water do two adults carrying full packs need for a 2.5 mile hike in 90-degree heat? One liter? Two? Four? Are we already behind? Is it better to be mostly dehydrated the whole time or should we hydrate our bodies now knowing we'll be even more dehydrated later? Do I dare unscrew the top of my bottle? Will I really only sip...
There isn't really any drama here. You know how it turns out. We both made it to water or you wouldn't be reading this right now. But we both learned a lot about our own physical limits that day. We experienced a single day without adequate water and developed a new appreciation for it.
Callae happily filtering water in an old clearcut atop Thirsty Mountain (just West of Webb).
I encourage you to fully appreciate the wonderful liquid that is water the next time you go to the tap to brew your morning coffee, or release that chilled stream of refreshment from the alcove in the door of your refrigerator, or step into a hot shower after a long day.
Water really does work wonders.
Water brews our coffee, brews our beer, brews our cares away in the hot tub. Water greens our lawns, cleans our cars, lubricates our slip-n-slides. The sound of the ocean surf takes us away, while the sound of a cascading stream muffles the noises of progress all around us bringing us back into ourselves. And the sight of vast lakes and oceans inspires us to ponder larger ideas and consider broader goals.
Webb Mountain overlooking the Lake Koocanusa Bridge (note the white Forest Service Fire Lookout atop the mountain).When you are hiking up Webb Mountain in western Montana with a full pack on your back in 90-degree heat the presence or absence of water takes on a whole new meaning. We started up our three-and-a-half mile, 3,600 vertical foot climb with only four liters of water – all that we had containers for. The mountain didn't care. We started sweating in the first few hundred feet. We took regular breaks. We felt the heat reflecting off the barkless standing dead trees, remnants from a previous fire. Felt the heat reflecting off the bare rock outcrops teasing us with views of Lake Koocanusa below.
View from ~2 miles up Webb Mountain looking down on Lake Koocanusa.Our thoughts turned to water shortly after we began the climb. How much water would we need on the way up the mountain? How many breaks should we take? We exhaled moisture with each breath. Each drop of sweat begged for replacement. A break would allow us to cool down, to control our breathing, to save that precious fluid. Yet each break also meant opening a water bottle, making a conscious effort to only sip, not gulp the bottle down as our bodies requested.
What do you do when you're sitting next to your hiking partner? Do you carefully monitor each person's intake? Do you offer to share knowing you'd rather hoard it for yourself? What if your partner is also your wife? Do you have some moral obligation to give her an equal amount of water (or more)? Who would know? Did I really just think that? Am I thinking clearly? Am I already dehydrated? Should I not have caught those drips of salty sweat falling from my nose? Did they contribute to my delirium? Am I still sweating? Why is she staring at me? How long have I been sitting here holding my bottle out for her but not actually letting it go? Is this what true thirst is really like? Because right now I'd do almost anything for more water. I'd carry extra weight. I'd pay major league baseball stadium prices for a bottle of water. I'd sit through Dumb and Dumber - no, strike that. I'd sit through Dumb and DumberER on loop for a glass of ice water. How far are we from the top?
But wait. The top doesn't matter. Once we summit Webb Mountain we'll still have 2.5 miles before we reach a water source. How much water do two adults carrying full packs need for a 2.5 mile hike in 90-degree heat? One liter? Two? Four? Are we already behind? Is it better to be mostly dehydrated the whole time or should we hydrate our bodies now knowing we'll be even more dehydrated later? Do I dare unscrew the top of my bottle? Will I really only sip...
There isn't really any drama here. You know how it turns out. We both made it to water or you wouldn't be reading this right now. But we both learned a lot about our own physical limits that day. We experienced a single day without adequate water and developed a new appreciation for it.
Callae happily filtering water in an old clearcut atop Thirsty Mountain (just West of Webb).Water really does work wonders.
What is This #3?
An occasional series where we share for your amusement unique, curious, and/or fascinating things that we have encountered!
The following pictures were taken on 24 July 2009 in on the Blue Sky Creek Trail in the Whitefish Divide Range of Montana.
No, we're not trying to insult your intelligence by asking you to tell us this is animal scat. This image is for reference only (though you might guess what kind of animal its from). We want to know what things we found in the scat. One we're sure of, the others we're not.
We picked out three interesting things from this animal poo. #1 & #2 are the same type of thing. They are about 1.5-2 inches long, and firm when poked. #3 is about the same length, also hard to the touch.
Another perspective on the previous three items.
The answer will be included in the next What is This post. We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
Answer to What is This #2 (posted 08-17-2009):
This surprising man-made object on the shore of an otherwise pristine lake in Glacier National Park is a steam injector for the purpose of extracting oil from below the soil surface. It dates back to pre-national park days around 1905. It remains stuck in the mud where small fishes play in its shadows and curious visitors like us gawk at it.
The following pictures were taken on 24 July 2009 in on the Blue Sky Creek Trail in the Whitefish Divide Range of Montana.
No, we're not trying to insult your intelligence by asking you to tell us this is animal scat. This image is for reference only (though you might guess what kind of animal its from). We want to know what things we found in the scat. One we're sure of, the others we're not. 
We picked out three interesting things from this animal poo. #1 & #2 are the same type of thing. They are about 1.5-2 inches long, and firm when poked. #3 is about the same length, also hard to the touch.
Another perspective on the previous three items. The answer will be included in the next What is This post. We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
Answer to What is This #2 (posted 08-17-2009):
This surprising man-made object on the shore of an otherwise pristine lake in Glacier National Park is a steam injector for the purpose of extracting oil from below the soil surface. It dates back to pre-national park days around 1905. It remains stuck in the mud where small fishes play in its shadows and curious visitors like us gawk at it.
August 22, 2009
It's not all work...
Taking a break from the trail in Northport, WA.
Swimming with a pair of Washingtonians, a trio of Germans, and a Norwegian in Deep Lake outside Northport, WA (one Washingtonian not pictured).
From left: Dale - hiker; Arne, Holger and Lisa (not pictured) Brandt - German Federal Police; Ole-Henrik Holmsen - lady killer; Bertha Matteson - the Boss; Jerry Matteson - the Mayor.
The gang of new and old friends back at home preparing for an evening of soccer.
Ole, Holger, Arne, Jerry, Bertha, Callae, Lisa, & Dale.
Swimming with a pair of Washingtonians, a trio of Germans, and a Norwegian in Deep Lake outside Northport, WA (one Washingtonian not pictured).
From left: Dale - hiker; Arne, Holger and Lisa (not pictured) Brandt - German Federal Police; Ole-Henrik Holmsen - lady killer; Bertha Matteson - the Boss; Jerry Matteson - the Mayor.
The gang of new and old friends back at home preparing for an evening of soccer.Ole, Holger, Arne, Jerry, Bertha, Callae, Lisa, & Dale.
Heading west from Northport we may be without an internet connection for 2-3 weeks. We have lots more stories and pictures to share as soon as we get back online... stay tuned!
Crossing the Kootenai
The Kootenai river flows south from Canada and spreads into Montana's Lake Koocanusa before spilling under the Libby Dam, once more a river. Its path then winds west through northern Montana before looping a sinuous path through the panhandle of Idaho where it crosses back into Canada just feet away from the border crossing at Porthill.
Over the course of our journey, we crossed the Kootenai twice. The first time we met its waters outside Rexford, MT. There on a hot, late July morning we walked a paved road along steep shale and limestone cliffs in order to reach the nearly ½ mile long, Koocanusa bridge. Cars zoomed by and osprey soared overhead bringing food to their nearly-fledged young.
Osprey above nest overlooking Lake Koocanusa.
The Koocanusa bridge is not only the tallest, longest bridge in Montana, it also holds the honor of being named 1972's most beautiful long span bridge. It certainly felt like a long crossing over the steely expanse, especially as the metal around us popped and creaked under the rising heat of day. And the grilled walkway underfoot made us a bit dizzy as we looked down into the blue waters passing by 100 feet below.
Looking south to the longest bridge in Montana.
Beginning the long walk to the west side.
Early morning looking east along the Koocanusa bridge.
Two weeks, some 130 miles and another state later we once again met the Kootenai river. Again, we approached it by foot on pavement as we trudged down Hwy 95 toward the promise that was Porthill. This time the Kootenai's waters wove through the bottomland of the river valley, brilliant blue in contrast to the bordering golden agricultural fields. The hills surrounding its waters were thick with cedar, hemlock and white pine. We contoured the river's curves as we walked north on Idaho 1 toward Porthill.
During our time with the river at Porthill we admired the herons that stood in the shadows of its banks and the eagles that searched for fish in its depths. On a hot, end-of-summer-day we helped launch a Huck Finn-like raft into the Kootenai's gentle current and later dove into the river's chilly, refreshing embrace. And on the day of our departure from Porthill, we enlisted the help of a young, willing local Porthillian to help ferry us and our heavy packs to the opposite banks.
Enjoying the river on a hot August day.
As we've suggested in an earlier post, the only way to cross the Kootenai by foot is at Copeland, 12 miles south of Porthill. The canyon we planned to hike up lay only a few miles south of Porthill – on the opposite side of the river. Thanks to Brandon we began the next leg of our journey on the opposite bank of the Kootenai, and avoided the long round-about trip via Copeland.
A few words about Brandon. He is a slight, handsome young man, willing to step in and help out complete strangers at the drop of a hat. When Dale told him of our plight, and asked for his help, Brandon smiled broadly and said, “Sure, I can do that.”
So on a suddenly cool, suspiciously dark and cloudy morning we borrowed the Tompke's inflatable rowboat and Brandon stepped in to take us one at a time (with our packs) across the expanse of the river. He maneuvered the boat like a pro. A shore-side observer would never have known it was Brandon's first time in a rowboat. Very impressive. We're very grateful for the ride, and the 20-ish miles he saved us in backtracking. Thank you Brandon!
Brandon rowing Callae across the river.
With our boat captain.
We waved farewell to Porthill, the border crossing and Brandon and walked the banks of the Kootenai until we met our trailhead at Long Canyon Creek. A bald eagle surveyed us from the opposite bank while Canada geese winged by overhead. Our final view of the Kootenai's quiet waters came from near the top of the ridgeline above the creek when we looked back through a break in the thick forest of cedar. Sunlight shone down through storm clouds to illuminate golden fields and blue sparkle of water. (Sorry, no image on account of the rain). We wouldn't see a body of water as extensive until Priest Lake – 27 miles distant. We also wouldn't see the sun for two and a half days, deep in the valley of Long Canyon and a three day rain that swept the area. But more on that another time.
Porthill border crossing
A bald eagle - one of the many birds seen along the Kootenai river.
Canada geese flying along the Kootenai river valley.
Over the course of our journey, we crossed the Kootenai twice. The first time we met its waters outside Rexford, MT. There on a hot, late July morning we walked a paved road along steep shale and limestone cliffs in order to reach the nearly ½ mile long, Koocanusa bridge. Cars zoomed by and osprey soared overhead bringing food to their nearly-fledged young.
Osprey above nest overlooking Lake Koocanusa.The Koocanusa bridge is not only the tallest, longest bridge in Montana, it also holds the honor of being named 1972's most beautiful long span bridge. It certainly felt like a long crossing over the steely expanse, especially as the metal around us popped and creaked under the rising heat of day. And the grilled walkway underfoot made us a bit dizzy as we looked down into the blue waters passing by 100 feet below.
Looking south to the longest bridge in Montana.
Beginning the long walk to the west side.
Early morning looking east along the Koocanusa bridge.Two weeks, some 130 miles and another state later we once again met the Kootenai river. Again, we approached it by foot on pavement as we trudged down Hwy 95 toward the promise that was Porthill. This time the Kootenai's waters wove through the bottomland of the river valley, brilliant blue in contrast to the bordering golden agricultural fields. The hills surrounding its waters were thick with cedar, hemlock and white pine. We contoured the river's curves as we walked north on Idaho 1 toward Porthill.
During our time with the river at Porthill we admired the herons that stood in the shadows of its banks and the eagles that searched for fish in its depths. On a hot, end-of-summer-day we helped launch a Huck Finn-like raft into the Kootenai's gentle current and later dove into the river's chilly, refreshing embrace. And on the day of our departure from Porthill, we enlisted the help of a young, willing local Porthillian to help ferry us and our heavy packs to the opposite banks.
Enjoying the river on a hot August day. As we've suggested in an earlier post, the only way to cross the Kootenai by foot is at Copeland, 12 miles south of Porthill. The canyon we planned to hike up lay only a few miles south of Porthill – on the opposite side of the river. Thanks to Brandon we began the next leg of our journey on the opposite bank of the Kootenai, and avoided the long round-about trip via Copeland.
A few words about Brandon. He is a slight, handsome young man, willing to step in and help out complete strangers at the drop of a hat. When Dale told him of our plight, and asked for his help, Brandon smiled broadly and said, “Sure, I can do that.”
So on a suddenly cool, suspiciously dark and cloudy morning we borrowed the Tompke's inflatable rowboat and Brandon stepped in to take us one at a time (with our packs) across the expanse of the river. He maneuvered the boat like a pro. A shore-side observer would never have known it was Brandon's first time in a rowboat. Very impressive. We're very grateful for the ride, and the 20-ish miles he saved us in backtracking. Thank you Brandon!
Brandon rowing Callae across the river.
With our boat captain.We waved farewell to Porthill, the border crossing and Brandon and walked the banks of the Kootenai until we met our trailhead at Long Canyon Creek. A bald eagle surveyed us from the opposite bank while Canada geese winged by overhead. Our final view of the Kootenai's quiet waters came from near the top of the ridgeline above the creek when we looked back through a break in the thick forest of cedar. Sunlight shone down through storm clouds to illuminate golden fields and blue sparkle of water. (Sorry, no image on account of the rain). We wouldn't see a body of water as extensive until Priest Lake – 27 miles distant. We also wouldn't see the sun for two and a half days, deep in the valley of Long Canyon and a three day rain that swept the area. But more on that another time.
Porthill border crossing
A bald eagle - one of the many birds seen along the Kootenai river.
Canada geese flying along the Kootenai river valley.August 21, 2009
NEWS UPDATE: AUGUST 21, 2009
Callae and Dale reached Northport yesterday!! Trail map is updated to reflect current progress. 463 miles, about 36% of trail completed, 830 miles to go.
[posted by Alan Frazier]
[posted by Alan Frazier]
August 17, 2009
What is This #2?
An occasional series where we share for your amusement unique, curious, and/or fascinating things that we have encountered!
The following pictures were taken on 20 July 2009 at the Kintla Lake Car campground in Glacier National Park, Montana.
The answer will be included in the next What is This post. We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
Answer to What is This #1 (posted 08-16-2009):
Dale found these jelly-like egg sacs while wading around in the shallows of Bear Lake. They are either frog or salamander egg masses. They are like something from an alien planet! We could use the expertise of a good herpetologist to identify them further.
The following pictures were taken on 20 July 2009 at the Kintla Lake Car campground in Glacier National Park, Montana.
The answer will be included in the next What is This post. We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
Answer to What is This #1 (posted 08-16-2009):
Dale found these jelly-like egg sacs while wading around in the shallows of Bear Lake. They are either frog or salamander egg masses. They are like something from an alien planet! We could use the expertise of a good herpetologist to identify them further.
August 16, 2009
What's for Dinner?
It seems like everyone we meet inevitably asks what we're eating on the trail. Well, we're actually eating pretty darn well. Dale and I really enjoy food and since this trek is more about the experience than simply getting from point A to point B in a short time, we decided early in the planning process that food would be an important part of our hike. Here's an overview of our food preparation process and description of a few of our meals in the field.
There are several serious considerations when planning food for a long hike. The first is to have enough calories to sustain the intensity of the activity. The second is weight. And the third consideration for us is to have interesting and tasty meals to boot. We're doing pretty well in all three areas, and here's how:
Thanks to our friends Morgan and Sarah Pett we were able to dehydrate a portion of our food while still in Iowa. We experimented with different fruits, veggies, and meats using their dehydrator. Now we are now enjoying light-weight apples, pineapple, kiwi, black olives, bok-choy, mushrooms, peppers, canned salmon, beef jerky and even salsa and tomato paste. (Salsa and tomato paste dry into a fruit leather and provide excellent flavor.) Thanks Morgan and Sarah!
There are several serious considerations when planning food for a long hike. The first is to have enough calories to sustain the intensity of the activity. The second is weight. And the third consideration for us is to have interesting and tasty meals to boot. We're doing pretty well in all three areas, and here's how:
Thanks to our friends Morgan and Sarah Pett we were able to dehydrate a portion of our food while still in Iowa. We experimented with different fruits, veggies, and meats using their dehydrator. Now we are now enjoying light-weight apples, pineapple, kiwi, black olives, bok-choy, mushrooms, peppers, canned salmon, beef jerky and even salsa and tomato paste. (Salsa and tomato paste dry into a fruit leather and provide excellent flavor.) Thanks Morgan and Sarah!
Thanks also to Ivan Katz who lent us his vacuum food sealer so some of the food we made in May would stay fresher until Fall.
While dehydrating worked for many food items, it has some major drawbacks. The primary one is time. Dehydrating three months of food eight trays at a time would have taken much longer than we had. There is also a weight issue – freeze-dried foods are significantly lighter than dehydrated. Additionally, freeze-drying retains more vitamins and nutrients than dehydrating, which is basically slow-cooking at low temperatures. So we looked into freeze-dried foods to supplement. You may be familiar with the pre-made, pre-packaged, freeze-dried meals from brands like Mountain House, but for a three month venture they are prohibitively expensive and create copious amounts of wasteful packaging. But then we discovered a solution – freeze-dried food staples in #10 cans (large coffee can size) that we could break up into ziploc bags and create our own meals. We found two companies online that offer a wide variety of freeze-dried foods at cheaper prices than we could dehydrate them – everything from powdered eggs, to butter, to cheese and berries and veggies. After some taste-testing we picked out some of our favorites and went wild. Not too wild, mind you, just enough to keep our palates engaged and our bodies filled with healthy, nutritious fare!
Freeze dried foods (and more) from Honeyville Grains
Freeze dried foods (and more) from Emergency Essentials
We rounded out our food staples from local grocery stores, stocking up on pasta, mac & cheese, rice, oatmeal, almonds, peanuts, cranberries, raisins, M&Ms, etc. The result is that we have with us a variety of dehydrated and freeze-dried fruits, vegetables, meats and cheeses, plus grains, and snacks in the form of different homemade trail mixes, nuts and Odwalla and Clif bars for quick energy. We also have a spice bag that adds variety and pizazz.
While in Conifer we took over two rooms in my parent's house during two-days of food preparation, separation and repacking for distribution into boxes for mailing. We measured out portions of grains, veggies and fruits, etc. into plastic bags to save space and weight. We made a lot of trail mix. When we looked up from the work we were surrounded by boxes and cans and bags of food. Have you ever thought about how much food you go through in just a month? How about three months? It's a lot of food (keeping in mind we do like to eat well and anticipated needing more calories than normal).
When done, we had ten days of food in our packs for the first leg of the trail in Glacier, a box to leave at the Polebridge Mercantile before getting dropped off to start the trip, and ten others to be sent to post offices (and other helpful businesses) along the route. Each box weighs 20-25 pounds and includes (we hope) enough food to last between 8-11 days. The length of each leg is dependent on the distance between accessible post offices/mail drops along the PNT route and our anticipated rate of travel.
So given all of our preparation, what is actually happening in the field?
We are using approximately three gallons of water per day for drinking, cooking (and rehydrating) and tooth-brushing.
· We are using a little over a quart of white gas every 10 days for the stove – for cooking meals and making hot drinks.
· We are just about finishing our food stocks by the time we reach the next mail drop.
· And we are generally enjoying the food, though after four weeks on the trail we must admit we are getting a teeny bit weary of the same exact dried/freeze-dried options each week. We do manage to mix things up in different and unique ways, however, and that is a least keeping things interesting. Besides, everything tastes pretty darn good when you've hiked a long, hard day.
Here are just a few examples of what we are eating for breakfast and dinner (we tend to snack on energy bars, trail mix, or nuts while hiking) :
· Hot cocoa, or a fruit-smoothie mix for a sweet, sugary treat along with the occasional instant pudding dessert.
· Oatmeal or 6-grain cereal mix with sugar, berries and nuts.
· Eggs dishes with salmon, cheese, spinach, salsa.
· Tomato-based pasta and rice dishes.
· Macaroni and Cheese with broccoli or asparagus, carrots, celery, black olives, and sometimes salmon.
· Rice or Pasta Curry with homemade tortillas
Anny Tessin taught us about and provided a box of powdered coconut milk for the hike!
· Salsa rice with cheese and black beans (super-light, easy to dehydrate and packed with protein).
· And, as an extra-special treat: fresh sprouts! Yes, you can make sprouts while hiking in the woods. They provide a wonderful fresh crunch to our meals. Now we just need to have enough patience to let them green-up a bit in the sun.
While we enjoy cooking our own creations, we miss things like unlimited cheese and fresh meat. We have also begun to crave pastries, chocolate cake and ice cream. So we really, really appreciate the times we hike into town and get town-food, or in the rare and lucky case – a homemade meal from one of the amazing folks we have been meeting on the trail.
Send us any additional food questions and we'll either email you (when we find WiFi) or post additional blogs.
A typical(?) day on the trail...
8 August 2009
We're sure you regularly find yourself lying awake in bed at night pondering what life is like on the trail. And so in the name of restful slumber we provide for you, “A typical day on the PNT”.
Saturday August 8th began for us high on Bussard Mountain in the panhandle of Idaho. The night before we had camped just off the trail near the first water we had seen in miles. After another 3000+ foot elevation gain on Friday we were headed down the west side of the mountain and into the Kootenai river valley where we would head north to the burg of Porthill on the Canadian border.
The route seemed simple enough, follow the trail down 11 miles to US 95, go a mile and a half southwest to Idaho 1, then north to Porthill (another 12 miles) where we had a food box waiting for us. But the route wasn't the problem. By the time you reach US 95, you have left the Kaniksu National Forest and are surrounded by private lands meaning camping is a problem. Ideally we would stop in Copeland (one mile up Idaho 1) where our food box would be waiting, a hot meal from a local eatery would greet us, and a soft spot to pitch our tent awaited. After all, Copeland is the location of the only bridge across the river between Canada and Bonner's Ferry (15 miles south). Unfortunately, while Copeland appears as a name on the map, it fails to possess any businesses to hold our box or feed us. Porthill, on the other hand, holds nothing but promise. Because, while we know that Copeland is devoid of assistance, Porthill is a blank slate. We know that it has a border crossing and a post office (where our box actually awaits) and are pretty confident it has a tavern – but for all we know it could also have a Hilton hotel with an Outback Steakhouse in the parking lot.
So we are headed down the hill with no known place to stay the night and even if there is someplace to camp in Porthill, it is about 25 miles away. And of course we need more than just one night. Our food box sits at the post office which we had hoped to reach the day before. Now we will have to wait until Monday when they reopen. Should we stop short and camp in the forest? Of course not – that wouldn't be any fun. So off we go...
The first part of the walk is great, the temperature isn't too hot, the trail is wide so we can talk with one another, and a whole string of mountain lion tracks are preserved in the soft sediment on the side of the trail. By the time we hit US 95 it is early afternoon and we've already got 11 miles under our belts. But the shoulder of an interstate isn't much fun to walk along and the concrete gives little under your boots. Especially when you look out and realize they have changed the route in order to add more lanes sending you over a mile south of the junction with Highway 1 shown on both of your maps. Ah well, what is another couple of highway miles when you've already put in a dozen? Who cares about the cars whizzing by at 70mph when earlier that morning you had been buzzed by a hummingbird going at least that fast? What does it matter that Porthill seems to be getting farther away, not closer, or that the border isn't open 24/7 (any businesses will probably close when the border does)? Serendipity is with us – we'll find somewhere to sleep.
Serendipity. A concept for early mornings when anything seems possible or late at night when nothing does. But while late night serendipity happens, few believe in it until they've seen it with their own eyes. This was the case early that Saturday evening with the concrete road miles piling up, many still laid out before us, and the promise of Porthill fading. We had resorted to hitchhiking, but got no takers. Perhaps they could smell our trail days upon us. Perhaps Callae was just too intimidating. Perhaps all these Canadian vehicles passing by didn't want to get caught smuggling Americans over the border, eh. Whatever the case, each passing car was like another ground ball out late in a close game. All we needed was a single, something to get a rally going, something to make us believe again, one car. All we needed was one car to slow down, pull to the shoulder... “Where you headed?”
We took a break. Dropped our packs by the side of the two-lane highway. Drank some water. Ate some trail mix. Tried to look pathetic enough to garner sympathy and a ride, but not too pathetic. No takers. Callae's thumb must be broken. Maybe I need to hide in the brush until they pull over. Maybe she needs to show more leg...
Coming to believe our good fortune is running out, we take matters into our own feet, saddle up and continue north again. North along the broad river valley. North through this rural landscape that intermixes horse pastures and row crop agriculture. North to the home of Sam and Robin Ponsness (for sale, only serious inquiries please), where their young son Brody is out watering the garden with Dad. This fine looking gentleman could probably fill us in on the dream that Porthill has become...
“Pardon us, we're looking for some local information...” (And light shone down from the heavens, the birds sang, the grizzly we'd been hoping to see stepped out of the woods and posed while Callae reached for the camera, the soreness in my feet melted away, and all was right in the world [I trust that the Israeli-Palestinian crisis was resolved at the same moment].) Not only had we stumbled upon a true local, someone who had been raised in this very valley, but a federal employee, someone whose only mission is to help (“don't worry, we're with the government...”).
We shook hands, introduced ourselves and explained who we were, where we were headed and why. To which Sam replied, “Are you sure the box is at the post office? Because I can call the postmaster and we can pick it up now. Do you want a beer?” It turns out that Sam is a US Customs agent who works at the Eastport crossing, can count everyone who lives in “town” on two hands and knows them all. No, we didn't pick up the box that night – the postmaster wasn't at home. But yes, things were definitely turning around. And yes, I did enjoy the beer.
Sam and his lovely wife Robin have two adorable children, Brody and Madison, are building a house on some land in the valley, and are indicative of the type of people we keep running across in our travels – friendly, genuine, and ready to help out two strangers without being asked. Sam insisted on giving us a ride into Porthill, including the deluxe tour (don't blink or you'll miss it), and an introduction to our hosts for the night. It turns out that Porthill does not have a Hilton. But it does have two gas stations, one of which allows camping in the pasture behind the pub (under renovation) or down by the river. While driving up the valley we discussed local wildlife, what it is like working for Customs in Idaho and his Dad's wholesale maggot growing operation (live bait). We arrived in Porthill with a place to stay and newfound faith in serendipity.
A sense of humor is an asset when traveling as are rubber gloves. We were greeted by Ken Tompke dryly... “Yeah, you can stay. A week's worth of dishes should cover the first night.” While pondering where the other six nights would be spent we unloaded our packs from the truck and heard about our camping options. No real fee was discussed. But it was clear that the Tompke's could use our help as much as we needed theirs. The pub, it was clear, was under renovation. Tools, lumber, garbage cans, and scaffolding littered the building and the yard. Old electrical wires hung haphazardly from the ceiling. Paint cans lined the floor. All around was a sense of slightly organized chaos. You see, Ken and his wife, Janie, were in the process of restoring his Dad's pub (Roy's) to working order with the help of 5 (of 7) of their children. They don't live in Porthill, of course, that would be silly. They have a home, jobs, and lives back in Lynden, Washington. So a couple of able-bodied souls to lend a hand, share stories with, and provide a refreshing break from the norm were exactly what serendipity ordered.
After setting up the tent we were invited to share taco dinner with the family, but first spent time discussing the finer points of raft-building with Shawn and John down by the river, stocking beer in the gas station store, and learning about our shared connections with western Washington, Indonesia, and seeing a job done right.
We headed to the tent late that night after laughing and talking comfortably with new friends, knowing that we were welcome to stay the weekend, eager to help move the pub toward completion, and take part in the raft's maiden voyage. We had learned about Amy's artistic talents, Annelise's amazing energy, Ashley's confidence (and tacos), Shawn's swimming prowess, John's dry wit, and Braden's absence. Janie's time in Irian Jaya and Ken's history with Porthill and the pub in particular rounded out the evening, while they heard tales of Colorado, wildlife in Glacier, and why two seemingly sane people would embark on this journey.
Naturally, over the next day and a half we would learn more about each other, work together, play together, and develop the connections that guarantee future contact. They'll follow the blog and we'll call when we hit western Washington.
But this post is about one day. A day full of ups and downs, both physically and emotionally, hard work, cold beer, and new friends that feel like old ones. And while not every day of our journey is this memorable, quite a few are, and we haven't even made it into Washington yet.
Now get some sleep, but before you do, ask yourself, “What did you do today?”
We're sure you regularly find yourself lying awake in bed at night pondering what life is like on the trail. And so in the name of restful slumber we provide for you, “A typical day on the PNT”.
Saturday August 8th began for us high on Bussard Mountain in the panhandle of Idaho. The night before we had camped just off the trail near the first water we had seen in miles. After another 3000+ foot elevation gain on Friday we were headed down the west side of the mountain and into the Kootenai river valley where we would head north to the burg of Porthill on the Canadian border.
The route seemed simple enough, follow the trail down 11 miles to US 95, go a mile and a half southwest to Idaho 1, then north to Porthill (another 12 miles) where we had a food box waiting for us. But the route wasn't the problem. By the time you reach US 95, you have left the Kaniksu National Forest and are surrounded by private lands meaning camping is a problem. Ideally we would stop in Copeland (one mile up Idaho 1) where our food box would be waiting, a hot meal from a local eatery would greet us, and a soft spot to pitch our tent awaited. After all, Copeland is the location of the only bridge across the river between Canada and Bonner's Ferry (15 miles south). Unfortunately, while Copeland appears as a name on the map, it fails to possess any businesses to hold our box or feed us. Porthill, on the other hand, holds nothing but promise. Because, while we know that Copeland is devoid of assistance, Porthill is a blank slate. We know that it has a border crossing and a post office (where our box actually awaits) and are pretty confident it has a tavern – but for all we know it could also have a Hilton hotel with an Outback Steakhouse in the parking lot.
So we are headed down the hill with no known place to stay the night and even if there is someplace to camp in Porthill, it is about 25 miles away. And of course we need more than just one night. Our food box sits at the post office which we had hoped to reach the day before. Now we will have to wait until Monday when they reopen. Should we stop short and camp in the forest? Of course not – that wouldn't be any fun. So off we go...
The first part of the walk is great, the temperature isn't too hot, the trail is wide so we can talk with one another, and a whole string of mountain lion tracks are preserved in the soft sediment on the side of the trail. By the time we hit US 95 it is early afternoon and we've already got 11 miles under our belts. But the shoulder of an interstate isn't much fun to walk along and the concrete gives little under your boots. Especially when you look out and realize they have changed the route in order to add more lanes sending you over a mile south of the junction with Highway 1 shown on both of your maps. Ah well, what is another couple of highway miles when you've already put in a dozen? Who cares about the cars whizzing by at 70mph when earlier that morning you had been buzzed by a hummingbird going at least that fast? What does it matter that Porthill seems to be getting farther away, not closer, or that the border isn't open 24/7 (any businesses will probably close when the border does)? Serendipity is with us – we'll find somewhere to sleep.
Serendipity. A concept for early mornings when anything seems possible or late at night when nothing does. But while late night serendipity happens, few believe in it until they've seen it with their own eyes. This was the case early that Saturday evening with the concrete road miles piling up, many still laid out before us, and the promise of Porthill fading. We had resorted to hitchhiking, but got no takers. Perhaps they could smell our trail days upon us. Perhaps Callae was just too intimidating. Perhaps all these Canadian vehicles passing by didn't want to get caught smuggling Americans over the border, eh. Whatever the case, each passing car was like another ground ball out late in a close game. All we needed was a single, something to get a rally going, something to make us believe again, one car. All we needed was one car to slow down, pull to the shoulder... “Where you headed?”
We took a break. Dropped our packs by the side of the two-lane highway. Drank some water. Ate some trail mix. Tried to look pathetic enough to garner sympathy and a ride, but not too pathetic. No takers. Callae's thumb must be broken. Maybe I need to hide in the brush until they pull over. Maybe she needs to show more leg...
Coming to believe our good fortune is running out, we take matters into our own feet, saddle up and continue north again. North along the broad river valley. North through this rural landscape that intermixes horse pastures and row crop agriculture. North to the home of Sam and Robin Ponsness (for sale, only serious inquiries please), where their young son Brody is out watering the garden with Dad. This fine looking gentleman could probably fill us in on the dream that Porthill has become...
“Pardon us, we're looking for some local information...” (And light shone down from the heavens, the birds sang, the grizzly we'd been hoping to see stepped out of the woods and posed while Callae reached for the camera, the soreness in my feet melted away, and all was right in the world [I trust that the Israeli-Palestinian crisis was resolved at the same moment].) Not only had we stumbled upon a true local, someone who had been raised in this very valley, but a federal employee, someone whose only mission is to help (“don't worry, we're with the government...”).
We shook hands, introduced ourselves and explained who we were, where we were headed and why. To which Sam replied, “Are you sure the box is at the post office? Because I can call the postmaster and we can pick it up now. Do you want a beer?” It turns out that Sam is a US Customs agent who works at the Eastport crossing, can count everyone who lives in “town” on two hands and knows them all. No, we didn't pick up the box that night – the postmaster wasn't at home. But yes, things were definitely turning around. And yes, I did enjoy the beer.
Sam and his lovely wife Robin have two adorable children, Brody and Madison, are building a house on some land in the valley, and are indicative of the type of people we keep running across in our travels – friendly, genuine, and ready to help out two strangers without being asked. Sam insisted on giving us a ride into Porthill, including the deluxe tour (don't blink or you'll miss it), and an introduction to our hosts for the night. It turns out that Porthill does not have a Hilton. But it does have two gas stations, one of which allows camping in the pasture behind the pub (under renovation) or down by the river. While driving up the valley we discussed local wildlife, what it is like working for Customs in Idaho and his Dad's wholesale maggot growing operation (live bait). We arrived in Porthill with a place to stay and newfound faith in serendipity.
A sense of humor is an asset when traveling as are rubber gloves. We were greeted by Ken Tompke dryly... “Yeah, you can stay. A week's worth of dishes should cover the first night.” While pondering where the other six nights would be spent we unloaded our packs from the truck and heard about our camping options. No real fee was discussed. But it was clear that the Tompke's could use our help as much as we needed theirs. The pub, it was clear, was under renovation. Tools, lumber, garbage cans, and scaffolding littered the building and the yard. Old electrical wires hung haphazardly from the ceiling. Paint cans lined the floor. All around was a sense of slightly organized chaos. You see, Ken and his wife, Janie, were in the process of restoring his Dad's pub (Roy's) to working order with the help of 5 (of 7) of their children. They don't live in Porthill, of course, that would be silly. They have a home, jobs, and lives back in Lynden, Washington. So a couple of able-bodied souls to lend a hand, share stories with, and provide a refreshing break from the norm were exactly what serendipity ordered.
After setting up the tent we were invited to share taco dinner with the family, but first spent time discussing the finer points of raft-building with Shawn and John down by the river, stocking beer in the gas station store, and learning about our shared connections with western Washington, Indonesia, and seeing a job done right.
We headed to the tent late that night after laughing and talking comfortably with new friends, knowing that we were welcome to stay the weekend, eager to help move the pub toward completion, and take part in the raft's maiden voyage. We had learned about Amy's artistic talents, Annelise's amazing energy, Ashley's confidence (and tacos), Shawn's swimming prowess, John's dry wit, and Braden's absence. Janie's time in Irian Jaya and Ken's history with Porthill and the pub in particular rounded out the evening, while they heard tales of Colorado, wildlife in Glacier, and why two seemingly sane people would embark on this journey.
Naturally, over the next day and a half we would learn more about each other, work together, play together, and develop the connections that guarantee future contact. They'll follow the blog and we'll call when we hit western Washington.
But this post is about one day. A day full of ups and downs, both physically and emotionally, hard work, cold beer, and new friends that feel like old ones. And while not every day of our journey is this memorable, quite a few are, and we haven't even made it into Washington yet.
Now get some sleep, but before you do, ask yourself, “What did you do today?”
The Tompke Family (clockwise from Callae): Callae, Shawn, Ken, Janie, Ashley, Dale, Amy, John, Annelise, and Braden.
Shakedown Hike #2
From 28-30 June 2009, Alpine Lakes Wilderness, North-Central Cascades, WA (We're going back a ways here and inserting a post from before the PNT hike began.)
We are wiped out, in a good, “We've worked hard,” way. It's the second night of our second shakedown hike and I am writing in the fading light of dusk. Mosquitoes are nibbling on my hands. The clicking of the computer keys is backed by rushing water. Hermit thrushes serenade us through the tall, tall trees.
Dale and I have migrated to Washington state to spend some time with his family before we walk onto the trail in Glacier National Park (14 days away!). We definitely wanted another shakedown hike while in the Northwest as a final gear check and prep. Plus, it's another step toward physical and mental preparation for the PNT. In order to make that happen, we've hiked into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area in the North Cascades.
I think we'd both agree this shakedown hike has been both a physical and a mental challenge. While the hike into Colorado's Lost Creek Wilderness (see Shakedown Hike #1) was fairly flat and unassuming, we both struggled because of the altitude. Here in the lower-elevation Cascades, we're finding it easier to breathe but the terrain is much more challenging. We intentionally chose a location that would better represent some of the more difficult days on the PNT. The trails here are steep and require as much mental awareness as physical ability. There's a lot of stepping up through tree roots, on and over rocks, or cut-away steps on ground that more often than not is spongy or actively flowing with water. Yesterday we hiked in to (or rather, up to) Dorothy Lake.
We climbed 1000 feet up in about 2.25 miles to get to the alpine lake at 3,600 feet above sea level. (To provide some perspective, alpine lakes in Colorado are found above 10,000 feet.) In places the trail had been nearly wiped away by winter avalanche or mudslides and we had to carefully wind around jagged broken trees and upended rocks. We forded a wide, fast-moving stream where the bridge at the south end of Lake Dorothy had been washed away. Today we gasped our way up an additional 600 feet in about a mile of intense switchbacks in order to get over to the smaller, connected Bear and Deer lakes. Dale says it was equivalent of walking the steps to the top of the Space Needle....with 40+ pounds on our backs. No wonder we're wiped out.
I am glad we've hiked both days with packs on. This is giving us a better sense of what it will feel like to get up each morning and break-down camp, re-load the packs and hike again. For the PNT we thought we might prepare a hearty hot meal in the morning. Now we are starting to think we'll be snacking on high-protein/carb foods (bars, trail mix) as we pack up so we can break camp early, hit the trail and get to the next campsite in time for a substantial afternoon meal instead. We'd both rather get to the next night's camp before dark, and with enough time in the afternoon to explore, write, and make a couple hot meals in daylight.
This morning we snacked on Clif bars while breaking down camp. A group of mergansers landed on the glassy waters and swam around peacefully until they discovered us. They broke the calm, glassy water with their hasty flight.
Our tent was damp from condensation, our shoes still damp from the previous day's stream crossing. My shoulders ached under the weight of the pack, but once I got going it became manageable. Once my muscles warmed to the idea of being used again, they carried me up the mountain slowly, but successfully.
Despite the ache in my thighs and rear, it is beautiful here. The water here turns blue-green in direct sunlight thanks to the particulate matter from glacial till. There are numerous inlets and outlets and always the sound of rushing water. We've not seen any charismatic wildlife, save a dozen or so people, but have seen a few mysterious weasel-like scats along the trail and two field mice hopping through our camp at Lake Dorothy. Birds on the other hand have been plentiful, by song if not always by sight. I awoke this morning to a cascade of trills, chirps, and quavers. An olive-sided flycatcher whistled its quick, distinctive three note, “quick three beers” song. The upward trills of Swainson thrushes played harmony against the upward flute of hermit thrushes. Occasionally the single, quivery through-note of the varied thrush cut through the mix. An underlying chorus of chickadees, nuthatches, yellow warblers accompanied the thrushes along with the staccato drum line of flickers. Other birds joined the chorus but I could not distinguish them in my bleary, half-aware early-dawn haze.
The first night here we stayed on the south end of Dorothy Lake. The site, clearly used if not actually sanctioned, lay right at water level We looked out onto a wide island and over dinner, we discovered an osprey nest on top of one of the tall dead trees there. Though the binoculars we watched a single white osprey head poke up above the level of the nest. Just at dusk the mate flew in and perched nearby. In the morning we saw one of the birds bring in a fish and suspect there are fluffy, downy chicks to be fed.
Tonight we are camped on a narrow stretch of land between Bear and Deer Lakes, just on the other side of the ridge from Dorothy Lake . We're almost directly west of where we were last night. At dinner, an osprey flew overhead, no doubt searching for fish in either of these peaceful waters. We also hoped to break out the fishing rod, but saw no sign of fish at either Bear or Deer Lake. Also, the brush is so thick around the lake it's difficult to find a good spot to fish from...especially for those of us who tend to get flies caught and lost in bushes. We're really looking forward to fishing our way throughout the PNT however, and hope to have better luck when we get to Glacier.
Despite the lack of obvious fish, there are plenty of cool aquatic insects to keep us entertained. Dale and I spent some time wading around in the shallow waters of Bear Lake this afternoon. Thousands of whirlygig beetles scattered ahead of our steps. They are about the size of a pumpkin seed and are shiny and twirly and really fun to watch. We also found water skippers, caddisfly larvae and some kind of gooey, gelatinous material (see “What is This?”). These alpine lakes have very little if any vegetation in them either, and no algae which, along with the presence of caddisfly larvae suggest pretty pristine, clean waters. Certainly, the water we are filtering tastes delicious. I love the fresh, non-chlorinated waters of the mountains!
Caddisfly Larvae – the animal's head and front legs are to the right sticking out of the protective shell it's built of rocks and pine needles.
As I look up from the computer I realize I've written myself from dusk into full night. The mosquitoes have not quit their nibbling. Tomorrow we have about a five-mile hike out to the car. It seems such a measly number compared to the miles we'll need to put on during the PNT. We'll use different muscles going downhill with lots of weight. We'll plan to wear our sandals on the stream crossing, and I suspect it'll be a much colder experience walking practically barefoot through snow-fed waters. It should be a good day. By the end I think I'll be eager to get to Glacier and start this adventure!
Dale and I have migrated to Washington state to spend some time with his family before we walk onto the trail in Glacier National Park (14 days away!). We definitely wanted another shakedown hike while in the Northwest as a final gear check and prep. Plus, it's another step toward physical and mental preparation for the PNT. In order to make that happen, we've hiked into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area in the North Cascades.
I think we'd both agree this shakedown hike has been both a physical and a mental challenge. While the hike into Colorado's Lost Creek Wilderness (see Shakedown Hike #1
We climbed 1000 feet up in about 2.25 miles to get to the alpine lake at 3,600 feet above sea level. (To provide some perspective, alpine lakes in Colorado are found above 10,000 feet.) In places the trail had been nearly wiped away by winter avalanche or mudslides and we had to carefully wind around jagged broken trees and upended rocks. We forded a wide, fast-moving stream where the bridge at the south end of Lake Dorothy had been washed away. Today we gasped our way up an additional 600 feet in about a mile of intense switchbacks in order to get over to the smaller, connected Bear and Deer lakes. Dale says it was equivalent of walking the steps to the top of the Space Needle....with 40+ pounds on our backs. No wonder we're wiped out.
I am glad we've hiked both days with packs on. This is giving us a better sense of what it will feel like to get up each morning and break-down camp, re-load the packs and hike again. For the PNT we thought we might prepare a hearty hot meal in the morning. Now we are starting to think we'll be snacking on high-protein/carb foods (bars, trail mix) as we pack up so we can break camp early, hit the trail and get to the next campsite in time for a substantial afternoon meal instead. We'd both rather get to the next night's camp before dark, and with enough time in the afternoon to explore, write, and make a couple hot meals in daylight.
This morning we snacked on Clif bars while breaking down camp. A group of mergansers landed on the glassy waters and swam around peacefully until they discovered us. They broke the calm, glassy water with their hasty flight.
Our tent was damp from condensation, our shoes still damp from the previous day's stream crossing. My shoulders ached under the weight of the pack, but once I got going it became manageable. Once my muscles warmed to the idea of being used again, they carried me up the mountain slowly, but successfully.
Despite the ache in my thighs and rear, it is beautiful here. The water here turns blue-green in direct sunlight thanks to the particulate matter from glacial till. There are numerous inlets and outlets and always the sound of rushing water. We've not seen any charismatic wildlife, save a dozen or so people, but have seen a few mysterious weasel-like scats along the trail and two field mice hopping through our camp at Lake Dorothy. Birds on the other hand have been plentiful, by song if not always by sight. I awoke this morning to a cascade of trills, chirps, and quavers. An olive-sided flycatcher whistled its quick, distinctive three note, “quick three beers” song. The upward trills of Swainson thrushes played harmony against the upward flute of hermit thrushes. Occasionally the single, quivery through-note of the varied thrush cut through the mix. An underlying chorus of chickadees, nuthatches, yellow warblers accompanied the thrushes along with the staccato drum line of flickers. Other birds joined the chorus but I could not distinguish them in my bleary, half-aware early-dawn haze.
The first night here we stayed on the south end of Dorothy Lake. The site, clearly used if not actually sanctioned, lay right at water level We looked out onto a wide island and over dinner, we discovered an osprey nest on top of one of the tall dead trees there. Though the binoculars we watched a single white osprey head poke up above the level of the nest. Just at dusk the mate flew in and perched nearby. In the morning we saw one of the birds bring in a fish and suspect there are fluffy, downy chicks to be fed.
Tonight we are camped on a narrow stretch of land between Bear and Deer Lakes, just on the other side of the ridge from Dorothy Lake . We're almost directly west of where we were last night. At dinner, an osprey flew overhead, no doubt searching for fish in either of these peaceful waters. We also hoped to break out the fishing rod, but saw no sign of fish at either Bear or Deer Lake. Also, the brush is so thick around the lake it's difficult to find a good spot to fish from...especially for those of us who tend to get flies caught and lost in bushes. We're really looking forward to fishing our way throughout the PNT however, and hope to have better luck when we get to Glacier.
Despite the lack of obvious fish, there are plenty of cool aquatic insects to keep us entertained. Dale and I spent some time wading around in the shallow waters of Bear Lake this afternoon. Thousands of whirlygig beetles scattered ahead of our steps. They are about the size of a pumpkin seed and are shiny and twirly and really fun to watch. We also found water skippers, caddisfly larvae and some kind of gooey, gelatinous material (see “What is This?”). These alpine lakes have very little if any vegetation in them either, and no algae which, along with the presence of caddisfly larvae suggest pretty pristine, clean waters. Certainly, the water we are filtering tastes delicious. I love the fresh, non-chlorinated waters of the mountains!
Caddisfly Larvae – the animal's head and front legs are to the right sticking out of the protective shell it's built of rocks and pine needles.
As I look up from the computer I realize I've written myself from dusk into full night. The mosquitoes have not quit their nibbling. Tomorrow we have about a five-mile hike out to the car. It seems such a measly number compared to the miles we'll need to put on during the PNT. We'll use different muscles going downhill with lots of weight. We'll plan to wear our sandals on the stream crossing, and I suspect it'll be a much colder experience walking practically barefoot through snow-fed waters. It should be a good day. By the end I think I'll be eager to get to Glacier and start this adventure!
What is This #1?
An occasional series where we share for your amusement unique, curious, and/or fascinating things that we have encountered!
The following pictures were taken on 30 June 2009 in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area of Washington State.
Our answer will be included in the next What is This post.
We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
The following pictures were taken on 30 June 2009 in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area of Washington State.
Our answer will be included in the next What is This post.
We encourage you to submit your thoughts using the Comments link below.
There's Something Outside the Tent!
From 25 July 2009 - Between Polebridge and Eureka, MT 
For months prior to beginning the PNT various dreams about bears haunted my sleep. They almost all involved a bear entering the tent. Each unfortunate, desperate dream-encounter ended in bruising, if not bloodshed. The bears always won. I'd awaken in the stuffy Iowa apartment bedroom bathed in orange light from streetlamps and a sheen of sweat. Each dream brought me to a sort of frozen terror – a sense of complete incompetence and lack of control. I did not want to fall asleep again should the dream bears return. Even Dale's presence next to me brought little comfort.
I don't know why bears chose to haunt my nights. I have never before been afraid of the big lumbering brutes. It's probably Timothy Treadwell's fault. And those rare, but overly publicized stories of “problem” bears acting out of the norm – almost always due to human incompetence and misunderstanding.
Fast forward now to the gray, early dawn of a July morning deep in the valley of Blue Sky Creek, Montana. I was groggily writing in a journal when I heard the metal fuel bottles outside clink together. Then something “hurrumphed” outside the tent.
The day before we'd had a long, hot hike on the Whitefish Range Divide Trail, and dropped into the valley in late afternoon in search of water. Throughout the day we passed more bear scat than I had ever seen in my life. Thick ropy cords of dark, mounded scat. Old scat, new scat, berry-full scat, hairy scat, lots of bear scat. Bears, I've decided, not only shit in the woods - they love to shit right on the trails. It was somewhat reassuring, I'd thought, to find less bear scat and more moose scat the further we descended into the valley. Even so... bears have long-ranging territories.
We bedded down on an abandoned Jeep trail along the creek. Darkness fell early in the shadow of the steep slopes of the valley and it was nearly dark by the time we hung our food and crawled into the tent. The coolness of valley air settled down over us, a reassuring blanket after the blistering heat of midday on the ridgeline. I fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.
Then, in the morning, something grunted outside the tent. My heart rose into my throat and beads of moisture popped out under my arms. I froze, waiting for another indication I was not imagining things. Something moved heavily in the direction of our water bottles, nestled near the fuel bottles.
Now – a quick aside. Some of you will be seething at this point because you have always been told to hang all your food-preparation things in bear country. That includes water and fuel bottles. Dale and I differ in that common opinion. We are careful with our food, no question. But we only use water bottles for water, and fuel bottles for fuel, and we do not cook greasy, splashy meals. We believe that pretty much every animal in a five mile radius knows when we've arrived at a campsite anyway, and for the most part they will chose to make a wide berth around us. Besides, we smell more strongly than either the fuel or the water bottles and if something wants to cause problems it won't be on account of a few plastic and metal bottles. So we leave them away from the tent, but not hung out of range of a swinging bear paw.
Okay, back to the action. Something moving and grunting outside the tent. Heart in throat. I set down the journal carefully and placed a heavy hand on my sleeping husband's shoulder. I shook him from a dead sleep, hoarsely whispering, “There's something outside the tent.”
Okay, that's my version. Dale will tell you I said, “There's a bear outside the tent.”
Either way, I must give him credit. If he'd been the one to give me that news I'd have curled up tighter in my sleeping bag and wrapped my hands around my head. (Okay, so this makes me seem like I'm scared to death of wildlife. I'm not. I just don't like not knowing what it is that I can't see – especially when I've been haunted by bear dreams and something is “hurrumphing” outside my tent in the gray light of dawn.) Dale on the other hand grabbed the camera (we've been keeping it close at night for just such an opportunity) and carefully unzipped the tent door and vestibule. The peeling back of metal zippers sounded overly loud in the quiet morning air and over my shallow breathing. He eased his long body out into the vestibule and stretched up to look over and past the tent.
Click, click, click went the shutter of the camera.
This is the first shaky version of what he saw:
Fast forward now to the gray, early dawn of a July morning deep in the valley of Blue Sky Creek, Montana. I was groggily writing in a journal when I heard the metal fuel bottles outside clink together. Then something “hurrumphed” outside the tent.
The day before we'd had a long, hot hike on the Whitefish Range Divide Trail, and dropped into the valley in late afternoon in search of water. Throughout the day we passed more bear scat than I had ever seen in my life. Thick ropy cords of dark, mounded scat. Old scat, new scat, berry-full scat, hairy scat, lots of bear scat. Bears, I've decided, not only shit in the woods - they love to shit right on the trails. It was somewhat reassuring, I'd thought, to find less bear scat and more moose scat the further we descended into the valley. Even so... bears have long-ranging territories.
We bedded down on an abandoned Jeep trail along the creek. Darkness fell early in the shadow of the steep slopes of the valley and it was nearly dark by the time we hung our food and crawled into the tent. The coolness of valley air settled down over us, a reassuring blanket after the blistering heat of midday on the ridgeline. I fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.
Then, in the morning, something grunted outside the tent. My heart rose into my throat and beads of moisture popped out under my arms. I froze, waiting for another indication I was not imagining things. Something moved heavily in the direction of our water bottles, nestled near the fuel bottles.
Now – a quick aside. Some of you will be seething at this point because you have always been told to hang all your food-preparation things in bear country. That includes water and fuel bottles. Dale and I differ in that common opinion. We are careful with our food, no question. But we only use water bottles for water, and fuel bottles for fuel, and we do not cook greasy, splashy meals. We believe that pretty much every animal in a five mile radius knows when we've arrived at a campsite anyway, and for the most part they will chose to make a wide berth around us. Besides, we smell more strongly than either the fuel or the water bottles and if something wants to cause problems it won't be on account of a few plastic and metal bottles. So we leave them away from the tent, but not hung out of range of a swinging bear paw.
Okay, back to the action. Something moving and grunting outside the tent. Heart in throat. I set down the journal carefully and placed a heavy hand on my sleeping husband's shoulder. I shook him from a dead sleep, hoarsely whispering, “There's something outside the tent.”
Okay, that's my version. Dale will tell you I said, “There's a bear outside the tent.”
Either way, I must give him credit. If he'd been the one to give me that news I'd have curled up tighter in my sleeping bag and wrapped my hands around my head. (Okay, so this makes me seem like I'm scared to death of wildlife. I'm not. I just don't like not knowing what it is that I can't see – especially when I've been haunted by bear dreams and something is “hurrumphing” outside my tent in the gray light of dawn.) Dale on the other hand grabbed the camera (we've been keeping it close at night for just such an opportunity) and carefully unzipped the tent door and vestibule. The peeling back of metal zippers sounded overly loud in the quiet morning air and over my shallow breathing. He eased his long body out into the vestibule and stretched up to look over and past the tent.
Click, click, click went the shutter of the camera.
This is the first shaky version of what he saw:
“It's just a moose, Callae.” He informed me quietly. “No bears here.” The gentle bemusement in his voice told me this is something he'll not let me live down for some time. Waking my husband out of a dead sleep because of a “bear” outside the tent that I was too afraid to see for myself is not exactly in character with my otherwise eager-to-see-wildlife-self.
Just a moose. Well, humph. They can be dangerous too, you know.
In truth, it's not a bad way to wake up. And this was our first official moose sighting of the trip, too! Here's a clearer image of our morning visitor from the doorway of the tent. He looked as perplexed and put out as an alley-cat who is interrupted while caterwauling. Needless to say, he did not stick around long.
We've seen a lot of moose tracks throughout Montana and Northern Idaho, though this is our only live-sighting of one of these ungainly, gawky, beautiful beasts. I do hope we see more. And next time something grunts outside the tent perhaps I'll more easily face my fear of the unseen and unknown.
(Biology note: When uncertain about something most deer, elk, moose and other ungulates will breathe loudly and heavily in order to get a stronger scent and identify whoever or whatever it is that they cannot see.)
Just a moose. Well, humph. They can be dangerous too, you know.
In truth, it's not a bad way to wake up. And this was our first official moose sighting of the trip, too! Here's a clearer image of our morning visitor from the doorway of the tent. He looked as perplexed and put out as an alley-cat who is interrupted while caterwauling. Needless to say, he did not stick around long.
We've seen a lot of moose tracks throughout Montana and Northern Idaho, though this is our only live-sighting of one of these ungainly, gawky, beautiful beasts. I do hope we see more. And next time something grunts outside the tent perhaps I'll more easily face my fear of the unseen and unknown.
(Biology note: When uncertain about something most deer, elk, moose and other ungulates will breathe loudly and heavily in order to get a stronger scent and identify whoever or whatever it is that they cannot see.)
August 10, 2009
NEWS: Porthill reached on August 9th!
On August 9th, Porthill was reached, no internet access so blogs will be mailed to us for posting in about 7 days. Of a projected 1,293 miles for the trail, 463 miles (35%) now done!
They are doing fine, having many adventures and will continue after a days rest. Next projected stop Northport (130 miles).
See updated map.
[Posted on behalf of Callae and Dale by Alan and Rachelle Frazier]
They are doing fine, having many adventures and will continue after a days rest. Next projected stop Northport (130 miles).
See updated map.
[Posted on behalf of Callae and Dale by Alan and Rachelle Frazier]
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