Main Salmon 2024

We put in at Corn Creek in east-central Idaho, at the last boat ramp before the wilderness, and took out at Carey Landing, a few miles past the downstream boundary and near the west-central border. I was invited by my nephew David, who owns two boat trailers and several rafts and rubber kayaks. The others included his three children and another couple, a colleague of David’s, Steve (with even more experience than David), Brandon and Heather and their two young boys, two of my nephew’s sisters, Anne and Karen and Karen’s friend Clare, and finally my sister Alice, David’s mother, who bravely rode my raft most of the way except for the last Class IV rapid. (Above: Anne in the kayak, then Karen and Clare, me facing downriver away from the camera.) It rained on our first night on the river and most of the next day; everything got wet, including many of the sleeping bags. We stopped early the next day to dry out; then it turned hot and dry until the last night when it rained again. The river flows through a deep steep-walled canyon with a ridgeline lined in jagged broken granite. (Left, an interesting rock formation.) We saw a lot of wildlife: ospreys and eagles, a Sooty grouse (below) and many chukar, usually when I was too busy for picture-taking. The chukar make several interesting sounds and they behave somewhat like the quail I’ve seen. We saw many mountain sheep, both on the mountain sides and in the woods near the river; a small group is shown to the left. For much of the way the river flows through a deep canyon with steep rock walls, a few trees clinging to the sparse patches of soil. A large section in the middle was burned off in a recent fire, but farther downstream there are wider canyons, with ranches and some scattered residences, all “grandfathered in” because they were built before the area was declared a wilderness area. One of the sites is a homestead built by a colorful hermit, Buckskin Bill – in addition to its historic interest it offers a chance to replenish fresh water supplies and purchase minor treats like ice cream bars (I bought two.) Bill was a colorful character, who made his own tools, rifles, and ammunition. He raised a garden, focusing mostly on root vegetables which would keep through the winters, and hunted for his meat, using the rifles he had constructed. Bill’s tool-room is shown at the bottom of the previous page; his sleeping room is to the left. Another interesting pioneer was Polly Bemis. Born in China, she was sold into slavery by her impoverished family, smuggled into the U.S. and sold to a bartender in Idaho, where she cooked and kept house for lodgers. A man named Bemis won her from her owner in a poker game and set her free; when he was shot in the face she dug the bullet fragments out of his face with a knitting needle and nursed him back to health; they were later married. After he died she lived alone for several years, running a rooming house. For the most part the easier, (class II) rapids are formed by a steep flow over smaller rocks, which sets up 2-3 foot waves; the skill involves pulling sideways across the current to dodge rocks that are shallow enough to ground the boat entirely. When water flows over and around larger rocks, it will cause a swift flowing hole followed by churning turbulence and a standing wave behind the rock; if the rock is large enough the standing wave may cause a raft to rise vertically and flip either sideways or even end-over-end. A class II rapid is shown below; you can see one of the standing waves near the rocks on the right. The speeding of water over the rock will also draw water from the sides, setting up a side-current that tends to draw rafts toward it. Class III, IV, and higher rapids have larger rocks, often located in series such that dodging one may set you up to be sucked into the next one. One Class III has a notorious, very sharp-edged boulder that is capable of slicing a long cut in a raft. The most dangerous thing on the river is not the rocks, but fallen trees; one is shown below. The branches can trap a raft or kayak, and the pressure of the current may push the paddler under water. It can be impossible to get free, and people often drown when they tangle with one. We passed this one on the opposite side of the river; it took some vigorous rowing because the tree extended over halfway across the river, and we needed to land on this side just below it. I am still learning to row through rapids; this trip gave me lots of practices. I handled the Class II (moderately difficult) and did some of the more difficult Class III rapids perfectly, but on most of them I was unable to fight the pull of the side currents well enough and ended up going over large boulders and through the deep churning holes behind them – but I managed to keep the boat upright through 75 miles. The final rapid, Vinegar Creek, has two huge boulders, each followed by a deep hole, then a massive standing wave that often upends and flips rafts. I skirted the first and got sucked over the top of the second boulder and into the middle of the second hole, but kept the raft upright, earning my a round of applause. Overall, my run was far from perfect, but it still felt like a great accomplishment to row 75 miles through that many rapids without incident, even if I did get my sister splashed in the face with several huge waves. Rowing was fun; it was also fun to watch Karen, Anne, and the five kids playing in the easier rapids with the rubber kayaks. River rafting is actually not that dangerous – Steve has researched it, and most of the deaths and serious injuries come from either failing to wear a life-jacket or a heart attack caused by the shock of falling into cold water on a hot day. The fallen trees can be deadly, but they are usually easy to spot and avoid. Everyone in my group wore a life jacket whenever on the river, and no-one has heart disease. It's not a good idea to take it lightly, but with good sense and following the safety rules, it's safe and very rewarding.

Representation and reality

I am reading an interesting book (just published) by Andy Clark, “The Experience Machine….” about the now well-established fact that our perception works by predicting continuity and transmitting only to correct prediction errors – and then only what is currently relevant, because of limited band-width. One fact I didn’t know and one I knew but didn’t connect before. There are +/- 4 times as many neural circuits from brain to perceptual organs as from perception to brain. Aha! Explains a lot. And – broadcast engineers greatly increase capacity by using the same assumption. My first publication was a critique of naïve attempts to apply information theory to human communication (and my first book an expansion of that critique) but I failed to see how that one wholly justified and useful application of Information Theory might apply to human perception and conversation. (So did everybody else at the time.) From another interesting book, Enfield “The Way We Talk”: It takes a half second to understand an utterance and a half second to formulate a reply – painfully long - so keep conversation moving, we all maintain a representation of the conversation and use it to predict what the current speaker will say and when they will finish – and to maintain and constantly up-date our potential replies, so we can jump in as soon as they finish. If they surprise us, “um” or “uh” or an equivalent will hold the floor while we re-formulate the (erroneously) prepared reply. We live and act in a world we imagine, partially (as relevant) updated by our limited-capacity senses. Because our brains and neural circuits are slow, we experience the past and act in the future. I’m not sure what we mean, then, by “the present.”

Dolomites Hike 2023

Day 3 – July 4 Violent thunderstorm & rain last night, but sunny and clear this morning, the beginning of a three-day route (light blue line on the map, left. The red teardrops mark the two “refugios” where I stayed.) I debated hiking up to the ridge instead of the gondola, but warnings about a muddy steep trail nixed the trail – later I was glad. That delayed my start until 8:30 but it was only 10 minutes to the top. Starting out I encountered some confusion from the map program – and across this entire valley noticed that the trail signs didn’t always give the trail numbers, sometimes gave only local destinations, and sometimes Outdoor active app was confusing – I had several back-tracks. However, it was a lovely hike across and down into the valley, warm sunshine, beautiful vistas in every direction, accompanied almost everywhere by the symphony of cowbells. At first the most prominent view was the long mountain to the north (the first half of tomorrow’s walk), then the destination for today became more evident, though I didn’t realize it until later in the morning after I had approached more closely. I was quite taken by the pyramidal rock on the right end, and the little spire in the gap, details of which don’t show in this photo. The tall mound toward the left is the mountain top, the highest point on that end; my destination for the day, Schlernhaus Hut or “refugio” (more of a large dormitory really) lies at the foot of that mound on the left. The meadows are all filled with lovely wild-flowers; I recognize a few species but many of them are new to me. The pale purple ones in the photo (next page) are new to me. By the time I reached the grade leading up to Schwernhaus, clouds were already building in the sky (that seems to be a theme in this area.) The trail up the mountain is in the lower right corner of this picture; the large mountain in the distance is the destination for tomorrow – at the very far end of this long rolling meadow of a valley. It was a long climb up but I kept a slow steady pace and enjoyed walking. I reached Schlernhaus a little after noon (as usual, having snacked along the way on granola bars, an apple, and a couple of cookies). A young employee, probably college student, checked me in, showed me the boot room, where you are supposed to change from outdoor boots to indoor slippers, and warned me that rain was expected later (no surprise given the thickening clouds). I immediately started up the peak, and got a few nice pictures of nearby peaks, half-hidden in the clouds. Occasionally a patch of sun would break through and illuminate some of the peaks for a moment or two, as shown to the right. The fog thickened quickly, enveloping the refugio (“hut”) entirely, as shown on the next page. The temperature dropped rapidly, ruling out any possibility of sitting outdoors to enjoy the lovely patio area. Unfortunately my room, though single, is very small; the bed is the only possible place to sit. The only common area is the dining room – I sat there for a while, then one of the staff told me that I should sit at a table they had assigned to me, so I moved there. I think in better weather the patio area would be very nice in the late afternoon. The picture to the right shows the refugio just before it became totally enveloped in the cold wet fog. Day 4 – July 5. I went to bed early, slept quite well, and awoke about 5. Looking out the window I saw that the fog had totally cleared, so I dressed in all the warm clothing I had, put on my boots, and went outside. The first thing I saw was a pile of snow in front of the door (where it had apparently slid off the roof), and a few patches on the ground beyond. There was a thin high overcast but visibility was excellent and all the surrounding mountains were clearly visible. The first half of the hike ran along the top of the ridge separating two valleys, then past some fairly large peaks. It was easy hiking, moderately uphill until it approached the end of that ridge, and an area where two ridges meet, separated by deep gorges. The trail descended along the face of a cliff, with many switchbacks and a few places where gravel had slid down, damaging the trail and leaving only a precarious narrow path (for the most part the trails are at least three feet wide). Near the bottom of the descent I realized I was going to have to share the trail – with a flock of sheep. I sat down on a rock next to a switchback to wait and see what they would do. The bellwether saw me, and led the herd uphill onto a steep grassy slope where they commenced to graze – leaving the path open for me. From that point the trail began to undulate more, up for a while, down for a while, but with the large mountain next to my destination ever closer. I had seen and photographed that mountain from the far side of Ortisei the day before, and I had assumed it to be a single big mass. I had been thinking about whether I would climb that mountain, Sasso Plate, or not. I was beginning to feel a bit tired from the up and down, probably because of the need to keep adjusting my pace to the slope, and when I had reached the destination, Plattkofel Hut, I had almost decided not to do it. The climb is over 2100 feet, topping out at 9700, well into the thin oxygen zone, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Also, the usual cumulus clouds were beginning to form, many of them building up like thunderheads. However, as the trip notes warned the place was rather a zoo, with dayhikers all over the place and the manager too busy with them to spare any time at all for checking me in – and the room wasn’t made up anyway. I looked at the mountain again, studied the slant lines that were probably the route, and decided to do it. As usual, I set out uphill with short steps and a slow pace I could sustain without overtaxing my breathing. Fortunately this route is well marked with the red and white squares of paint every few feet so I didn’t need to stop and consult the gps – I just slogged on. Halfway up the sod and grass gave out, and it was just a scree field; bushwhacking would have been possible but it was very nice to have the best route marked well. I encountered a number of hikers coming down, as I expected; usually the trail is wide enough to allow easy passing. When I broke over the edge I was surprised to see the cross-marked top separated from me by a deep canyon sloping down on either side of a narrow stretch of rock – not terribly tricky, but a “steep” penalty for a mis-step. A young couple were on top; he offered to take some photos of me. I took a few others just to show how broken up this mountain top is – not at all the monolith I had thought it was. The ridge I was standing on stretches for some distance, with several other peaks beyond the one we stood on, separated by narrow, steep-sided saddles with a narrow path along the entire length – far too narrow and steep-sided to tempt me. In fact, the mist and the thickening cloud had me sufficiently concerned that I only wanted to hang around there for a few minutes. I hadn’t seen enough sign of thunderheads to be worried about lightning yet, but I had no desire to be up there in a thick fog, so I carefully crossed over to the top of the slope I had climbed and picked my way down, grateful for the splashes of color marking the way. As it often does, it subjectively felt like it took much longer going down than coming up. The fog did not thicken for another couple of hours, after I had checked in and set up my bed. I was in a room built to accommodate four people, but in spite of the claim that the place was booked full, no room-mates ever showed up. As in the other place, there was no place to sit except on a bed; I tried sitting on the patio wearing my pullover and jacket for a while, but the thickening fog and chill drove me in. About the time dinner was served it started to rain, then some lightning and thunder. I chatted to my English-speaking table-mates for a while, then we all went to bed about 8:45. Day 5 – July 6 Woke up to a clear sky – 5:15. Stepped outside to see how cold it was – and the door swung shut and locked behind me, so I had to go around front, push the door-bell; someone popped his head out an upper story window and told me the boot room was unlocked. (?). Anyway, I put on my boots and walked ¾ mile over to the next ridge and back to warm up and loosen up. Someone at breakfast said the forecast called for rain and, sure enough, the sky had clouded up by the time I set out. It did start a very light rain an hour into the hike – the familiar Portland dilemma, is it better to be wet from a light sprinkle and slightly chilled or wet from sweat and overheated? It didn’t rain long, and I hiked most of the way in my short sleeve shirt. The trail basically circles the mountain, with a possible detour to the top of one of the halfway down canyons that split the mountain where you can catch a lift down to a resort hotel at the pass above the Val Gardenas; the photo above shows this split. Officially the trail ends at a gondola down to Selva, but I chose to follow Trail 526 all the way to the pass – nearly level and not terribly long. The meadow-covered valleys are beautiful; I had to include one photo. It’s all pasture for sheep and cattle, and the animals all wear bells, presumably so they don’t get lost. I loved this gate – a tree stump for the frame and it’s two branches to form the gate. There are sheer cliffs like this all over the place; I thought this one was particularly impressive. One reason I chose to follow the trail all the way to the Selva Pass was to visit what is described as a “City of Rocks.” I wasn’t disappointed – the two mountains hovering over it justified the extra walk (and actually it was less than an extra hour, over nearly level and slightly downhill terrain). In the selfie you can see that the mountain is actually split into three by the deep canyons. The bus down to Selva was two stages; I had to change at a resort halfway down, but the stop was only 2 blocks from my hotel, which has a little balcony with a very nice view. The trip is halfway over, great trip thus far. If only I keep being lucky about rain! Day 6, July 7. Second day in Selva Day started out clear and sunny; I headed out at 8 for the recommended hike, a loop up to the top of Mount Stevia then down and back, recommend direction counter-clockwise, but with a hairy-sounding descent on the north side of Stevia I preferred to go clockwise, because if there’s scree and loose gravel I strongly prefer to go uphill. The route is in blue on the map to the side – 11 miles, 3800 feet up and down. The old trail follows the fall line for the first mile or two, but heavy construction equipment blocked that way, so I followed a street that switch-backed up the steepest part. One of the Trail 17 routes branches off fairly early, then a second at about Juac Hut, but I had decided to go clockwise so I continued on almost to Regensburger Hut / Refugio Firenze. At first I missed where the trail branched off so I had to double back. The first few miles were forested so I didn’t really get a clear view of the formation below until well past Juac Hut (which is far from a hut to judge by the external appearances). I walked clear around Stevia Mountain (below). The left-most knob is the top; it is separated from the other wing by a very deep chasm. The trail leads up another deep chasm (first photo on the next page), but after a little meandering through some pretty woods at the bottom the first part of the ascent, probably about half, is over a long slope of unstable gravel, cobbles, and small rocks. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this would be a nightmare coming downhill – and it was almost as bad above the gravel area. The top half or so of the climb is over stairs. Some of the stairs are made of planks (below and right), which would probably get slippery in even a light rain. Others are made of logs in front filled in with cobbles and gravel, which would provide better footing in rainy weather (left). One flight of stairs was a little narrow – they had strung a steel cable for support. It would have been much more welcome down on the scree. This picture also gives a good sense of the vertigo-inducing slope – and why they built these stairs. I talked to an Italian-American woman, obviously experienced, fairly near the top and she agreed that up is the only sane direction for this part of the trail. As it often happens on a trail like this, after climb-climb-climb suddenly you reach a ten foot long stretch of wide easy trail and – you’re at the top, looking at the top of that odd stone spire. The view behind the rock formations was so spectacular I decided I had to stop for a granola bar here. My new friend offered to take some pictures of me (left) before she hurried on. After enjoying the view for a while I started on down the trail, then thought again about it. The peak is only about a half mile and maybe 200 feet above the trail, and it was already after 11; I ran a serious risk of getting back to the hotel by one. So I back-tracked a quarter of a mile and climbed up the grassy slope on a faint trail to a pleasant almost flat spot at the top. There I spent well over an hour in complete solitude: Surprisingly few people make that extra little climb. I almost didn’t! While I was sitting there just soaking it in I took several more pictures, including a couple more selfies. Some (inevitable) afternoon clouds began to form – and created the composition to the right. I’d have liked to get the foreground peak a little closer to the center of the shadow-peak (but still off-center), but that would have required me to dash out into thin air, like Wiley Coyote, so I accepted the gift I had been given. I like the slightly off-center effect anyway. Eventually I returned to the trail and headed down again. As I headed down the sloping ridge I noticed the rock formation in the picture to the left – like teeth in the jaw of some monster. I sat for ten or fifteen minutes just gazing at these before moving on. The rest of the hike was uneventful – ups and downs, then a long descent, mostly on more of those stairs, logs back-filled with rock, no slippery gravel to contend with. I returned to the hotel by three, even after loitering so long on the mountain top. Day 7 July 8 Today I walked partway up a glacier-carved valley, then climbed up a steep trail 3500 feet to a ridge around the end of the valley; the red dot trail shows where the valley abruptly ends in a virtual wall – a true box canyon. The red trail meets the trail I took at a refugio – not much of a view from it, but a good base for several potential hikes. Trail 14 leads around the end of the canyon then, where several other trails converge, begins a long steep descent into Corvara, in the next valley over. It was a pleasant sunny day, with some clouds developing in the afternoon but never actually developing into much. Top of next page is the mountain that guards the entry to the long glacial valley. The first four miles, through the valley, was mostly forested, but an occasional meadow afforded views of some of the rock spires near the upper end of the valley – like the ones pictured to the right. As I climbed higher, I began to get the occasional view of the cliffs at the upper end of the valley, like the one shown at the top of the next page. I also began to see the sheer wall that terminates the valley – also pictured on the next page. At first I encountered several people but they must have turned off onto a different trail. After at least a mile of vertigo-inducing trail hugging the canyon wall, it broke out onto an upland meadow. Here, only a quarter mile from the refugio and the end of the canyon, I found a delightful meadow to stop and have a granola bar and sit a while to enjoy the view. It was only about 10.5 miles total and I really didn’t want to get to my next hotel too early in the afternoon. I saw one other hiker in the 30 minutes I sat there – very unusual! At the crossroads refugio I saw a young couple engaging a bunny, trying to feed it I think (not a good idea and strongly discouraged – but people will do it.). Its companion, who was having none of it (but still pretty tame) is pictured to the left. A half mile or so on, where the trail began its descent into the next valley, I found another great spot, this time a hundred yards off the trail, to have lunch and kill some more time while I took in the scenery. Here’s a picture of part of my view from my lunch spot. The hike down is pretty. Mellow actually – after the first 200 yards or so. I had been watching the trail up while relaxing over lunch, and seen only one big party and a handful of 2s and 3s. The big party went partway up the trail to the point shown on the right of the picture; by chance they returned to the main trail and started on just when I decided to head down. The trail is squeezed between two rocks just at the top, and there is a narrow, tight staircase – I had to wait for three people above the pinch point, and for at least 35 on the landing between there and the staircase. How I do love huge hiking groups – they are really the major pain in the butt in the Dolomites. Unfortunately I neglected to get a photo of that traffic jam point, but I did get photos of the mountain to the right of the trail coming down – the bottom part of the trail can be seen faintly on the right of the picture. I also got a nice picture of Corvara from several hundred feet up – right. I am in the nicest room by far I have had here – Hotel Villa Eden. My room has a balcony with a view of one of the mountains, two good places to sit inside, a roomy bathroom (a rarity in my experience) and a jacuzzi open at 4 pm – not quite hot enough for my taste, but still relaxing after a long hike. And they lent me a bathing suit – no charge – probably something a previous guest forgot. The dinner was also quite good – good salad bar, GF pasta with excellent pesto, pork chops well seasoned – oddly paired with black beans, but that’s the fashion now. Chocolate ice cream – full serving not the tablespoon full I had at the Crown. Day 8 7/9/23. 11.3 miles, 2700 feet climb. Today was billed as a potentially easy day – if you took advantage of the ski lifts to do the uphills, but I preferred to do the full hike. It started out with some frustration – supposed to catch a bus to another village, Badia, and it wasn’t clear where to catch it, but I encountered some other hikers from Oregon and they set me straight. Once I was on the bus it was a short ride, all downhill. The trail led uphill for over a mile on a steep paved road, which gave way to gravel for another couple of miles, still quite steep but through beautiful countryside. Eventually the trail loops back to a church, San Croce, and refugio named after it. An attractive place, but on a very pleasant Sunday afternoon it was crawling with hikers – and mountain bikers. Going uphill, most of the bike riders could barely go faster than I – a few of them not as fast – and their steering was consequently wobbly, requiring hikers to give them extra room. Downhill, they really zoomed. I didn’t see any of them wrapped around a tree so I guess they weren’t completely out of control. After San Croce, the trail is level for a mile or more, then heads downhill, soon joining a steep graveled road (fortunately the gravel is not loose. Near the bottom I decided to take a different trail, leading more directly to a trail that follows the river back to Corvara, instead of catching a bus back. It was a very pleasant three mile walk (not steep – it just rises 600 feet in those 300 miles) and I got back to the hotel before 3. At 4 I went to the jacuzzi to help ease my shoulders – and discovered that the heat turns on right at 4; I lingered until almost 5, and it finally got hot enough to do my muscles a little good. They have artists doing installations along the trail – I was quite taken with one that celebrates fairy ring mushrooms (the subject of local folklore). Even the full-size photo unfortunately doesn’t do full justice to it: the globes, about 6” diameter, on little “stems” a few inches high, in a circle 8 or 10 feet diameter, are very shiny and reflect the sun in sparkles reminiscent of a mountain lake. I will copy in the largest that will fit the page on the next page. I don’t want to sound like Ronald Reagan’s comment about redwood trees, but other than the fairy ring sculpture the mountain scenery did not really set itself apart from what I’ve copied in before. It’s all spectacular and there’s a temptation to show every photo I’ve taken but I’ll try to restrain myself! Tomorrow and the next day promise to be more exciting in terms of scenery – the trail goes higher, and it leads to some WWI battlefields with considerable historical importance. The sparkles actually look like little lights; much brighter in presence than in the photo. Even the shape of the ring is like a mushroom fairy ring – slightly uneven, dense in some places, not so dense in others. The largest globes are about 6”; the smallest only a couple of inches.   Dolomites 9 July 10 2023 Today was a long hike, 13.9 miles, 5496 feet total climb – I chose to do the whole thing. It was mostly a good day, truly fine weather. The company recommends against starting out in town on Trail 2A and recommends a chairlift to get you up the first fifteen hundred feet or so. I was glad I hiked it – the woods are sparse and afforded some nice vistas of distant mountains. However, there was some rock scrambling, some of it on the edge of a cliff. When I was near the top, I saw a sign for Trail 2B pointing back to Corvara with the word “facile.” Apparently all that scrambling could be avoided – also, I discovered when I looked more closely at the map, 2B comes out on the main trail a hundred feet lower. I had some frustrating experiences with the navigation app, Outdoor Active. It was set for trail 14 – Alpine Hikers recommends 13 and I should have just stuck with that, because partway through the app started leading me off onto minor trails that disappeared into the grass – “you’re leaving the route” when there is no other trail or, a couple of times, the trail it tried to take me on was headed downhill when the route was side-hilling – a hundred yards or so down, “you’re off the route.” I finally sat down, re-read the trail-notes, which are often frustratingly non-specific, and located the pass we were supposed to go over, climbed a hundred feet or so to trail 13, ignored the “you’re leaving the route.” Fortunately the app shuts up once you’re completely off its programmed route. As I mentioned the entire center section of the trail side-hilled around a mountain, a way above timberline, affording some superb photos. Once we got around the mountain, entirely new vistas opened up. Most of trail 13 after I joined it was relatively narrow, and required some scrambling over a jumble of fallen rocks and again where huge rocks made for gigantic step-downs or step-ups. As I have on half the trails out here, I wished several times for a green grubber or some other tread improvement tool – often 5 minutes with a good tool would have remedied an excessive slope or a narrow spot squeezed by slough from above. The trail notes recommend taking the chairlift up to Lagazuoi Refugio, the goal for the night. However, after bumming some added water from a bar, I elected to climb the 2000 feet. I was glad I did for several reasons, including the best photos I got on this entire hike, made more dramatic by cloud shadows. (bottom of previous page) This area was the front line and scene of heavy fighting during WWI and there are trenches scattered here and there and rock walls and caves (left) where digging a trench would be difficult. The one pictured is at the top of the mountain, a few hundred feet from the refugio. The peak is riddled with fortifications and caves, some dug for safety from enemy fire, some as part of a scheme to blow up an enemy position The refugio itself perches on a cliff with 360 degree views (right), and it’s dorm only – I share a room with 16 other people, in bunk beds. Unfortunately the clouds thickened enough to block the sunset – and the morning haze was too dense for sunrise – or distance photos. Fortunately there wasn’t much wind and it was warm enough that we could all sit outside until dinnertime then go for a sunset walk before bed, so the lack of indoor sitting space was not the problem it has been at other refugios. Food was adequate – the GF problem again; lots of great bread and pastries. However, they did manage to provide an excellent flourless chocolate tart for dinner, greatly compensating for the lamb chops (overcooked and I had to cut off literally half of each chop because it was pure fat). At breakfast I met five people, two art students, two employees of Nikon, and I think the third was either another Nikon employee or a guide. The art students were getting a multi-day lesson in how to use their Nikons to take fantastic nature photography. Talk about a plum job! How I envied those Nikon employees. Last day – July 11. 9.85 miles 1700 ft. Even beyond that pass, it clung to the side of a very steep hill, just below a sheer cliff, most of the way to the objective. One particularly interesting spot was where the cliff overhung the trail, and left about four feet of clearance, on a steeply uphill part. Fortunately, the trail opened out onto a more moderately sloping meadow not much further, and that led to a saddle, with the objective just beyond. The hiking notes described this as a moderate day – and I could have made it a little more moderate by waiting until 9 – but by 9 I was already down the mountain and over a mile up the trail. Where it got not at all moderate was when the trail (#441) came to the final pass – two or three hundred yards of the most intense rock scrambling I’ve ever done, straight up a narrow split in the mountain-top, some of the reaches three feet or more, with only a dimple in the rock for footing. It was fun, but pretty taxing, and not for the faint of heart. The objective of the hike was Cinque Torri, a cluster of gigantic rock slabs standing on end, a few upright but most leaning at crazy angles – and a mecca for rock climbers from all over the world – several were on top of some of the slabs, and others on the way up. It was fun hiking partway around, then through a passage between two of the slabs into an open area climbers were using as a staging area. The hike back circled the other side of the mountain on Trail 440, descending sometimes gradually, sometimes very steeply, with some more rock scrambling – nothing remotely like that on 441. The cab obligingly picked me up at 2 instead of the scheduled 5, so I arrived in Cortina well before dinner, in time to clean up and walk around a bit. The Cortina d'Ampezzo is a 4-star hotel, frankly not nearly as comfortable as the “3-star” Hotel Villa Eden. The Cortina d’Ampezzo has many more staff, young men who don’t seem to be doing much most of the time, and does not have any seating on the balcony – a great advantage of the Villa Eden. In my book, the Cortina d’Ampezzo’s 4-star rating is just for pretentiousness, gilded antique décor, and a bell-boy who hung around expecting a tip (I didn’t realize that hotel bell-boys are an exception to the “no tips expected” generalization about Italy until I googled it again). The town is nice, and I’m sure it is a great place to live. Overview This was a great experience – the Dolomites have to be one of the world’s most spectacular mountain ranges. The crowds are a problem but did not spoil the trip. My cab driver tells me that the last half of June and September – “shoulder” seasons – are much better for the crowds. The scenery is wonderful, the trails as well-maintained as gravity and unstable soil allows. Many are quite steep, and in a few places it feels rather precarious. Loose cobbles and gravel are problems on many of the steep stretches: I blessed my trekking poles on every hike (and still managed to have my feet slip out from under me once). Good equipment is essential – sturdy boots, trekking poles, a hat with a brim, sunglasses. Overall I consider it one of my great hikes. It would be possible to arrange this for yourself – expect to spend a couple of weeks researching trails and accommodations and arranging luggage transfers. Alpine Hikers did a good job for me and saved me a lot of time. It would also be possible to spend a week or ten days almost entirely in the high country, hiking from one refugio to the next – the people I met who were doing that were mostly in groups with a guide. If you’re lucky enough to have several friends interested in adventure travel, hiring a guide would also be worth it. For a solo traveler or a couple, it would be quite expensive. Hotels The best hotels I stayed in were the Hotel Cosmea in Ortisei and the Hotel Vista Eden in Corvara. Comfortable rooms with comfortable places to sit both inside and outside on a balcony – with a great mountain views. Competent, relaxed, friendly and attentive staff, great food morning and night. The Vista Eden has a table and two chairs on the balcony, comfortable for reading or writing or just chilling out. The Hotel Cosmea in Ortisei also has a nice outdoor garden. The owners are very helpful and kind; when I arrived late because of a delayed flight they kindly managed to put together an excellent gluten-free supper for me on very short notice. Both of these hotels were very successful at accommodating my dietary restriction. Another option to consider, if you don’t mind the dormitory sleeping arrangement, would be to book a bed in a refugio for several nights (some of them have single rooms) for several days and use it as a base camp – most of them are situated at the convergence of several trails, enough for at least three days’ hiking. I talked to several people who were doing that. If you don’t have dietary restrictions the food is pretty good – unfortunately breakfast relies heavily on bread and pastries, but they all serve some meats, cheeses, and yogurts. At dinner there is often only one suitable dish for each course. I don’t know what the situation would be for other food allergies. Accommodations in the refugios are often bunk beds, dormitory style, with no place to sit indoors – the dining areas are often locked until just before each meal. If weather is good the outdoor patios are great – great views, reasonably comfortable, but if weather is bad it can be rather miserable.

Nick Eaton, Herman Creek, PCT - 2022.

Herman Creek Loops I did not set out to hike 26 miles. Two weeks earlier I hadn’t set out to hike 23.5 miles, either, but found myself enjoying it, and I wondered. For the past three or four years I have been hiking the Nick Eaton Ridge trail (blue, on the right). The first couple of times, I returned via the Horton Creek trail (magenta, farther right), where I had done some work with the Trailkeepers of Oregon. Then I hiked to the cutoff down to the Cedar Swamp Camp on Herman Creek, and back along Herman Creek, a total loop of 19 miles. About a mile and a half of Nick Eaton Ridge involves a steep climb through brush, followed by a scrabble over a series of rock piles, poorly marked trail, quite a bit of deadfall. The rest of all three trails is pretty good, pleasant hiking. The last time I did this hike I started thinking about the trail that goes on around the ridge to the main Herman Creek trail. It didn’t look like it would add more than a couple of miles, so I decided to try it. The ridge trail was a bit longer than expected, and I had to do some route finding over a late season snow pack at the very top, but otherwise it was a very pleasant hike down the top part of Herman Creek, through lovely woods. There is still a lot of deadfall, mostly just step-over but about a third require some serious scrambling; otherwise the trail is in great shape – after the bit of snow it was easy hiking. However, it was a couple miles longer than I thought – a total of 23.5. To my surprise I didn’t feel too beat-up, and didn’t feel at all stiff the next morning. A few days later I hiked up the first part of the PCT with a friend; excellent trail aside from the deadfalls. That got me to thinking about that loop (green on the map) – again, it looked like only a mile or two more than the Nick Eaton loop. After a brief hot spell (enough to finish off the snow pack) I planned a hike in mild weather with another friend – but she injured an ankle and backed out, so I decided to do it solo. Very pleasant hike, but 3 miles longer, for a total of 26.5 miles in 9 hours (again, by far the longest day hike I’ve done). 9 hours means a bit under 3 mph overall; but subtracting the rest and lunch breaks, it was less than 8, a moving average of about 3.3. That’s only a little slower than I was doing 20 years ago. I was pretty tired by the time I got back to the trailhead, 9 hours after starting out, but I recovered by the next morning – when I went on a 7.5 mile hike on Mt. Hood with a friend. I don’t plan to do hikes that long very often (it’s also good to spend more time just sitting by a stream or waterfall) but it feels good to push myself, test my limits every so often. I’ve definitely slowed down in the past 15 years – I know I couldn’t do Dog Mountain (2900 feet, 3.5 miles) in 60 minutes again – but it’s good to know I still have the strength and stamina for a 26 mile day. Nickn Eaton loop – the long way. I’ve hiked the Nick Eaton Ridge several times, taking the shortcut down to Cedar Swamp Camp, a total hike of 19 miles. I’ve been thinking of doing the full loop, following the ridge to the top of Herman Creek then following that trail down. From the paper map it looked like that would only add a mile and a half or so – which turned out not to be true – it added 4.5 miles, for a total hike of 23.5. I reached the TH at 7:15, beautiful hiking weather, and set off. I passed an old man resting at the side of the trail on the first switchback; he said he decided to start slow and finish slower. I think he’s the same old guy I passed last spring. I passed a young woman halfway up the switchbacks, and didn’t see anybody else until I was halfway between the Gorton Creek cutoff and Green Point – another young woman who had camped at Mud Lake. She warned me about some snow at the top but I decided to continue on anyway. The section between the saddle and the first rest stop was brushy farther up than I realized, and it continued through brush a hundred yards or so below the ridge for nearly a mile; on the other hand, trail-finding through the rock piles along the ridge-top was easier than I recalled – except for several new deadfalls across the trail. The first rest stop is just before the old Casey Creek trail – now abandoned as far as I can tell. It is a flat rock outcropping with a good view of Mt. Hood. The half mile or so past that point is in much worse shape than I recalled – a lot of deadfall and some overgrown bushes, but then the trail gets a lot better. The section between the Gorton Creek cutoff and the ridge trail is steep for at least a mile, four switchbacks then a steep section uphill to the Ridge Trail. I think next time I do this hike I’ll take the Ridge trail – looks like an extra half mile or so but probably a good view most of the way. I talked to the young woman I met for ten minutes or so, reached Green Point about 11, the base of the peak about 11:30. The trail along the ridge is wide, good hiking; two short uphill stretches, but much longer than I expected. When I finally reached the trail connector to the Herman Creek Trail I saw a lot of snow patches; then lost the trail under a long stretch. Fortunately I had the GPS function, and could see where the trail would cross the slope below me, so I bushwhacked the couple hundred yards downhill and connected up with it again. There were quite a few deadfalls on the way down into the valley, but nothing very difficult. The trail is otherwise in excellent shape, mostly carpeted with soft duff, really nice walking through very pretty woods, lots of birdsong. I stopped for lunch (at 1 pm.) at the crossing over Herman Creek, very pretty place next to the creek. Lots of deadfall between there and Casey Creek, where Scott and I turned around last week. The water was down enough that it was an easy crossing. I stopped two more times for a snack and 10 minute rest, reached the car about 4:30, a total of 9 hours 15 minutes, including an hour and a half of rest stops. Beautiful day in the woods, like a nine hour long meditation, and I didn’t feel nearly as beat up as I thought I might after that long a hike. Post script I did this again, counter-clockwise, in August 2025 and it was a beast – lots of downed timber, two burns, and a long gravelly descent, much of it like walking on marbles. I would no

Trailwork and Dayhikes May 24, 2022

I signed up for a work crew on Friday, carrying tools in to the middle section of Eagle Creek for a work party the following week. Susan, the crew leader, confirmed my doubts about Eagle Creek when she told us the work party had initially been scheduled for the previous week but the trail was blocked by a mudslide that it took her and two others a full day to clear. It was wet, stick, half liquid mud. There were also several small rock-falls, not enough to block the trail, and a couple of trees we had to move out of the way. The ground is saturated with water and clearly still unstable. A large group of day-hikers started a few minutes before us; we leap-frogged with them all morning; we would stop to clear a log off the trail and they would get ahead, then they’d stop for a rest and we’d get ahead. It was a beautiful day; we hiked 7 miles in, almost to 7 ½ mile camp, but cached the tools a half mile short because we were behind schedule because of the stops for tree removal. (Susan did get us back to the trailhead at 3:55, five minutes before the scheduled time.) She said the 4 day work party had a total of 16 down trees to clear that she knew of; given recent wind-storms and the unstable soil, there were probably more since the trail was scouted. On Tuesday I decided to see if the Hamilton Mountain loop is clear of snow (it is, though I saw a few patches of snow near the top of Phlox Point). I reached the trailhead at 7:20; no other cars in the parking lot: I didn’t see any other hikers until I reached the top of Phlox Point. On the way up to Hamilton Mountain and along the ridge beyond it I saw several patches of larkspur left) and phlox (above) as well as other wild-flowers, even a few early paintbrushes. I had already decided to do the entire loop, starting with Hamilton Mountain, then climbing Phlox point (seen from the ridge below Hamilton Mountain.) Usually we hike along the side of the ridge through the woods, then descend into the valley and climb back up on the far side. However, I’ve noticed an abandoned trail on the map, leading up to a “4WD” road that circles around the top of the drainage and passes behind Phox Point, so I decided to see what that is like. The trail we usually take is marked in green on the map: clearly the bushwhacking route is no shortcut. The trail leads along an abandoned road, which continues all the way to the ridge-line. However, the old trail has not been maintained, so large sections were overgrown with saplings and some bushes, including some small devil’s club (nasty sharp thorns all the way up the branches). At the top of the ridge the trail connects with a well-maintained gravel road (with several fallen trees and branches partially blocking it.) However, after it circled around to the Phlox Point ridge, the gravel road turned aside and it truly was “4WD,” except it was blocked, a hundred yards along, by a deep hole (probably bulldozed deliberately to block it). Still, aside from the occasional thicket of saplings or brush, it was pretty easy hiking until it reached the vicinity of Phlox Point itself, where the old road passes a couple hundred feet below the rocky outcropping that constitutes the point. Between the abandoned road and the ridge line is a series of thickets, saplings mixed with thorny bushes. I selected an area where this was the thinnest and scrambled up to a saddle from which I could climb along the relatively gentle slope of the ridge up to the highest point, Phlox Point, where the maintained trail ends. It was no surprise that I shed a little blood from scratches and gouges as I fought my way through all of this. It was just thick enough to be a challenge, and to require the occasional route-finding decision, so it took close to a half hour to scramble up the last half mile to the top. There I sat down for an early lunch (it was only 11) while enjoying the spectacular view of Mt. Hood, still fully covered in the heavy snow-falls we had in April. The weather forecast predicted wind, but there wasn’t any, so it turned out to be a great spring day. On the way down I saw two other hikers, then finally began to see groups of people when I got back to the waterfall.

Goat Rocks – Lost Lake Loop

For my last back-packing trip of 2021 I decided to do a short, 3 day hike I’ve done before; the first time was about 15 years ago; I think the second was 6 or 7 years ago. It’s a total of about 33 miles, but includes some very rough country and spectacular scenery. Unfortunately the sky was still pretty smoky, the scenery was not up to its usual standards. Otherwise it was an excellent hike. The route is shown to the right. The first day starts out with a long mostly level hike parallel to the Clear Fork of the Cowlitz River, then crosses the river and starts steeply uphill until it joins the PCT. A mile or so further along is a detour down into the McCall basin (lower right on the map) where I camped the first night. The second day ascends almost to the Goat Rocks summit, then follows Coyote Trail along the top, then the side, of a long rocky ridge, culminating at Lost Lake, where I camped the second night (another detour, near the top left.) The third day passes over Lost Lake Summit, side-hills along the ridge, then eventually crosses over and descends back to the junction with the Clear Fork Trail. Sept. 1. Weather was cool for early September, but sunny, dry, and pleasant. I had noted on my map of the area that the forest service road to the trailhead is rough – actually, it was in excellent shape until near the end, when it became riddled with pot-holes, then became increasingly rocky. The last steep quarter mile or so is covered with huge (football-size) rocks, very much like what you might find in a scree field. Low gear, slow as you can go; without high clearance and heavy-duty tires you wouldn’t want even to consider it. The first several miles of the Clear Fork trail are well-maintained, mostly level with some up and down, only a few dead-fall to deal with. However, once it crosses the river (creek really, at that point) and starts up, it gets ugly fast – lots of dead-fall, detour around, clamber over, even crawl under. Several ravines were badly eroded; in one ravine, three fallen trees, lying at a steep angle, provided a precarious way across. This went on for the entire final three miles up to the junction with the PCT. I was pretty bushed; a granola bar and 15 minute rest repaired some of the damage. The PCT is much better maintained, and at that time of day I only encountered a half dozen through-hikers on my way to the McCall Basin cut-off. Halfway there I passed a swampy little pond, Lutz Lake, next to a very nice campsite. The water was quite unappealing. McCall Basin: I recalled a sublime campsite next to a lovely little brook from my last hike here – well, the brooks were mostly dry, but after 30 minutes of scouting the meadows I did find one trickle, enough to fill my water filter bag, and it was right next to a nice camp-site. If it had been completely dry I’d have had to press ahead hoping for a snow-melt stream two miles further up toward the pass – or go back to swampy Lutz Lake. Pleasant afternoon munching peanuts to repay some of the energy deficit and reading Bill Gates’s book about Climate Change. By the time I had boiled water and eaten my freeze-dried dinner, it was getting quite cold, and the mountain to the west cast an early deep shadow; I ended up in my sleeping back about 7:15, for a pleasant, sound sleep. Sept. 2. I awoke at 4, put my gas can inside my sleeping bag to warm the gas up enough to evaporate and burn in the morning chill, managed to get another hour of sleep while dodging frost-bite from the can. By 5:30 it looked light enough to stumble around getting breakfast, so I performed the acrobatics of dressing inside a one-person REI quarter-dome tent – underwear, long underwear, pants, shirts, fleece, jacket… By the time I’d completed what amounted to a morning workout and crawled out of my tent, it actually was light enough to see. Coffee first, with a granola bar and a couple of gluten-free fig / blueberry newtons. Strike the tent and roll it up (with my deflated sleeping pad inside it); a second cup of coffee and another granola bar, then get serious about packing up: On the trail, still warmly dressed, at 7:30. Unfortunately it was still smoky; my photos of the Goat Rocks peaks and crags aren’t much. Fortunately, this mountain goat gave me something to photograph. He looks well-fed, especially considering the drought conditions. By the end of the first mile I was delayering; soon after the mountain goat I stopped to take off my long underwear and undershirt. It was still cool in the shade, but the hiking kept me warm. A little farther up the trail is a spot where I camped the first time I did this loop – lovely spot near a stream (it was dry last time I was here but had water this time) with a great view of Rainier as I recall. Someone was camped there so I didn’t go over to check it out. I was encountering PCT through-hikers about every half-mile in the morning, and almost every flat spot anywhere near water had a tent or two on it – many of them I’d guess making a last dash toward the Canadian border before snow hits the North Cascades, but also some just out for a few days on the trail. From the last time I hiked this loop I recalled a long stretch, at least four miles, running along the steep side of a narrow ridge. The picture to the right shows Rainier looming over that ridge – the trail curves around the farthest peak. This image was taken from just before a precarious section of the PCT, where it follows a narrow ledge around a steep cliff, part of it a sheer vertical drop of several hundred feet. Around the corner the trail leads out onto a nice broad ridge; a few hundred yards on I came across eight hikers resting and chatting- two separate groups I think. I went on down to the junction with Coyote trail, where I stopped for water, a granola bar, and a ten minute rest, and snapped this photo of the trail sign. On the reverse side is an old, very faded sign that warns about the hazardous conditions for livestock. From before I recalled several long sections of trail where I would not want to meet another hiker, much less a string of pack animals. (Nonetheless, I passed several mounds of horse-turds between there and Lost Lake; it seems some horse-lovers can’t read.) I also took a picture of the Goat Rocks across the narrow canyon between. The smoke had cleared well enough by this point that their rugged beauty shows pretty well. The Coyote trail makes a long descent, several hundred feet down to a saddle, before it climbs steeply back up again, both along the ridgeline and along the side near the ridge-line. To the right, a typical stretch of this section (looking back across the saddle toward Goat Rocks). The trail is rarely even a foot wide; in some places it’s only a few inches. This section wasn’t too scary, but there are several areas where the drop is so steep that if you fell, you’d likely slide (or tumble) all the way down. There are several places where the trail has been repaired from washouts, and several short steep sections with gravel and cobbles, with a steep scree and gravel slope below – not too bad going uphill but I’d hate to come down them, especially without trekking poles to control the sliding. Some of the worst stretches showed evidence of a recent trail crew, maybe Forest Service but probably WTA volunteers – these had been widened to a foot or more. There were also several fresh saw-cuts where deadfall had been cleared. I’ve done a lot of trail work but I can’t imagine even carrying tools over most stretches of this trail, much less work on them. Hats off and a heart-felt thank-you to the intrepid trail crews! Like many of the other lakes I’ve visited this summer, Lost Lake shows the results of the prolonged drought: You can see the “bathtub ring” – the lake is at least ten feet below full. Otherwise it’s a beautiful lake, with several great camp-sites along the south shore, one acceptable site next to the trail. I spent a very pleasant afternoon here, though even in the middle of the afternoon the air was too chilly to think about swimming. Like McCall Basin, I had the lake entirely to myself. The long spells of total silence (between airplanes) were wonderful. However, even this far from the trailhead someone must have been feeding the chipmunks – I heard them rustling around next to my food bag and realized I would have to hang it up somewhere – usually that isn’t necessary in a place this remote. It was at least five degrees warmer than the previous night; I was able to remove my long underwear and most of my other warm clothing before hitting the trail. The trail climbs a total of 1000 feet but most of it is fairly gradual, not much over 10%, through pretty woods and meadows. Then the trail rounds the bend and reveals the real reason why people are not supposed to bring pack animals. If you look closely at the photo, you can see the trail, almost horizontal across the top of a very steep scree slope, above a couple of near-vertical cliffs, and around a rocky point – the contrast is too poor to see it but it is a near vertical drop where it rounds the point – and there’s at least another hundred yards just like this beyond the point, a total of probably a quarter mile of sheer terror. Most of what you see in the picture is less than a foot wide, some only a few inches, fortunately pretty solid, but you want to keep full attention on every step. After I took this photo, there was no place I felt safe to stop to take a photo until I reached the summit. Even the junction with the Coal Creek Trail was too narrow to risk fumbling around with my iPhone for a photo. The other side is almost as steep, but about 100 feet down the scree gives way to grass and wild-flowers; an outright fall, if you started rolling, could be fatal, but a mis-step wouldn’t be such a problem. The slope is very steep all the way down to Lost Hat Lake (where I spent a cold rainy night the first time I did this loop, after being followed by thickening clouds and dropping temperatures the entire way from the PCT junction). It never was much of a lake, and half-drained by the drought it wasn’t even much of a pond. Below Lost Hat Lake the trail descends a few hundred more feet then side-hills past a series of folds in the ridge (up 50 feet, down 50 feet, level for a hundred yards or so, repeat). There were several lovely little meadows and a couple of ponds where one might pleasantly camp along this stretch. Just after the trail started downhill I met a very nice young couple. The young man, who seemed to have instigated and organized the hike, asked where I was coming from and about the trail. After I reassured him that the trail wasn’t washed out, and showed signs of a recent trail crew, he said he didn’t want to hear anything more – apparently knew it is not a trail for the faint-hearted. I did remark about their lack of trekking poles and warned them about some of the tricky cobble and gravel slide spots. Later I wondered – I hope they are both experienced hikers. This isn’t the trail to get a novice excited about back-packing. The bottom part of the trail is pretty awful – a lot of deep erosion-ditches and long step-downs. At least the deadfall have all been cleared. I was glad to reach the junction and the well-maintained trail back to the car. Friday before Labor Day. Packwood was having some kind of festival, lots of visitors camping out in vacant lots, main street (otherwise known as the main highway) jammed with people, 5 mph through town. All I could see was lots of food and crafts booths – rather like the annual Hawthorne Street fair, but people seemed to be having a good time. It was a great trip in spite of the smoke, a good trip to end this summer’s back-packing season.

Hiking in the Wallowas and Yellowstone Park – July 2021

Preparatory hikes at Wallowa Lake LaJean and I met brother Dean, Nephew John and their wives Cathy and Carrie at a rental at the south end of Wallowa Lake; I took the opportunity to do a hike new to me (West Fork of the Wallowa River to Ice Lake) and repeat an old favorite (East Fork of the Wallowa, past Anaroid Lake to Tenderfoot Pass). In mid-July it was height of tourist season, but fires had recently started on Thumb Creek, and when we arrived the sky was filled with smoke. Fortunately, the smoke gradually cleared. Right: The route map for the two hikes. We started out at seven; Dean hiked in two miles with us, and John hiked 3.6 miles to the junction with the Ice Lake trail. The first mile of the trail is pretty beaten up by horse traffic, with big rocks sticking up out of four inch dust, but after the junction with the little loop trail where the local stable takes horse riding groups, it improved quite a bit – pretty good trail beyond that. There is a log bridge over the river, and the trail immediately starts uphill through pleasant woods. There is one long series of switchbacks, then the trail side-hills for a half mile or so, to a second set of switchbacks alongside a steep-flowing creek. It eventually leads to a lovely lake at the foot of Sacajawea Peak (below, pale colored mountain), with a high ridge to the right and another ridge to the left leading around to two other high peaks. I found a shady spot there to rest, eat lunch, and enjoy the view for an hour or so before turning back down the trail. Along the way down, I took the old trail (now decommissioned) for a couple of switchbacks because it leads to an overlook from which some spectacular falls are visible; on the new trail they can only be seen through the trees and dense bushes. Surprisingly, I didn’t encounter as many people as expected – only one on the way up, two or three at the lake, and eight or nine back-packing in on the way down. Back on the main Wallowa River trail, about two and a half miles in, I saw a guy carrying a huge, overloaded pack that must have weighted 80 pounds; he was also carrying two grocery bags full of supplies. We chatted for a minute or two; he said he was heading in to the lakes basin (a total hike of fifteen miles or so). I think he must have been carrying stuff for several other people, although I saw no sign of them. He also asked about the distance to the Ice Lake junction, which was about a mile further. I think he must have been planning to camp at the campsite there (and, perhaps, wait for the rest of his group to join him). Distance to Ice Lake is 9 miles, round trip 18, elevation gain about 4500 feet. I got back to the cabin about 3 – greatly enjoyed a beer and some peanuts before my bath. The second day. I headed up toward Anaroid Lake and Tenderfoot Pass (the route to the right on the trail map). John hiked about three miles with me, then turned around in order to get back in time to go on a tour of a bronze casting operation – the proprietor retired to Joseph, and now does castings for artists all over the country. Like the other hike, I encountered virtually no-one on the way out, aside from a group of three women at the power dam 2 miles in, a couple who were hiking quite slowly and two men I saw in a rowboat on Anaroid Lake. There is a private resort that was grandfathered in when the created the primitive area at the far end of the lake, a large campground beside it, and two or three decent-looking campsites suitable for three or four people on the near end. I had a granola bar there and went on to the top of the pass, already almost devoid of snow. I reached the pass about 11:30 but the sun was pretty intense, so I decided to lunch at the lovely meadow at a trail junction just a mile back down the trail. First I walked around a bit, took a picture of Sacajawea peak (above), looked down on a lake below the pass that would make a nice camp site aside from the lack of trees for shade. After a pleasant lunch in the flower-strewn meadow, I hiked back down. Less than a mile past Anaroid Lake I encountered a huge string of horses, a dozen riders followed by at least a dozen pack mules. I encountered two more similar strings within the next mile, then I met the couple John and I passed on the way in, as well as at least thirty other back-packers in groups of two to four, all headed for Anaroid Lake. I stopped to talk to some of them, told them about the horses and suggested they might want to consider the other lake just before Anaroid, or perhaps the lovely meadow with a winding stream a mile below the other lake. I’ve never before seen that many people in the “wilderness,” all planning to camp in the same spot. Alas for the wilderness experience! Left – Wallowa Lake from the Anaroid Lake trail, top of the first set of switch-backs.   Bechler River (Yellowstone) Hike – July 22-25, 2021 31 Miles, total elevation gain 1550 feet, highest elevation about 8500 ft. I flew in to Bozeman from Boise by way of Seattle, had a good night’s sleep and met the guides and my fellow hikers at 6:30. The guides: Kelly (lead guide) and her assistant Charles, a retired Green Beret. Guests: Tim and Kelsey from Minnesota, William, a high school senior and his sister Jacie, a college senior, from Wisconsin, Rebecca, an education researcher from California, Abby, a special ed teacher from Wisconsin, and Eric, an accountant from Chicago During introductions, while the guides handed out tents, bear cannisters, bear repellant spray, and food items, it became evident that I was the only guest with any wilderness experience, or with much back-packing experience, although Abby has done some camping in the midwest as a counselor with groups of troubled teenagers that involve back-packing in to a base camp. The lead guide, Kelly, gave a short “wilderness skills and ethics” talk, including some details about safety around bears and other wild animals and the usual “leave no trace” talk. Unfortunately when Kelly talked about the importance of making enough noise to alert bears to our passage she did not talk about the complementary value of talking quietly and listening to the woods. During the ensuing four days I learned far more than I cared to learn about arcane video games, weird sci-fi spoof videos, and random bits of history (Eric), Abby’s bodily functions, and pop culture trivia (both Eric and Abby), usually inserted into a conversation loudly, and with no connection to anything anyone had recently said or done. The woods were alive with bird song before people were awake and up; after that I had to leave the camp area to hear the birds or much of anything other than pop culture trivia. The other members of the group all seemed like very interesting people, well worth talking with, but it was hard to have much of a conversation with any of them because the constant full-voice chatter overwhelmed everything else. After an hour or so of introductions and preparations we loaded into a comfortable van (wearing masks) for the 3.5 hour trip through West Yellowstone to Old Faithful, just beyond which we turned onto a short gravel road to the trailhead, and after more talk about bears and other trail procedures, we set off about noon. The overview on the REI web page talks up “the wonder of pristine geysers and hot springs” and I was eager to see the back-country thermal features. What it does not mention is that most of the trail is outside the caldera, the main zone of activity. Two miles in from the trailhead on the first day, we arrived at the first and only geyser, which spewed occasional brief weak spurts of hot water and steam while we ate lunch. Not far beyond the hot spring, the trail began a gradual, barely detectable ascent, mostly through new growth woods (the trees appeared to be twenty or thirty years old, probably re-grown from one of the catastrophic fires). Kelly led, crying “hey, bear” every few minutes, to let any nearby bear know we’re coming, and Charles brought up the rear, doing the same. The line gradually sorted itself out, with a few in front, a few a hundred yards back, and the rest in a group in between. We passed a junction with the Shoshone trail, which leads about two miles down to a genuine back-country thermal area with several geysers – the kind of area I thought we would be visiting. Shortly afterward, the grade increased to about ten percent, leading up over a ridge (and over the continental divide), then gradually down to the first night’s camp site. Total miles about 11.5, elevation gain 1500 feet, to an 8500 foot pass – pretty stiff for the hikers who all live near sea level. The trail is almost all in excellent hiking condition, with only a few miles where horse traffic has cut deep trenches and a few gravelly stretches. Although Abby is the only other member with back-packing experience everyone seemed to be in pretty good shape, so we were able to average about 2.5 miles per hour and made it into camp by 6:00, allowing a leisurely camp setup. Kelly was very complimentary to the group – usually she has at least one straggler – and it was quite remarkable, for first time backpackers at an oxygen-deprived altitude. Because I’ve been regularly taking long hikes at relatively high altitudes the thin air didn’t bother me much, but everybody else was pretty wiped out, and my own shoulders were complaining about the pack straps. There were already a few blisters, and Kelly had to open her foot clinic before she could make breakfast. The first camp-site (red marker on the map to the right) is in a little grove of pines next to a wide, pretty meadow with a brook winding through it, very picturesque, especially just after sunset when the full moon rose behind us, reddened, alas, by thin smoke in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, the area for tents is fairly small (a feature of the other two camps as well.) As a result, all of our tents were within 6 or 8 feet of at least one other tent; I barely slept because Tim, 6 feet from me, was rustling around on his inflatable air mattress all night. A couple of cups of coffee compensated for the lost sleep. At all these campsites, the park service has dug pit toilets, and placed plastic boxes on top of them that look vaguely like an upside-down recycling bin with an appropriate shape cut in it. The one here had no lid but, remarkably, there was no unpleasant odor from it. The toilet is located at the end of a long trail through bushes and trees, the first few people to use it call “hey, bear” a couple of times along the way, and of course everyone is expected to carry bear spray all the time when leaving camp. After a breakfast of hash browns, scrambled eggs (both dehydrated but done perfectly) and sausages we set off for a rather short day, and reached the second and third thermal features, a hot spring called “Mr. Bubbles,” which is safe to soak in because of a cold creek that flows through the pool. Some of the hot water bubbles up from a vent in the middle; the pool is also fed by a hot spring higher up the hill that flows down into the pool (right). The currents produce a great effect as first hot then cold water flows past the bather. Laying my head back into the water, I could listen to the hissing of water bubbling up from the spring. Everyone enjoyed the hot water on sore joints and muscles. After a long soak, Kelly and Charles prepared a gourmet feast for lunch (below). We all found bits of shade to sit in while eating. Kelly went back in for a quick soak, then we saddled up again to hike the half mile past another hot spring, across the creek from the trail (picture on the next page), then the two miles to our next camp. There were no more large thermal features, but we did pass a few mineral streaks on the far bank, evidence of some thermal seeps, as well as two or three small seeps (picture on the next page) and mud-pots beside the trail. The main group marched past these without stopping, but I lagged behind to look them over and take a few photos. The second day we reached a camp site in a densely wooded area, with a small waterfall in a stream right next to the cooking area, and two tent sites between the creek and the Bechler River, by now a fairly wide stream. These tent sites allowed slightly better spacing, and the river afforded a pleasant refreshing dip, though it was only knee deep. I found a slightly secluded sand-bar to sit on for a while and enjoy the sound of the river. Walking through the woods on the third day, we encountered some wild raspberries, then several patches of huckleberries, but we stopped only briefly to pick a few – I was surprised that some of them were ripe this early at 8000 feet. This stretch of trail was pretty brushy; my legs got scratched up and one of my arms got a gash, probably from a broken branch (I didn’t notice it until it started bleeding rather profusely). We stopped for lunch at the lovely waterfall pictured at the right, complete with a rainbow. While we were relaxing there, a guy who was trail running passed by. He said he was camped up the trail a ways, and had seen a sow bear and cub just a mile or two back up the trail, where we had just hiked through, which of course validated the bear precautions we were advised to take. After lunch, less than a mile on down the trail we passed another waterfall, higher than the first one but only visible through the trees (left). The third night camp was on a rather steep bank beside the river, with a gravel bank between us and the river. The tent sites were even more cramped here; there were three suitable for one or possibly two one-person tents. I grabbed one of them, Kelly and Charles grabbed the other two, and the other hikers jammed together on the largest open spot, in a configuration reminiscent of an army camp. I don’t know how well any of them slept – by now it was clear to me that eight hikers is much too large a group for the Bechler River trail (or any other trail I’ve hiked). After setting up our tents several of us put on swim-suits and crossed over to the sandbar. Next to the sandbar, the river makes a sweeping turn past a tree fallen next to the bank to a gravel bar, with a four foot deep swimming hole. Rebecca, who regularly swims in San Francisco Bay, demonstrated her swimming power by swimming against the current (the only way to get more than three strokes before grounding on the gravel bar). I tried it myself and managed, barely, to keep even with the current for a few minutes. Most of the time we splashed, sat on the gravel waist deep, or just floated with the current. It was a great experience. The morning of the final day, breakfast was a relatively spartan dish of instant oatmeal with some nuts and dried fruit plus a few strips of bacon. After Kelly did her foot-care business (over half the hikers by now had blisters) we managed to be on the trail right at 8 a.m. The first mile is through woods, then several miles run through what is ordinarily marsh-land, but was almost completely dried out, with two fords across shallow, slow flowing stretches of river. On the first of these, we heard what sounded to me like wild turkeys, but was actually a couple of sand-hill cranes squabbling under some trees near the river bank, a hundred yards or so away. For the first time on the hike I regretted not carrying my binoculars because I could see them only dimly in the shade of the trees. The final water-crossing was over a stretch of deep, still water. The park service had built a suspension bridge over the creek, which was rather fun to cross. After that, a two mile hike through woods led to the ranger station where Kelly put together a lovely salad – very welcome after three days without greens at all, and an uneventful trip back to Bozeman. Overall: The constant full-voice jabbering about pop culture trivia became tiresome by the end of the second day, and I began to yearn for a bit of quiet. Two or three hikers were slow enough that they lagged well behind the others, so I stopped keeping up with Kelly and started hiking between the two groups, which was much quieter, and I was able to escape the noise in camp by walking out into the open meadow on the first day and sitting next to the river later. I enjoyed the other guests, but the talkative two were so loud that it was often impossible to have much of a conversation with anyone else. Abby hiked behind me for a while and engaged me in conversation at a normal speaking voice; with the amplitude turned down she was interesting to talk with. Wish she’d turned it down sooner! The experience confirmed my prejudice against hiking with groups of more than four hikers, although admittedly a larger group is safer in grizzly country. Just because REI builds it up so much I found the Bechler River trail disappointing – only a few thermal features, and otherwise just an ordinary high country trail, with no mountain peaks or grand vistas, part of a national park only because it’s easier to draw a straight line on the map than to follow the contour of the caldera. Aside from the risk of bears I’d enjoy doing it again, but it isn’t worth the travel and the cost, and I’d be reluctant to do it solo. I’ve gone on three other REI-sponsored trips and enjoyed all of them; this one is my least favorite. I think I enjoyed the others more because it was easier to break into smaller sub-groups or even be alone, there were no ultra-loud talkers, and the backdrops were more spectacular (the Belize barrier reef, Death Valley, the Grand Tetons). When I wrote my review I noticed that most of the previous reviews are five-star, almost all of them written by first-time back-packers. To be sure, this would provide an excellent introduction to back-packing for any moderately-fit person with no previous wilderness experience.