Part Twenty four

​     July 17 – 19                             Salmon NF, Idaho                           (Go to Pt 1)
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Truck mufflers and slamming car doors at the Lost Trail Pass pullover rousted us out early the next morning.  We rolled into our usual a.m. routine, packed up camp and hiked up a long, steep hill to rejoin the Continental Divide.

My gait was stiff and jerky and my pace was off, always the price to be paid for lazy, town layovers.  At the top of the rolling ridgeline we caught onto an old, two-track road that led south through the forest along the Divide.  
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The hiking was mellow, mostly through tall, open forests of pine which occasionally opened up to stretches of alpine meadow, knee deep in summer wildflowers.  Eventually, the two-track we were following turned to trail and over the next dozen miles or so the forested ridge continued to rise and fall in one continuous, undulating hill climb.

Finally, we climbed again in elevation and at the top of this rise the trees broke away into a vast, alpine meadow that emptied out to a staggering panorama of the southern Bitterroot Range.  We stood and stared out over a hundred miles of southern Montana mountains, all of which we would eventually pass through.

We camped that night just below the ridge near a small spring and after supper we walked up to a grassy knoll above camp to watch the sunset.  It was a pretty awesome feeling being up here, seeing what we were seeing and experiencing the things we were experiencing; at times, there was no greater sense of accomplishment or well-being than doing exactly what we were doing.

The next day we carried on along the ridgeline with our trail from the day before maintaining true to the ridge, circling the Nez Perce basin and bringing us out to Big Hole Pass by early afternoon. From Big Hole, the trail dropped into the Pioneer Creek Valley then climbed back up to a shallow saddle before again plunging steeply to Bradley Creek.
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We followed Bradley Creek down to Sheep Creek and set camp on a rocky hillside in a steep gorge because we were too spent to go any further.  It was during supper that evening, as thunder rumbled off in the distance, that we debated whether or not a sudden and violent downpour of rain could possibly flash-flood our camp down river. 

After another, more thorough survey of our position relative to the river, we were both pretty convinced our camp was out of danger but then again, we had witnessed some fairly biblical rainstorms and the far off flashes of lightning had me a little on edge as I zipped into my sleeping bag for the night.   

Just as I had feared, rain moved in during the mid-night hours which then had me awake trying to calculate just how much water run-off in the gorge might be accumulating based on the pitter-patter on the tent fly and then I would listen to the sound of the river below our camp for any audible sounds of increased fluctuation.  I lost a lot of sleep fretting in the dark about flash floods but by morning the sporadic nighttime rains had turned out to be nothing but wet.

We rolled up camp and started off up Sheep Creek and while we still had a faint trail to follow, our map showed it ending further up the valley.  As advertised, the trail did end further up the valley but the forest we were in was open, uncluttered and did not hinder our progress.  At the head of the upper valley the forest thinned and gave way to the towering talus slopes at the bottom of the ridge we were going to have to climb up and over to get out of the Sheep Creek drainage.

We began traversing the talus up the ever steeping slope until finally, about 300 yards from the top of the ridge, the angle became so steep and the loose rocks so hazardous that we came to a halt.  Teetering high on the loose rock slope we were a bit flummoxed as to what to do next, the traverse had become so precarious that it seemed foolhardy to continue that way but I was reluctant to give up the hard earned elevation we’d gained if we retreated back down the slope to look for another route.  I looked up and the ridge-crest appeared tantalizingly close. ​

Not very far above us, fins of solid rock rose up out of the shattered debris, defining the edges of a narrow trough that climbed out to the top of the ridge.  I recalled how, in the Anaconda Pintler range, I had used a rock fin just like those above me now to get down a treacherously steep, scree and talus slope so, in my ‘forward at all costs’ style, I zeroed in on the fin to the right side of the trough and made my way upward over the shifting rocks to reach a handhold at the tail of the fin.

I ventured further up into gully, finding hand holds on the rock before advancing my feet, which skated out from under me several times, sending rock debris airborne before it careened its way off to the debris pile at the bottom of the face.  Moving higher up, the trough continued to steepen and the climbing got exhausting, burning away at my calf muscles with almost no place to stop and rest.  
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At the top, everything came to a head with the trough boxing out, leaving only steep rock to contend with.  It was about 100 feet of forth-class climbing and with my load threatening to pull me off backwards every move had to be executed with forethought as to how the pack was going to affect my balance.  All of the handholds and footholds were prominent and easy to reach and I got completely absorbed in the movement required to advance up the rock.

While I was fighting my way up the trough Craig had been on the other side of the fin executing the same, brutal climb toward the top except that he was on the open slope side and was able to escape without the final rock climb.  From the top of the rock fin there was still about 30 yards of ridiculously steep scree to get up before the angle finally eased off to the top of the ridge.

We walked the few paces there were across the top of the ridge and looked down the other side.  Steep, shattered rock littered the cirque wall all down the south side face and it appeared to be a mirror image of what we had just come up, which was the last thing I wanted to see but it was either this or go back the way we’d just come.  
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Before we committed to the descent we dropped our packs and pulled out the lunch bag. We didn’t talk much about how we were going descend and after picking through our lunch ration for the day there was really nothing left to do but to start plunge-stepping down the steep scree to the splintered rocks below.

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Go to Part 25

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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