Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation
Expect Nothing, Pull Saw, Slay, Repeat
Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation
I'll Tell You What
Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation
Why Work in Wilderness
WRF
Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation
Wilderness Growth

Forrest reflects on his first hitch in the Bitterroot National Forest.

Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation
Moments in the Mountains

South Fork Lolo Volunteer Project

Kara Knight

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

South Fork Lolo Trail, Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness

6/18/2025-6/25/2025

Morning stretch circle and safety talk! 

I spent this hitch with seven volunteers, one other fellow, Josie, and our crew leader, Martial Jumper. The plan for the week was to work on the last six miles of the South Fork Lolo Trail, heading toward Bass Lake.

It was empowering to witness the strength and perseverance of a group of volunteers who put their lives on hold to join us in tackling this monster of a trail. The trail was in rough shape. Everyone set out on day one eager for the experience. About a mile from camp, we encountered over a hundred downed trees that had to be traversed. We arrived at camp that evening with cuts, bruises, and a very large goal ahead of us. The hitch continued to test us: we faced four days of cold, rainy weather and had a waist-deep water crossing ahead.

Two volunteers: Steve and Jon, moving a large log out of the trail. 

Slow mornings gave us time for coffee, tea, oatmeal, and leftovers from the night before (somehow, it always involved couscous). On those rainy days, we sat together and took the time to appreciate the environment we were in.  Melissa, one of the volunteers, kept morale high by making pancakes. Steve, Dave, and Jon made sure there was always a hot fire to return to, while Josh, Jake, and Janice kept conversations going. It was encouraging to see such a diverse group of people, with a wide range of interests and personalities, come together with the shared goal of improving this trail.

SBFC volunteer Josh taking on the deep cold water crossing! 

The workdays were challenging. Josie and I ran saw teams and loved seeing the excitement and pride from volunteers after a job well done. Everyone persevered through the difficult conditions. We spent the first few days working backward from camp, removing and cutting the trees we had climbed over on our way in. Once that section of trail was cleared, it was time to move forward past the daunting river crossing. The waist-deep water would have been manageable on any other trip, but the cold weather made it tough. After searching unsuccessfully for a log that spanned the creek, we all agreed that the only way across was through it. Once we made it to the other side, we took time to warm up and dry off before continuing up the trail.

Josie, Martial, and I, along with help from some of the volunteers, cooked warm, fulfilling dinners after long days of work. We gathered around the fire to eat and talk about the progress we had made throughout the week. After dinner, we prepared the next day’s lunch, usually stuffing tortillas with whatever dinner had been. The number one thing we learned this week: literally anything can be a burrito, including Alfredo.

Final group picture taken after a job well done. 

Kara Knight

El Cajon, CA

Colorado State University- Fish, Wildlife, and Conservation Biology

Kara Knight grew up in San Diego, California, but spent much of her childhood exploring Yosemite, where she fell in love with wildlife and the great outdoors. Her passion for wilderness conservation led her to Colorado in 2020 to attend Colorado State University, where she earned her B.S. in Fish, Wildlife, and Conservation Biology in 2023.  

Kara is excited to gain hands-on experience and continue developing her skills. She has a deep appreciation for wildlife research and habitat conservation. You can find her hiking, camping, or spending time with her cat Juni when she's not out in the field!

Eight Days on the Main Salmon

Serenade Gorbett

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Salmon River Trail #96 | Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness 

6/4-6/11/2025

Berkeley, Nick, and Josh posing on our jetboat headed to the confluence of Bargamin Creek and the Main Salmon River in the Frank Church Wilderness.

We started our hitch at the Vinegar boat ramp east of Riggins, ID. I had been looking forward to this hitch since I found out we would be taking a jetboat. It has been on my bucket list for a while. It was so much fun. Some of the rapids we went through were the height of the boat. I think I preferred it over the plane on our last hitch.

We were headed to the confluence of Bargamin Creek on the #96 trail. Tasked with building a rock wall and digging tread. The trail had a lot of damage from a fire a couple years back. Building the rock wall put about 6 years on my boots and pants. I’m really glad I had my embroidery thread so I could fix the seat of my pants. 

The crew with a rock wall they built on the trail!

The great part about base camping next to the Salmon River is getting to meet awesome people and the free food. One night we met some rafting guides that invited us to dinner. They fed us so much lasagna and cookies. There was even a bowl full of just bread that kept getting passed around until it was empty. It was truly a feast. 

The morning commute to work along the Main Salmon.

The other highlight of this hitch was the wildlife. Halfway through the week, I went on a hike along the river. I noticed a weird stick in the water. It turned out to be a river otter. He waddled onto a sandy beach and rolled in the sand like a dog. We also got to see bighorn sheep on the way back to Vinegar boat ramp. It was an amazing time and I can’t wait to get back out there!

Before

After

Serenade Gorbett

Wallowa, OR

Serenade is from a small town in Eastern Oregon. Her early childhood was spent going on cattle drives and pack trips into the Eagle Cap Wilderness. For the last 8 years, she has been living off-grid with her family. These years spent living in the woods are the foundation of her devotion to the wilderness. Her favorite outdoor activity is trail rides with her dogs and miniature mule (Cocoapuff).  She also enjoys gardening and going on hiking trips with her brother. Serenade’s future plans are to pursue a career in natural resource management.

Kootenai Creek Volunteer Hitch

Jack Whitney

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Kootenai Creek Trail | Bitterroot National Forest

June 4-11, 2025

Group photo in front of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area boundary sign on Kootenai Creek Trail. From left to right Cora, Casey, Jeanice, Lana, Jeremy, Jack, Ted, Dennis, Martial, and Lisa sitting in the front.

For our first full eight day hitch into the backcountry, I was lucky enough to spend it with a group of ten very passionate volunteers and our crew lead Martial Jumper. Martial and I, with help from our volunteer program director Krissy Ferriter, managed to somehow pack enough food for a dozen or so people for over a week. We spent a handful of hours preparing for our hitch and began our journey the next morning. On our drive south on route 93, I saw the hills of Missoula slowly disappear in the passenger side mirror, and I saw the jagged and wild hills of the Bitterroot appear to my right side. 

When we arrived at the group site where we were to spend the next couple of nights before heading into the backcountry, we met the first handful of volunteers. Sported in our work gear, we all headed up to the trailhead and began our work week. I was responsible for leading the brushing crew while Martial was responsible for the crosscutting team. Clearing the first few miles of trail wasn't too bad, as it is heavily trafficked and the US Forest Service can readily keep up with maintenance. However, once we reached the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness boundary, the thickets appeared and we truly began our week of lopping and clearing water bars.

After the first day we all returned to camp and Teddy, Dennis, and Jeremy, three of the volunteers, showed us the game “Farkle”. A simple dice game where luck and strategy are at the forefront of success. Should you potentially sacrifice or “farkle” your entire turn of points to get more, or should you remain modest and ensure you retain the points into the next round? The game stuck around with us all week as we worked higher and higher up the creek. 

Making a big cut on the Kootenai Creek Trail

On the fourth day, we bumped our camp 5 miles into the backcountry up the creek trail. Carrying our remaining food, gear, and motivation up the trail we made a day out of just the hike up. Our camp was simple and we adjusted to it quickly, becoming our home for the time being. We continued to work through the scorching summer heat, covered in beads of sweat, but all without losing our perseverance. 

On the fifth day I was seated on a rotted log listening to the forest around me burst with morning life. I heard something large come down the hill to the left and soon a whitetail doe stood no more than ten feet away from me on the trail. We stared at each other, neither seemingly startled or dazed by the interaction. And the doe walked further down the hillside towards the river to drink. 

View from hike up to the Kootenai Lake, looking east.

On the seventh day Martial spotted an adolescent black bear watching us some 300 feet above us on the hillside. Again, our group of 10 people stared up at the animal as it returned its gaze. Within a few moments, the bear continued on up the hillside. That day, we made the 13 mile round trip to the terminus of our trail to see North Kootenai Lake. With the high ridges set beside the alpine lake, slender waterfalls deposited their icy water below. The falling water on the ledges reminded me of my brief trip to Iceland years back. The scope of the wilds here really became apparent then to me. I am standing not just in a place deemed as wild but a place that has yet seen what it means to be anything other than such. That next morning we left for home, all going our separate ways. I felt simultaneously relieved to return to Missoula, but left yearning for that feeling of vastness and tranquility understood only most truly while deep in the heart of nowhere.

Panorama of North Kootenai Lake.

Jack Whitney

East Greenwich, RI

University of Rhode Island- Environmental Science

Jack grew up in the suburbs of Providence, Rhode Island and had worked on organic farms in southern New England and abroad for a number of years. Having worked with poultry and livestock season after season, Jack grew to appreciate the fields of biology and environmental science. He had spent the larger part of his childhood and early adulthood exploring the White and Green Mountains to the North while also enjoying the rich Narragansett Bay coast. Jack thinks that the wilderness is an irreplaceable piece of all who seek its beauty.

To See is To Devour

Joshua Mendoza

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

5/26-5/31/2025

Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness

In "Les Misérables", Victor Hugo writes the words “curiosity is gluttony, to see is to devour,” and hardly a day goes by when I do not think about it. What a good word, gluttony, what other way to describe the dilation of one's eyes like the opening of a miniscule maw.

The crew flying into the Frank.

Each moment on the hitch reminded me of my own hunger. From those first moments looking out of the plane window onto snowcapped peaks and frozen alpine lakes, I was wide eyed and at the edge of my seat. Shortly after being greeted by ranger Andrew and his loyal cattle dog Josie, filling our bottles from the stream because these clear waters had been tested and were clean. Setting up camp by a ceaseless, rushing, and raging river referred to as Big Creek, I knew the sound of those million gallons would lull me to sleep each night.

The author enjoying a hard day’s work!

As I wipe sweat from my brow and look upon this lost garden, I am reminded of the frailty of the present, the vacuum of moments past, and the aching heat of the new. I am reminded what a privilege and an honor it is to take my lunch break in a meadow surrounded by balsam root and shaded by fragrant ponderosa.

I have told my loved ones that this is simultaneously the hardest and easiest work I have ever done in my life. Not one moment was spent bored and not one moment was spent without the taste of salt from the sweat on my face. Lots of bugs.

The crew on the trail.

The crew found the trail!

The author with the ranger’s dog.

Joshua Mendoza

Albuquerque, NM

New Mexico State University- Fish & Wildlife Conservation Mgmt.

Joshua Mendoza is a Junior at NMSU pursuing his degree in Fish and Wildlife Conservation Management. Having been raised in New Mexico, Joshua has an ardent desire to be immersed in the pleasures of solitude, often seeking dark skies in search of the Milky Way. With a background as a hiker, and more recently as a research assistant, he relishes the opportunity work hard and learn about the natural world while doing so.

Finding Human Connection in the Largest Wilderness Area in the Lower 48

Raegan Dick | Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Norton Ridge/Marble Creek Trail, Salmon-Challis Forest

05/26-05/31/2025

On the third day of this hitch, I was nervous. The day before, we had made it 2.5 miles up Norton Ridge— a daunting 5.5-mile trail that gains nearly 4,000 feet of elevation to an abandoned fire lookout deep within the Salmon-Challis Forest. It was a tough trail, and I knew it would only get harder the higher we climbed. 

As we climbed Norton Ridge that morning, we ran into a woman named Kristin and her two dogs. She lives on a ranch inholding within the wilderness— one we had admired from across the Salmon River earlier in the day. We chatted briefly about our respective work before continuing up the trail.

By the end of the workday, around 3.5 to 4 miles in, our crew decided to push to the summit and see the fire lookout. The temperature had climbed to 85 degrees, and most of us were nearly out of water, but the opportunity to explore the fire lookout was within reach, so we went for it.

Part of the fire lookout at the summit of Norton Ridge. 

It turned out to be one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done. Even after four weeks out west, I’m still adjusting to the elevation— the 7,500-foot difference from my home in Michigan hit me hard. The heat, lack of water, and general fatigue from a full day of trail work compounded the challenge, but quitting wasn’t an option.

Me at the top of the summit. 

The fire lookout came into view as we reached the summit, and I knew it was all worth it. Now eye-level with the snow-capped peaks, it felt like you could see for miles and miles in any direction you looked, almost like being on another planet. 

As we began our 6.5-mile hike back to base camp, I was preoccupied with how relieving it would be to finally collect and filter water from the river once we were back. All of a sudden, I slipped down the toe of the trail and twisted my ankle. The pain was sharp, but I knew that the only choice was to continue forward, one foot in front of the other.

The note and radio Kristin left at our camp. 

A little over a mile from camp, we stop to filter some water to get us through the final stretch. Not long after we started hiking again, we heard a dog barking and a motor approaching us from behind. It was Kristin, and she had arrived to drive us back to camp. The immediate relief I felt was immense, and I was overcome with gratitude for this act of kindness. She had already been by our camp, leaving a radio and a note offering a ride to the trailhead for nearby hot springs. Though we declined, the gesture meant a lot. (*Editor’s note: The SBFC crew was traveling through a private inholding, hence the vehicle!)

By the time we made it back to camp, I was covered in dirt, sweat, blood, and tears from the day. As I washed the day away in the river, I found myself feeling overwhelmed with pure, unadulterated joy. I was so grateful for the wide breadth of emotions in a single day-– anxiety, exhaustion, and pain, overshadowed by grit, pride, and fulfillment. 

Oddly enough, one of the brightest moments of my time deep in the wilderness was the simple kindness of human connection– something that, along with the breathtaking sights and sounds of the Frank Church Wilderness, I’ll never forget.

My fellow crew members, Nick and Abe, led by Berkeley back down Norton Ridge. 

Inside of one of the buildings at summit. 

Raegan Dick

Berkley, MI

Michigan Technological University- Forestry & Wildlife Ecology

Raegan is entering her 3rd year as a Forestry and Wildlife Ecology dual major at Michigan Technological University. She has a deep love and appreciation for the natural world and views it as something to be honored and protected. She finds solace in unspoiled wilderness, where the absence of human influence fosters a deep connection to the land. In her spare time, she enjoys hiking, snowshoeing, bug hunting, hammocking, and reading. Passionate about environmental stewardship and conservation, Raegan is excited to apply her academic, personal, and professional experiences this summer with SBFC.

The Season Begins: A Week at Powell Ranger Station

Bryce Shull

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute, 5/19-5/23/2025

The season finally feels like it’s begun. After a week of indoor training in Missoula, my fellow SBFC Fellows and I were eager to get into the field and attend the Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute (NRWSI) at Powell Ranger Station in the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest. Nestled beside the beautiful Lochsa River and bordering the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, Powell is a perfect setting to kick off a season of stewardship.

Going into the NRWSI, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t know how big Powell would be, how many people would be there, or what exactly our classes would cover.

We left Missoula early Monday morning, making a quick stop at the Lolo Pass Visitor Center before arriving at Powell. My first impression was surprise— Powell was much larger than I anticipated. The station included bunkhouses, a gym, a barn, storage facilities, and more. Even more striking was the scenery: the Lochsa River flowed right next to the station, and the surrounding mountains made it feel like we were tucked into a hidden gem. But what stood out the most was the deep sense of community. Returning participants greeted each other like old friends, former coworkers reunited, and complete strangers bonded over their shared passion for wilderness stewardship.

On Tuesday, training began in earnest. All of the SBFC Fellows were enrolled in the Trail Maintenance Foundational Skills course. We loaded tools and gear into the rigs and headed to a nearby trail, where seasoned trail workers from across the country shared their knowledge and experience. We got our hands on crosscut saws, axes, Pulaskis, McLeods, and picks. For some fellows, this was their first time using these tools. Regardless of our experience levels, we all shared a common excitement for the week ahead and for the season as a whole.

Our second class focused specifically on crosscut saws. We learned how to properly care for, maintain, and use them in the field. We bucked logs, felled trees both large and small, and gained confidence using crosscuts and axes through hands-on practice.

One of the most memorable aspects of the week was the caliber of the instructors. Even those in seemingly simple roles had decades of experience behind them. On Monday, I picked up One Moving Part: The Forest Service Axe Manual—the definitive guide on axe use within the agency. Later in the week, I met Bob Beckley, who casually mentioned he was “just there to take photos.” It wasn’t until after our conversation that I realized he was the same Bob Beckley who wrote that axe manual. So even our photographer turned out to have a wealth of knowledge. (*Editor’s Note: Bob Beckley is also a longtime SBFC board member!)

What will likely stay with me the longest, though, is the sense of community at Powell. Everyone was there with a shared goal: to become better stewards of the wilderness. I spent time talking with crew members from a wide range of agencies and partner organizations. I found quiet moments by the river, helped feed the mules, and wandered the trails around camp. Learning didn’t stop outside the classroom either— guest speakers throughout the week shared insights and stories that added depth to our experience.

And, of course, I had fun. From dancing in the barn while The Pack Strings played, to throwing atlatls on the lawn, playing cornhole with other fellows, and simply getting to know everyone— I left Powell with more than just skills. I left with new connections, stories, and memories that I won’t soon forget.

SBFC would like to thank the whole NRWSI planning team, comprised of numerous Forest Service personnel, who dedicated their time, energy, and passion to making the 2025 NRWSI possible.

Bryce Shull

Springfield, IL

Southern Illinois University- Forestry

Bryce was born and raised in central Illinois. In high school, he began working for the National Park Service, which sparked his appreciation for protecting public resources. His love for hiking and camping grew even more after moving to southern Illinois to attend Southern Illinois University Carbondale. At SIUC, Bryce studies Forestry, focusing on forest ecosystems, resource management, and conservation practices. In his free time, he enjoys working on cars, playing guitar, hiking, and camping. Bryce is excited to gain new experiences with the Selway Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation and contribute to preserving our nation’s wilderness resources.

People Need Trails! Society Needs Trail Workers!

Berkeley Loper

Dates of hitch: April 3-8, 2025

Here we go again!

This year’s batch of seasonal crew leaders have laced up our boots, packed up our packs, donned our hardhats and leather gloves, and returned to the work that has made many of us who we are.

A wealth of experience surrounds me. There are 8 of us, hired on to lead crews of volunteers, youth, and Wilderness Ranger Fellows for the season, and we’re eager to be back to work after a winter away from the Wilderness.

Crew rides the jet boat!

Me and Emma after cutting a big ponderosa!

Our first hitch of the season was spent working on the Dwyer Smith Trail along the Main Salmon River. We began and ended our journey with an exhilarating jet boat ride courtesy of the River of No Return Lodge outfitters. Standing out on the deck of the boat and clinging on as we lunged through rapids, we couldn’t help but giggle with delight in the cold spray of the Salmon. After getting dropped off at Lantz Bar, a beautiful old homestead tucked away in the canyon with a few structures and a flowering apple orchard, the crew of 10 got to work restoring the trail that had recently been passed over by the Elkhorn Ridge Fire. We carried an array of tools with us, bringing rock bars, picks and pulaskis, hand saws and loppers, and our trusty crosscut saw up the switchbacks above our camp. It isn’t often that we get to work in such large and experienced groups, and it felt good to get our hands dirty for the first time this summer. Working together, we dug thousands of feet of retread to widen and stabilize the trail (over a mile of digging!). We moved big rocks and cut our way through brushy overgrowth. We restored switchbacks, repaired drainage, and crosscut our way through large logs that had fallen across the trail corridor. By the end of 8 days, we had cleared and maintained 14.5 miles of the Dwyer Smith Trail.

Working above the Main Salmon River.

We were treated to a cozy dinner at the River Of No Return Lodge after a week of work.

As we worked, our hands beginning to callus and our backs becoming sore and then strong after a season away, I thought about how so many people in our lives don’t quite understand what we do as trail workers. I often reduce my job to “I get paid to play outside” or “we just dig in the dirt,” so those around me feel satisfied and content with my answer. Because of our seasonal lifestyle, I think we’re often perceived as a bunch of misfits who haven’t quite grown up. We’re asked by older generations in our lives when we plan to get a “real job.” Aspects of this work feel too sacred to share with outsiders, and part of me is still afraid that even my friends and family won’t get it, or won’t see the value in it. 

Moody clouds one morning.

I’ve worked trails and conservation jobs all over the west, from Idaho to Montana to Oregon to Wyoming, and I’ve grown tired of watching my friends and coworkers feel the need to justify why they continue to play in the woods and dig in the dirt. If I’ve come to any conclusions in the last several months of watching National Forests across the nation lose their staffing and conservation nonprofits lose their funding while knowing first hand what an impact this will bring to our treasured wild spaces, it is that trail work is important, specialized, and irreplaceable work that undoubtedly has a place in the workforce. If seasonal trail workers continue to question their place in society, then so will everyone around us. When I look around at my seven fellow SBFC crew leads for the 2025 season, I see such a strong group of humans! This is a crew who knows what it’s like to hike 20 miles in a day with a heavy pack, or the effort it takes to move huge boulders or spend 10 hours digging tread. But this is also a crew who is creative with how they approach their work, who can make hard decisions on the fly, who knows how to balance risks and consequences while working outdoors in all sorts of weather conditions, and who cares deeply about the wild places we work in. 

When October comes at the end of each season of field work and my body sore and creaky, I often find myself wondering what it might be like to find another job. Something more stable, perhaps. Maybe something indoors. A job I care less about so I don’t have to give so much year after year. But when the snow starts to melt in the spring, I feel once again drawn to the wild spaces and the world of trail work. We keep showing up because someone has to; because if we don’t then these trails and all their history will disappear to time. We keep showing up because we believe that people need trails. And if people need trails, then society needs trail workers.

Now we’re two hitches down for the season and our little crew leader cohort has been working hard. Following our week on the Dwyer Smith Trail, Noah, Enzo, Brenden and I were sent out to begin the long awaited project of clearing the Stoddard Trail, a trail only accessed via a bridge that blew out nearly a decade ago. The bridge is being rebuilt, and once completed the trail will once again be open to the public. On Monday, thirteen Wilderness Ranger Fellows arrived at SBFC for the season, coming from all corners of US and eager to begin working the largest Wilderness area of the lower 48. I am thrilled to share this hard, special, sweaty, and fulfilling line of work with a new generation of trail workers!

Here we go again!

Berkeley Loper, Wilderness Trail Crew Leader

Berkeley has spent the first 26 years of her life beep-bopping around the Western US. Originally from Seattle, she went to school in Salt Lake City where she spent her time taking dance classes and playing in the Wasatch Mountains and nearby desert. Her first experience with fieldwork was with the Montana Conservation Corps in 2019 and after working trails and outdoor education jobs in Utah, Idaho, and Wyoming, she is stoked to be back for her second season with SBFC! On her off time, you might find Berkeley skiing, biking, trail running, crafting, and offering glitter (plastic-free!) to strangers on the trails.

The Book I Wrote During My Last Summer on the Selway

Joshua Doležal - Guest Post

The road over Lolo Pass from Missoula was slick with rain, but the melancholy felt right. I knew this was the last summer I’d spend in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness where I’d been a ranger for two unforgettable seasons. I always listened to Emmylou Harris’s Wrecking Ball and Daniel Lanois’s Acadie on the drive up from Lolo and down along the Lochsa River into Idaho. The bass and steel guitar caught the exact pitch of the forest.

The year was 2005. I’d just finished my PhD in Nebraska and accepted a full-time faculty job in Iowa. It was everything I’d worked for, but it meant the end of my summer work. The demands of teaching at a small college wouldn’t allow it. My Forest Service supervisor and academic dean were equally unhappy with me, one for cutting my tour short in early August, the other for arriving two weeks after my contract began.

I didn’t know then just how far my future would carry me from the place that had become my spiritual home. But I knew I had three golden months left to savor it. As I turned onto the gravel road where the Lochsa and the Selway rivers merge to form the Clearwater, I could feel a plan taking shape. I was going to write a hundred poems that summer and turn them into a book. 

It took me twenty years to make good on that promise. This is the story of how Someday Johnson Creek came to be. 

There are many kinds of wilderness rangers. I was the foreman of a trail crew, which required backpacking into a remote station and working for ten days at a stretch clearing fallen trees and brush from the trail, sometimes repairing the tread or small bridges. Power tools are prohibited in wilderness areas, so we did all of our work with crosscut saws and axes. We ordered our food by handheld radio, and a packer delivered it by mule every ten days.

Backcountry trail maintenance is some of the most grueling work I’ve ever done. We often covered 40-60 miles over ten days, carrying all of our supplies and tools on our backs. It was my job to plan the routes, triage work priorities, and keep us all safe. This little pamphlet was my guide.

It is hard to write poems after swinging an axe all day, so I filled several notebooks with fragments and devoted my weekends to translating those notes into verse. Even if I didn’t have the mental energy to draft anything at the end of the day, I was gathering images and ideas all along while hiking, sawing a fallen cedar, or reshaping tread with a pick mattock. Often inspiration came in the form of metaphors which I imagined sharing with friends and family back home. When I made it back to the cabin with my crew for our four days of R&R, I spent most of my time reading and toiling away at my poems. 

I drafted 120 poems that summer, but some of them fell flat, the way a dream fades in the morning light. Just 43 have survived. You can read some of them online, including “Duende,” “The Helicopter Pilot,” “The Skier,” and “Little Damascus.”

The poems identify some places clearly, but those familiar with the area might recognize the old guard station in “June Dream” as Shearer. “Mean” and “Bequest” were written while clipping brush between the Shissler lookout and Parson Springs along the Big Rock Trail. “The Logger” honors Ivan Hendren and his brother Shorty, who both entertained my crew during that final summer. “The Field” was written while repairing tread near Freeman Peak. “Molt” was inspired by a bear along the Selway Trail near Pettibone Creek. And “Little Damascus” came from a close encounter with a snake along Ditch Creek.

My crew headquartered at the Moose Creek Ranger Station.

The cover image comes from one of my own photos, looking from Lost Horse Pass toward El Capitan on the Montana side. 

Lost Horse to El Capitan.

Someday Johnson Creek is dedicated to the memory of Connie Saylor Johnson, my wilderness mentor and friend. Connie was a high school Spanish teacher in Iowa for many years near the town where I was a college professor. She discovered the Idaho wilderness in the late 1980s. After raising her daughters, she moved to Idaho and devoted the rest of her life to wilderness conservation. 

Connie and her husband, Lloyd, raised horses and mules and spent the summers in the backcountry. They believed that instead of breaking mules, you should win them with warmth, with a loving touch. They were like that with me, too, generous with hugs, a clap on the back, a firm hand on my shoulder. I thought it was hilarious that they’d named one of their mules Toad. 

Lloyd cooked huge stacks of pancakes for me and my crew at the Moose Creek Station. I can’t look at a Bisquick box without thinking of him. He nicknamed me Sawzall and emailed me salty jokes throughout the winter. Connie read my poetry, showed me all the secret water sources on the topographical maps, and packed our gear to the first campsite on our next hitch. I have many fond memories of cooking feasts with her in the Moose Creek kitchen, laughing as we sweated over the griddle and stove. Whenever we found fresh huckleberries, I always picked a Nalgene full for Connie.

I loved Connie and Lloyd like my own grandparents and visited them even after I’d given up my wilderness work. The first time I tried to find their place near Kamiah, Lloyd came and stood in the middle of the road so I wouldn’t miss him. When I got a little closer, he pulled a bottle of beer out of his back pocket and grinned.

Visiting Connie and Lloyd at their ranch in 2007.

Connie packing our gear with Lillian and Toad.

Lloyd took a bad fall several years ago. His mule spooked and threw him down a steep slope on Mink Peak, where he shattered his leg and broke several ribs. Lloyd suffered all night in blizzard conditions until a medevac team rescued him the next morning (Connie wrote a moving thank you letter to the crew). He survived for some time under Connie’s care, but I know they both wished he’d drawn his last breath on that mountainside. 

After Lloyd’s passing, Connie went to work as a camp cook for an outfitter. She was so happy to get back out into the wild country she loved that she didn’t mind staying in camp alone. But one October day while the outfitter was out hunting with his clients, Connie disappeared. Despite a prolonged search, no trace of her was found.

Connie loved the title poem in my collection and told me once that she had included it in her last will and testament. It is named for an actual place that I visited just once near the end of my final summer in the backcountry. I’m not sure it’s even listed on most maps, but I remember the name from the old wooden-bound topos at Moose Creek. 

Someday Johnson Creek is what they call a feeder stream, bubbling out of an alpine spring to join other tributaries of East Moose Creek. My crew was working a loop that led over Bailey Mountain, past Isaac Lake, along a ridgetop where everything had burned to a crisp the year before. It is unnerving to hike through a moonscape like that where the ground is still black with char. But I’ve never seen anything like that creek. It was a ribbon of green running straight through the ash. The stream formed several man-sized pools before it dropped off the slope. It was a hot day, and I was glad to drop my pack, peel off my dusty clothes, and soak in one of those pools while I waited for my crew. Part of me is still waiting there. 


That is the story of this book. It would be an honor to share it with the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness community. 

Hiking Lost Horse Pass with my crewmate Nick. To the south and west lie the Payette and Salmon-Challis National Forests.

Joshua Doležal is a book coach and editor. He is the author of a memoir, Down from the Mountaintop, a volume of poetry, Someday Johnson Creek, a Substack series, The Recovering Academic. He now lives in central Pennsylvania, where he thinks often of the Selway (partly because that is also his son's name).

The Intersection of Wilderness and Technology

Ryan Ghelfi

Executive Director

Wilderness exists as a line on a map. It’s a line that also exists in reality, though it’s not always apparent when you cross it. Once you traverse the line, rules and feelings change. Change from a chainsaw to a crosscut, from a vehicle to foot, from loud to quiet. Another thing that generally changes when traveling from the front-country to the backcountry is cell phone reception. Of course, cell phones (particularly smartphones enabled with the internet) are a new thing in the last generation, but they are ubiquitous. In many Wilderness areas, a lack of cell service causes phones to become a lot less useful and distracting– until recently.

You can now use a cell phone to send SOS emergency text messages via satellite (which a Garmin In-Reach also does). You can also carry a Starlink in your backpack and take the internet anywhere, even in the deepest canyons and highest peaks of the Selway and the Frank. Traditional cell coverage continues to expand quickly. These changes are happening in real time. This is a big deal, and it will change the way we interact with wilderness.

Soon, it will require a conscious choice to leave the connected world behind, even 20 miles from the nearest road. Many of us now bring our cell phones into the Wilderness to take pictures, use offline maps, and listen to downloaded podcasts. These changes have already been monumental and have, in many ways, eroded the Wilderness experience. I am personally guilty of each of these things. But now, the decision about how to use technology in wilderness will be even more consequential over the coming years. Once there is widespread cheap satellite connectivity to the internet, we will have to actively choose to unplug. Otherwise, emails and texts will never stop pinging at us, even when we are 6,000ft deep in the Middle Fork of the Salmon.

I had a very engaging conversation with one of our supporters recently. This person spends many days helping people to experience the Wild and Scenic beauty and awe of rivers across the West. He told me a story about guiding in the Grand Canyon. In the past, there was no cell reception at the put-in. The night before the trip launched, all the guides would gather to get to know each other, play music, and talk about the upcoming trip, just as you would expect.  One recent season, the magical experience of connecting with fellow guides before a 17-day journey on one of the world's greatest rivers was shattered by, you guessed it, the internet. People were on their phones– talking, texting, and watching movies. That wonderful wilderness experience went by the wayside, with technology replacing camaraderie

There are many risks to Wilderness and our experience of it. But I think this is the most significant risk we currently face. There are countless others, and I don’t intend to diminish them. But soon, the choice of how we interact with Wilderness and each other will change, and we will have to decide how to reckon with it. So far, our society has been relatively unsuccessful in restraining ourselves when it comes to using addictive technology. Now is the best time for all of us to impose some personal guardrails.

We’d like to hear from you. What do you think about this topic? How has the use of technology already changed your experience of the Wilderness? What are you concerned about? Or do you feel like we are making a big deal about nothing? SBFC is a leader in Wilderness, but we are nothing without our many members, supporters, mentors, and guides throughout the region and the country. Together we will forge ahead on this grand Wilderness experiment.

On Leaving the Bitterroots and the High Country

Nathan Grooms

Wilderness Ranger Fellow - 2024

Preface: Every year, the Wilderness Ranger Fellows give a presentation to the public about their season. This year, Nathan Grooms presented in Moscow and his poignant words moved us all. He generously allowed us to share his presentation in the fall newsletter, “The Wildest Place.”

Nathan and Sean, 2024 Wilderness Ranger Fellows, on the trail.


Along with my fellow coworkers, this summer I was granted an opportunity to spend the summer in the Frank Church and Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness areas, two of the largest wilderness areas in the country. As the season progressed, we all grew and changed; we bonded with each other and nourished a beautiful connection to the land. As I sent photos and videos home to my friends in Wisconsin, many expressed how jealous they were or how they wished they could take a summer or a year and work outdoors as well. However, another response I commonly got was “Why would you do that to yourself?”

It is no secret that trail work is extremely strenuous at times, from heat to bugs, working on minimally maintained rugged terrain. I doubt anyone who has worked in the wilderness can honestly say they never asked themselves that question– “Why am I doing this to myself?” “Why do I keep coming back to these places?” “Why do I push myself to the limit day after day?”

The wilderness is often physically humbling and always challenging. Each federal wilderness area has its own character- from the rugged sagebrush of the Frank Church to the craggy Bitterroot mountains, and each is challenging in its own unique way.

Nathan in the Boundary Waters.

Prior to receiving this fellowship offer, I spent three seasons working in the Boundary Waters of Northern Minnesota. After three years, I told myself it was time for something different, but I found myself dealing with the same things out west as I had in the north. While paddling the silent lakes and rivers of the Canoe Country, I familiarized myself with the words of Sigurd F. Olson, a Minnesota-native writer who focuses on wilderness. In his book by the same title, Olson discusses what he calls the singing wilderness. 

One quote has always stuck with me; I find it best describes my connection to the wilderness. He writes: 

“I have heard it on misty migration nights, when the dark has been alive with the high calling of birds, and in rapids when the air has been full of their rushing thunder. I have caught it at dawn when the mists were moving out of the bays, and on cold winter nights when the stars seemed close enough to touch. But the singing can even be heard in the soft guttering of an open fire, or in the drumming of rain on a tent roof, and sometimes not until long afterward, when like an echo out of the past, you know it was there in some quiet moment when you were doing something simple in the out-of-doors… I have discovered that I am not alone in my listening; that the search for places where the singing may be heard goes on everywhere. It seems to be part of a hunger that we share for a time when we were closer to lakes and rivers, to mountain and meadow and forest, than we are today.”

 I’m sure anyone who spends time in the outdoors can relate to the sentiment, a connection to our shared past when we all existed primarily outdoors.

Nathan and Sam (2024 Fellow) after cutting a massive tree.

This summer, my friends and I sacrificed modern comforts, some of us for the first time. We traversed trails used by humans for thousands of years. Slept on the ground under the stars or in tents, and familiarized ourselves with the tools and techniques which have changed little in the past century. Since no mechanized equipment is allowed within wilderness, we familiarized ourselves with crosscut saws, many of which were crafted in mills which no longer exist, and are older than most living humans, and the Pulaski, which was developed over a century ago– the design has changed little since. Likewise, the purpose of the wilderness is to preserve the land as it was in the past– when man was a visitor who did not or could not remain, ensuring that moving in the wilderness has the feel of traversing the past. So why does the wilderness call so many to sacrifice their conveniences for a time and return to this past? “Why do we do this to ourselves?” As Sigurd wrote, “There is within us an impatience with things as they are, which modern life with its comforts and distractions does not seem to satisfy. We sense intuitively that there must be something more.”

In my time within the wilderness of Montana and Idaho, I heard the singing too. I heard it on the summit of Trapper Peak, when the sun broke through a big snow flurry and cast a rainbow down on the valley of ice and talus. I heard it on nights spent cowboy camping under a silent blanket of a million stars. I heard it in the sound of summer rain on my tent, and the smell of damp earth as I unzipped it and put on my boots. I heard it in a field of blazing paintbrushes surrounding a long derelict trapper cabin, and in the smell of wildflowers and hot pine that hung in the air. Once heard, it is not a call easily resisted, as I’m sure anyone familiar with the outdoors can attest.

I know I am not the only one who came here this summer for that reason– there are others. Whether we know it or not, we instinctively seek it out. And if it takes hours of sweat in the August heat or blisters on feet from days of unceasing rain, trails so eroded one questions whether they are trails at all, or splinters and bruises from lost stob thorns and tools, then perhaps that makes the singing all the sweeter when we inevitably find it after all. This experience has had an impact on me and every other person who had this opportunity and I know for me it is just the beginning of much more time spent in the wilderness.