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The Heat Is On
We’ve lived in our mountain home for approaching 35 years. The hottest temperature we saw in the first 31 years was 95°. When it hits the nineties here, believe me, it feels damn hot. Three years ago, we saw one day of 96°, a record breaker for us. Last summer it hit 101° on one day - oh my god. This summer, in late June and early July we saw 101° for three days. This is unprecedented, unbearable heat. What should we do?
We put in our reservations at the world renown Dutchoven Farm in Montana’s Bitterroot Valley for a four-night stay. First, we needed to get our eyes checked, really. Our optometrist is one of our best friends, back from the days when the Lady and I first met. Our appointment was Monday afternoon and it is most always followed by dinner with he and his wife at, what we consider, the best pizza place – Lake Tahoe Pizza.
So we could get an early start on our drive across blazing hot Nevada, we spent the night at the tiny, quiet, and almost empty Kit Carson Campground on the edge of Hope Valley.
The weather forecast was for temperatures at and above 100° across Nevada. With a very early start, we reached our cool refuge for the next night in the midafternoon. It was 85°, a scorcher at Angel Lake’s 8400 feet elevation, tucked in the East Humboldt Range. The campground has many non-reserved sites and we found a nice one in the stunted aspen above the lake.
Waterfalls tumble down from the walls above.
The rock is incredible – the oldest rock found in Nevada.
The wildflowers, though not abundant, still caught our eyes. The Lady adds during editing this post, "Since our eyes were just checked!"
It is a busy place, though, for day use, especially with the high temperatures in lower elevations. But most do not venture far from the parking lot or the dam. The campground nearly filled this evening and we were treated to the trifecta of campground woes – loud music, dog fights, and car alarms.
So, as the evening cooled nicely, we wandered over to the solitude of the opposite side of the lake and watched, in awe, as the world grew dark.
Across the lake trout feasted on midge emergers just below the surface.
We quietly returned to our campsite in the dark and spent the night with all windows and the door open in the camper. The cool air was wondrous.
Rising before dawn, we had the place to ourselves to take in first light.
We had almost a week before we were due in Montana. With plans to explore and hike into lakes in Idaho’s Pioneer Mountains, we reached the trailhead for Kane Lake in the early afternoon. Kane Lake is well known, but the long drive and rough road keep the area fairly quiet. We set up in a nice spot near the trailhead and talked with Michele from Boise who had followed us up the rough road. She was solo backpacking for one night to Kane Lake, a four-mile hike from the trailhead.
We, as is our norm, wandered in the evening and took in the sights and sounds of Ma Nature. Unfortunately, we did not see moose as we hoped to.
Last light on the guardians of the Kane Lake cirque –
The Devils Bedstead
And The Devils Bedstead East
The next morning hiking up the Kane Lake Trail, we had a curious animal encounter in the wild - a beagle. About two miles in we were alerted by movement above us. A beagle ran downslope. It saw us, but paid no attention to us, and turned back uphill, off trail. We expected to soon hear voices coming down the trail, the beagle’s owners hiking out to the trailhead. No. Nobody. The beagle was alone and now, long gone. A mystery beagle.
The trail climbs – in timber – along the creek and the terrain finally opens up with fantastic vistas of soaring rock above.
The final push up talus and rock bands was wonderful.
One of the highlights of Kane Lake are the waterfalls spilling down the cliffs on the south side of the lake.
We found Michele – we told her we’d be up in the morning – near her camp with her two bird dogs as she is an upland bird hunter. We told her to keep an eye out for the beagle when she hiked out later in the day.
We wandered around the lake to begin our hunt for cutthroat trout.
I like to sight fish (hunt) for trout in alpine lakes. I don’t enjoy, and soon get bored with, “cast and hope.”
We saw no trout. There were no rise forms anywhere on the lake. I set up my gear – rod, reel, fly line, fly. The Lady – who gets bored way quicker than I do – continued the search for trout.
She wanted to put her “big dipper” ghost net to use.
She returned with news that she’d found a pod of around a dozen cutthroat. We relocated to this area with nice hiding spots in the talus boulders we could use to not spook the trout.
It turned out to be a learning laboratory in regards to my fly fishing. The trout were wary and, as the Lady termed it, “Persnickety.” They were around 12 to 14 inches, nice trout. They took a close look at all my dry fly offerings, but would not take. The challenge was fun. I also tried numerous nymph patterns under an indicator without success until I tied on a scud pattern. This, they were interested in. The takes were quick and the fly spit out before any movement of the strike indicator on the surface above. Quick learners, they soon refused anything offered in this crystal-clear water. I dreamt about these persnickety trout that night. I hit myself on the head as it occurred to me, I should have retrieved the scud pattern without an indicator, therefore having tension on the line during the take. One of the delights of fly fishing is the continuing lessons.
Even without a cutthroat brought to the big dipper, we had a delightful day at Kane Lake. We started down the trail in the late afternoon.
A note about Kane Lake. There are several very hammered campsites. As I commented to the Lady, “Man love to make fire at Kane Lake. Man worship fire. Man make fire rings the size of cathedrals.” There is a lack of leave no trace ethics practiced up here.
It was hot this day. For comfort on our hike out, we pulled off our shirts, soaked them in the cold lake water – and then at creek crossings – and hiked in wet cold shirts. The Lady also soaked her mane of hair at every creek crossing.
Since the days are so long in Idaho – light until close to 2200 hrs. – we decided to drive to our next trailhead, find a dispersed campsite, and get an early start on our next hike in the morning. On our drive out the Kane Lake Road, at a spot near the willow choked ravine of Kane Creek and about seven miles downstream of our last encounter, we saw the beagle. I stopped the truck, turned off the engine, quietly got out so see if this phantom creature would show any interest in us. Nope. It quickly disappeared into the willows. “A puzzle,” the Lady said.
For the next two nights, through a tight, short trail in the willows, our meal spot was a private gravel bar along Wildhorse Creek.
At the upper far right in the photo above is a hint of Boulder Creek gorge that we would ascend the next morning.
Wildhorse Road is wide gravel, an easy drive. The area
is a mecca for camp trailers and ATV’s – very different from Kane Lake Road. As
we prepared dinner at our dispersed site, the evening ATV races began, up and
down the road, reckless, noisy, dusty. Donuts at their turnaround points. I
asked the Lady now tolerant these folks would be with me driving our truck back
and forth back and forth fast with a cloud of dust past their campsites. She
avoided my question and, as she always tells me, “You should always model good
behavior.” Me, I wanted to get to Montana where they have backhoes and guns –
nice big backhoes.
Wildhorse Road is a curious place. There is a large marked trailhead for the Boulder Lake Trail. A large family group with camp trailers, tents, ATVs had moved in, made it their own. There was no way to reach the trail – a narrow gap in the rail fence – without walking within feet and between tents, chairs, and stepping over stakes for dog chains. No problem for us. They were all asleep when we walked through in the morning.
First up on the hike to Boulder Lake was fording Wildhorse Creek.
The lower reach of Boulder Creek is a steep gorge. The trail climbs and stays well above it. This trail has not seen much maintenance over the years. I expect because few visitors to this area get out of or off a motorized vehicle. As we climbed, the restorative solitude overtook us.
The trail reached open terrain and another creek ford. The change to dramatic landscape was fantastic.
We had a headwall of cliffs and talus to climb to reach the upper cirque. This was wonderful terrain. The fading trail disappeared.
Boulder Lake was breathtaking, quite possibly our favorite lake of the trip.
As we were getting our gear ready to start our hunt for trout, we were surprised as a young bearded man followed us up the trail with a daypack and fly rod – his intentions the same as ours. He stopped in his tracks as Boulder Lake appeared before him. “Wow, just wow,” he softly said.
We compared information we had heard about this lake. It all indicated there should be cutthroat trout here. Also, we three were completely alone up here. We had the place to ourselves. The young man moved past us over to a spot across the lake. “I’m going to circle the lake and look for trout!” the Lady told me, “If that’s okay.” Do you think there was any way I could stop her? With no trout visible, no rise forms, it was “cast and hope” for me. I watched the Lady’s progress as she moved around the lake. I watched the actions of the young man.
“Not a single fish,” the Lady reported upon her return. “He’s seen nothing either. He’s fishing deep holes off the rocks. Nothing.”
We moved around the lake, snacked, and resumed cast and hope. Behind us was a startling “plop” of a trout taking a fly off the surface. It sounded huge like someone had dropped a bowling ball into the water. We did not see it but it was right off the shore – classic cruising large cutthroat. We staked out the shore. The Lady and I took different positions in hopes of spotting this leviathan. Nothing. We informed the young man as he grew near on his circle of the lake. “I believe this was last planted with cutthroat 7 or 8 years ago," I said. "There are only a few trout left but they have grown large!”
Another hour later, the young man waved and began his hike out. We remained, relaxed, and enjoyed the incredible beauty of this place.
Late in the day we started down – again with soaking wet shirts to combat the heat – and made use of snowfields and mountaineering plunge steps for a quick descent from the high cirque.
On our hike back we encountered a young couple backpacking into the lake to spend two nights. They carried a fly rod. They were happy and enthusiastic. We briefed them on the route ahead and about the one or two huge trout that live in the lake. I gave a quick talk on the habits of cutthroats in alpine lakes and offered suggestions. They eagerly listened. “If you catch a trout up there, it will be memorable and well worth the effort,” I added. The young woman smiled broadly. We wished them a happy adventure and said that meeting them, a young couple backpacking into rugged terrain and carrying a fly rod, gave us hope for the future of our world.
“How was your hike?” the man sitting in front of a trailer with a beer at the trailhead asked as we passed through the group.
“It was wonderful!” the Lady replied. “We had a great day. Have you been up there?”
“Yes, back when I was young enough to be able to do those kinds of things,” he answered.
“How old do you think he is?” I asked the Lady as we returned to camp.
“Maybe sixty?”
We woke the next morning. It was Saturday, the middle of a summer weekend. Probably the worse time to be in the Copper Basin area. We had no plans except for exploration and the hope of finding a lonely, secluded campsite away from anyone else. Could we pull it off?
We’ve been in this area two previous times, the last in 2018. It has changed. The other trailheads we have used were crowded – can’t complain much there as the trails lead to outstanding places. The small campgrounds were busy with several sites crowded with far too many people and vehicles. Every possible dispersed site, every nook and cranny, every cluster of trees held large towed boxes that pooped out more ATV’s.
Mid afternoon we turned down a rough two track. We found an old campsite and settled in. We were alone alongside a fork of the Big Lost River. With the fly rod together, we waded across and walked cross country down to the main fork, often times through a tangle of willows. We waded out into the current.
Yes, the Lady had the camera and yes, that is a bend in the rod from a trout. We made it a lazy afternoon of fishing. But we had learned our lesson and now stayed in the river and did not do battle with the willows. We came upon, along the shore, a long-tailed weasel and a mink. Wading upstream on the left side the water became murky and warm. We reached a small tributary flowing in, about a foot wide, and almost hidden by willows. The inflow was colored with dark brown silt and hot. We consulted our USGS topo when we returned to the truck. There was no hot spring marked in this area on the map, but one does exist.
A long walk in the evening light was a great way, as always, to end our day.
Unfortunately, as a sign to things to come, the sun set red in the west as it sank into a veil of wildfire smoke. The Bench Lake Fire just north of Redfish Lake in the Sawtooth Recreation Area had started a couple of days before and was growing.
Sunday morning dawned with clearer skies.
It was time to head on down the road to Montana.
Our adventure continues. Please click here for - Part Two.
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