Hey, let's rearrange everything... twice, AKA Month 2

Who is ready to read a long blog entry?? 

Best pizza ever, Jersey Boys pizza in Whitefish, MT.  Worst mountain bike trail ever, Whitefish Trail.  Looking to keep our legs going, we decided on a mellow mountain bike ride the day before our backpack.  We are just getting back into mountain biking and are definitely green or easy blue bikers at this point.  So, exercising our brains, we chose a green trail to match our abilities, after it climbed straight uphill for 2 miles, we were ready for a descent.  Per the map, there was a green trail with some blue sections that would loop us back to our start in a lollipop fashion.  Oh noooo, it was not true.  What that trail was in fact was an unfinished deathtrap trail.  We ended up carrying or pushing our bikes for over 2 miles, straight uphill or straight downhill, and when we found what was labeled as the connector trail, it took us to a private ranch where we were able to intersect with the highway and road ride our mountain bikes one mile back to the parking lot.  Never again, Whitefish Trail!  So much for a mellow ride!  A dip in Whitefish Lake did help ease the pain, but we would both still feel it the next day as we left for our backpacking trip.

A tip from a former patient put the Bob Marshall Wilderness on our radar as a wilder, less crowded alternative to the Glacier National Park madness (after Yellowstone, month 1, we were not keen on ruining our affinity for another of our favorite parks).  We set out for Big Hawk Lake, leaving from the popular day hiking Jewel Basin area.  There is not a wealth of info on the Bob Marshall trails, but we had a Falcon guide, forest map, and GPS.  The guide went into great detail, indicating mileage and landmarks to observe, and it put Big Hawk Lake at 7.6 miles from the trailhead.  Our first sign that something was wrong occurred when we were to take a junction 0.2 miles into the trail.  That junction, in actuality, was 0.8 miles into the trail.  The imprecision and error worsened from there.  When we arrived at Crater Lake, supposedly 3.7 miles in, actually 6.25 miles in, we ran into a group of 3 who had stayed the night before.  One of the girls reported outstanding fishing, and after stumbling upon an idyllic campsite along a small peninsula in the lake, we couldn’t pass it up, and the prospect of hiking another 3 miles per the GPS just seemed like too much as we had already negotiated some steep and rocky trail sections.  Besides, we were the only ones at the lake, and there was exactly one established campsite, so even if we had company, they would have to move along to find a suitable spot, preserving our solitude.  Some of you are picking up on some foreshadowing, I know.  After setting up camp in our nirvana, we paused to have some snacks and water and marvel at the scene before us- an alpine lake beset in towering, colorful bedrock, a slight breeze keeping the mosquitoes at bay, and silence.  Another couple of day hikers and their dog arrived, they did a bit of fishing and lunched on a small flat spot at the head of the lake.  No problem.  Then, they came.  Two families of five, three children each, three boys, three girls, aged probably 5-12.  Screaming, running around the lake, and jumping into the lake, our peace was usurped, the fracture of the lake’s stillness from the cannonballs, represented our distraught state.  We rationalized, surely they aren’t backpacking, no way, they don’t have enough packs, the kids aren’t carrying anything, even if they are camping, they can’t camp by the lake, there aren’t any spots, they’ll have to go up to the rise above the lake, the only other suitable place to camp.  It’ll be fine.  They’ll calm down and leave.  It’ll be fine.  Well, long story short, they stayed, and they were terrible.  Crater Lake is sizable, so there was plenty of room to spread, but apparently, where we were fishing was the ideal place to splash, and hey, why not yell across the lake to your family, that’s what nature is all about, right?  We were at a loss, gesturing frustration to one another as we fished on anyway.  One of the moms came over to us after about two hours of constant child yelling and throwing boulders off into an area near our campsite and said she wanted to “clear the air.”  Lady, you don’t know what kind of crazy you are about to walk into, I thought to myself.  She proceeded to tell us she knew they were a big group and that they had been asked to leave somewhere earlier in the week because of all the noise, so they came to Crater Lake.  She told us how the kids had been backpacking since they were in diapers and that they would calm down soon.  I wish I could tell you I was forgiving and understanding, but I wasn’t, and I proceeded to tell her that if they knew that much about backcountry camping and had so much experience, they should know that most people go into the backcountry for some peace and quiet, and she and her family should at least try to establish some boundaries for the enjoyment of all.  I know kids are kids, and they get excited, but they did not calm down, they did not quiet down, and they did not stop making the entire lake basin their playground.  I finally told her I knew they weren’t going to adapt their behavior and that we would just leave a day early because of them.  I don’t think she expected me to unload on her like I did, but I felt completely justified and would do it again.  When recreating around others, we often have to endure annoying habits and traits, but most people will be willing to enact some kind of compromise so everyone can have at least a 75% enjoyable time, well not Bible Camp Family (as we would identify on their vehicle on the way out); disclaimer, I have nothing against the Bible or Camp, but Bible Camp is how I identify these people.  They were all in for their enjoyment, 100% for them, who cares what % for us.  

Since the guidebook was oh so wrong about the actual distance to Big Hawk Lake, and we were already too far along to flee from the Bible Camp Family, we decided to do a day hike from Crater to Big Hawk to go for some more cutties.  In the terrible guidebook by douchebag extraordinaire, Erik with a K Molvar, it mentions that the trail is a bit overgrown in spots beyond Crater Lake.  Ha!  Try overgrown up to my chest at times and no perceptible forest floor which is bad enough on level ground, dang near impossible or impassible, either works, along a severely banked slope.  Pushing along, already a half mile further than indicated in the book, neither of us wanting to admit to one another that we had enough, we took a brief stop for some water and snacks and decided that we would be at the lake by noon per the GPS calculations, leaving us time to fish for a couple of hours and return to Crater Lake in plenty of time to avoid late afternoon/early evening animal encounters.  Invigorated by the vanilla Honey Stinger energy waffle (those things are delicious, especially when crumbled up into greek yogurt) and trail mix, we were ready to trudge onward.  There are many perks to having a tall hiking partner, including walking through the early morning cobwebs/spider webs, but probably most helpful is being able to see over rises and into areas where I, of short stature, can not.  In this case, Shaun spotted a grizzly in a thicket right next to the trail.  Had it not been for my newfound burst of energy, I probably would have slammed right into Shaun as I would have had my head down while trying to figure out why I torture myself with so much uphill walking.  We retreated 30 yards or so and waited.  Rustling and movement among the bushes flanking the trail continued, and as we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and losing valuable time for fishing and our return trip, so we decided to turn back and leave the grizzly in peace and ourselves in one piece.  Back through the forest gauntlet, we were both disappointed and relieved, relieved at the prospect of not having to walk uphill anymore (or so we thought, more to come) and also that we successfully and safely navigated the grizzly encounter.  

Along the way to Crater Lake

Camp view

After getting turned around by the grizzly

As we once again descended toward Crater Lake, the echoes of the Bible Camp Children screams confronted us with the cruel reality of either enduring another evening/night/morning with them or hiking out the 6.25 miles in addition to the 4 miles we had already hiked in pursuit of Big Hawk Lake.  Our plan was to stay two nights and then gorge on our favorite pizza in the world, but we needed comfort, and we needed it that day.  So, out we hiked, in the heat of the day, our weary legs pushed onward by our hungry bellies and the prospect of cheesy goodness.  We were definitely the worst smelling people in the joint, but we didn’t care.  We ordered two salads and the 18 incher, and not a morsel remained when we were finished.  Culinary carnage.   

Despite the frustration with Bible Camp Family, one of the highlights was our goat buddy neighbor.  We watched him negotiate the sheer bedrock cliffs with ease, munching on tufts of shrubbery and licking minerals from the rocks.  On more than one occasion he descended to the small inlet near our campsite to drink from the cool, alpine lake water.   He was curious about us but maintained a safe distance and never displayed any aggressive behavior.  Having recreated and camped around mountain goats frequently, we both suspected we’d have another visit or two during the night as we slept, and that we did.  Around two or three AM, I could here his hooves clatter along the rocky outcroppings surrounding our tent, and when we finally rose in the morning after a terrible night’s sleep, his hoof prints and tufts of fur confirmed his visit.  

Goat friend pausing between drinks along the inlet

Shaun bringing in a fish along Crater Lake

Colorful and hungry

Because we hiked out a day early, it meant we had to find a last minute place to stay for the night.  No problem in the closest established city to Glacier National Park in the middle of summer, right?  Hotel Wal-Mart was just the place… sigh.  It was the first time we had to resort to it, and even though it wasn’t ideal, we both slept like rocks for nearly 10 hours.  A few errands run in the AM, and I called the hotel to inquire about the possibility of an early check-in.  Here’s a tip, always ask for an early check-in on the day you arrive.  We are 100% on receiving early check-ins (except for Canada, more on our neighbor to the north later).  We were able to check into our hotel by 11 AM as they put a rush on cleaning our room.  I am curious how many people actually even ask, but it has worked well for us and helps us avoid just killing time and makes us feel more like we got our money’s worth.  We splurged on two consecutive hotel nights this time as we wanted to have plenty of time and space to prepare for the next leg of our trip, the Canadian Rockies!

After a good night’s rest and excessively long showers each, we began to outline our plans.  We were both fully aware of the recommendations to secure camping and backcountry reservations in advance, but we had checked the week before and there were a few remaining.  The structure of this adventure has been general locations in mind and getting more specific as we went along to allow us to account for weather, crowds, and fatigue.  Our planned route was to hit Kananaskis, Yoho, then Jasper, avoiding Banff and Lake Louise altogether or at least until the fall.  As we began the process of securing camping reservations, numerous wildfires had ignited in Kootenay National Park which abuts Yoho, so most of the backcountry campsites were closed due to fire.  And along the line of fires, Canada’s entire parks system is one giant dumpster fire, both national and provincial.  There are very few true public lands, which means you have to reserve a spot in a campground (called frontcountry camping) where you camp right next to a crap ton of other people, sometimes with trees between you, sometimes not.  If you want to go into the backcountry, you have to reserve a site.  You can’t just find a place and camp (that is considered random camping and is not allowed in 99% of the national parks and even where it is not explicitly stated, depending on the ranger you interact with, you will be told not to do so or risk fine).  So again, you will be surrounded by other people.  These standards are just so antithetical to how we are used to camping/backpacking and what we believe an outdoor experience should be.  We found a site in Beauvais Lake Provincial Park for the first night, to get us closer to Kananaskis Country and then secured sites for the next three nights in Peter Lougheed Provincial Park, the heart of K Country.  There were no sites in Jasper, anywhere or even within an hours drive.  We decided to proceed anyway, understanding there could be cancellations or the prospect of securing a spot at one of the first come first serve campgrounds (but again, what a risk, if you get there and there are none).  

There are two ways to reserve a campsite: by phone, yes, by phone.  I repeat, by phone!!!  The other way is through Parks Canada’s website or Alberta Parks’ website.  For each reservation, even if you book multiples at once, there is a $12.00 added fee for booking online through Alberta Parks.  Yes, there is a fee to use a computer to do a human’s job.  So, instead of paying $30 for a crappy campsite, you get to pay $42 for a crappy campsite.  I have no idea if there is a fee for booking over the phone because a) I’m not 1000 years old and b) they close at 5pm, and it was 6pm.  Unfortunately there were no owls available to allow me to reserve by paper… sigh.    

On our way to our first campsite, we drove through Waterton National Park and saw first hand the scars on the land from the devastating forest fires that ravaged the park last summer and burned down their visitor center.  Though fire is a natural process, it is still quite sobering to see the aftermath.  What a loss for the people and for the park.  

We had terrible neighbors for the first three nights of camping including people we dubbed Pah-PAHHHH, Willy Teddy, and Basic Brittany, but by night four, we had peace and quiet, even in a campground full of people.  Most of the provincial park campgrounds have well over 100 sites, so there are people everywhere.  Some even have up to 300.  Also, in case you didn’t know, there is a thriving redneck population in Canada.  Come as you are, I say, but don’t keep me from my sleep!

Bighorn Sheep everywhere, especially on the roads

Despite the camping hiccups, we were excited to check off a place we’d long wanted to visit in Kananaskis Country.  We did two hikes in the area, Ptargmigan Cirque (Tues) and Rawson Lake (Wed) with the intention of doing Burstall Pass with a steep scramble to Snow Peak on Thursday.  Unfortunately, the fires nearby intensified, and the skies were choked with smoke after about 9 am.  One of the main reasons to hike to a pass and scramble up a peak are to take in the views and get a sense of scale and surroundings, and with poor air quality, smoky skies, and temperatures in the upper 90’s (unheard of around there), we elected to pass on Burstall and hope to fit it in another time during our travels.  We decided instead to do a little backcountry stream fishing along Cataract Creek.  We fished the Highwood River on Monday with little success despite reports that it was full of cutthroat trout.  Eager to find more fish, we set out from the campground on what was described as an unmaintained trail.  Um, yeah.  Scrambling up banks and hillsides, over downed trees, and through brambles for over three miles.  We began to think the reports we had heard were garbage until we found a nice deep pool with fishy shadows lurking below.  We tossed a few grasshoppers into the pool and found eager and hungry brook trout of some decent size.  Their coloring was magnificent with deep blue and red spots.  We caught 9 fish in about an hour, but because the bushwhack took longer than we anticipated, we had to head back to the van.  This time, however, instead of bushwhacking, we just walked through the river a ways until we got back to the more established though still unmaintained trail.  A solid day of fishing and cooler than anticipated temperatures thanks to driving south away from the fires- our lungs appreciated our decision even if our skin, ripped to shreds from brambles, did not.  

The view from the Ptarmigan Cirque approach

Parting shot of the Cirque with a few remaining wildflowers

The last day of relatively smoke-free skies in Kananaskis Country

Scenery abounds along the Highwood River, even if the fish were finicky.  The descent was a 100 foot cliff with no discernible footholds.  All part of the experience!

Hungry brook trout along Cataract Creek

We were due a hotel night, which we had booked in Canmore for Thursday as a jumping off point to Jasper.  We lucked out and found a cancellation and were able to book three nights at a campground within the park, which meant we just had to survive the weekend before we went into Jasper on Monday.  We’ve come to dread summer weekends because they mean significantly greater crowds.  Canmore was crawling with people.  Cra-awl-ling!  We were both feeling pretty uptight and nervous about it including the camping options for the weekend, when finally we just decided to scrap Jasper, too and head down to the Oldman River and fish.  The Forestry Trunk road, we learned through investigation, is the only place where there is random camping and where there are more primitive campsites that we are used to, akin to BLM sites in the states.  Even though it was the weekend, we felt good about our chances at finding a place and knew it would be mostly locals or people like us who fled the masses.  We were so fortunately right.  We pulled into Oldman River North Rec Area and found our pick of sites, and even though it eventually filled up to 90% capacity, aka 9 of the 10 sites were full, it was definitely more our speed.  Our camp neighbors were all friendly locals and were somewhat impressed that we had figured out the Alberta secret.  We met another group from Helena, MT and one from just outside of Portland, on the WA side.  Smart people!    

Now for the fishing; even though it’s spelled Oldman, everyone calls it the Old Man.  We had heard it held large cutthroat trout and that access was quite good.  Right on both accounts.  Friday evening, after we had settled into our campsite, we ventured just down the hill to the river and threw a few flies for about an hour and landed three sizable trout, bigger than the biggest ones we had caught in our times on the Couer D’Alene, the Clearwater, Rock Creek, Soda Butte Creek, the Yellowstone, and the Snake.  We were both relieved to know that in the small thread of this river there were plump and willing fish which made us excited to actually fish the big river the next day.  Intending to re-fish one of the first runs on our way back to the campsite, we were disappointed to see a stark, white, naked butt, aka the Oldman from site number 6, taking a bath in one of the holes.  Unfortunately, unforgettable.  

If the first day was good, the second day was great!  We found a spectacular stretch of river with all the makings of an above average cuttie run- structure, fast moving water with riffles, and some depth.  All we had heard was purple grasshoppers, purple grasshoppers, purple grasshoppers, and while we had a couple take them, what they really liked was the PMD Para Wulff.  We had takes left and right and landed several large fish, with Shaun taking the pig award on a 20 incher.  Our success definitely drew some interest as a couple of people started inching their way closer to our hole, but luckily their decency prevailed, and they left us in peace.

We ventured to the Livingstone Sunday morning, hearing rumor of large bull trout, of particular interest to Shaun.  We found no bull trout, finicky cutties, and terrible wind, so we decided to head back to the Oldman for a bit in the afternoon.  If the wind was bad on the Livingstone, it was gale force on the Oldman.  Never have I been nearly blown over by wind before.  It was next to impossible to cast, definitely impossible to control your drift, and challenging to say the least to keep your feet.  Despite that, the remarkable creatures were feeding like mad, and we had 3 above average fish within 30 minutes.  Alas, the elements got to us both, so we retreated to the van and back to our campground which was now less than half full.           

Fishing under smokey skies

Such beautiful, healthy fish

Chunky cutthroat

I wish I was a fish where being fat was a badge of honor

One of the main reasons we left

The theme of month 2 on the road has definitely been dodging and navigating around wildfires.  After being forced to modify many of our Canada plans (partially related to camping nonsense as described) due to increased smoke and fire activity affecting air quality and views, we headed back toward Montana, Glacier, specifically.  Once we were back in data range, we saw the first reports of the Howe Ridge fire that eventually consumed numerous historical buildings around Lake McDonald, and at the time of this writing, is threatening Going to the Sun Road.  Regrouping, we decided to head toward the Bighorn Mountains in Wyoming as they were far enough away from most of the smoke but still offered the alpine environment we craved.  

We had settled on a plan for an attempt to summit Cloud Peak and look for the elusive high country golden trout in the alpine lakes.  Unfortunately, our weather window was small.  The intent was to spend three nights in the backcountry, summiting Cloud on day two, scrambling up to a chain of alpine lakes on day three, and hiking out on day four.  Cloud Peak is at an altitude of over 13,100 and does not have an official trail.  It is four miles to the top from a route marked only with a cairn that includes negotiating boulders for over 3 miles at a 20% grade.  We knew it would be a challenge, even more so because of the scant information we were able to gather in such a short time.  

When we arrived at the trailhead for Lake Solitude, we noted six cars, which for the size of the parking lot, was not a bad prospect for a good trip.  

After a seven mile backpack to Lake Solitude, passing four groups leaving the lake, we set up our camp and relaxed for a few hours, shocked that we had only seen one group on horseback who continued on up the trail.  We fished around the lake for a couple of hours to pass time until the sun lowered below the rock face behind our camp. By 6 pm, we were ready to consider the possibility that we would be the only group camped there for the night (and after our previous backpacking encounter, see above, we felt redemption was deserved).  After a blissfully quiet dinner, we reviewed our agenda for the next morning and crawled into the tent hoping for a decent night’s rest.  The alarm went off at 5 am, and we begrudgingly unzipped our cozy sleeping bags, exposing our legs to the morning chill.  We were ready to head up to the unofficial, unmarked trail by 5:45.  We approached the creek ford, which we noted the night before to be more involved than we hoped.  After negotiating across tiny, slippery rocks, we had successfully crossed the 15’ wide stream and were ready to continue our trek.  We had been walking for about five minutes when I exclaimed, “crap, my sunglasses!”  Shaun chimed, “me, too!”  It was not an option to forego eye protection in a situation like this, so Shaun said he would go back to the tent and fetch them, no need in both of us negotiating the creek two more times, and with his long legs, he can move much quicker than I.  I waited and passed the time literally playing peekaboo with a group of three adolescent deer.  They inched closer to me, when I would look up, they would freeze.  When I put my head down, they would gain ground, and again, when I looked up, in their tracks they stayed.  Eventually, they flanked me, but a sound spooked them and they scattered.  That sound, I knew to be that of a moose.  My alertness heightened, I fixated my gaze on the thick willows surrounding the stream.  After a few minutes, I see Shaun coming up the trail, and he gives me the universal sign for moose, you know both hands on each side of the head, thumbs on temples and fingers extended.  Relieved he was aware of its presence, we were ready to continue on our way, delayed already around 30 minutes because as Shaun went to cross the creek to resume our trek, his path was blocked not once, but twice by moose.

We knew going in that we were short on information regarding Cloud Peak and were unable to ascertain just how far we had to walk from our camp to the start of the unmarked trail.  It turned out to be around two miles, sharply uphill nearly 1000’ in those two miles.  Once we reached the trail, which was said to be marked with cairns, we found that not to be the case, and the boulder hopping that was described in the few blurbs we found were taller than my head boulders.  We began to consider whether we had the time and sufficient information to negotiate this trail.  It was a tough decision, but we decided to abandon our attempt as we were well behind our planned timeline and would be moving even more slowly than we hoped due to increased route finding.  Dismayed and dejected, we arrived back to our tent around 9 AM, no moose this time.  Unsure of what to do with our day, we mulled our options: fish the lake at our campsite, scramble up to the high alpine to look for the rumored golden trout, or abandon ship and hike out altogether.  We fished the lake at our campsite the night before and found it to be rather pedestrian and full of lake trout, which interested neither of us.  The thought of packing up our camp and hiking out another seven miles was more demoralizing than bailing on Cloud Peak, so we decided to go look for the golden trout.  We found the waterfall that was alluded to but never actually mentioned in a random forum thread we found online and began the steep scramble up, 1.5 miles, 1500’ elevation gain, probably class 2 or 3 scramble.  We arrived at the first lake and found crystal clear, still water and lurking fish along the lake bottom.  If those fish ate biting flies, they would have been record breakers in size.  I have never seen so many biting flies in my life, and they were relentless and apparently immune to repellant.  Despite the swarm, we fished on in earnest.  Shaun had told me a few weeks back that it has been one of his dreams to catch a golden trout.  I don’t know how often any of you reading this have been present when someone checks off a bucket list item, but it is such an incredible feeling and honor to share that with them.  I caught the first one and was mesmerized by the markings of the fish- true to name, golden body with a red stripe down the side and a vibrant red run down its belly.  It wasn’t long before Shaun pulled one out of the lake as well, and we were both relieved that we weren’t skunked and sat admiring each others’ fish while the other removed the hook and sent the fish on its way.  They are definitely intelligent fish with discriminating taste and a fighting spirit.  They will rise, survey your fly, and pass it right up in search of something more suitable to their eye and palate, and if you do hook one, they will not come in easily, jumping and twisting in the air.  We fished two lakes in a chain of lakes but after seeing some ominous clouds move into the alpine, we headed back down to camp just before dinner time.  All in all, we caught four golden trout apiece.  

Knowing some weather was moving in the next day, we had decided it best to get out a day early to ensure the van could make it down the 15.5 mile clay bottom forest road.  When I woke the next morning, I listened to the morning breeze as I prepared myself mentally to pack up and head out, not in any rush, at least until I heard the breeze turn to a powerful whooooosh.  I woke Shaun, and after looking outside and seeing what was headed our way, we hastily packed up our camp, crammed a Clif bar in our mouths as we were walking and started on our way.  A group had arrived the previous evening and had inexplicably moved their tents from the treed site out into the open.  We saw a few flasks lying around outside and thought, ah, been there.  Seemed like such a good idea at the time I am certain.  At the outlet of the lake, we paused for about 30 minutes to watch a mother moose feed on willow bushes as her calf lazed and yawned in the tall grass.  The low rumbles of thunder prompted us to get moving.  A last minute impulse buy at the Bozeman REI was a rainfly for each of our backpacks- that turned out to be an invaluable purchase as the heavy rain and hail started about 6.5 miles from the trailhead and never stopped.  Wind and dense fog also accompanied the storm but fueled by adrenaline and little else, we pushed hard and got out of there in nearly an hour less time than it took us to hike in despite having to take a longer route and climb up in slippery mud.  The forest road turned out to be an adventure, but luckily, we made it and were on our way to post backpacking glutton fest.           

Rewarding sights after a strenuous scramble

My first golden trout

The view from the second lake in the chain

We waded out into the middle of this lake, frigid but worth it

Easily the prettiest fish species I've seen

That hair hasn't been washed in way too many days

Shaun pulled a golden out of this inlet stream

We've been extremely lucky with wildlife encounters while backpacking

Following our soggy, premature departure from the Bighorns, we descended down into Casper (after enjoying delicious pizza in Sheridan) for a hotel night and to try our hand at fishing the N Platte River as we were still battling smoke and impending weather for our other planned destinations.  Fishing is a reliable way to come down from backpacking, and standing in a cool river doesn’t hurt the old joints either.  We found a last minute campground along the river (as we weren’t scheduled for a hotel until the following night), not the fishable part, but it had laundry, showers, and a pool table.  It felt strangely awesome to do something normal, like play pool, rather than sit in the van or at a picnic table during the evening.  

During this whole trip, I have been craving a piece of cake after backpacking, and although I had promised myself this reward, I had yet to indulge.  Enter the Casper Albertson’s.  I am a sucker for butter creme frosting and jimmies, and I found a ginormous piece adorned with both.  It was truly enough to feed four people, or just me over two sittings, albeit in the same day.  I can assure you, that was the worst stomach ache I’ve had in years, but given the exact opportunity, I’d do it again… twice!  It was delicious, exactly what I wanted.  A strange thing has happened to me over the last few weeks, my appetite when hiking or backpacking has been extremely out of whack.  I am a breakfast eater, and I have hardly been able to eat anything.  Usually when hiking or backpacking, I am starving at the end of the day, but again, not much appetite.  Hiking 10+ miles on a few handfuls of trail mix and maybe a Clif bar or energy waffle has been my mode.  Don’t worry, I’m not starving, as my appetite once out of the woods has been voracious, see cake example above.  Just weird how habits and affinities can change after all these years.    

Anyway, back to the N Platte.  After stopping by a local fly shop for some advice, we headed toward Fremont Canyon, about half an hour out of town.  Towering red rock walls, some up to 500’ tall shoot forth from the earth, bisected by the river, raging in some places, calm and glassy in others.  Access to the fishing spots involves carefully negotiating the user trails down to the base of the canyon, some a steep descent, others a flat out scramble.  The adventure down to the canyon was far better than the fishing, mirroring what we had been told at the fly shop.  Inconsistent with super selective fish but still a favorite because of the scenery.  A day prior, we had fished some different water that had essentially drive up access, and while it was productive, with both of us landing multiple rainbow trout over 20”, it was bland tailwater fishing and largely devoid of scenery except for a double rainbow following a nightly thunderstorm.  We did however enjoy camping in complete solitude, the only people at a 12 site unit. 

Fremont Canyon

Fishing here, it doesn't matter how many fish you do or don't catch

Trekking down at sunrise was not easy as we were exhausted

It's not often I catch the biggest fish of the day, but miracles do happen

Rainbow hunting

Back into the mucky sludge.  Not our favorite type of water but making the best of a less than ideal situation

Tiring of the fishing and the emerging smoke that had finally caught up with us, we pondered our next move.  Medicine Bow Forest was thrown around, and then one of us mentioned the Flaming Gorge, an area we visited last spring, one of our first voyages with the van rack in its current form and our fully constructed sleeping area.  We enjoyed fishing there before, and it offered a nice combination of fishing and hiking or rather hiking to the fishing, along a scenic canyon stretching seven miles along the Green River which boasts such gaudy numbers as 14,000 fish per mile of river.  There were also some opportunities for hiking around in Ashley National Forest, so we decided to head that way.  The weather looked solid, so we went for it.  Who can guess what happened?  Yes, weather, lots of weather.  Thunder, lightning, hail, and wind, and then… the smoke arrived.  The fishing was subpar, the weather was subpar, but we were largely alone on Thursday before seeing nearly 50 guide boats float the river on Friday.  After getting caught in yet another hailstorm and breaking the tip of my fly rod, rendering it useless, we were pretty frustrated and decided to turn our energy toward something productive- planning our backpacking trip to the Wind River Range for the week following Labor Day.  With an extra week to kill before that commences, we decided to get real crazy and head down to Grand Junction, CO for a hotel night before venturing further south to Durango, a possible future home for us.     

This guy was very interested in whether we caught fish

The Green River is one of Shaun's favorites

About 30 minutes later, we were stuck in yet another hailstorm

Made it as far as Telluride and didn’t go any further- too beautiful to leave and better than that, clean air and blue, smoke and haze free skies!  We arrived in town around 330 after getting an oil change in Grand Junction and doing something we never do- we actually worked out in a hotel gym.  I tend to wonder who those weirdos are who exercise when they are on vacation, and I still don’t consider myself one of them.  However, hiking and wading through rivers all day has kept our legs strong, but our upper bodies have had it way easy except for when we have to lug the cooler out to drain it.  So once in Telluride, we sniffed out a pub/pizza joint as we didn’t really eat breakfast or lunch (unless you count the fragments of Sun Chips we had left in the van).  We treated ourselves to a massive pretzel with beer cheese dip and a small pepperoni pizza, and washed it down with a refreshing Kolsch from a nearby brewery.  

We had heard/read so much about dispersed camping at Alta Lake nearby that we figured we had to give it a go, despite the horror stories we had read about the access road.  The van has really held up well in terms of negotiating some pretty gnarly forest roads; after about 5 miles and 35 minutes, we had made it.  I guess maybe living in WA has spoiled us because the lake was pretty devoid of scenery and had a few too many tweakers around (that is not better in WA, it’s probably worse, actually), so back down we went, still bewildered as to what all the fuss was about.  We found a spot at Sunshine campground, nestled among groves of aspen trees of various maturity, some of them already beginning to turn golden as the crisp pre-fall air had arrived, and it was magnificent.  One of our camp neighbors straight up looked just like Tootles from the movie Hook.  He was even wearing a robe- I was beside myself and could hardly wait to get cell service the next day so I could text a picture to my brother Eric.  For the rest of the night I put my ridiculous penchant for recalling movie quotes on display much to Shaun’s dismay I am sure.  After a picturesque CO sunset, we piled into the van to go to sleep, unsure of what the next day would hold for us.  When we woke the next morning after severe storms moved through, we were both feeling pretty fatigued and dehydrated which we knew didn’t bode well for anything strenuous at our altitude, so we decided to get some fluids and seek out a mellow day of fishing along the San Miguel River.  We went into town to get licenses and advice and met a cool guide named Goose who gave us some great tips, and then later that day, we got to thank him as we went back for round 2 of pretzels and beer, and he sat next to us at the bar. 

We had really wanted to get a hike in to keep our legs in shape and get some cardio after a few consecutive rest days.  We opted for Hope Lake with continuance to a pass called… Unnamed Pass.  I don’t know what you have to do to name a pass, but someone should really do that.  We got an early start, as is our preference and made it to the top of the pass in less than 2 hours, which was actually a pretty good pace considering the last 2.5 miles gained elevation steadily over rocks, boulders, and roots.  The lake itself was fair, becoming more scenic as we ascended the pass and looked down over the lake and beyond.  It’s actually a man-made lake but is sustained by snowmelt and runoff.  It supplies water to the nearby Ames Power Plant- those are everywhere it seems in CO.  We packed our rods, just in case, but after seeing only 3 fish rise the whole time were at the lake or ascending/descending the pass, we decided not to invest too much time in it and headed back down to the van to negotiate yet another crappy forest road.  

Colorado sunsets are dynamite

View of Hope Lake from Unnamed Pass (someone should name it, seriously)

Descending toward the trailhead (and burgers!)

Saying goodbye to Telluride, we headed back toward Montrose and the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park.  After stopping in the local fly shop and getting more super helpful advice, we made our way to the East Portal Campground, down a road with a 16% grade for over 2 miles.  The East Portal is a rolling dam that supplies water to Montrose and surrounding areas for farming, etc via a tunnel that is considered a marvel of modern engineering.  A Park Ranger stopped by the campground to let all know that the trails nearby were not actually trails and were bear trails as there is a large population of black bears who frequent the East Portal area, especially the campground.  We didn’t have any encounters, at least face to face, but we are pretty sure there was at least one bear messing around in the trees behind us as we fished the Canyon.  Fishing was good, and even if it wasn’t, the scenery and solitude (in the morning at least) made it worth it.

We were lucky to have some really nice people around us at the campground on night one, but by night two, a new crowd of less appealing people rolled in and given our goal of photographing sunset along the rim and milky way photography, we decided we would just head up and bail on night two in East Portal.  After all, our intention was to fish another area the next morning which would be quite a drive.  Scenery from the rim rivaled scenery from down in the canyon, but it became clear that milky way photography was not going to happen as it had clouded up considerably, and the window was right after nautical twilight, not near enough time for the clouds to move out before the moonrise would wash all the starts away.  We decided we would head toward our next fishing destination and find camping along the way.  As we descended into Montrose, we pulled over so I could take a phone call, and Shaun went into a sketchy gas station for a snack.  Phone call over, snack obtained, it was time to get moving, only the van would not start… after internally then externally panicking a little bit, we gathered our composure and called AAA.  They were to us within half an hour (way to go Montrose, CO) and had jumped us.  We drove to a hotel as we knew we needed to have the battery checked and probably replaced.  The guy from the towing company who jumped us off gave us the card of a buddy of his, and they ran a diagnostic and replaced our apparently 8 year old battery the next morning in about 15 minutes.  Relieved we had dodged a major financial bullet, we headed toward the more remote North Rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.  We scored a great camp spot and meandered around the rim following a nap and a hearty meal, mesmerized by the nearly 2000 foot tall canyon walls that narrowed to a width of 40 feet in some places before widening and once again unleashing the mighty Gunnison River to race through, dropping 95 feet of elevation per mile or river.  

Fall colors starting early out here

The might Gunnison slicing through the canyon as viewed from the South Rim

Golden hour views along the North Rim.  The river is far down below

This is called the kneeling camel

Shaun landed a nice brown down in the canyon

Fishing views

One more day of fishing, then it’s time to head back toward Wyoming for a date with the Wind River Mountains and Jackson.  One of the things I have been looking forward to since the day we left was a rendezvous with my best friend in Jackson at the beginning of September, unfortunately, plans fell through, so needless to say I have been pretty bummed about it.  Some people may not know, but I am a super crier, and this has been a low point for me, lots of tears and frustration (think Alice in Wonderland cartoon and lots of ugly cries), but trying to pick myself up and spare Shaun a weepy, emotional travel partner.  One of the things I never thought of is how weird it would be to really only have one person to confide in for this long.  Don’t get me wrong, I tell Shaun everything, and he is a great listener and gives thoughtful advice, it’s just sometimes you want options, and that’s where girlfriends enter the picture.  Texting is great, phone calls are great, but you just can’t beat good ole proximity sometimes.  It’ll get better, but full disclosure, I am hurting more than a little bit over here.  A common misconception, I think, is that because we have all this time off and no work commitments, etc that life is all peachy, but while we are extremely fortunate and grateful, the disconnect from support systems is the price you pay to disconnect from a lot of your stressors, too.  The balance waxes and wanes at times, you just have to hope it normalizes eventually, and that’s where I am at this present moment.  

It has really been a crazy but fulfilling month, lots of adaptations, plans changing, discovering new places, and seeing parts of the country we didn’t expect, but if I’m honest, I’m a bit ready for some predictability, so we’ll see what September holds!  Thanks for all the support and positive energy as we continue to navigate this incredible journey together!