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An Anniversary Trip
Five years ago, we ventured to Colorado to celebrate my oldest brother and his wife’s 55th wedding anniversary. Now we were again venturing to Colorado to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary.
We left home early in the day. As we were driving through the heart of the landscape charred by the Caldor Fire, the Lady spotted a new smoke column to the northwest of our home.
This was the Crozier Fire that started at 0100 hrs. this morning (Note - an arson arrest was just reported as I write this). It was burning toward
the northeast and we thought it unlikely it would move toward our house. A good
friend kept us informed for the next several days with updates by messages to
our InReach device.
We drove quite a distance the first day so we’d be able to get into our first destination in the early afternoon of the second day. The last two years we’ve hiked into this off trail high alpine lake in Idaho. Why? Big cutthroat trout. This lake is on a put and grow planting schedule of once every 7 years. This year is the final year. There would be few trout left (lifespan of 7-8 years) but what remained would be large, at least we hoped. The dispersed campsite we like that puts us into hiking distance is up a steep, rocky, narrow road that requires 4x4 low range and a bit of careful driving.
The road climbs through the 2005 Valley Road Fire burn scar. Falling snags are an issue on this road and, on this ascent, we stopped and cut out two trees so we could continue up. As we climbed and entered an area of unburned conifers, this occurred.
“There’s a vehicle ahead coming down the road.” the Lady announced. It was hard to see with only an occasional flash of movement through the trees. “It’s coming way too fast!” she added. I pulled to a stop before the blind corner ahead. The genetically challenged driver of the side-by-side, with two others crammed into the seat, was hard into the throttle as he accelerated around the blind corner. “STOP!” the Lady screamed at the top of her lungs and braced for impact as the vehicle raced towards us. The driver slammed on his brakes and slid to a stop mere inches from our truck. He threw the vehicle into reverse, careened back around the corner, and drove off into the trees to make room for us to pass. Is there some way to have a backhoe miraculously appear when I need one? I can only hope. Does the "Three S Rule" apply to idiots on ATV’s?
Just before our campsite another large tree was down. It did not block the road but it did push over two trees that were hung up – widowmakers – over the road.
We got settled into our camp and then went looking for mountain goats. We wandered slowly. The Lady scanned with her see mores. No goats. We continued higher and higher until we reached the high lake. “You knew we were coming all the way up here, didn’t you?” the Lady exclaimed. I just smiled and we went to work looking for cruising cutthroats. We finally spotted one cruising beast of a trout. My prediction was correct. They were big.
After dinner, we wandered up into an adjoining basin and walked around the lake there. A rockfall alerted us to movement far above. The Lady quickly glassed the cliffs and there it was, a solitary mountain goat grazing in a high gully. Our day was complete.
“What is a very large owl with a round head and no ears?” the Lady asked as she climbed into the camper as we readied for bed.
“Up here, it would be a Great Grey.”
“That’s what I thought. It flew between me and the camper; close enough to touch. It was completely silent.”
The next morning, after a wonderful quiet night, we donned our packs and started up. As is the new normal, the skies were dulled by smoke blown in from the many fires across the west.
The high lake, in its steep barren alpine basin, awaited us.
We circled the lake once, carefully searching for trout. Small cutthroat fingerlings dashed to the surface for tiny midges. The lake has been recently stocked. Come back in seven years and they’ll be as big as the ones we hoped to bring to the net today. I assembled my rod. The Lady climbed to a high point and scanned the water. I cast a hopper pattern out on the surface to pull out and straighten fly line. The strike was instantaneous, but there was no trout hooked. After a few false casts to lengthen my line, I again put the fly on the water. The strike was instantaneous. The loud “plop” echoed around the small basin but no trout was hooked. I’d have to work for the honor of bringing one of these cutthroats to the Lady’s big dipper net.
With the clear water and wary trout, this was challenging fly fishing; just the way we like it. We started seeing cruising trout. I succeeded in putting flies close without spooking the fish. They would investigate, sometimes even touching the fly with their nose, but ultimately refused the fly. I lengthened my tippet. No change.
We moved over to a steep rocky slope. The Lady’s highpoint gave a good view into the deep water. She kept me updated on one trout’s movements and I executed my casts accordingly. It moved out away from shore. I put the hopper right on the line on the surface where ripple and calm met. The take was vicious. The trout dove deep and pulled hard. The hook held.
“That’s a nice one!” the Lady cheered above me and then
brought the ghost net down. I fell into the water as I moved to the shore but
the fish stayed on. With the Lady in position, I slid the cutthroat head first
over the lip of the net. The Lady raised the net. “This trout is heavy!” she
grinned. I did too. The cutthroat was carefully released - returned to its watery fold.
We were so focused on finding trout, we had forgotten to watch the sky. A distant rumble of thunder changed that. We turned around. An angry black wall of cloud was approaching behind us. We were both concerned about those two widowmakers over the road and had agreed we’d move out if there was chance of a strong wind. It was time to go.
We packed up quickly when we reached the truck. The Lady got out and spotted me around one very tight turn. Rain splatted on the windshield as we passed under the widowmakers. The wind would not be far behind. We were relieved no other trees had come down in the burn. And we were especially pleased one of our favorite camp spots below was unoccupied and ours to settle into. “It was meant to be!” the Lady said. “And thank you for agreeing to come back out. I was really worried about getting blocked by those trees if they came down.”
After another glorious quiet night – along with watching mule deer right outside from our bunk – and blissful deep sleep, the morning brought cloudy skies. “What should we do today?” the Lady asked on our morning walk with coffee. “How ‘bout putting you on a mountain top?” I answered. “Blackman Peak is above us. We’ve looked at it for years but never have gone to the top. We can go straight up from here, hit the top, down the other side, hit the trail into Ants Basin, down to Fourth of July Lake, and make a nice circle. But we better get going. It is going to storm again today.”
“Really? Lets climb Blackman!” The Lady grinned and did her happy dance. In short order she was ready to go.
A new flower for us - Common Toadflax (Vinaria vulgaris).
It was a steep cross-country climb. It steepened even more as we climbed out of the trees near the summit.
This was approaching from the west.
We needed to tag the top and get down the other side quickly.
Castle Peak, the highpoint in the White Cloud Peaks, is behind Julie above.
The views, as always, were spectacular.
D.O. Lee Peak and other white peak highpoints - in the center of the photo below – we’ve been to the top twice in years past. This is a favorite area of ours.
Here’s a view into Ants Basin. Born Lakes Basin is beyond.
By god, I managed to get the camera's timer to work. Blackman Peak, 10,300 feet.
We knew it was going to rain, so we put the pack flies on at the summit.
A look back at Blackman Peak as we descended to the use trail along the ridge.
The rain and hard wind hit as we looked down from a saddle in the ridgeline.
We ducked under the white bark pines and put on our raincoats.
We reached the trail into the Born Lakes Basin. I could barely stand up with the hard wind at my back.
It rained and blew as we dropped down the trail. The storm was breaking off as we reached Fourth of July Lake. We circled the lake to get away from people on the trail. We watched the skies clear and tracked cutthroat trout cruising right off the shore. The sun came out and we fell asleep in the warmth. Beauty surrounded us.
The afternoon waned. The crowds thinned from the opposite end of the lake near the trail. We made our way back down to our home away from home.
The Lady has wanted to hike up into the Six Lakes Basin. The next morning, we were going to make her wish come true. Heart Lake (the first lake) is only 1.25 miles up from the pull out along the dirt road. There is a use trail. The problem is it is through the Valley Road Fire burn and is a torturous scramble over deadfall.
In the lower area, the trail climbs along and above the stream gully. The Lady was ahead. The crack of a large branch breaking boomed across the gully. A large bull moose appeared on the opposite steep side. Less than 20’ from the Lady. it quickly climbed to the top of the slope and continued over the hump. It did not pause and pose for a photo as it should have.
“A moose!” the Lady said. “We saw a moose!” She loves moments like this.
The trail broke into a short meadow area with a reprieve from the near constant scramble over deadfall. But there’s nothing wrong with extra exercise to make a day special.
Heart Lake is just out of the burn.
Even with the rain, the skies remained tinged with smoke.
We explored the lake shore and stopped and talked with a family from D.C. The couple had two daughters, 8 and 11, who had carried their own gear to backpack into here for a couple of nights. This family gave us hope for the future of our world.
The Lady, of course, wanted to explore up into the high basin and visit every one of the six lakes. In places, there was the faint track of a use trail.
Lake number two.
It looked like there would be no storms today. Lakes number three and four.
We dropped our packs at lake four, climbed up on a high rock outcrop, snacked and watched for trout – saw nothing at any of the high lakes. We did notice the pines. Short needles and five needles in a bundle identify trees in the white pine family. There are nice ones up here.
The Lady checked out the bones of the great grandfather pine.
We were alone up here and there was very little sign of past visits by people. This was a very special place. We explored slowly and quietly and tried to absorb all that was around us. We did our best to try and sink into the landscape.
Lake number four.
Lake number five.
We climbed a high saddle and looked down an adjacent drainage at lake number six. The view did not make for a decent photo. We walked around lake number five and noticed fresh tracks in the wet earth. Here were tracks from one adult wolf. We were thrilled to come upon them.
As we dropped back down the high basin, we met the family working their way up, following our route. The girls – and parents – were doing well. They were happy, thrilled to be visiting the White Cloud Peaks. Yes, they gave us hope for the future.
It was a steep drop back to Heart Lake.
And we returned to the burn and all the extra exercise it offered.
As we drove out of the area, we both remembered a special dispersed camping site we had seen a couple of years ago. If it was unoccupied, it would be a great spot to spend the night. “It was meant to be!” the Lady exclaimed when we found it open.
After setup chores, showers, and dinner, we walked until
dark, and dark comes late in Idaho.
What a special place this was to wake up at!
We crossed over Galena Summit, passed through Ketchum and Sun Valley, and headed into the upper reaches of Trail Creek Canyon, a location long on our list of places to explore. Upper Trail Creek Canyon is a broad, beautiful meadow with the creek meandering through.
We dodged a storm, taking cover under thick pines until it passed, as we hiked around the area. There are mountain bike trails here that come over from the highway 75 corridor.
We, again, walked well into the evening. There is so much more to explore up here.
Our camp was deep in shadow when we woke the next morning. With hot Peets coffee in our mugs, we wandered in the morning to take in first light on this landscape.
On our drive out to Trail Creek Road we found the resident Sandhill Crane family out in the morning light also.
We were on our way to Wyoming. We had plans for our time in Wyoming. It turned out that Wyoming had plans for us.
Our adventure continues in the upcoming Part Two.
