On a Scale from 1 to 7

Sunday, August 29th, 2010
The D. Swingers’ seventh hitch started out at the Old Post in Missoula, eating bomb burgers. The most popular was the bacon and bleu cheese burger, which I think we would all recommend. Then we were on the road to Thompson Falls with a mission: to figure out whether or not Jim is lactose intolerant. To complete this goal, he insisted on drinking nearly a gallon of milk on his own, in the car ride to the trailhead. Luckily, he is not lactose intolerant, but realized that drinking an entire gallon of milk will make you sick either way (duh). Travis also learned something on the car ride: how to text properly. After receiving a text over the break that said, “4 u on scale 1 to 7 7 bing the hghst how much do u lik celary,” something had to be done. After a long discussion about how much each member of our crew does or does not lick celery, I think it is safe to say that Travis will be sending text messages that at least include the vowels.

Monday, August 30th, 2010
After warming up with some tai chi during stretch circle, our crew hiked into Cabin Lake. After doing some retread, our sponsor and his ponies brought in our food and two wall tents. We spent the next several hours setting up the wall tents, with a stove in each one to keep us warm at night. It all had a very old timey feel, chopping wood for our stove in the tent where Jim reads us The Hobbit every night.

Our crew sets up one of our two wall tents.

Tuesday, August 31st, 2010
Our crew started out the day thinking we would be working on a reroute around an incredibly steep section of trail. Right as we got to the worksite our sponsor called asking us to hike over to the old reroute to blast rocks in our other trail. YAY! Rocky, Ernie and their friends from the Ranger District showed us how the blast rocks using fireline explosives. The explosions were huge, and after pushing the button to set one off, Tom “Man God” Brangers explained to us all how he has thunder in his finger tips…his ego was otherwise unaffected.


DYNAMITE!! Before….


After!

After blasting and redigging the trail, filling in the giant holes that were left, the D. Swingers hiked the long trail back to cabin lake in the rain. Returning to camp with 9 miles under our belt and soaking wet and cold, the only thought on everyone’s mind was to make a fire in the stove, warm up, and relax while listening to Jim read The Hobbit. After getting the fire going, it was noticed that the tent was leaning a bit. The rest of the events happened rather quickly:
1. Jim asks Kevin and Tom to come out of the tent to see how much its leaning, Tom turns him down saying he’ll hold on to the chimney, but really thinking he’d rather take his boots off and not go back outside.
2. Travis and Ashley come out of the kitchen tent to help, but instead hear Jim yell “Get outta there!” and they see the tent go down. With Tom in it.
3. Despite the shock, the entire crew jumps to it to get Tom out from under the tent, which everyone thought was going up in flames within a few minutes. Tom claims he wasn’t screaming like a little girl, but in the chaos I suppose we’ll never know the real truth.
4. Tom gets out, as well as the stove, and we were left with a wall tent on the ground just as we were all going to go to bed.
5. Two hours later, the tent is back up, everyone is still wet, cold, and exhausted, but we can finally go back to bed, although we spent the rest of the week being a little paranoid every time there was a strong breeze.

Wednesday, August 31st, 2010
Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain, Cold Cold Cold, Hail Hail, Thunder Lightning
Thursday, September 1st, 2010
Sunshine!

Ashley, Tom and Kevin enjoy the view and the sunshine after the terrible weather the day before.

The weather turned (thank goodness), but I don’t think it was as successful as raising the crews spirits as our sponsor was when he brought us bacon and sausage. Yummmm….meat! Well…raising everyone’s spirits except for Travis, our crew’s vegan. After announcing that the smell of bacon makes him vomit, our sponsor, Steve, dared him to go in the tent and smell it while it was cooking. Travis did it, and despite a lot of hacking, coughing, and ghagging, he successfully did not puke.

The crew’s excitement for some real meat.


Travis smelling the bacon.

The rest of the hitch went as normal as it can, with the few highlights being discovering a cool echo Friday night. We all enjoyed yelling characters from Lord of the Rings to have the mountains echo them back to us. Of course everyone went a little loopy on the last day, with Kevin headbutting and tickling Tom etc. We had an extra member join our crew for our last day, Jim’s friend Drew. He was great and was up for digging trail in the snow with us after driving all night and hiking in.


Tom “Man God” Brangers catching snowflakes on his tongue.


Workin’ in the snow, and a little loopy on the last day.


SNOW!!!

Well…another hitch down, only two more to go, and our crew is as good and as strange as we’ll ever be, minus one major person of course. We missed you everyday Vicky! And will continue to miss you the rest of the season!

Hitch 7, by Isaac Miller, Wester Wildlands

Our 6th and 7th hitches were radically different than the previous 5. Front country is now the new norm, as are Chain Saws, Pion Jars, Brush Saws, and Dynamite; all features unbeknownst to the first 5 hitches. Such queer and alien features, like the Swedish made Rock drills called Pion Jars, were approached by all of us with mixed feelings. Some felt eager and excited, others felt discomfort and disdain, but I’d say the predominate feeling among the crew was willingness to get the job done and step up to the daunting task of digging 4800 feet of new connector tread. At least I was (while I was secretly tricking myself into believing our crew was hand-picked to do this job).
Our 6th and 7th hitches started out similar: packing up tools, group gear, and bodies to hit the road down Wild and Scenic highway 12 around 8:00ish in the morning. We stay on the windy road headed WSW for about 120 miles until we reach Lowell, Idaho, population. 24, scratch that, 23 people, elevation 1224 ft. If there was any sleep on the drive to Lowell, there would be none of that from there on out. After a brief pit stop at Cougar Canyon, Big Red and the crew make our ascent up to Cool Water Ridge.
After finding Coolwater Ridge Rd, we promptly rise at an avg. grade of 562 ft. per mile. After 8 miles of climb, we reach Idaho Point turn off, where we will have risen 4500 ft. At that point we have to look forward to an extremely treacherous ride on an unpaved 5 mile ride lasting about 2 and ½ hours (which led to periodic engine stoppages, coffee spills, and inadvertent head bangings). After having gone through 3 of these trips (2 up and 1 down) the rig started to show signs of damage with the camper detaching from the bed (later forcing us to walk the 3/4 mile stretch to the worksite). Feeling that the hard part is half over, we then set up camp and got ready for work.
After hiking the ¾ of a mile, we reach our worksite on the eastern slope of Coolwater Ridge. But along the way, a Black Bear is spotted along the western side chomping down on the season’s berry harvest. Looking east, we are greeted once again by the rocky Selway Crags peaks and, on clear days far off in the distance, El Capitan peak. In the foreground of the Crags, we see Ghost Mountain, which, together with Coolwater ridge, flanks a former lake bed-turned alpine meadow down below. A gently rolling stream runs through this area. A cow moose together with her calf were spotted refreshing in its waters one sunny afternoon while working. After 3 minutes in our sights, the pair quickly scampered off into the trees, presumably after the first subtle sign of danger.
As our presence was heard more and more each workday, wildlife spotting became more and more scant. Crew member Michael (aka McSpace) immediately began drilling rocks into the first bluff on the trail. A brush saw was used to clear bushes along the un-dug trail path, and chainsaws were used to cut and de-limb trees for firewood. All of this, though, certainly did not keep away deer from scampering wildly close to our tents at night.
In summary, the work done on the 7th hitch was pretty similar to the 6th but with the major differences being lower temperatures and more precipitation, and consequently, having a wall tent. The first night it rained all night leading to flooded tents, sleeping bags, and sour moods the following morning. The second day, the rain turned into hail eventually, causing us to cut our workday short and have an engaging Place Lesson. The third day of work resumed with better weather and brighter spirits. Good weather continued up to seventh day when our forest service sponsor arrived with dynamite. That snowy afternoon saw 2 blasts, including a 16-stick dynamite blast into the main bluff, instantly shredding or cracking thousands of pounds of rock (then pried out with rock bars). The 8th morning we were greeted with breakfast and a lesson on chainsaw use and maintenance (and another MCC vehicle damaged by the ride up to the campsite). That afternoon, we then rode back 1 day earlier than we previously would have due to re-gravelling of the first 10 miles of the road. All-and-all, the hitch was good. Even though we’ve completed around 600 feet (2500 ft. behind schedule) we still feel accomplished for building brand new quality trail and thus making history.

Montana Conservation Corps--A Dad's Perspective - Bob Coughlin

My daughter Carolan has worked as an MCC (Montana Conservation Corps) crew leader this summer and has lived in the Bob Marshall/Great Bear Wilderness. This past hitch she was near Inspiration Point and Sunburst Lake, rerouting and maintaining trails. I found this out last evening when she called me from the Spotted Bear Ranger Station. During the past ten-day hitch, she and her crew have lived in tents; in fact, they have lived in tents most of the summer. Most of the summer Carolan, Adam, and their crew (Lemmy, Evan, Elisheba, Barry, and Mark) have lived and worked near Strawberry Creek, just west of the Continental Divide. At times they camped by Sabido Cabin, and other times near a branch of Strawberry to the north of Sabido. If I understand correctly, Sabido is about 20 miles from Schafer Meadows Ranger Station, which is about 14 miles from the Morrison Creek/Skyland trailhead, where Carolan has parked her car most of the summer. In other words, she and here crew have lived a 2-day walk from what we in the "real world" (Carolan's words) think of as civilization.

As a Dad, I glory in the stories and photos that have come back our way to Northeast Ohio. I love that her food and mail come via mule train. I love the way these six young people have learned to live and work together. They have done such good work in the Wilderness, a service to the state of Montana, the United States of America, and even Planet Earth itself. Presuming to speak for all these entities, I'll say, "Thank You!"

In the beginning of my daughter's MCC adventure, I worried about grizzly bears, mountain lions, black bears, grey wolves, and all the wild things that can potentially harm a person living in the wilderness. Turns out that they haven't had many encounters with dangerous wild animals, and when they see one they feel lucky, blessed. Carolan and her companions won't forget that rare glimpse of a grizzly browsing along Strawberry Creek. So I have stopped worrying so much about bears and mountain lions (still worry a little, I admit).

I've also worried a bit about their health. Say they broke a leg two days from help; or someone suffered a burst appendix or a thousand other health emergencies, big and little. So far they have escaped major medical problems. But I'm sure they've lived with a lot of minor problems, colds, headaches, sore throats, stomach aches, etc. These guys are tough hombres, who can't run to the medicine cabinet or doctor for every complaint.

Every day I check the weather in Carolan's vicinity, using the Weather Underground website. Of course there usually isn't a weather station right nearby, so I end up researching the weather in Hungry Horse or East Glacier Park or Choteau or someplace like that. I've noticed that fall is approaching in the Montana mountains and that night temperatures are often in the 30's (and these guys are usually in tents!). I guess the next hitch they will be sleeping at Spotted Bear, in cabins. On actual mattresses, for God's sake!

Another thing I do is study maps and handbooks about trails in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex. I also use Google to find images near where her crew works. I've even located some videos on Youtube that help me picture their work and living environment (there are several videos of small planes landing at the Schafer Meadows airstrip). I do other things, like check in with the MCC Krew blog, http://mcckrew.blogpost.com (which I think is so interesting and wonderful that it should be published as a book), and go to the Glacier National Park website and look at their many webcams. These images are not exactly what Carolan is experiencing, but she is not far away from these places.

My wife and I have discovered two mystery novels set in The Bob, near Schafer Meadows. One story, by Beth Hodder, is called The Ghost of Schafer Meadows; the other, just out, is called Stealing the Wild. Beth and her husband worked for the Forest Service for many years, living at Schafer Meadows and working throughout The Bob and know this landscape intimately. These books have also helped us understand my daughter and her crew's working and living environment. In a strange coincidence, we have discovered that Beth Hodder and I both grew up in Euclid, Ohio, and graduated from high school the same year. The website for her books is: http://www.grizzlyridgepublishing.com.

So I have vicariously followed the adventures of Carolan and Adam's wilderness crew. And once this summer my wife Linda and I were able to visit the MCC office in Kalispell and then actually meet up with Carolan for a day at Glacier National Park.

All in all it has been great fun, a wonderful trip!

[Bob Coughlin, Chardon, Ohio]

Seventh Hitch, Green Team collaboration edited by Trevor Dietz

We had our first snow of the season this hitch and Trevor had a lot of trouble finding his tent every night. One gruesome night Trevor stepped in the latrine while looking for his tent which was a quarter mile away. Everyone farted a lot from Ashton’s cooking. All ten of us (Plus three from the Forest Service Crew) huddled nightly in the wall tent to keep warm. Freezy warm freezy warm in a cacoon. Good hitch, lot’s of work accomplished. Coffee good, wall tent made me happy. I don’t think Trevor brushes his teeth [He might brush his cat’s teeth]. Sometimes the gravity hang froze! And we didn’t always have enough water for the day; oh no! Coffee at lunch on the trail equals crazy trail workers (Especially Tony) with lots of energy. During our break, we all (Minus one) burned our time away smoking cigarettes. It was hilarious when Quirt (Packer) drank all of Peter’s (Forest Service Crew Leader) root beer (Expect to Peter) Quirt is hilarious. This where the steady cam pans away from the Green Team. The final shot of the movie is rested outside of the wall tent where the Crew Leader Paul is on his knees washing everyone’s dirty dishes (Where he belongs). The camera slowly fades to black and an overture (Featuring Daft Punk’s Faster, Stronger, Harder) plays. Fade to black.
CREDIT SEQUENCE
Crew Leader One……Jen Bullis
Crew Leader Two….Paul Twedty
Forest Service TA….Noel
Cocky Crew Member….Tom Bourelen.
Team Ox……Tony Lawrence
Disgruntled Crew Member….Kila Weeks
Mild Temper Woman……….Ashton
Forest Service Crew Leader…..Peter Baver
Olympic Woman…….Alisa
Rain Man………………..Trevor Lyons Dietz

Fish Creek, by Josh Lawrence, Western Wildlands

My first hitch was the wettest (so far). It was pouring rain non-stop, I put on wet clothes in the morning and ate wet granola at lunch. I hadn't learned to pack very well and had a lot of weight in my pack, but we were car camping so it was okay. The weather directly affected the mood of the crew. When it was pouring rain, we just didn't really talk much, but when it stopped and the sun poked through the clouds, everyone was grinning. I ended up shattering the distal tip in my finger on day 3, and got driven back to town on day 5 because it was looking worse and worse. Hitch 2 was much better, the weather had cleared up quite a bit, and the crew was just generally happier. We do a lot of brushing. The brush is THICK out in Fish creek, so it's quite a treat when we get to work on structures, and carry rocks around.
Sometimes the mountains don't give us the rocks we want, but it's still fun carrying them. I especially enjoy using the rock Austins, and carrying really big rocks with other people, it reminds me of the work I did for "Randy's Stone Polishing and Repair," which was my father's business. I hope there's more chances to build crib walls in the future. I think the crew has taken to doing push ups during stretch circle in the morning because there's only a few jobs that work our arms out there. Lugging stone, using the pion jar, chainsawing, and using our picks.
There's been ups and downs, but overall I love my job. Being out in the woods is great, when it's dry. We've seen a badger, a black bear cub, and a moose. We've interacted with a family of mice, which showed up at camp at 8:00 sharp each night to search for food. They've hidden in our clothes for warmth, and once one of my team-leader's pulled all six of them out of her day pack in the morning. They've lost at least one family member, a baby that walked into our camp and collapsed not ten minutes after I pulled a stick out of his brother's eye, which was hanging down by it's cheek. As far as we know, the one-eyed rodent is still alive, but the one that collapsed definitely died. There may have been another fatality, after a corps member threw one out of his tent, but who knows.
Each hitch gets better and better, and the upcoming one is going to be in the best camping spot so far. And that'll be the last time we work at Fish Creek, the next spot is supposed to be extremely beautiful, so it looks like we've got a lot of good experiences to look forward to.

A collective effort, Moose Creek crew, WW

10 toes 2 feet hurt cut bloody dirt sore Epsom salt moose
‘Twas a glorious hitch. We learned much from our new Forest Service technical advisor, Murphy.
We built what some may call a crib wall, and got a surprise from some visitors.
Murphy is a redbeard. Our old Forest Service technical advisor was a redbeard too.
Redbeards are cool. We stayed at “Future Camp” for 6 nights. We were all getting antsy staying at one campsite for that long.
We were surrounded by loud squirrels and kept us up at night and woke us up in the morn.
They recruited owls and deer in their campaign against us.
Eventually they won and we left.
We headed down to Rhoda with Lina, Jena and Harry (all MCC crew leader visitors) they were dedicated to make the hike to Moose Creek.
The next day we hiked back to Moose Creek, 12 fairly easy miles. Andy made it back first because he is burly.
Within a few minutes of arriving we saw Paul (gasp), another MCC leader. He braved the Selway trail and brought us ice cream!
What a man. Looking back on this hitch, we realize how quick the time is going. It seems like just yesterday that we came to Moose Creek.
We could not have planned a more action packed, on the tip of your toes, full of love summer.

Adios, Vicky

Last week consisted of a lot of tedious and time consuming lopping of our trail, the fun part of that was that I found out just how large of a tree I could cut down with a pair of loppers. There was a very fun part of the week though, our sponsor brought up a Pionjar, for those not in the know that’s a gas powered rock drill/jack hammer, to drill holes in some large rocks that our crew could not move. The plan is to blow them up next week, which should offer us a few hours of excitement. The rest of the week was spent doing retread, we have finished close to 1,500 feet so far and only have about another mile left to go. The sad news of the week was that it was Vicky’s last week, she’s moving on to greener pastures, she has landed herself a job in Spain teaching English. Well Vicky, Adios and good luck!

Tom Brangers

We Heart Bear Hangs - Julie Hunt, GY

Day Two began with a one mile hike to our nearest source of water… our source of life! We each filled a 5 gallon jug of water, plopped the jugs in our backpacks and like a group of pack mules proceeded to hike a mile back to camp… with 40 lbs of water strapped to our backs. This water would last us a few days until (yes) we would need to return for more.

We then hiked two miles to begin work (that’s a 4 mile total hiking so far...) We cleared brush for about ¼ mile, when our lookout tower sent word that another crew member was about to hike to our camp (yes, the lookouts look-out for us! We mostly communicate with lookout ‘Whitehawk’ though we know his real name is JT). According to policy, we cannot hike alone, so two crewmembers placed the brush work aside, ventured down the trail, and two of us were left to continue working.

Left behind, my crewmate and I decided a two-man clearing team was far too inefficient to continue. Instead, we decided to return to the stream, filled another 5 gallon jug of water each and again completed our pack-mule routine.

6:30pm. We prepare dinner for the three crew members still hiking back to camp, and wait… wait… wait… until about 8:45pm they finally arrive – panting, sweat glistening in the rapidly sinking sunlight. We eat a quick meal, then sleepily prepare our three bearhangs just as we are losing light, exhaustedly thrilled that we are moments from snuggling into our sleeping bags after a long day of work and hiking.

9:30pm. I run to grab my headlamp as none of us are prepared for darkness. As I stumble in the darkness back to the bearhangs… SNAP. OOF! THUD. The rope of bearhang #1 snapped, sending the three bodies that had been heavingtumbling backwards in a heaping cluster. The bags on the opposing end came smashing to the ground, shattering a jar of marinara sauce everywhere.

9:45pm. The sun is now gone. By the light of our headlamps, we sop up the garlic-tomato mess, and redistribute weight to other bearhangs.Bearhang #2 slides up the tree as we throw our body weight (and trust) into our rope-pulley system. CREEEK. The branch of Bearhang #2 bends under its new weight, and our bags slowly slide to the end and slip off, down, down, down, THUD.

10pm. We have now lost 2 bear hangs, only one remains. Tossingnalgene bottles attached to rope, into trees, in the dark, we attempt to create new bear hangs. Ever heard that Nalgene bottles are indestructible? Us too. Nalgene #1: lid-loop snaps apart on 3rd toss. Nalgene #2: first toss, bottom blows out on unknown object in the tree. Still no new bearhang, Nalgene myth busted (literally).

10:15pm. Bats are now swooping at our headlamps, delighting in the swarms of bugs attracted to the light. Stars are out, watching our mess.

A rock is now tied to the end of the rope as a tossing device… seems to be logical at this point. Victoriously (it was all crewleader, Ben) we (he) successfully tosses 3 new bearhangs in the dark. Up the bags go into the tree. Garbage bag snags on the way up... PLOP. There goes the peanutbutter. PLOP. The olive oil falls next. Where is the lid to the olive oil? Will a stick plug the lid?! Duct tape! Duct tape fixes everything.

10:45pm. Olive oil secure. New garbage bag. All bearhangs successfully hoisted into the trees. Up since 6am. Several miles of hiking. Down a jar of marinara. 2 broken nalgenes. Hundreds of exhausted giggled... at least the mashed potatoes at dinner were amazing!

Fears in a Tent
One night, as we were returning from work, the wind picked up and dark clouds rolled in from every angle of the big, wide, Idahoan sky. We struggled to hang a tarp above our 'kitchen' (proving to be more of a sail than a sheild...). I started cutting cheese for our favorite grilled cheese dinner when the radio revealed the impending storm: quarter-sized hail and 60 mph winds, "seek shelter away from rivers and streams." We packed away the cheese for another night, ate some instant rice, and packed everything away - under rocks, in heavy bins. We were about to retreat to our tents when the skies cleared and the sun shone brightly. Too tired to take down the bearhangs (because we've been down that road before...) we sat under our flimsy tarp, painfully laughing at our miserably memorable situation.

Later than night, the storm finally hit. Hard. The lightening was terrifying. The rain and hail sounded like it was slowly chiseling away at my rain-cover. I imagined it piercing through the sheer material, landing on my face, filling my tent, drowning myself and belongings. I can smell the forest fires in the distance (there were 4 simultaneously in our area – we were never in danger, but the smell of the smoke was still freaky).

My mind always imagining the worst, "Lightening just struck the tree next to my tent... and now it’s on fire... what am I doing out here?!” Tiny animals crawl under my tent, seeking shelter and warmth from the storm I guess, their scratching noises keeping me up all night. (Photo: taken near Bozeman - yes, that is a forest fire next to the road... No Julie's were injured in the taking of this photo, and the fire has been controlled since this was taken).

Other nights, each noise outside of my tent sounds like a giant grizzly bear plotting my death. My crewmate snoring is the snorting of a big, bad wolf. A creaking branch is an elk about to trample my little yellow tent. Defenseless, I try to put my headphones on to relax… but the gentle voice of Ben Harper is even more terrifying because I can’t hear my impending doom outside. Ha. The mind plays tricks, and I always emerge safely from my tent... slightly tired, but always safe =)

Bye, Bye Blacktail - Sara Griffith, GY

We have completed our final hitch on the Blacktail bridge and I must confess I feel a mixture of sadness and excitement. Over the past two months, our MCC crew has grown close to the Yellowstone NPS trail crew. They are great dedicated people that I truly enjoyed working with and will miss. But, at the same time, I feel a sort of relief that we are changing locations. Maybe my feet are just feeling the need to wander.

During this hitch, we poured new concrete for both of the sway cables on the south side. The cables are anchored on the side of a slope on either side on the bridge. To transport the mixed concrete to the pour site, we rigged up a high-line and zipped buckets of it down the hill. The system worked surprisingly well most of the time.

We excavated around the sway cables on the north side and then chipped away the old concrete with Hilti jackhammers. Forms were then built and put into position to pour new concrete around the cables.

In order to jack up the north side of the bridge, a support system was created. Two C-channels were used to brace the I-beams of the towers. The C-channels were sandwiched around the I-beams and then secured in place with bolts. In order to make the holes in the steel, a magnetic drill press was used. When the magnet is activated, the drill can be attached sideways to the steel beam. A pretty cool trick, so long as the magnet stays engaged. Under the C-channels, support towers were placed as well as an "x" shaped brace. The bridge was successfully raised about half an inch, enough space to replace the concrete under the towers. New rebar was cut, shaped and tied into place for the concrete under the towers. The front "u" shaped concrete structure was also poured.

For my last night at the Blacktail bridge site, I sat on the bank of the Yellowstone river. My feet in the water, I allowed myself to marvel at the place we were leaving and all the work that had been accomplished.

For a final thought, I've decided to quote the lyrics from a song called "High Hopes" by Paolo Nutini. It seems fitting to me.

"Oh, I've got lucky in life. I've had plenty to eat. And I saw this world as one big pool of opportunity."

The Shoshone; My Place - Trista Garrity, EW

One of our first PLACE lessons was about defining your sense of place.
A definition describes "place" as "the specific portion of space normally occupied by anything".

My original thought was along the lines of "I'm a military brat, I've had tons of places that have meaning to me. The Moose River Bow Trip in Maine, the spooky tree in Ohio, a mountain overlooking my neighborhood in California and the creek down the road from my house in Alabama."

After six months with MCC, my outlook on a sense of place has changed.

It's more about a feeling of belonging in an area and the satisfaction I get making a difference there. It's the crew I'm surrounded by and the folks I encounter on a daily basis. It's the homesickness I feel in between hitches when I'm forced to return to civilization for food and clean clothes. It's being so in love that you want to breathe in everything around you so you can be a part of something so beautiful.

This is how I feel about the Shoshone National Forest. Riding my horse out every morning I know I have an amazing day ahead no matter how many rock slides we have to fix or streams to re-route. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be and I've never been so proud of the work I do.


wooooo.

Squirrel. Chris Magee, Western Wildlands

21 years old and still my command of the ground squirrel language remains undeveloped, how embarrassing. I could not at first understand why it would be myself and an elite team of 6 others chosen to act as ambassador to this, the noblest of burrowing mammals, especially when my experience in the field was so minimal. Sure, at first I was skeptical, the price would have to be right for me to join, but less than minimum wage, all the foodstamps I can eat, and some education award I'm probably too lazy to use, yeah that sounded about right. I wasn't sure how easily being absorbed into the GS (ground squirrel) community would come at first, I couldn't even be positive we would see any, but sure enough our base camp was silly with em. They quickly helped themselves to our rations and ate their way through our tents as a sign of friendship, this was a good sign. Some of the more eager crew members had no problem at all adopting these social behaviors and could be seen munching through the tough unpleasant fabric of my rain fly hoping in earnest to steal my nutty trail mix. It did not come so easily for some of us. Ostracized, pushed to the outside of the community we became GS outcasts, paraded in front of elite underground society as a less fortunate, underprivileged, and awkward lower class. The liberal party jumped at the chance to help us and after a series of charity functions we found ourselves in possession of no small sum of GS currency, (dirt, toe nail clippings, pinenuts, etc.) Well turns out there's not a bank on earth that will exchange this for any other form of currency and so most just went into the trash or a series of well sealed zip lock bags scattered amongst our rig. But all good things must end and without any real documentation, scientific, or otherwise, we went away empty handed back to town. Some people will remember the food, some the grueling work required of any adult GS, but I will remember the simple life, slowly passing days of dirt, decomposition, mundane and unintelligible conversation, and peace that really showed just how much we have to learn from our closest relative in the animal kingdom, the ground squirrel.

Building Bridges, by Christie Propst, Western Wildlands

I didn't know what to expect when I got dropped off in Montana with a few things and no place to live. I had recently sold my car to buy everything I thought I needed to work and practically live in the wilderness. What was I thinking accepting a job that involved me backpacking (of which I had no experience) in a state I had never been to (and was on the opposite side of the country)? After convincing my family that I would in fact not fall off a mountain or get eaten by a bear I realized that I didn't quite know what I was getting into. After the first hitch of rain, cold, and unbelievably sore muscles I was certain that I had made a mistake. This wasn't quite the experience I had in mind. I was miserable and cold and my crewmates felt the same way. We all stood around the fire we had managed to keep going in the rain and then running to our tents to sleep in way too many layers and wake up and put on the same pair of wet carhartts in the morning. Being from Texas I wasn't used to the terrain or temperature, nor was I prepared. Luckily our crew leader, so brave and strong, somehow kept us going. Hitch number two was full of excitement. We had to hike in 7 miles and figure out how to cross a river waist deep, rapid, and freezing. Watching two of our pack animals get swept away, then our crew leader go downstream we all faced a dilemma. How do we get across safely? Well, we figured it out and after taking the rest of the day to dry out our tents, clothes, sleeping bags, and such we decided to call it a night. It has been two and a half months since we started and 15 miles of trail is now cut and cleared of hundred of downed trees, 3 puncheons have been built (why don't they just call them bridges?), and 70 feet of turnpikes have been added to the trail. Our crew has had it's ups and downs, surprises, and our fair share of cake. Delicious dutch oven cake. We finished the trail this past week and ended the hitch with a greoup slumber party under one big tarp. It poured rain that night and the crew found it fitting that we began and ended the project with rain, and then hail! We are all happy to be moving on... to dynamite! This has turned out to be more than just a job. It has been a welcome change, it has been challenging, and quite the adventure.

The latest from Moose Creek, by Rachel Zeitler, Western Wildlands

Hitch #4 is finished! The puncheon bridge is nearing completion. Everyone really enjoyed the process of building the bridge- from felling the trees to drilling through the curbs. We built the rock walls which was pretty hard work. You have to be patient and not get upset if you drag a rock over to set, just to find that it actually doesn’t fit right. It is quite rewarding to get it finished, though. There was much picture taking. Our crew is very proud of our work. We worked hard and got great results.
I find that our crew morale is rarely low. We love our work. Of course there are frustrations every now and then. When the work day is done we each have our own ways of unwinding, whether it be going down to the little beach or writing in a journal. The greatest time on hitch- and I think I speak for all of us- is dinner time. It’s always a joyous occasion. There’s food (usually), and lots of laughs. It’s a time of rejuvenation. We refuel our bodies with food and appease our spirits with each other’s company. It’s a great preparation for the next day of work. It’s what keeps us going. Some may think working nine day hitches seems like an arduous undertaking, but when surrounded by good people and beautiful wilderness it’s bound to be some of the best days of your life.

What would Kobe do?

Seeley One Kobe Blog 08/14/2010
Recently some of the members of Central Divide regions Seeley crew got to take part in the most important job they have ever had, or ever will have. Picking deadly and invasive Knap-weed from areas in the Rocky Mountain Front, as part of their yearly community weed pull. After three days of roadside weed pulling, we met up with our sponsor Mark and several hundred Choteau community members. Together we embarked on a race against time, to rid the area of the invasive devil along the highway. Hours passed and hands grew sore, but we pulled through, and managed to pull eight hundred pounds of Knap-weed. There were prizes to be won, and MCC members cleaned house. Taking home two plaques for longest root and most pounds pulled per group, and a very stunning camouflage hat. But the real prize of the day was one that had been pined over and longingly studied. This prize was a five foot beauty of American engineering, a shovel to put it simply, complete with tempered steel spade, and fiber-glass handle. The crew members of MCC wanted that shovel, no needed it. One member in particular talked about this shovel all day, claiming he would win it. Then beyond all odds, and reason, that faithful number was called...seven....seven....four....eight, and the shovel became part of Montana lore for all of history.
The shovel, properly secured on top of the rig, was returned safely to Helena, where it received a heroes welcome. Trumpet's rung out, and confetti rained down, and Greg Ross wept at the sight of such glorious bounty. He proclaimed the shovel should be set in gold, and transformation was one of majesty. Now back to Seeley Lake the crew went, shovel in tow, to finish some turn-pikes and the community canoe trail. The day's passed mostly uneventfully, and the crew grew tired and worn-down, they needed a boost of spirits. One faithful afternoon, while the members enjoyed lunch and recharged, a man came before them. At first the crew made no notice of this towering man, and went about their lunch as before. But soon the man was drawn to a shinning gleam in the gravel pile, a fleck of gold in the sunny afternoon. As he approached the pile, and neared the crew, they realized this was no ordinary man. But a man of myth and legend equal to that of the shovels, this was indeed destiny at work, and the god's were watching Seeley Lake that day. The man was no other than NBA All-Star Kobe Bryant, he was transfixed with the shovel, and pleaded with the crew to allow him to endorse this shovel with his signature. How could they deny such a historic meeting, they jumped at the opportunity. As Mr. Bryant, or Kobe as we have grown to call him, paddled slowly away with his family, he was seen glancing back longingly towards the gleam of gold in the gravel pile. And a slight reflection of light bouncing of his face, maybe the sign of a single tear slowly rolling down.
Needless to say the shovel was careful rapped in the garbs of the crew, and stowed safely atop the rig. In made its safe journey home, and sits under lock and key in a house on a hillside nestled away in Helena. The legend has taken on a life of it's own, and spread far and wide across the great treasure state of Montana. Children stop by often to inquire about the shovel, and beg of a single glance, sports fans and connoisseurs of celebrity signed yard tools have made countless offers to buy it. But a prize like this is earned not purchased. Surely this can't be the end of this shovels journey, the tale has only just started, but if you find your self awake at night dreaming of what's next for the stunning spade. Just ask your self, as we find our selves asking, 'What would Kobe do?'.

hitch summary

The D-Swing went nomadic this past week. During their eight day hitch they camped in three different places. First along the Clark Fork River not too far from Thompson Falls. Then at River Fairy Falls near their trail head. Finally, with the help of two horse friends, Smoky and Bridger and one mule friend, Farmer, they moved up the way of Cube Iron to a nice wild spot near their work, say thankya. Their work being two re-routes of a mostly recreational hiking trail leading to the Four Lakes Region and Cube Iron Mountain. The slope of the terrain was a less severe, but still formidable version of a nearby avalanche slide of fallen trees and rock. Layers of Cube Iron's age stood between the D-Swing and thier trail, but not for long.
Good work and satisfaction was in the brushing stage thanks to Kevin's fixing of the brand new saw's trigger spring. After, it screamed two full days true, that chainsaw, and when it was done, a path of destruction and chaos stretched 850 feet laying out the second re-route. It was four dead logs deep in places and always wrapped around a stump, which was anchored around a rock which has been sleeping in the bear grass since the Flintstones. Making an estimate on how long it was gonna take to finish was the game they played on Wednesday night. Saying two more days for 700 something feet was Tom Branger. That gotta laugh from some, and a look from others. Either we're loosing touch, Crew Leader Ashley thought, or becoming a true trail crew. She also thought M&M's...like... a lot. Not even just craving 'em too. She thought about them like they were the popular kids at school, asking her to sit with them and be cool. Asking her what she thought about stuff. Asking her to "be an M," whatever that means. She talks when she swings folks, she says it eases her mind, and I listen, cause that woman’s got troubles that‘ll make the Mad Hatter shut up and stare. Not to mention mess with your idea of what dessert is, or isn’t. Yeah, we’re half way through the season folks, and the lines are blurred. The luggage has been lost and so has any inhibition.
Anyway, a true trail crew they were becoming. In the next two days they pooched out the trail rough, and by the end of the third it was done nice. What a sight it was seeing that trail pooch clean? What was once a river of mayhem was now a stock worthy walk. The D-Swing got their licks and their kicks and all that was left to do was a bit of brushing further down the trail and a hike to the next site to wet our tongues. It’s a beautiful site of lakes and meadows. It’s a nice spot for some digging.
Long Days and Dirty Nights,
D-Swing

Montana Just Got Served, Jane Duncan, Western Wildlands

PPE, check.
Gas, check.
Bar oil, check.
Air filter, check.
Spark plug, check.
Sharp chain, check.
And yet you do not start.
I pour gas and love into you daily, but all you do is cause me pain.
This relationship is beginning to feel onesided- three sharpenings in one day just seems excessive.
I've met someone new, someone who doesn't constantly roar at me and blow smoke in my face.
That's right, I'm leaving you for a cross cut saw, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Thus far our crew has had a chainsaw heavy summer, but our next hitch will be in wilderness with a capital W and we are excited to try our hands at the age old cross cut. Our last hitch turned out to be quite the adventure. On day seven of our hitch (planning on hiking out nine miles on day eight) we hiked up Dome Shaped Mountain on Sawmill trail to cook a macaroni and cheese dinner that would go down in history. There was rumor that a secret ingredient (capers perhaps?) and beautiful sunset would be in order. Instead, we encountered smoke as we climbed up the ridge and upon summit could see a quickly growing fire just a couple ridges away. The radio informed us that a fire was burning about six miles away and was only a ground fire. We were comforted and began to cook....until....the wind picked up, causing the fire to become a crown fire (yes crowning the tops of 50+ foot trees) that was moving very rapidly in our direction. Dinner was promptly canceled, and we began the hike the I can proudly say is the longest I have ever done, AND it is the next day and I can still walk. We scampered the five miles back down Dome Mountain, packed up our camp, and commenced to hike the further 9 miles out to our rig. At midnight we had hiked 19 miles with no dinner or injuries. Montana, you just got served. Oh yeah, we managed to build 50+ water bars too, ahead of schedule. I'd like to see you TRY and erode now Sawmill trail. Booya.

Konnar and Amanda Save Grass Shoot - NRock

Konnar and Amanda pushed on past the lake, MCC loppers in hand. They had been hiking the Alpine 7 trail for three days, cutting braches and pine trees to clear the path for other users. They rounded a corner and suddenly a giant tree confronted them, blocking their way with its tangled branches. Determined trail workers that they were, they knew they would have to climb over the tree to continue their job. They hoisted themselves up onto the trunk and began forcing their way past branches. As they navigated past each branch, the foliage grew denser and they lost sight of the path beyond. After several minutes of battling twigs and leaves, they emerged into a small clearing in an unfamiliar forest with only their packs and PPE.

Feeling somewhat disoriented, but by now used to strange adventures in the woods, they hastened to take note of their new surroundings. At the edge of the clearing was a cluster of strange trees the two had never seen. “If only Jedd were here; he would know what this crazy tree is,” Amanda mused. Konnar hesitantly approached the nearest tree and noticed a bubbling gold sap leaking out of the trunk. He began to lean in closer to investigate when a bee flew in front of him towards the tree. Suddenly, a jet of golden sap hit the bee in midair. The bee flashed neon purple, emitted a high pitched squeal, and was vaporized. “Woah!” Konnar exclaimed, jumping backwards. He and Amanda began running through the forest, hoping to return to a familiar path and escape the range of the trees. They crashed through brush and jumped over roots, hardly paying attention to where they were going they were so preoccupied with dodging the flying sap.

Their luck could only hold out for so long. As he clambered over a tall pile of rocks, Konnar caught a blast of sap on his arm. He screamed and tried to shake off the goo for several seconds before he realized that he had not vaporized. Amanda stopped running and stared in amazement at the still-existent Konnar. A butterfly wafted in with a breeze and landed on Konnar’s arm. It paused to lick the golden sap. Again there was a flash of neon purple light and a shrieking noise as the butterfly disappeared. Konnar and Amanda realized that the sap was only deadly if it got beyond the skin, so they donned their gloves and safety glasses, inserted their earplugs, tied their bandannas over their noses and mouths, and continued their crashing course through the trees.

Up ahead the two glimpsed an opening in the trees and ran for it. Amanda tripped right at the edge of the clearing and went flying into the center of the glade. Brushing herself off, she saw that she had stumbled over a broken pair of loppers. She also noticed that the trees with the golden sap were nowhere to be found within this little circle of trees. She and Konnar tried to put the loppers back together, figuring they might be a good weapon against the trees, but they were missing a nut. Amanda was looking around for a non-evil tree that might offer some good sap for sticking the loppers back together when, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement. She jumped and grabbed the broken loppers, pointing them ahead of her. Konnar looked up and saw only an old stump. “It looked like a person for a second,” Amanda explained, uncertainly.

The two approached the stump and saw silvery glitter sap trickling down the side. Taking one half of the loppers, Amanda poked at the sap, intending to see how sticky and useful it might be. Konnar stood back a bit, remembering well his near-death experience with the golden sap. “Tee hee, that tickles!” the stump giggled. Suddenly, instead of an old stump, there was a forest nymph sitting in front of the stunned MCCers.

“However did you make it to my enchanted glade?” the nymph queried. “Enchanted glade?” they responded, surprised (though perhaps unjustifiable so, considering they had just run for their lives from trees shooting jets of golden sap). “We were just lopping like good MCCers when we got lost is this crazy forest.” They explained their struggle and the nymph, who introduced herself as Sylva, told them that the forest had been impassable for ages due to the presence of the Sap Spouters and Vile Vines. Konnar and Amanda glanced at each other at the mention of another danger that they had, so far, unwittingly escaped. “How do we get out of here?” they asked, not wanted to be trapped in a glade with a nymph-sometimes-stump forever. “All we have is this broken pair of loppers.”

Sylva explained that there was a Golden Nut that would fix the loppers but that it had been lost years ago. “It has to be somewhere in this glade, but there are just so many sticks on the ground, I’ve never seen it,” she lamented. “Oh, don’t worry about sticks,” said Amanda. “We’re experts at picking up sticks.” She and Konnar quickly began clearing the glade, tossing sticks to the side until they had a big pile. They had been working for an hour and still hadn’t found the Golden Nut. There was only a small patch of sticks left and they began to suspect that perhaps Sylva just wanted something to clean the glade for her. Finally, under the very last branch, Konnar spotted the glint of the magical hardware. He snatched up the nut and hastily attached the two halves of the loppers.

Konnar and Amanda shouted their thanks to Sylva over their shoulders as they dashed back into the forest, golden loppers in hand. Konnar managed to lop only a few branches off the nearest Sap Spouter however, before the Golden Nut (which had not been tightened properly) popped off and went rolling into some brush. Almost immediately a strand of Vile Vine appeared from the canopy and twined itself around both Konnar and Amanda’s legs, flipping them upside down and hoisting them into the air. As the vines crept further and further, they vainly attempted to slash them with the broken loppers.

Out of the corner of her eye Amanda saw something move in the brush. A mouse emerged from under a branch with the Golden Nut in his mouth. Konnar and Amanda motioned wildly, trying to coax the mouse towards them. Strangely enough, the mouse seemed to understand them, for it ran to the nearest vine and scampered up. Konnar grabbed the Gold Nut, screwed the two halves of the loppers together tightly, and cut himself down from the Vile Vine. He freed Amanda too and the two of them ran, lopping their way through the forest. Gradually the groups of Sap Spouters and Vine Vines thinned until they reached the edge of the forest.

They paused to catch their breath and noticed that the mouse had followed them. When he saw them staring he squeaked excitedly. “Hi there! I’m Nibbles! Some adventure we just had, eh?” He spoke quickly and in a high pitch that was almost painful to the ears. “You have saved the forest from the Sap Spouters and the Vile Vines! You are heroes. I must take you to the King. He will surely want to reward you.” Not being in any way opposed to rewards they felt they had earned, Amanda and Konnar agreed to follow Nibbles to the King.

Nibbles led them on a rather circuitous path through fields and over streams. “Don’t you think there has to be a faster way to the King?” Amanda whispered. But they didn’t want to offend their only guide in this strange world, so they kept their concern to themselves. After what seemed like hours, Nibbles led them up to the base of a tree. He squeaked something unintelligible and three other mice cautiously crept out to meet Konnar and Amanda. Nibbles introduced his wife, Yum-Yum, and his two children, Munchers and Snackers. He then began recounting their adventure in the forest, naturally giving himself a larger role than he had actually played. Amanda and Konnar listened bemusedly. When Nibbles go to the part about going to the King Yum-Yum interrupted, “You mean you told them you were going to the King and instead you led them all the way here and are making them sit around listening to you babble? Take them to the King as quickly as you can, my silly husband!”

They waved goodbye to Nibbles’ family and set off on a much more direct path to the King. Soon the castle was in sight as they neared the border of the town. All of a sudden, they saw a group of wild men coming down the hill and Nibbles hurried them off the road to the side of a bridge. The band of masked men passed them noisily and they saw that one man carried a small child in his arms. Nibbles explained that they were the Blithering Bandits who periodically raided the castle and terrorized the townspeople. When the got to the castle they briefly explained their story to the guard and were granted an immediate audience with the King.

King Treevine seemed a bit distracted, but he thanked them heartily for their services. Then he noticed the logos on their shirts and gasped. “Are you the MCC?” Amanda and Konnar nodded. “Well then no wonder you saved the forest! There has long been a prophecy that a great pair would arrive to be heroes in our land. In fact, we have something for you. Follow me.” He brought them through twisting hallways and up secret staircases to a small room at the top of a tower. He opened a cabinet in the wall and took out two gleaming golden hardhats with the MCC insignia encrusted in precious gems. “Don’t worry, they don’t weigh a thing,” King Treevine assured them. Next he pulled out two pairs of gloves, “made of the finest new synthetic material, sure to keep you hands warm and dry.” Finally, he unlocked another cabinet and revealed two incredible weapons. First, there was a silver sword engraved with the word “Thunder.” Konnar stepped forward to receive it. Second was a magnificent bow with a quiver full of multicolored arrows. “Made from the arc of a rainbow,” King Treevine said to explain the strange way the light played across the bow. “Well, I guess that’s for me,” shrugged Amanda happily.

“Now that you have received you due, I was hoping that you could help our realm with another problem,” King Treevine proclaimed. “Sure,” Amanda said, figuring they might as well keep working as long as they had no idea where they were. “You see, those blasted Blithering Bandits kidnapped my son, Grass-Shoot, this morning. I imagined they will soon make a ransom request. Please, could you get him back? I would be willing to give you two white mares for reliable transportation.” When Konnar asked where to find the bandits, King Treevine explained that they lived hidden in the Horrible Hills, though he couldn’t say exactly where. “But, there is one man who knows. He has a long name that no one can ever quite remember, but they call him Jedi. He swings on trees and sleeps on a dolmar. He lives in the Cavernous Caves at the base of the Menacing Mountains. He wants to build a raft but, because of the Sap Spouters and Vile Vines, has been trapped on the other side of the forest, away from all the good raftwood.”

The next thing they knew, Konnar and Amanda found themselves outside the castle walls. “Well, what do we do now?” Konnar asked, realizing that the King, in his worry over his son, had neglected to give them much useful information. “Don’t worry, I know where we can find some good raftwood,” squeaked Nibbles as he scampered along the horse’s saddle to lead the way.

When the three got to the raftwood forest they were surrounded by sturdy, tall, straight trees, perfect for building lake-worthy craft. However, they soon realized they had a significant problem. Their golden loppers were too small to tackle the trees and ever Konnar’s Thunder sword was no match for them. In addition, one of the white mares stopped running and refused to move any farther. They couldn’t get her to start no matter what they did. Just when they were beginning to despair of ever getting raftwood for Jedi and of saving King Treevine’s son, Amanda glimpsed a hint of blue through the branches. “That must be Pessimist Pond,” she suggested as they dragged the horse to the edge for a rest.

Like any MCCers on a hot day, they couldn’t resist sticking their heads in the cool pond. As Amanda reached into the water to brace herself, her hand caught on something small and hard and sharp. When she brought it to the surface they could see that it was an oyster and, curious, they set in on the ground before them. It began to grow until it was as large as Konnar. It opened and a woman stepped out. “Son of a biscuit, I’ve been in there a long time!” the Lady of the Oyster stated. “Thank you for freeing me. But however did you get to this pond? The forests have been impassable for ages!” Konnar quickly filled her in on their battle with the Sap Spouters and the Vile Vines, and explained that now they were trying to get some raftwood. Overjoyed that the forests were once again safe to roam, the Lady of the Oyster pulled out a beaver saw and offered to help Amanda and Konnar cut down some raftwood. Soon their cart was full of wood and Konnar, Amanda, Nibbles, and two refreshed horses waved goodbye to the Lady of the Oyster. “I guess we should change the name to Positive Pond now,” Amanda joked.

They headed in what was, according to nibbles, the direction of the Cavernous Caves. He said they would have to pass along the Treacherous Trail to reach the base of the Menacing Mountains. After an hour or more of riding, they barely seemed to be getting any closer to the mountain base. They decided to take a small side trail, figuring it might lead them where they wanted to go since they weren’t having much luck on their current path. After several grueling switchbacks, they came to a small cabin. They approached cautiously, wondering who would live so far into the woods. Amanda took a deep breath and rapped smartly on the door. They waited. No answer. All they could hear was a faint eerie creaking noise.

Konnar knocked again and then slowly pushed the door open. He and Amanda crept inside and followed the noise down a short hallway. There they could see an old woman with flowing red locks sitting in a rocking chair and knitting. “Lord Almighty, how did you two children get all the way up here? Your dogs must be barkin’!” she exclaimed. Konnar explained that they had horses from King Treevine and asked what the marvelous smell emanating from the kitchen was. “Oh that’s just one of Granny Sahar’s thrice-baked pies,” answered, presumably, Granny Sahar. “Sometimes I leave them for this nice boy who lives in the Cavernous Caves. He’s always so sad because he cannot build a raft.” Amanda and Konnar exchanged hopeful glances as Amanda wondered, “That wouldn’t be Jedi, who swings on trees and sleeps on a dolmar, would it?” “Why yes, I think so. What do you want with the poor boy?” Granny Sahar inquired. “We have defeated the Sap Spouters and Vile Vines to bring him raftwood,” Amanda answered. “Can you tell us how to reach the Cavernous Caves?”

“Alright… I suppose I can help you. But first you must prove your worthiness by solving a problem of mine.” Here we go again, Konnar and Amanda thought, but they put on happy smiles and said, “Of course.” Granny Sahar explained that small animals kept getting into her garden. She instructed Konnar and Amanda to build something to keep the wildlife where they were supposed to be. “No problem,” Konnar told her. “We happen to have quite a bit of experience with fences.” Granny Sahar told them to use anything they could find in the old tool shed out back, and the two MCCers quickly put up a sturdy jackleg fence to protect the vegetables. When Granny Sahar saw their handiwork she agreed to accompany them up the Treacherous Trail towards the Cavernous Caves. She wanted to bring Jedi one of her coveted thrice-baked pies.

Konnar and Amanda rode their white mares but there was not a third horse for Granny Sahar. They had to bungee her in in the back of the cart with the raftwood and Nibbles. At first when Nibbles poked his head out from between two pieces of wood Granny Sahar shrieked and exclaimed, “I don’t like it!” Once Nibbles introduced himself and explained his role in the adventure, however, Granny Sahar warmed up considerably. The two became fast friends, chatting intermittently throughout the journey.

They followed the windy path, thick with vegetation. The white mares began to tire and to have trouble on the narrow trail. Nibbles started to hear strange noises coming from the treetops. The next thing they knew he was shouting, “Look out—it’s the Malicious Monkeys!” A group of three dark simians dropped out of the canopy and were soon followed by others. They swooped down and deftly snatched Konnar and Amanda’s gleaming hardhats. A second group swung down on some branches and nabbed the golden loppers. On their return swing they grabbed Granny Sahar’s thrice-baked pie right out of her hands. Thinking quickly while trying to hold on to everything of value not already stolen by the Malicious Monkeys, Amanda shouted, “Konnar, open your daypack!” Realizing the plan, Konnar reached into his backpack and withdrew what would turn out to be the ultimate monkey weapon: a four day old peanut butter and banana sandwich.

As soon as the monkeys caught sight of this delectable treasure, they swarmed for the attack. One daring monkey jumped onto Konnar’s horse and snatched the sandwich, screeching in excitement. He leaped off the white mare and went to devour the loot with his companions. Within minutes every last Malicious Monkey was lying flat on his or her back, whimpering in gastrointestinal pain. Konnar and Amanda hurriedly reclaimed all the stolen items (except, of course, for Granny Sahar’s thrice-baked pie).

Belongings recovered, the group continued on its way up the Treacherous Trail. It began to rain and then to pour, soaking them through as the wind dashed the precipitation into every crack in their well-worn raingear. By the time they reached the Cavernous Caves they were tired, wet, and quite cranky. They huddled in the large opening to what appeared to be a vast network of passages. “Hello? Master Jedi? We have traveled far to bring you raftwood,” Konnar shouted into the dark recesses. A faint echo of his words was the only reply, though Granny Sahar assured them that this was the right cave. In the meantime, they busied themselves with attempting to make a fire. After twenty minutes of fruitless efforts as lighting sodden logs and a spent box of matches, the group was getting extremely frustrated. After a particularly ridiculous attempt, Amanda had had it. “Mother’s fudge!” she roared. The others froze in stunned silence.

Suddenly, from the very depths of the Cavernous Caves came a growling voice, “Who dares to enter my home, awaken me from my sleep on the dolmar, and steal my line?” it thundered. A figure emerged from the shadows and Amanda addressed it with as much calmness and respect as she could muster, under the circumstances. “Master Jedi sir? We have battled the Sap Spouters and Vile Vines. We have freed the Lady of the Oyster and met Granny Sahar. We bring you the finest raftwood in all of the land in the hopes that you might tell us the way to the Blithering Bandits’ hideout. We want to rescue King Treevine’s son, Grass-Shoot.” “Did you say raftwood?!” Jedi’s eyes grew wide and he looked around hopefully. “Why yes, I’m only sorry those darned Malicious Monkeys stole my thrice-baked pie,” interjected Granny Sahar. “Raftwood! Most excellent!” Jedi yelled.

With the exciting news, Jedi grew ecstatic and agreed to help Konnar and Amanda with whatever they needed. They decided that a fire was a good first order of business. Jedi quickly assembled and lit a pile of kindling. He coaxed the flame into a roaring fire using a magical technique that he called the “diamond of power.” As they began to feel warm again and to dry off, their mood improved. As their spirits lifted, so did the storm. The last traces of rainclouds dissipated as Jedi excitedly rambled off plans for his raft. Before he ran off to the lake, he told Amanda and Konnar the way to the Blithering Bandits’ hideout. “It lies in the Horrible Hills at the end of the Perilous Path. To get there you will have to be strong, brave, and not a little ingenious. You must cross the Roaring Rapids, traverse the Facetious Fields, and scale the Malevolent Mudslide.”

Konnar and Amanda thanked Jedi and said farewell to Granny Sahar and Nibbles who had decided to stay at the Cavernous Caves for a while. They set out on their white mares towards the beginning of the Perilous Path. They hadn’t been riding more than fifteen minutes when they heard a distant rushing sound of water flowing over rocks. They urged the horses on and after a few minutes they rounded a corner to find the Roaring Rapids. The river poured down from the hills and raged across boulders, tossing up a fine mist.

Konnar and Amanda immediately realized that this was the end of the line for their faithful rides. They sent the mares back down the trail with a note for Jedi and Granny Sahar, knowing they would be well taken care of for the remainder of the journey. They looked around, searching for a place to cross the rapids. They saw no logs big enough to build a bridge, and no place where the wall of water wouldn’t sweep them off the rocks. Finally, half a mile along the bank, Konnar spotted a thin young tree. Perhaps drawing inspiration from Jedi, he tested the resiliency of the tree by pulling it back. When he released it, it snapped forward with a promising spring. Realizing what he was thinking, Amanda hastened to scramble behind some brush far enough away that she wouldn’t be taken out if something went horribly awry.

Konnar slowly worked his way along the tree, bending it away from the river as he did so. Just when it appeared to be on the edge of snapping in half, he grasped it tightly and released the tension I his muscles. The tree whipped forward, dragging Konnar with it. It flung him up and out over the edge of the bank. He soared through the air only briefly before he came down with a resounding “thud” above the Roaring Rapids. “I’m ok,” he grunted, raising his head to look around. A quick investigation revealed that he had landed on an invisible bridge spanning the Roaring Rapids. Amanda walked briskly past Konnar and reached the other side unharmed.

They continued along the Perilous Path, following its winding process to the edge of a large meadow. All kinds of wildflowers blanketed the ground, stretching as far as the eye could see. Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be some 47 different paths leading through the flowers. Having no particular instructions, Amanda and Konnar picked one at random. After an hour of wandering down continuously branching trails, Konnar turned to the flowers themselves and, exasperated, said, “Where are we suppose to go?” To his and Amanda’s surprise, the flora responded. “That way!’ “This way!” “Either way!” they twittered, giggling as more paths appeared, criss-crossing the meadow. Soon Konnar had had it with the teasing plants. He unclipped the golden loppers from his pack and aggressively beheaded several blossoms directly in front of him. Amanda gasped but the flowers re-grew almost instantly. They created yet another, even more complicated, maze of trails in revenge. Completely exasperated, Konnar grabbed his Thunder sword and slashed at the flowers, finally opening a path. In this way Konnar and Amanda successfully blazed a trail through the Facetious Fields.

“Awesome—one more atrociously alliterative obstacle to tackle before we get to the hideout,” Amanda said. They didn’t have to wait long. They came to the base of the Horrible Hills and looked up towards the top. From where they stood they could see a towering mess of mud. Not ones to be frightened of a little dirt, they started up the Malevolent Mudslide. However, they couldn’t take three steps before sliding backwards. Soon they were covered head-to-toe in a thick coat of slimy mud. They paused to assess the situation. There were trees spaced along the side of the path, but not close enough that they could use them to pull themselves along. They were about to take a fifteen minute break to regroup when, in a flash of inspiration, Amanda pulled out her bow and arrow. She tied the end of Konnar’s yellow twine to an arrow and took aim at the top of the hill. She released the arrow and it swerved past a couple of the nearest trees, zigzagged around a large boulder, and then struck the front of a huge pine at the peak of the hill. “Well, it might not go straight, but it gets the job done,” Amanda quipped. She and Konnar deftly pulled themselves up the Malevolent Mudslide to the crest of the Horrible Hills.

From the top of the hill they could see the Blithering Bandits in their camp. Grass-Shoot was in a bamboo cage in the center of a ring of tents. Amanda and Konnar quickly concocted a plan. Konnar rushed down the hill, screaming and wielding his Thunder sword. He began battling his way through crowds of bandits. From her vantage point atop the hill, Amanda shot arrow after arrow down into the camp. The red arrows shot flames around them upon impact and the orange ones emitted deafening thunderclaps. Yellow arrows directed bolts of lightning to their target, while green arrows splashed acid. Blue arrows froze whatever they hit, immobilizing it in ice, and purple arrows resulted in clouds of noxious gas. Naturally, Konnar had his PPE to protect him from the negative effects of Amanda’s attacks.

Konnar and Amanda’s dual assault took out many Blithering Bandits. However, the bandits had a reserve from which they replenished their forces. Amanda and Konnar were just beginning to worry when two men emerged from the sides of the camp. They were both wearing MCC gear and they jumped right into the heart of the conflict. One carried a full cubie on his back with an unlimited supply of water. He sent great waves towards groups of bandits, washing them out of his path. The other ran around shouting at the bandits. He spoke gibberish to drive them mad—words such as “joshuling” With the help of these two MCC heroes, Amanda and Konnar defeated enough of the Blithering Bandits that the rest of them agreed to surrender.

Konnar and Amanda caught up to the unnamed med and thanked them for their assistance. They only said they worked for the higher-ups and that they had others to help before they said goodbye. Konnar and Amanda led the leaders of the Blithering Bandits, along with Grass-Shoot, back to the castle to see King Treevine. They picked up their white mares from Granny Sahar and Jedi on the way. The King was overjoyed to have his son back and again asked if there was anything he could do for Amanda and Konnar. The two looked at each other and then, in true MCC fashion, Konnar said, “Well, we’d like to find a way back to our crew. And also, we’d really like somewhere to take a shower or wash off.”

“Well, I suppose you have earned about four days off,” the King mused, “Though our realm has many problems and we hope to see you back here soon.” King Treevine told them that he would allow them to use his Sacred Springs to bathe. They were usually reserved for members of the royal family only, but since they had saved Grass-Shoot… He led them to the waters. Konnar and Amanda changed into their sandals and entered the Sacred Springs in their underwear from opposite sides of the shelter of bushes. They decided to dunk their heads under the chilly water at the same time. Konnar counted to three and they quickly dipped beneath the surface of the Sacred Springs.

When the brought their heads back up, they were in a different lake by the side of a partially cleared trail. All of their clothes and old gear were piled by the side. They got out, shook the water out of their hair, and dressed. They picked up their regular tools and lopped their way back to camp where they shared the story of their adventures.

Tips for productive Wheel-Barrowing - NRock

South Fork Trail - Greg Levitt, EW

July 24 at lunchtime:
I am in the wilderness. The only people we've seen outside our crew have been in planes flying overhead. The pilot's voice will boom out of their speakers announcing Yellowstone on their right. I imagine the speaker saying, "On your left you can see the MCC Trailcrew in Shoshone." I'm staring a waterfall dead in the face. I can follow it all the way from the river to the snow line.

Wildflowers are blooming everywhere now. June is spring here. All the colours of the rainbow are steadily advancing with a vengeance on the mountain. There is one type of white flower with a very powerful perfume. When picked it slowly turns pink.


South Fork is gorgeous. We finished all of our work ahead of time. Despite a bear spooking our livestock. I love riding the horses. It gives us a break and a time to look around the valley at the amazing scenery. The horses and mules definitely brighten my day.


Some of the wildflowers I mentioned were:
Vinca, Larkspur, Indian Paintbrush (the State Flower), Baby's Breath, Blue Bonnet, Blue Bell, Iris, Lupine, Cactus flowers, Mountain Daisies, etc.

Ishawooa

July 10
Today was awesome. I saw a mother black bear and her cubs. Another bear. And, during lunch, there were wolves howling all around. We cut 35 trees. One was a thirty incher that Jake, George, and I took down with an axe.

Ishawooa is my favorite hitch so far. The wolf's howling is one of the most exciting experiences of my life. All of the previously mentioned wildflowers were joined by wild roses. It was our first hitch in the snow. Our first hitch seeing bears, and the most wood cutting work I have done. We removed a total of 101 dangerous and obtrusive trees from the trail. The pass was the most amazing part. You can see for miles and miles seated in a bed of wildflowers at the top of a mountain.

Mice in My Tent - Julie Hunt, GY

Though I’m still in the honeymoon stage of this experience, it’s not all romantic in the woods. For example, one day I made the rookie mistake of not zipping my tent entirely closed, leaving a couple inches of zipper teeth separated. When we returned from a day of work I unzipped my tent to find the book I was reading (Pope Joan) had been nibbled all along the edges and there was a faint smell of what I grew-up knowing as ‘hamster cage’ fragrance – unpleasant indeed! After disinfecting some items and trash-bagging others, I nestled into my sleeping bag for the night. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling… coming from inside of my tent… scurrying from one corner of my tent to the next… to the next. (Photo: view from my tent)
Frantically I reached for my flashlight, which I soon discovered had a dead bulb – no amount of new AA batteries could save it. Still listening to the scurrying in the darkness, totally defeated, I zipped myself back into my sleeping bag, cinched the top as tightly around my head as possible, and forced myself to close my eyes and rest peacefully… one with nature. On the bright side, my new furry roommate didn’t chew a hole through my tent. I kicked him out the next day.
We’ve come to find that mice are our biggest problem in the wilderness – not bears, wolves, coyotes, elk, moose – no. Tiny, surprisingly destructive mice. At night, we watch their tiny little shadows crawling over the tops of our tents in the moonlight. When they are outside, I don’t mind them. In fact, their miniature outlines on my tent are almost cute… in a Disney Princess kind of way.

Our House (is a very, very very...) - Julie Hunt, GY

The trail we are now unearthing is 25 miles long, located in the Boise Nat'l Forest. We will work on this trail until mid-October. Since we started working at the bottom of the 25 mile trail, the forest service provided a house for us to stay in the first week of our hitch. We will continue to stay in this house the first and last nights of our hitches, but as we continue up the trail, we will start camping as we go. We will camp 10 miles in the backcountry during our next hitch, 15 miles in the following hitch, and so forth.

So this house. This house has become our house (is a very, very, very...), complete with dark-brown wood paneling, brown shag carpeting, avocado and gold-detailed floor tiles, a dusty ceiling fan that hums, a deck that hosts nights of cigarettes and conversations (me only enjoying the latter, don't worry, mom!), mismatched living room furniture including a light-blue, pleather La-Z-boy (really? lightblue pleather?). Like true 20-somethings, we have stocked the freezer with frozen pizzas. Our living room was host to an epic arm-wrestling competition, first the right arm, then the left, and there is talk of hosting pretend American Idol auditions in the near future. Being removed from television, internet, and cellphone reception sparks such creativity (and fun!)

Check out corpsmember Julie Hunt's blog!

http://julieinmontana.blogspot.com/

News from Moose Creek, Western Wildlands Immersion Crew

We dragged into our Cedar filled campsite later than expected: hot and sweaty, tired from the 12 mile marriage to our full packs and heavy tools. Eight days worth of dinner awaited us there in bear proof containers, having been brought in by a string of well-kept mules and their long-mustachioed keeper. Later, after eating one of our customary tortellini dinners, a cloud of no-see-ums descended on us and hurried us into our tents.
The next morning: Disaster, or near disaster depending on the scope with which it is viewed. One of my crewmembers slipped off a log while crossing over a creek. The degree of her injuries were uncertain, so it was determined she would be taken back to the Moose Creek ranger station via horse. This went smoothly- only 12 hours passed from the time she fell in to the time she set foot at our adopted home. The rest of us waited for the next day, heavy thoughts solidifying.
We woke and learned our crewmember was being flown to Missoula. The next two days became a blur of backpacking and sawing trees out of trails (there is a reason they call it “cut and run”). One of the nights an inquisitive Pine Marten hopped into the middle of our camp, glancing at us and hopping into the brush. Beyond: A meadow filled with long grass and wildflowers, bordered by low mountains covered in firs and pines. The setting sun peeked out from behind them, washing everything in gold.
After clearing the designated trail we hiked back to our first campsite and started work on a 24 foot bridge. In order to do so, we felled trees with a crosscut saw- it was my first time doing anything like that. After the tree crashed to the ground, I felt powerful, humbled.
The rest of our hitch was spent limbing and debarking and cutting and moving the logs into place, laying the foundation for our bridge. We were glad to stay at the same campsite for a few nights, a welcome change to hauling packs every day.
On our last day, during our hike back to the station, I saw a wolf in the same field I’d seen three wolf pups a month prior. It walked from the trees to the middle of the field, stopping at the trail 40 feet away from me. It looked around confidently, it’s eyes never resting on me, though I could tell it had known I was there the entire time. It turned and ran back into the trees. I continued on my way.
It is not easy work we do, and not without risks. Being on an immersion crew based in a 1,000,000+ acre wilderness area, these risks are magnified greatly. But the reward: The quick glimpse of a rare creature, the feel of an ice cold creek around your aching feet, pushing yourself to the breaking point, and the rest afterwards; the beauty that surrounds you each early morning you wake- the rewards speak for themselves.
By the way, my fallen crewmember was given a clean bill of health in Missoula, and arrived back at the ranger station on the first day of our past hitch break, smiling and covered in dirt and sweat grime from the long hike in.
-from the rustic diary used by Andy Daleiden at the Moose Creek Ranger Station in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area, Idaho, July 24th, 2010.

Can You Dig It? (aka Blacktail Bridge Part 2) - Sara Griffith, GY

This is the phrase that kept running through my head during our crew's third hitch in the Yellowstone backcountry. We finally started hands-on work on the Blacktail bridge and our first order of business was to dig out around the concrete abutments. We dug down until we reached the bed (about 6-7 feet on the south side, much less on the north). This allowed Kevin, the engineer to evaluate the concrete and determine how much needed to be replaced and if the bridge needed to be jacked up. We discovered that most of the concrete was okay on the south side, but quite crumbly on the north. It took us about two days to dig down far enough.

The old concrete was broken-up and removed through the use of the Pionjar and the Hilti. We then transferred the old concrete to the pit we dug on the south side and used it as crush around that abutment.

The concrete and bedrock was then cleaned to remove as much dirt and biological material as possible. On the final day of the hitch, we were prepared to actually pour concrete. Half of the crew put the finishing touches on the north pit, while the rest started prepping the concrete operations. In the pit, we created a grid of rebar interwoven and tied together in a fashion that was strong enough to walk on. The pieces of rebar had been cut to specific sizes and angles on a previous day.

Duraprep was then applied to the faces of the remaining concrete and bedrock. The purpose of the Duraprep is to help the new concrete bond to the old. With the pit prepared, the concrete race was on.

We are equipped with two small concrete mixers that operate on the south side of the bridge. The wet concrete is then wheelbarrowed over to the north pit. To say that working with concrete is a dirty dusty operation would be a serious understatement. Fortunately, after a while, we found our rhythm and progress started being more more noticeable. This continued for the rest of the work day. The new concrete reached a level that provided support back to the bridge. When we removed the old concrete it weakened an already weak structure. Obviously, it couldn't be left like that.

Our new slab should provide us a base to jack up the north side of the bridge and finish the repairs on that side. Our crew only has one more hitch on the Blacktail trail. It'll be a little odd to move to a new location. But, at the same time I think our crew will welcome the continuing of a new aspect of our MCC experience.