Overcoming Myself- Youth Wilderness Expedition

Macy | Youth Wilderness Expedition- Program Participant

You had to be there to experience it. That is what I keep telling people about my time with the Selway Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation and their Youth Wilderness Expedition. This expedition taught me a lot more than just the Wilderness. Being a typical teenager I would stay on my phone for hours and try to get out of chores so when I got back to school my summer felt boring and unfulfilled 

 In December of 2023, I decided I was going to go to a summer camp. At first, I was going to go to a different summer camp until my mother, who is a teacher, told me about a Foundation that was taking teenagers out into the backcountry and teaching them about the Wilderness for free! I was hooked. That was what I was going to do this summer. I applied, anxiously waited, and got accepted!

In the car!

For months I prepared. I bought a pack, scavenged family gear, looked at maps, did trial hikes, literally everything physical I did was in preparation for this trip. I was going to do this trek and it was going to be easy. Even though I did all that training and all that preparation, I forgot to prepare myself mentally, so when the day came to meet the rest of my crew I felt wildly unprepared even though I had spent months thinking about this trip. Before I even knew what was happening my pack and I were loaded into a van (author’s note: yes, Ian, I know it's not a van) with 5 other teens and on a windy road to our home for the next 4 days.

Every time I've been asked what my favorite part of the trip was or what my highlight of the expedition was, I say the van ride up. It was my first sense of being alone even though I really wasn't. I had no contact with people I knew well, instead I had contact with 7 strangers who quickly became my friends. This sense of loneliness was just a taste test of the challenges I’d have to overcome.

The hike down to the lake was rather easy for me at least. Don't get me wrong, it took some time but the effects weren't so bad. Before my mom dropped me off she told me “you can do anything for an hour.” The entire hike down, I didn't say that once. The way up I said it every 2 seconds. The hike up kicked my butt. Whatever training I did could not compare to that. However, we had the best cheerleader known to man: Ian Harris the Youth Program Director, cheering us on the entire 1.6 miles up. 

After one day I got sick of myself. Being a teen girl and being alone with your thoughts is a really hard thing to manage. I have always been really confident, but after being humbled by the trail and the idea of work the next day, I really had to fight to keep my confidence and motivation up. I also had to fight with the bugs that were eating us alive.

 After two days in the Wilderness, I struggled with homesickness. I couldn't go a second without thinking of my family and my house. Every time I chopped back a bush, I dreamed of my air conditioner. Every time I pulled a saw, I thought of how much I missed my parents. Everytime I hit a wedge, I thought of how good my bed would feel. 

Drawing of Macy by Hickory Glass, age 14.

After three days, I started to pay more attention to not only my surroundings, but also myself. I came to realize my body's needs. I learned when I was dehydrated, when I was overworking myself, and when I needed food. Ian Harris and our other trail leader Emma Sattleman, or better known to the crew as “Batman”, were always letting us take breaks to regulate ourselves and actually encouraging us to not work too hard. I noticed the quietness of the woods, the howl of the wind, the sound of the creek flowing. I even began to notice the bugs less. I realized I was actually looking for wildlife. I actively looked for snakes, frogs, and fish. 

By day four, I didn't want to leave the quiet woods. I didn't want to leave the trails we worked so hard on. I didn't want to leave the campsite where I bonded with my crew. I didn't want to leave the lake we swam in until we shivered uncontrollably. I didn't want to leave the deer that invaded our campsite at night. I did not want to leave Walton Lake and the memories we made.

Overall the SBFC Youth Wilderness Expedition taught me how to act and care for the wilderness, how to use hand held tools, and how to accept troubles and let them pass through me. This trip was so much fun and I will miss it for eternity and will definitely be doing it next year!

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Macy (age 13) is from Lewiston, Idaho. She participated in SBFC’s 2024 Youth Wilderness Expedition to Walton Lakes.

Journal Entries from A Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Jack Boyle

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness

July 31-August 7, 2024

Day 1:

The plan changed. Not that it affects me much, I still have to show up to the tool cache with food enough for 8 days, and legs fresh enough for whatever comes. But the plan changed, the crazy, historic 110-mile-per-hour wind storm that hit Missoula and the Bitterroots brought trees down all over the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Dozens, if not hundreds of trails have been closed to hikers and stock because of it. Also, my tent was absolutely destroyed by the storm, but Suffer-Syndrome has fully kicked in, so I don’t quite care. Because of this storm, the Forest Service has tasked us with clearing “critical” trails near the northern borders of the wilderness.

The Crew, from left to right: Colby, Robbie, Jack (myself), Sean, Nathan, Sammy, Rowan.

So there we were, ten of us: Myself, Sammy, Nathan, Rowan, Nate, Joe, Robbie, Colby, Tom & Sean. We, for lack of a better word, prepared for whatever came before us. The first of our many objectives was to clear a critical stock trail from Jerry Johnson Warm Springs to the Bear Mountain Fire Lookout Tower. We were told the lookout, a man named Steve, could not resupply unless that trail was quickly cleared for stock travel. As the cutting began, two scouts were sent to the Tower to get an idea of the work that laid before us. Myself and others wondered what Steve looked like, what he sounded like, what his hobbies were. The image of Steve in my head was of a former professional baseball player, who sounded like Johnny Cash, and enjoyed throwing rocks like baseballs off the tower. Of course, others had different opinions.

After a great 12-hour day, we settled in at camp and finally began wondering about what had happened to our two scouts. The sun was setting and people were thinking the worst, some people began splitting the remaining part of the team into factions, then taking sides. But before the rebellion could occur the two of them arrived from the mountain-top, and their report was dramatic. Apparently, there were many more trees down on the trail than we expected there to be, in addition to an intense 3000 ft climb with steep tread. Regardless, we were back in the wild, and didn’t back down from the challenge of tomorrow. 

Day 2:

Somebody had brought-up the fact that anything can happen in the front-country, and that in the back-country we are oblivious to any and all world news. For example, when Joe Biden dropped out of the Presidential race ,we were all in the wilderness and had no idea about this historic event until we exited the mountains. Personally, I spent the day wondering what could be happening in the world presently. But mostly I spent the day struggling and suffering (my two favorite feelings). 

After a non-democratic vote, our leaders decided it would be best to bump camp further up the mountain.  Trust me, there’s nothing worse than carrying 50 lbs of gear on your back, a cross-cut over your shoulder, and sunburns on your neck as you pass Warm Springs. Every part of my being wanted to be lounging in that Warm Spring, and nurturing my many blisters in the naturally warm waters of Jerry Johnson. But Steve needed us, so I did what I’ve been doing for this entire season; I put my luxuries and pleasures to the side.

Two anonymous crew members pose for a photo with their Cross-Cut Saw.

Further up the stock trail there’s a bridge that crosses the Warm Springs Creek, on the other side of the creek is a brutal switch-back trail that leads up the mountain. At that moment the Warm Springs Creek felt much like the Rubicon River, we had passed a point of no return. After a couple hours of climbing we had reached a ridge-line when my Leader, Joe, had asked if we wanted to see something cool but demoralizing. He pointed to the western horizon, and in the vast distance you could make out our objective. The sheer distance that separated us from the Tower made us all shout expletives simultaneously over the valleys that separated us from it.

Camp was set-up on the side of the trail, somewhere on the mountain. I began eating my dehydrated meal when I continued to think about the world events that we were currently missing.  To entertain the idea, I gave my team a hypothetical: “I have no way of knowing this,” I said to my team “but I’m pretty sure Florida’s gone.” Everyone interpreted that hypothetical differently, however I think most people were in agreement that when we retired to the front-country, we’d be informed that the state had vanished.

Day 3:

On rainy days I want the sun, on sunny days I want the rain. Something the wilderness is great for is making you incredibly uncomfortable, then making you endure. Today was a prime example of the endurance required in the Selway-Bitterroot: the temperatures today have mimicked the surface of the sun, and for the remaining couple of miles and thousands of feet until we reached the tower, there would be no shade.

The Bear Mountain Fire Lookout Tower.

Wilderness Ranger Fellows, Sean and Sammy looking from the top of the Lookout Tower over the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness.

Half-way up the mountain there was a single snag which casted a 10 foot long shadow. The whole crew stood behind it as if we were in a line waiting for ice cream. After that short break we pushed on to the Tower. Then we behold it, a beautiful 50-foot wooden tower. It looked like the last stop before the gates of St. Peter. Blocking the sun with my hand I looked at the top of the tower and saw a silhouette of a figure on the balcony of the tower. Someone yelled out “Rapunzel,” but it was just Steve.

Yeah, and I was wrong. He wasn’t a professional baseball player, he was an adjunct professor of English. And his hobby took up ⅛ of his limited living quarters; a beautiful electric cello was the centerpiece of the tower. From up above the mountains he broadcasted his music to the solitude of the wilderness. Steve was kind enough to give us a great tour of the tower, and gave us a history and description of his very idyllic job. Thirty years ago, Steve showed-up to the Clearwater National Forest trying to get a spot on a Fire Engine Crew; he was told that the Engine Crews were full but the Lookout on Bear Mountain had quit that morning. Since that day Steve had been the proud residence of the lookout, guarding the forest, protecting the idea and image of an honorable sentinel for generations to come.

After that wonderful visit we had to stumble back down the mountain to clear the remainder of the trail. At the end of the day we had cleared it up-to-spec for stock resupply. Steve was saved; Objective #1 was accomplished.

Day 4:

Because we are stewards of the wilderness, earnest contributes to the Forest Service’s mission, and because our boss won’t let us leave until we’ve done at least 80 hours of work in the backcountry, we decided to move on to Objective #2. The next plan was to get to the car, go to Elk Summit, then clear to the Diablo Mountain Fire Lookout Tower for someone named Marty.

An afternoon chit-chat with “Phil” (left) at the Elk Summit Guard Station.

The hike down from the mountain was easier than the one up, what a surprise! We were all gleeful while we waved to the hikers on their way to the Warm Springs. But when we got back to our truck we learned something both disturbing and funny; do you know what’s worse than a truck with a back door that doesn’t lock… a truck that doesn’t need a key to turn on. Lucky enough for us, we had both conditions in-one. Someone was fiddling around with the ignition while we waited for the guy with the keys to hike down, when they surprisingly turned the engine over.  So while we drove-up to Elk Summit, someone in the back seat was spinning the keys on his finger.

Up at Elk Summit we went to a Historic Guard Station where we met Phil, a volunteer housekeeper for the Station. A wonderful host and storyteller who gave us a history of Guard Station, and an insight into the years that local writer Norman Maclean spent at Elk Summit.

Day 5: 

Joe posted a list of all 77 Roman Emperors at basecamp.

Team Leader Emeritus, Joe Ferris, addressed the crew this morning. His tone was of disappointment, and his information, he ensured, was of dire importance. In his hand was a piece of paper, he kept it in a folder, as he walked through us to get to the tree at the center of camp. The sound of tearing duct tape rang across Elk Summit like a gunshot. Joe duct-taped the sides of the paper to the tree, turned around, and ordered “Memorize them by the end of the day.” It was a list of all 77  Roman Emperors, starting with Augustus and ending with Romulus Augustulus. Obviously we thought Joe was joking, but his stone face suggested otherwise. So we all got started with memorization.

“Operation Save Marty” was a go. I joined up with two Forest Service trail workers to start clearing up to Diablo tower, the rest of the crew cleared towards Objective #3: Big Sand Lake. The conditions of our day were the only restraint, a cold front moved into the mountains, and so it was wet and cold for the entire day. 

The Diablo Mountain Fire Lookout.

The work was full as we started to climb the mountain. This hike promised to be much easier than whatever-the-hell happened on Bear mountain, but the clouds were coming through the mountains so that you really couldn’t make out the distance to the summit. In fact, the fog was so thick that you couldn't make out anything; you could’ve been on the very edge of a cliff and have no idea that it was even there.  We thought we were still a ways from the top until a figure emerged from the fog. The shadowy figure was holding something that started yapping at us. The figure became a man by the name of Micheal, and he was holding his dog out to us, it was a small shepherd-like dog. Michael handed out dog-biscuits and said “Here, feed him the biscuits and he’ll stop barking.” I fed him then gave him a pet and asked “What’s his name?”  Michael replied “Marty.”

Michael and Marty were kind enough to let us into the tower, where they served hot chocolate and hot coffee to us. We talk for an hour about the workings of the forest and the fires this season. At the end of the conversation I was able to help everyone memorize the first three Roman Emperors. I spent the walk on the trail thinking about how the hell I was going to mesmerize the other 74.

Day 6:

After Objective #2 was complete I joined the rest of the team on Objective #3: clearing the 8-mile trail to Big Sand Lake. We started early and began the hike-out; the team separated into two. The first team (nicked-named: Team Marcus Aurelius) went only half-way to clear the middle section, my team (nicked-name: Team Antoninus Pius) hiked all the way out the Big Sand Lake.

Big Sand Lake

When Team Antoninus Pius arrived at Big Sand Lake the views were stunning: the smooth waters over this massive mountain lake helped to set the backdrop for Blodgett Pass (one of the most beautiful areas of the Selway-Bitterroot). The team and I were famished so we took lunch at the lake and were met by a strange and cynical creature. A ground squirrel was getting a little too comfortable and confident with our presence. It came-up close to our food and at one point tried grabbing one of our socks that was drying on a log. When the team wanted to go for a quick swim in the Lake, I volunteered to stay back and protect our food from the menace. And my guard was admirable as I sat on a rock and kicked-up dirt whenever it got close, but then a bee got up my shirt and it stung me on my chest. I jumped-up and let out an expletive (or two), and just when I left my post I heard something crunching behind me.  That damn squirrel was eating its way through my bag. I immediately ran towards it and, just as quickly, it escaped through my legs. The squirrel and I ran around our lunch camp five times before it finally gave up and climbed up a tree. When the team came back from the lake they chastised me for losing the battle to the squirrel.

Work was electric on the way back, passion to get the job done had us making the best, and most efficient, cuts we’ve ever made. But as the work felt electric, so did the air. Miles away we could see a big storm cell blowing towards us. It hit before we knew it; the rain quickly turned from drizzling to downfall, and the lightning from 10 miles away to 1. At a point we just needed to put our heads down and fight our way back up the mountain, and that’s what we did until we discovered team Marcus Aurelius. The other team was huddled under a tree on the side of the trail. Discerning that the best course of action was probably to wait out the storm, we rejoined with the other team. And after an hour underneath the tree the sun began to set, so we waited for the perfect moment and ran back to camp.

Wet, cold, and terrified, we arrived back at camp and were given the best news we could’ve received. Phil (remember Phil?) invited us over to warm-up and dry-out in his cabin, additionally, he made us pancakes! We spent the night eating warm food and laughing as we did. Truly, a wonderful conclusion to a perfect day. 

Day 7:

Following Objective #3 came Objective #4, which was renamed to Objective: When Will This Hitch End? After clearing three distinct trails, and working overtime every day we became exhausted, but refused to relinquish our spirits. Bridge Creek Trail was the next mission, and we accomplished it with vigor. 

We packed-up camp today, said goodbye to our Guardian Angel, Phil, and took the long dirt road back to Missoula. On the way back I reflected on this season, and what it means to be a Wilderness Ranger. As you could probably tell, if you’ve read this far, a lot of unexpected events occur in the backcountry, things that you can’t change (as much as you wish you could). You have to take the heat, take the long days and the rain storms, take scrapes on your arm, the emptiness in your stomach, the crazy thoughts in your head. This job will break you down. But I‘ve realized that the more we suffer during the day, the more we laugh during the night. It’s a great contradiction.

 I gave a toast one night during dinner, trying to revitalize peoples’ spirits, I talked about our collective bravery.  I said “Courage is the willingness to live, taking the form of a readiness to die.” And that quote describes well what I’m trying to convey about wilderness life: To get, you must give. The suffering has shown me the beauty of simplicity, and the necessity for gratitude. When you cowboy-camp on wet pine needles, eat the same stupid energy bar for breakfast, then go destroy your body on the saw for the entire day, you will usually be bitter and grouchy, unless you show gratitude. Gratitude is the great justifier of life, and it is the value that helps us derive meaning and passion from all things. 

I am truly lucky to have spent this summer in this “Merciless Eden,” this place of wild beauties and unexpected adventures. Wilderness, as I’ve been well convinced, is the most valuable resource we have in this country. Exploring it is a treasure beyond anything gift you could ever receive. And we need it, as my friend Wallace Stenger said, even if the only thing we ever do with it is drive to its edges and look in.

The Crew after a long week of good work (pictured at Elk Summit).

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Jack Boyle

Manhasset, NY

University of Notre Dame- Environmental Science & American Studies

Jack grew up on Long Island, NY, but spent ample time in Utah, traversing the Wasatch mountains with his family. He attended the University of Notre Dame and majored in Environmental Science. There he conducted limnology research and spent his summers collecting data in the North Woods of Wisconsin. Jack also became passionate about Environmental Literature, studying authors like Wallace Steiger, Barry Lopez, and Henry David Thoreau. Because of his interests in environmental art and science, Jack decided to participate in a year-of-service with an Americorps Conservation Corps. There he fought wildfires and did conservation work in Missouri and Montana. Jack credits this experience as the catalyst for his enjoyment of trail work and wilderness living. In the fall Jack will be starting his Masters in Environmental Science at the University of Virginia.

The good, the bad, & the "what the heck am I doing?"

Sean Cowan

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Nez Perce Clearwater National Forests Priority Lookout  Trails (Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness)

7/31/2024 - 8/7/2024 

Growing up, I had family dinner every night. During each family dinner, we all would  share three different parts of our day. These were our highs, lows, and thankful parts of our days.  Since I often find myself lacking in the creativity area of my brain, I often go back to this format as a way of reflecting on an experience. This is a slightly adapted version which I am applying to my last hitch this season.  

The Good…  

WRF Colby climbing up to the Bear Mountain Fire Lookout in the Nez Perce Clearwater National Forest

Reaching the Bear Mountain Fire Lookout  

 Our main objectives for this hitch were to clear out to the Bear Mountain and Diablo  Mountain fire lookouts. Although the trails that give access to these lookouts are cleared each year, they had quite a few trees down after the historic wind storm that hit the Bitterroot Mountains. What felt special about summiting Bear Mountain was that it was just hard. Rather than getting constantly bitten by mosquitos, horseflies, and black flies, which had happened on the previous few hitches, we merely had to contend with the physical weakness of our bodies versus the tough trail. After we struggled, hot and sweaty up to the top from our camp, we met the wonderful lookout, Steve, who was staffed at Bear Mountain. It was amazing to learn about the life of a fire lookout. Even though my job is extremely hard, I doubt I could last more than 72 hours as a fire lookout.  

Visiting Elk Summit  

Sean doing some light bouldering after work on Blogett Pass (Hitch 4) photo cred: Nate Thomspon

After Bear Mountain, our next objective took us to the Elk Summit trailhead. Elk Summit  is a historic ranger station that is featured in the book “A River Runs Through It”. It was  incredibly impactful to read the book while base camping there. The coolest connection I had was that on my last hitch I cleared up to Blodgett Pass. This was exciting to me because the original way to get into Elk Summit was to pack in with a team of mules up and over the 30  miles from Hamilton to Elk Summit. I spent much of this hitch reading Norman Mclean describe the same struggles I have felt doing trail work. Interestingly, in 1919 he also describes the importance of preserving these remote areas in a developing world. What an incredible thing that we still have the shared intergenerational connection of wilderness.  

The Bad…  

This hitch, my knee injury from my hitch 2 finally caught up to me. On day 5, I started  hiking and almost immediately felt a shooting pain on the outside of my knee. Rather than overthink this pain, I decided to keep going and see if it would magically disappear. Instead of this, my knee nearly gave out when I continued walking. I “got benched” from the team that day and the next day to recover, and I had no idea how much I would miss my friends and the trail. I spent the next two days reading, sitting in my tent to escape the bugs, and eventually walking around the shady trees to escape both the heat and the bugs. How important it is to have a sense of purpose else we despair in our uselessness.  

A rusty Pulaski before Sean cleaned it

The same Pulaski after being beautified

What The Heck Am I Doing…  

Imagine this… You are sitting in brush, cutting a tree with your crosscut partner. It is hot, in the 90’s, and you are sweating profusely due to wearing boots, work pants, a long sleeve shirt, and your protective equipment. Now you hear the whine of a swarm of mosquitos and horseflies. Almost immediately, they start to bite you. In this moment, you might start to wonder why you even signed up for the job.  

Sean with a crosscut saw near Bear Mountain, Photo Cred: Jack

I have had many moments just like that this season. Luckily there was also plenty of  reflective moments. During the worst times, when it was just me and my thoughts, I began to process my last year of school. I realized that I have not been bored in years. This should be a good thing, but without boredom there was no space to give perspective on life. There is an incredible and unique power of wilderness in that it forces people to lose all distractions. So, in a life such as mine, filled with constant schoolwork, socialization, and quick screen fixes, the balance provided by solitude in wilderness is incredibly necessary. So, if you feel like you are overwhelmed by life, get out there!

Fresh huckleberries from the source! Yum!

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Sean Cowan

Mount Vernon, WA

Gonzaga University- Applied Mathematics

Growing up in Western Washington, Sean found his love for the outdoors by hiking and mountain biking in the dense forests of the area. He also became passionate about protected land when he visited National Parks all over the West with his family. During high school, he loved working on trails in his backyard and neighborhood. Sean moved to Spokane, Washington when he became a student at Gonzaga University. There, he has loved learning new outdoor skills during his time as a trip leader for Gonzaga Outdoors. Currently, his favorite outdoor activities include mountain biking, skiing, fly fishing, backpacking, and whitewater rafting. Anytime he can get away from the craziness of college life, Sean finds peace in outdoor spaces with friends.

The Quiet Ramblings of a Barefoot Boy in the Wilderness

Ian McManners

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Selway-Bitterroot & Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness Areas

This is me in the stream enjoying the water and mud beneath my feet after a long day!

I have read 14 books this summer on a variety of topics, but the ones that stick out the most relate to the wilderness and the wildlife within. I have read books on beavers and wolves as well as naturalist books. It has led to one conclusion: life outdoors is better barefoot. One cannot connect with nature on a level that is required to truly respect the beings within if we are so caught up in materialistic things. Clothes are mandatory (when around others), but shoes can easily be ditched. This summer I have taken into my own hands to feel what my ancestors felt and whenever not working on a hitch I ditch the shoes. I have since been on 3 hitches and here are my findings.

Hitch 1 S. Fork Lolo Creek:

I have never been one for eloquent words to describe my experiences but there is something truly special about being barefoot. Something we have lost with shoes. At our basecamp we were positioned next to a larger stream. First comes the sweet sweet release that following the untying of laces and slipping off of sweat-stained socks is unmatched. Then I was able to hop, skip, and jump into the stream for pure bliss. The first feeling of freezing cold against my bare feet was a feeling I will not forget.

Hitch 2 Bargamin Trail:

Cool boulder field from the trail

I took this hitch to another level— I did not bring creek crossers because we have feet. On this hitch I crossed streams every day, and instead of having to put on a different pair of shoes, I just crossed with my feet like people have been doing for years and years. I felt confident and in touch with the wilderness. Animals do not have shoes, why should I (well at least for a little bit)?

Hitch 3 Middle Fork Trail:

Trail Flat Hot Springs- at our basecamp along the Middle Fork

This was the most recent hitch and it was my first volunteer hitch. My first thought was, “How can I get Kasey, Steve, Lauren, and Tom to adopt my ways of the barefoot?” I would show them the benefits. Around camp I always walk around barefoot, no shoes. I will say sometimes and I mean not often at all, I do step on something and wince. However, most of the time I just get to feel the earth in ways you cannot with shoes. The different terrain as you walk, the rocks and sticks between your toes. By the end of the hitch, I think I may have swayed them, but only time will tell.

Final Thoughts:

I do not know if I conveyed my thoughts well but I so strongly urge you to ditch the shoes. I may sound like a hippy or too granola but literally nothing compares to it. You do not know till you try it. Yes there is a learning curve, but it is so very worth it. My feet have never been stronger, nor have I ever had a greater appreciation for wildlife and nature itself.

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IAN MCMANNERS

Athens, GA

University of Georgia- Forestry

Ian grew up in northeast Georgia and has always been drawn to the wilderness. He has been backpacking all of his life and has spent many nights outside. He lives for nature and does not want to see it disappear. He wants his children and future generations to get to enjoy the beauty he has experienced outdoors.

All Four Seasons in a Hitch

Rowan Grassi

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Surprise Creek Trail #219, NPC

June 19-26 2024

Group picture in front of Horse Camp. From left to right: Rowan Grassi, Nick Hutchins (USFS), Nate Thompson, Joe Ferris, Bailey Underwood. Photo Credit: Josh Page

In classic Selway-Bitterroot fashion the trail starts off with a climb. This part of the wilderness is so much wetter than the Missoula valley, and I delight in the lush green plants all around me. Up and off the river corridor, it’s still spring. I spot camas and shooting stars, countless glacier lilies, and the leaves of thimbleberry and summer flowers just popping out of the ground. Bear grasses are just starting to put their stalks up; their flowers are still some time away. Our destination today is Horse Camp: a forest service cabin along Boulder Creek, which is a cold, thigh-deep, swift-flowing creek that we end up crossing four times over the course of the hitch.

Nick Hutchens (USFS) looking up the snow-covered trail to the summit of Stanley Butte.

The crew consists of Joe as our lead and Nate, Bailey, and I as the Fellows. We are joined by Josh Page for a few days and Nick Hutchins (USFS) until Monday. Our goal is to clear along the Surprise Creek trail as far as possible, brushing and cleaning drains as we go.

On the Summer Solstice, we discovered a surprise of Surprise Creek: snow above 6,000 feet! The sporadic patches were cute down in the valley, but as we worked our way up to the alpine bowl of Seven Lakes, the trail quickly became obscured under multiple feet of snow. It was a hard climb, but we found an excellent campsite in the bowl. For me, it was a novel experience to hike around on that much snow, remembering the best ways to get around safely and what to do if and when a foot punches down through rotten snow. It was still cold enough that mosquitoes were rare, and I enjoyed swimming in the partially frozen lake near our camp and glissading down a small slope to get my water.

We spend the next several days cleaning drains and brushing, getting hypnotized by the sounds of the mosquitoes and the loppers chopping a steady eight-food-wide swathe through the understory. It’s the kind of work where, when I catch myself having thoughts, they’re either about dinner or the land around me.

Looking across one of the partially frozen lakes in the Seven Lakes area.

For example: maybe I’ll have pesto pasta and veggie sausage for dinner...if civilization came out of wilderness then wilderness is a construct that only came about when we started to separate ourselves from the wild. When there is no more wilderness, no more wild, will there still be civilization? Both the ‘wilderness’ and the ‘wild’ are concepts used to describe that which is outside of human control. To me, wildness is the state of being untamed or not controlled, whereas wilderness refers to a specific area of land that remains in a natural state. Wildness typically refers to the state or quality of being wild, untamed, or not domesticated. It can be used to describe the natural behaviors or characteristics of animals or plants that have not been bred or controlled by humans. It can also refer to the untamed or uncultivated aspects of nature, such as wild landscapes or untamed environments. Wilderness, on the other hand, generally refers to a natural environment that has not been significantly modified by human activity. It often denotes a large area of land that remains in a relatively undisturbed, natural state, free from modern human development or habitation.

Over the course of the season, my appreciation for the wilderness has deepened significantly, and it has firmly reinforced my desire to continue working outdoors. Immersing myself in backcountry work has allowed me to develop a passion for traditional skills such as crosscutting, and I’ve come to truly enjoy the challenge of cutting and untangling complex log piles. This season has taught me that even though our efforts may go largely unnoticed by the general public, the impact of our work is profound. By clearing trails and maintaining their integrity, we extend the life of the trail system, and allow people access to areas that would otherwise be unreachable. This realization highlights a fundamental truth about wilderness work—it operates on the principle of silent, selfless stewardship. The value of our labor is not always immediately visible or celebrated, but it is essential in preserving the natural beauty and accessibility of these spaces for future generations. The satisfaction comes not from recognition, but from a job well done and knowing that our efforts contribute to preserving the wilderness for those who will experience it after us.

Surprise Creek running through the meadow we camped in towards the end of the hitch. Photo Credit: Nate Thompson.

On Monday morning we say goodbye to Nick and leave our alpine camp, working our way back down Surprise Creek clearing drains and brushing dense alder and willow galleries as we go. There’s been a big snow melt over the last few days and I note newly uncovered patches of ground where spring plants are starting to grow. We camp at an old packer camp in the big meadow we passed on the way in. The shooting stars are still blooming and the mosquitoes try to drain us dry. Tuesday is much the same as we set our sights on Horse Camp.

It’s Wednesday and after working to close up Horse Camp it’s time to begin the walk out. Down through the spring blooms, into the green vegetal summer. Down towards the road. Towards civilization.

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Rowan Grassi

Fort Worth, TX

University of Montana- Ecosystem Science & Restoration

Over the past four years, Rowan has called Missoula and the surrounding landscape home. Having recently obtained a B.S. in Ecosystem Science & Restoration, he is excited to spend a summer with SBFC exploring and learning how to be a great steward to these beautiful public lands and wilderness areas. While he hasn’t done trail work before, Rowan is an experienced backpacker and is no stranger to doing fieldwork in remote areas. When he isn’t on the trail or in the lab, you can find him knitting, reading, biking around Missoula, and listening to loud music.

My Perspective

Nathan Grooms

East Mayfield Creek

Salmon-Challis National Forest | Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness

July 17-24, 2024

Day 1

Spend enough time in the wilderness – any wilderness, and one emerges with the impression that the land itself has amnesia. The trails are poorly maintained. In places, it feels as though the forests and grasses are actively attempting to swallow the trails, signs and every other trace of human presence. Leave a place like this alone for a few years, one thinks, and it would be as if no human ever walked here at all. In a way, this is the reason I am so drawn to wilderness in all its forms. The direct interaction with the land – hiking, climbing, sweating and stumbling. Wilderness makes you work for every mile and punishes weaknesses and mistakes harshly. No hitch this summer drove this point home like the Mayfield Creek trip in the Salmon-Challis National Forest.

The truck carried us to the trailhead, below rugged bleached rock and tall golden ponderosas. With heavy packs and the smell of hot pine sap in the air we began our trek into the wilderness.

Day 2

The Oxbow

The creek flows gently around its oxbow. The bottom, scoured deep on the outside bank, is painted in moving lights and shadows, revealing only a distorted hint of the orange stones along its bed. The dark, almost purple sand on the inside bank glitters as the cloudless afternoon sun picks out bits of mica – fool’s gold. Strands of grass trail in the water like lazy fingers, as the wind stirs the grass into an airy rustling sea. Small purple flowers play host to bees in the afternoon sun. Beyond, the burned forest, though dead, is alive with the song of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Fibers of moving water and current braid the surface, the latticework of time and erosion.  

By the end of day two, we had established camp near a creek, in a meadow of Indian paintbrushes and wildflowers, and scouted ahead to Trapper Creek. A small, nearly dry rivulet choked by pink fireweed and purple mountain thistles. The water was muddy and shallow enough for algae to bloom on the rocks. Small, but the only water to be found for at least 2 miles in either direction. With the pass looming above us and the heat crushing and in the low 90s, we turned around. To this point, we had cut perhaps 5 trees, and all of us were lulled unconsciously into a sense that this hitch would be somehow easier. Perhaps, each person thought to themselves, we will find the whole trail clear, or nearly so. I think it was these first two days of (comparatively) light work that set the group up for the shock of the next day.

Day 3

The Saddle

The ridgeline is quiet. Tufts of dry, pale wheatgrass hold on to the sandy soil, but only loosely, as if their strength too is almost gone. A tangle of bleached pines, long dead, betray the slope of the hillside. Their bases are eroded by flame and heat into jagged, almost mineral shapes armored in scales of black carbon. Below, far below, bone-colored hills covered in the corpses of thousands of pines give way in the middle distance to blue hills with bases of red rock, almost vanishing in the summer haze. Dry creek beds scar the opposite hillsides, like empty veins. At their confluence, Trapper Creek itself is almost dry. The landscape gives the impression of being dead, or nearly so. Yet life here is persistent. It clings tightly with long roots like hairs, or hides away in bleached seed cones, waiting for the right moment. Fast moving thunder clouds cast shifting shadows on the valley. Even now, the wheel is turning again. Nothing stays still for very long here.

The third day of hitch, Friday dawned warm and clear, a sure sign of heat to come. The camp by the creek was packed away into four bulky loads and our group set off for the pass. Our goal was simple: make it over the pass where our maps assured us we would encounter a creek and flat areas for camping, as well as make it out of the burned area into healthy forest. Though we had map data and satellite images of the other side of the pass, we had no specific information about what to expect. In other words, we were now truly heading into unknown territory, at least from a trail work standpoint. We were to be both scouts and workers. We filled our bottles at Trapper Creek and began the slow ascent up the pass in the early midday heat. About halfway up the pass we hit a dilemma. The trail, which had been clear and visible, disappeared into clumps of scattered grass, sandy soil, and dead pines. Not so much as a footprint marked which way we were meant to go. The rest of the climb revealed no trail, nor could we find it on the other side of the pass from the saddle. The bushwack down the other side was so uncertain and unstable for footing that by the end, each of us were sweating, cursing, and stumbling every other step. The person in front of me took a step, had the hillside slide out below them, managed to catch themselves and jerk themselves upright, fighting their heavy pack and the Pulaskis and saws strapped to it, then resumed. I took a step a few minutes later, and fell, barely managing to keep ahold of the 100-year-old crosscut saw in my hands. As I tried to get up, a horsefly landed on my forearm and bit, drawing blood. I swatted it, and the force of the swat caused more of the sand to give way, putting me back on the ground. And so it went. By the time the trail resumed at the base of the pass, there was probably not more than 2 liters of water to be had between every member of the group. The creek was dry. Frantic struggling up the dry bed ensued, and eventually the remains of the water were discovered and our water situation resolved itself. However at this point it was late and no promising sites had revealed themselves for camp. We eventually settled on a not too steep hillside, pitching our tents on the flattest portions we could find, each person slid and scooted each time they rolled over in their bag. Myself, I rolled over and my tent itself pulled its stakes and slid down the hill. I had to walk back up the slope to where my boots were the next morning.

Day 4

The Cabin

Tall grand firs stand sentinel in the clearing, throwing a quilt of sunlight and shade across the hunched roof and low log walls. The cabin lies deep in the forest, in shade and surrounded by bright tufts of orange Indian paintbrushes. The door hangs sadly open, crooked on its hinges and covered in pale green moss. Human debris litter the clearing, each like a single line from a book no one has ever read. A rusted door for a wood stove, the dented stovepipe lies in pieces nearby. A tin washpot, twisted by time into an alien and nonfunctional shape. A faded shelf, made of scrap crates, the word “Minneapolis” part of some logo or label is the only thing still legible. My eyes are drawn continuously back to that splintered roofbeam. It is collapsed under the weight of a massive fallen fir tree, forming a disheartened V shape. Like a broken spine. Like a broken dream. Who built this? Where did they go? Why did they leave? The pines seem to whisper in the soft summer-morning breeze. They say, “You are all only visitors here. You do not remain”. 

So, the first two days had lulled us, and the Frank Church had reasserted itself in dramatic form on the third. Now the work began in earnest, but with the work we also searched for a decent campsite, all of us agreeing that the previous night could not be repeated. Scouting down the trail revealed the scope of what we were in for. Over 500 trees down in about a mile and a half of trail. We also found several prospective campsites, and one abandoned fur cabin deep in the woods. We settled on a flat clearing at the base of a boulder field below the trail. That done, cutting began, first the smaller “easier” trees, then the larger. At the end of the day we were joined by Josh and our morale had begun to recover from the previous day, though none of us wanted to even consider the hike back up the pass.

Day 5

The Rock Field

Grey boulders lie tumbled along the slope, broken and covered in green moss. The sun is going down red like blood, filtering through the peach-haze of wildfire smoke and staining the western aspects of each rock and stone with faint orange tint. At the same time, purple shadows slink out of each crease and hole, slowly bleeding onto more and more surfaces. Juniper clings to the steep, sandy slope between the larger rocks, green and blue and brown. Birds call from the trees high above on the hill. A pika calls its shrill warning from a flat rock, while another darts between two boulders, its mouth full of grasses for its nest. Cold air settles like a familiar blanket into the low places of the valley, pooling and piling on itself after the crushing heat of the afternoon. Night will fall soon.

A long hot day, but each member of the group was in silent agreement that work was better than what we had done for the past few days, and we put ourselves to the task as if trying to distract from the intimidating thought of returning over the sandy pass. We quickly made the decision that since the number of trees was so large, we would leave trees lying flat on the ground. The “step over” trees were limbed to reduce tripping hazards and the others were cut, either with hand saws or the two massive cross cuts we carried with us over the pass. The valley rang with the sounds of thrumming saws and the sharp crack of the axe as wedges were driven into place. From my position ahead of the group with my hand saw, I could always tell where the main group was. Just listen for the song of the saw. At the end of the day, we had cut to just below the switchbacks up the pass. Or at least, where the map said the switchbacks were.

Day 6

The Burn

The heat comes down in waves. The sort of heat that always comes with a cloudless bluebird July afternoon. The type of heat that makes you want to just lie down and die, movement in any form becoming an effort. Black earth, crunchy with silica and seeming to absorb the heat of the relentless sun, puffs dust underfoot. Where once shade trees would have broken the sun up, now only bleached white skeletons remain. Burned husks, their pointed tips like so many accusatory fingers, pointed at the heavens which brought down the force that snuffed out their lives. Their scorched cones, long sterilized, hang on the branches high up, like weird alien fruit withering on the vine. The birds chip softly to each other from trunks hollowed by time and fire. Far distant, a woodpeckers rattle echoes across the meadow. The wind blows, bringing the smell of flower and fireweed. These things remain after the trees have gone.

Cutting up the pass was a daunting concept for all of us, but the trail had to be cleared, so we set off and began the task of clearing the switchbacks. The trees here were more burled and twisted, catching the teeth of the saws and binding up rather than cutting clean, but one by one they gave way anyway. One particularly nasty pileup, the result of a rockslide at some point took us almost an hour to clear. By the time the saddle was in view, the group had gotten over its trepidation about the pass, and amidst gentle cool mountain rain we ate our lunch on the saddle above the red rocks and the burned forests. By the end of the afternoon, our path up and down the saddle was clear of trees and we returned to our rock field, eager to be over the pass and on our way home the next day.

Day 7

We paused several times on our way up the switchbacks to scrape out parts of the trail which were particularly washed out. At the saddle, we regrouped and decided we wanted to push all the way to the trailhead in order to save a hike out the next morning. The rest of the day was spent reaching the trailhead, each of us exhausted by the week and happy to be done.

Day 8  

The Mayfield Creek hitch was a long and exhausting ordeal. At various points I questioned why I was even there. However, the overall feeling I came away with was not disappointment but rather excitement. We had succeeded in very strenuous circumstances and cleared a good portion of the trail. The wilderness had made us work for every step, and we had risen to the challenge.

Funds for this hitch were provided through the Secure Rural Schools Act and the Central Idaho Resource Advisory Committee, and private SBFC members/donors.

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NATHAN GROOMS

Oregon, WI

University of Wisconsin Platteville- Environmental Science & Conservation

Nathan is a senior majoring in Environmental Science and Conservation at UW-Platteville. Nathan grew up around the Madison area in Wisconsin, hiking and camping. Nathan worked three seasons in the Boundary Waters, a national Wilderness in Minnesota where he gained experience working in remote areas and developed a love of nature.

Lessons From a Wilderness Teacher

Clarinne Kirk

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Hitches 1-4

Frank Church and Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Areas

On the morning of my first day working as a Wilderness Ranger Fellow, I had to take a swig of water after each bite of my breakfast in order to slip the food past the knot forming in my throat and into my stomach, which churned wildly with anxiety like a stormy ocean. With hands shaking as they clenched the wheel during my drive to the office, I felt paralyzed by the realization that I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Yet, even while realizing I knew very little about the summer that lay ahead, I figured I at least could predict the things I would learn: how to swing an ax, how to pull a saw, how to dig tread, how to become a stronger person. Now, writing this blog in late July, as temperatures lay in the 100s and smoke has nestled among Missoula’s mountains, I realize just how naive I was. While I have learned the art of the cross-cut, how to retread a trail, and how to brush a proper corridor, I have come to learn that the wilderness is an extensive teacher with lessons that go much further than how to work and strike at the question of how to be. From five hitches and many hours spent in a beautiful and sometimes brutal classroom, here’s what the wilderness has taught me so far this season. 

1. Practice gratitude.

Sunrise during the final day of the training hitch along the Chamberlain Trail in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.

Each night before I would go to sleep, I would reflect on the day I just finished and the day ahead while listening to the birds chattering happily and the bugs hitting the fly of my tent with a consistent pitter-patter that sounded almost like rain. In these moments, sitting in my tent, feeling the warmth of the day linger yet cool, hearing the roar of the river harmonize with the birds and the insects, it is hard not to feel grateful. Despite the hard work, the bugs, the frustrations, the blood, sweat, and tears, the wilderness is always providing little moments of joy. While cross-cutting a particularly difficult tree on my first hitch and feeling my saw pinch yet again, I felt a wave of anger swelling inside me, threatening to crash down in a flood of rage and self-doubt. But then, I noticed a butterfly landing on the blooming Fireweed that covered the hills and I thought, “I am frustrated and angry, but even I must admit there is beauty in this moment.” For all the pain and anxiety we may feel in the wild, the medicine of the wilderness is much stronger. By the time I’m eating dinner on the first night of each hitch, I can feel this medicine easing its way through my sore muscles and into my soul. I feel it in the cool breeze against my sweat, in the nostalgic smell of sun-warmed earth, the feeling of jumping into a cold creek after a long, hot day of work. The wilderness provides so much and I have learned that when I stop to take note and give thanks for each small joy, the beautiful moments far outweigh the painful ones.

2. Don’t take it so personally.

The tree doesn’t have a vendetta against you. You are not weak. You are not an imposter. Your saw is just a little pinched. You just need to find a way to get unstuck.

3. Be proud of the mark we leave behind, but know that it will fade.

Hiking with the crosscut while clearing the South Fork Lolo Trail in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness.

On my second full hitch in the Salmon-Challis National Forest, our main focus was fixing some major washouts, carving new tread into the ridge line, and creating curving turns out of the creek beds for future hikers to traverse. While bent over with my pulaski, the sun pounding on my back as I pulled soil away from the hillside, it occurred to me that we were quite literally shaping our surroundings. Over the course of the week, we changed the way the hillside looked, removing bushes, redirecting the trail, and altering where future hikers would interact with their surroundings. From this perspective, it is easy to feel like a master over the wilderness, a sculpture molding a limp pile of clay. But the wilderness is not an inanimate object for us to shape but an ever-growing, ever-changing entity, just as powerful in shaping her surroundings as we humans. Eventually, the trails we fixed will once again be washed away; the trails we cleared will again be covered with downed logs, returning the forest to its innate, wild self. While this thought can seemingly negate the importance of our work, it serves as a reminder of the reciprocal relationship we share with the natural world. We cannot rule over the wild, but simply carve a trail at a time, cherishing the wild world it brings us into and knowing that the wild world can also take it away. For isn’t it this powerful, everchanging characteristic that makes the wilderness all the more alluring?

4. Surrender to the discomfort, surrender to the wild.

A part of accepting the impermanence of our work is surrendering to the power of the forest. In all ways, the wilderness has taught me the art of surrendering– to the dirt, the heat, the wind, the bugs, the fatigue, the uncertainty– while realizing that this surrendering is the most natural thing a human can do. We think that asserting our power or control over the wild will temper our anxieties, momentarily clouding our powerlessness in the face of nature. In reality, acknowledging our limits and the expanse that lies beyond us makes me feel all the more secure. No matter where I go or what I do, even if the trail we dug on our second hitch fades into the tangled brush of the hillside, the Salmon River that runs beside it will continue its course. The thunderstorms will build behind the ridge, release, and pass. The trees will grow, burn, and fall. The wilderness will continue to speak and live on. It is better to surrender to this power than to fight it.

5. Lodgepole pines need fires to grow.

6. We have more in common than it seems.

Fellow Marlena & I crosscutting a log along the Bargamin Creek Trail.

On the final day of the training hitch, we jet-boated down the Salmon River from where we were camped to where we parked. While sitting on the back of the boat, watching the ridges zoom past and feeling the powerful churn of the river below us, I turned my face to meet the sun, which had just ascended above the ridge line, filling the chilly morning air with rays of warmth. As I lapped up the sun’s rays, I considered the universality of the joy of the sun on a cold face. It is the joy humans have felt for thousands of years. It is the joy that makes sunflowers turn in a field, compels dogs to sprawl out in a sunny patch of grass, and entices birds to land on a branch rich in sunlight. We are often told of our differences. We are told we cannot get along with those who look differently, who love differently, who vote differently. Not only are we told that we are separate from those humans different from us, we are told we are separate from nature entirely, falling into two distinct buckets: wild and civilized. Yet, despite these differences, isn’t it wonderful that we all–from every human in every city to every ant on every blade of grass–find delight, find life, in a star over 93 million miles away?

7. Everything in nature has its niche, you similarly need to find yours.

Crosscutting with crew lead Phoebe Mather along the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

During my first few hitches, I was swept up in comparisons, trying my hardest to keep up, to prove myself as strong, as tough, as worthy of being part of the crew. When I’d fall behind during a hike, I’d force myself to pick up the pace, worried about slowing down the group. When I didn’t cut as many trees my crewmembers, I’d make a pact to myself that tomorrow I’d double down, work faster, work harder. Being young, being a woman, being new to trails, I always felt this pressure to prove that I belonged, to prove that I was just as strong, as hard-working as the 6’2 men or seasoned professionals. Soon though, I realized that I can’t lift the heaviest trees, I can’t hike the fastest, and no amount of my trying and willing myself to will change that. Shortly after accepting the blow of this devastating realization, I began to notice the complexity of the wild that surrounded me each day. Not every animal or plant is strong or fast, instead, each fills a unique niche, allowing the ecosystem to be diverse and resilient. Finding wisdom from the ecosystems around us, I realized we too could be stronger if we played to our individual strengths and filled our unique niches. My shoulders may not be able to carry the heaviest weight, but they can provide support for a tired crewmate. I may not be able to hike the fastest, but when I inevitably pack too much food, I can share my extra snacks with my crewmates, ensuring no one goes hungry. We need strong arms, we need fast legs, but we also need ears to listen, mouths to speak words of encouragement, and eyes to see the positive in each hardship. In these moments, I realized that kindness, positivity, and support for others, rather than my physical prowess, could be my strength, my contribution to the ecosystem. From that moment on, I pushed myself not to fill a niche I never could, but to play to my own strengths and be a rock my team could depend on. When I stopped comparing myself to others and competing in a niche I didn’t belong, I was truly able to flourish and, more importantly, so did my team.

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CLARINNE KIRK

Spokane, WA

Gonzaga University- Sociology & Journalism

Clarinne grew up in Portland, OR, where she spent her childhood hiking in the woods and camping along the coast. Clarinne loves hiking, running, backpacking, and finding any way to spend time outdoors. She is currently a student at Gonzaga University where she has been able to further her knowledge of the outdoors through working as a student trip leader. Clarinne has a passion for protecting the environment and is excited to learn more about wilderness preservation and be able to give back during her time as an SBFC Wilderness Ranger Fellow.

From Frustration to Fulfillment: My Return to Colt Killed Creek

Samantha Mobley

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Packbox Pass / Bear Creek Trails

July 3-11 , 2024

Bitterroot National Forest and Nez-Perce Clearwater National Forest | Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness

Sam at the end of her trip on July 2nd, 2021, at the shore of Big Creek Lake.

Three years ago, almost to the day of this hitch, my best friend and I set out from Bear Creek Trailhead in the Bitterroots to hike a challenging horseshoe loop. Our plan seemed straightforward: hike to Bryan Lake from Bear Creek, go up and over Bear Creek Pass, continue to the Colt Killed Creek junction, turn right, hike a few miles, traverse Packbox Pass to Big Creek Lake, then hike out and return home. Little did we know, it would be far from simple!

Sam at the end of her hitch on July 11th, 2024, at the Big Creek Lake shore.

During our planning phase, we contacted both the Bitterroot and Nez Perce-Clearwater ranger stations. Both informed us they were unsure when the Colt Killed Creek Trail last saw a trail crew. Not knowing much about trail work, we didn't think much of it. Additionally, we hadn't yet discovered apps like CalTopo or Gaia and relied solely on a paper map and compass.

On day two of our trip, while lunching atop Bear Creek Pass, we met two men, both named Greg, who had ascended from the Idaho side. They shared tales of their journey, recounting numerous downed trees and brushy sections of the trail. They credited their GPS map tool for navigating the tricky terrain. When we told them we only had a map and compass, they exchanged a concerned look, but we remained optimistic and pressed on.

Immediately upon descending the snow-covered pass, we lost the trail. We spent four frustrating hours searching for it, only to find that the runoff had likely turned it into a nondescript stream. After a bee sting, a twisted ankle, and a fresh pile of bear scat, we decided to camp there for the night and hike out the way we came the next day. After making it out of the woods, we ventured back in through Big Creek, setting up a base camp at the lake to spend the rest of our week. One day, we took a day trip up Packbox Pass to at least complete the Montana side of our original plan. That trip was very memorable, but I have always yearned to go back and try again.

Sam and Nathan on the largest cut of the hitch- a girthy spruce tree.

This year marks my second season of trail work in western Montana. Last season, I worked with the Montana Conservation Corps (MCC), mostly in the Welcome Creek Wilderness just east of Missoula, where I have lived for the past seven years. While I've spent most of my recreational time in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, I cherish every moment I get to work on the trails there. You can imagine my excitement when I was assigned this hitch, with the objective of clearing the Bear Creek-Colt Killed Creek trail on the Idaho side of the Big Creek-Bear Creek horseshoe.

This hitch has been my favorite so far. We hiked over 60 miles and worked hard every step of the way. It's been a challenging yet rewarding experience, bringing back memories of that initial, unforgettable trip and fulfilling my desire to return to this trail and complete the route. Better yet, I had the wonderful experience of watching my coworkers experience this beautiful country for the first time and opening the trail up for other users.

Crew lead April Eling in a section of very dense brush approaching the Bear Creek Pass.

The junction with the Colt Killed Creek trail and the Bear Creek Trail with co-fellows Nathan and Colby setting up the crosscut.

Sam and her crew lead, April, bucking a large log with the crosscut saw.

This hitch was made possible with funds from Athletic Brewing’s Two for the Trails Grant and private SBFC members/donors.

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SAM MOBLEY

Missoula, MT

University of Montana- Wildlife Biology

Sam is a recent graduate from the University of Montana with a degree in wildlife biology. She has been living in Missoula for 7 years and loves to spend her free time running, hiking, and skiing in the wilderness. Sam has a background in baking bread, brewing beer, biological field work, and trail work with the Montana conservation corps. Sam is very passionate about the conservation of our wilderness areas and looks forward to beginning her career as a steward for the wild lands she holds near and dear.

Four Crews in Four Days: A Whirlwind Wilderness Adventure

Ryan Ghelfi

SBFC Executive Director

July 17-21, 2024

We are in the heart of our Wilderness season with dozens of people on numerous crews in the field all across the Frank and Selway. Even for me, with all the data, spreadsheets, and communications at my fingertips, it’s a lot to track.

Last week I was fortunate to carve out four days to get out on the ground. The logistics were perfect with four of our crews and 36 individual people in close enough proximity for me to visit in quick succession. In the middle of my second year at SBFC, I remain confident that there is no substitute for getting on the trail with our crews and seeing what is happening in the Wilderness firsthand.

The Youth Wilderness Expedition participants + Emma (Wilderness Ranger Fellow)

What I saw on this past week's swing was nothing short of spectacular. First, I visited Ian and Emma, who were leading six 13-14 year olds on our second Youth Wilderness Expedition at Walton Lakes. The trail down to the first lake was in decent shape, but brushy and the group took the task to heart opening up the trail corridor on day two. On day three I joined them and we began scouting the trail that continues to the upper Walton Lakes. This trail was buried under deadfall and the crew made fine work reopening half a mile of beautiful tread, creating possibilities for the future. We will come back next year with another youth expedition to continue the work where they left off. I was thrilled to see these teens relishing the work and their time in the wild, bugs and all. This was the perfect location for this age group. This crew rocked it!

Some of the Whisky in the Woods crew.

Photo by Bert B.

Next, I hightailed it over to Big Sand Lake out of Elk Summit where the Whisky in the Woods crew from Moscow had been posted up and cutting out hundreds of logs for the previous 15 days. Over 20 volunteers in two separate groups came out to bring back numerous trails in the area. Five intrepid souls stayed for a full immersion of 17 days. This crew was packed in and out of the woods by multiple packers, including the Binninger family of Landgrove Coffee fame, as well as Nez Perce-Clearwater NF Packer Pete! SBFC Wilderness trail crews teamed up with the whisky crew to create multiple “super crews” and it shows.  Over 33 miles of trail were logged out, and the number of trees removed from the corridor was into the thousands. Near the end of the final hitch the crew made it all the way to Blodgett Pass from the Idaho side which was a big win!  More downed trees remain on other important connections; we look forward to clearing them all next summer.

In addition to SBFC trail crews and the Whisky crew, another crew of retired smoke jumpers from the National Smokejumper Association spent five days bringing the Bridge Creek Trail back to life, also near Elk Summit. This was heavy deferred work, and the crew earned every inch of trail reclaimed. Their efforts created numerous opportunities to find solitude and helped the crews that followed them to get into the country where they’d be working.

Clarinne, Ian, Wyatt, and Rowan

I met one of the crews that followed (Wyatt, Rowan, Clarrine, Ian, and USFS trail specialist Nick H) as they were sitting down to dinner on the lee side of some 10-year-old pines, the only shade in town. They were cutting 100+ logs a day, and the contrast could not be more stark. As I was hiking towards them I came upon an unworked section of trail. My pace slowed to a crawl and I came out bloody as I navigated a few hundred uncut logs over a couple mile stretch. (Our stellar team cut these later in their hitch). Seeing (and feeling) this night and day difference tells a story in real terms like no blog post or hitch report ever could.  

The CatRock + SBFC Crew

Finally, the fourth crew I visited on my tour in the Northern Selway was the CatRock Ventures youth group from New York City led by SBFC trail crew Lead April Eling along with Wilderness Ranger Fellows Jack, Caroline, and Emma. This crew picked up the work where last year’s CatRock group left off on the One Horse Lake Trail on the Bitterroot National Forest. We were excited to complete this project, reopening this primitive trail for the first time in many years. The trail provides access to one of the most beautiful basins I’ve seen in my time at SBFC. This crew learned a ton and worked hard. Through their efforts, the public has a terrific opportunity to experience this corner of the wilderness. Solitude and unparalleled beauty are hallmarks in this tucked-away corner of the Bitterroot.

My whirlwind tour is just a small sample of the full body of work that all our crews have performed this season thus far. Our staff, Wilderness Ranger Fellows, and volunteers  are accomplishing an incredible amount, and providing the public with the ability to connect to our wildest places. We need these places now more than ever. Each time I have the opportunity to work alongside our people and see firsthand what it takes, I come out invigorated and eager to keep pushing forward and building momentum. The SBFC community is moving mountains (and logs) out there, and I am so grateful. Alas, the work never ends… we’ll keep at it so that people today and forever can experience and enjoy the Wildest Place.

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Ryan Ghelfi is the Executive Director of the Selway Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation. Contact him at rghelfi@selwaybitterroot.org with questions, concerns, or to talk about Wilderness!

Fear and Loathing in the Selway

Caroline Newlin

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Big Sand Lake | Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest

July 3-10, 2024

Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness

Sometimes what you need is a little adventure in your life. The modern workplace is a boring drudgery filled with spreadsheets and carpal tunnel. This summer, I wanted to prolong my avoidance of my fate as a desk jockey, so I signed up for 14 weeks on a trail crew in the wilderness of Montana and Idaho. This hitch, I got some adventure.

Big Sand Lake. One of the most beautiful places I've camped. (photo by Sammy Phelps)

The biggest appeal to me about coming out west was how alien the plants and animals are compared to back home. A landscape dominated by snow capped mountains even in the middle of July is unheard of. The lack of harwoods is striking. This hitch, I was a part of the whisky crew working around Big Sand Lake. The scenery and plants present were stunning, and I saw species I hadn’t seen on any of my previous hitches. Dwarf lupine, Lupinus pusillus, for example, was magnificent to see. I’m used to the large lupine plants that are found all over the Selway and Frank Church Wilderness areas, but I’d never seen dwarf lupine before. You smelled it before you saw it. The shrub layer in the forests was thick and dominated by huckleberry. Here, creeks are abundant, clear as air, and ice cold. 

The canopy is dominated by lodgepole pine and firs. While working around the trail to Hidden Lake, the scenery changed. This section of the Selway-Bitterroot burned up in 2012, and you could see the remains of this fire everywhere you looked. The bleached skeletons of lodgepole pine lay stark against the sky like the ribs of some extinct animal. It’s a sharp contrast to the green, lush forest we’d seen previously.

A grouse with no sense of self-preservation (photo by Sammy Phelps)

Animals out in the Selway are pretty groovy. On our way to Big Sand Lake our first day, we ran into a mother grouse and her chicks. Grouse are about as smart as rocks. The chicks ran around where we had just walked, cheeping, with no care that we’re very large and have big feet. Mama grouse didn’t care either. She just sat there on a log staring at us and making grouse sounds. We could’ve grabbed her. Eventually, the grouse and her chicks mosied off. 

A mountain lion track. Out here, you aren't at the top of the food chain (photo by Sammy Phelps).

Not all the animals were as docile and potentially puntable as the grouse. Several members of the crew spotted cougar and wolf tracks. Knowing that you are no longer at the top of the food chain is humbling. It brings to mind Doug Peacock’s definition of wilderness: “a place, and only a place, where one enjoys the opportunity of being attacked by a dangerous wild animal.” When I’m at home, my flight or fight response is triggered by laundry. Out here, it feels good to be anxious about the same things Neanderthals had nervous breakdowns over. 

Unfortunately, I had to leave this hitch a few days early. I experienced a unique and devastating injury: spraining my ankle while hustling across camp to eat some corn dip. Jim, the camp cook, had made some corn dip that was so good you’d wreck your ankle. I need his recipe. It’s a truly embarrassing way to get injured. 

Due to the nature of my injury, getting off of the mountain was of utmost importance. The most effective way of doing so was on horseback. It’d been a few years since I’d last ridden a horse, so I was a bit stressed. Fortunately, John, our packer, put me on Kelly, a very relaxed and friendly mule. Riding down the mountain on the back of this mule in a chain brought to mind Forest Service workers 100 years ago doing the same sort of work we’re doing, with the same tools. It makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. 

On the way down, John told me about whitebark pine, which is being devastated by white pine blister rust, an invasive fungus that uses members of the Ribes genus as a host. We saw one whitebark pine tree on the way, which is the first of its species I’ve ever seen. It was a young tree, less than 10 years from the look of it, and I imagine it’ll succumb to the fungus soon. Watching a species disappear from the landscape is a terrible feeling. 

One of John's horses (photo by Sammy Phelps).

John also told me about bear grass. I didn’t know this, but bear grass typically flowers once every seven years! The hillsides were a sea of them. I picked a good year to be out here. The excitement and unparalleled beauty made everything worth it.

This project was made possible with funds from the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forests, Idaho Fish & Game Access Funds, and private SBFC donors.

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CAROLINE NEWLIN

Snow Camp, NC

North Carolina State University- Forest Management

Caroline is passionate about the outdoors and has done outdoor work for years. In high school, she did trail work for her local park service and worked for a canoe and kayak company most summers. She has always wanted to visit Montana and Idaho, and this fellowship has given her that opportunity, while also learning about wilderness stewardship. She plans on hiking the whole Appalachian Trail one day, along with visiting all the national parks in the United States. Her hobbies include rock climbing, whitewater kayaking, backpacking, and gardening.