“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.”
― Rene Daumal
One might say that it’s human nature to want what we don’t have. We long for the valleys as we sit atop a mountain, and we ponder the mountain tops as we soak our feet in the creeks and rivers of a beautiful valley. This season, my days in the field felt no exception to this theory.
As I’d hike along the banks of Marble Creek or meander the forks of Monumental, without fail, I would catch myself looking up, curious as to what might exist between myself and the most prominent peaks in the distance. Sure, the world around me was full of life and activity, but what was up there? When we would drive to the Marble Creek Trailhead, we would come to a fork in the road with the Lookout Mountain Trailhead. “Soon!” I’d remind myself. I knew we had some projects in the near future that would allow us to explore the “up there” regions of the Frank, and I longed for them. The ridges and saddles of this remote region of Idaho would most certainly lend themselves to some lofty views. The views that make you realize exactly how small we are, and how huge this Wilderness is. And then, fire.
Just prior to our expected hitch on Lookout Mountain Ridge, lightning moved through the area and started several fires through the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, and Lookout Mountain was no exception. This was natural, and even good for the ecosystem. But to our dismay, we weren’t going to be heading out to this area that had eluded us all summer. We would be flying out to Cold Meadows Guard Station to work on Runaway Ridge, a place quite far from where we had been working all summer, and a place that held the term “ridge” in the title. The variation in scenery and work flow would be a welcome adjustment.
Fast forward to day one of hitch. We boarded our plane in McCall and set our sights on the Cold Meadows airstrip— about 30 minutes en route. And it's on this flight that I saw the landscape in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. I saw the rivers and the valleys and the peaks and the saddles all at once. I realized that its not any one piece of the landscape that makes this place magnificent, its every piece put together. While this may seem obvious, it felt like it was something I had been overlooking my whole life. Without one, the other doesn’t exist. Runaway Ridge certainly did lend itself to some incredible views. I saw endless drainages, a small glimpse into Salmon River corridor, made my way to the top of several peaks and saddles. But it was also on this hitch that I felt my appreciation grow for what was under my feet, instead of longing for what was in the distance.
View from above.
MONICA STAPLETON, PAYETTE NF LEAD WILDERNESS STEWARD
Growing up in Wisconsin, Monica spent her younger years roaming the woods. She has worked as a canyoneering guide in Southern Utah and a conservation corps crew leader. Most recently, Monica has worked as a USFS wildland firefighter with the Payette National Forest. She is happy to start her first season with SBFC, working in the Frank Church Wilderness.