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.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
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
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 =)
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 =)
Friday, August 27, 2010
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."
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
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.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
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.
Monday, August 16, 2010
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
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
Monday, August 9, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Friday, August 6, 2010
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.
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!)
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!)
Thursday, August 5, 2010
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.
Wednesday, August 4, 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.
Family - Chloe Bovoletis, EW
Goldfish eating ground squirrels, rabbit fur loin cloths, end of hitch hamburger eating contests, otter pop surprises, 2012 arguments, car alarm races, checkers tournaments, the mind bending word rhyming game, never ending pass- on stories; these are just a few of the things that get our crew through the long, hot days. Civilians (you know, all those non MCCers) might call our entertainment simple and just a bit ridiculous but maybe there’s more to it than they think. Life’s meaning could lie somewhere beyond the sensible and the sane. Maybe we have found the antidote to life’s mysteries and the world’s problems. Who knows this could be true, but all I know is that these ridiculous bits of fun keep us smiling and away from black holes of boredom and exhaustion. These simple things bring us closer, so that when our minds are being warped by the images of hounds tongue and Dalmatian toadflax or our arms become numb from swinging a pick, we can escape into random crew imagination time.
Along with all the fun, games, and other world philosophies, our crew does have a serious side. During our last hitch on the edge of Yellowstone, our abilities and bonds were tested. Between the wildflowers and mountains, someone had an accident involving an axe and a finger. It’s hard to put a positive spin on something so gruesome, but in a way this event brought our crew even closer together. It brought me to the realization that families come in all shapes, sizes, and relations. Families can’t always be traced by DNA and sometimes spontaneously materialize in the wilderness. My crew is my family. We slowly transitioned from 7 strangers from all over the country, to synchronized family unit. We feel weird when someone is missing and I can’t deny the growing connection between us. In some ways we’re closer than the average family. We never miss a meal together, we sweat through the same long work days, we say good night better than the Waltons, and we never forget to laugh about anything, even if it makes no sense whatsoever. I definitely wouldn’t trade a single one in for another, even if they do smell bad and fart excessively.
Along with all the fun, games, and other world philosophies, our crew does have a serious side. During our last hitch on the edge of Yellowstone, our abilities and bonds were tested. Between the wildflowers and mountains, someone had an accident involving an axe and a finger. It’s hard to put a positive spin on something so gruesome, but in a way this event brought our crew even closer together. It brought me to the realization that families come in all shapes, sizes, and relations. Families can’t always be traced by DNA and sometimes spontaneously materialize in the wilderness. My crew is my family. We slowly transitioned from 7 strangers from all over the country, to synchronized family unit. We feel weird when someone is missing and I can’t deny the growing connection between us. In some ways we’re closer than the average family. We never miss a meal together, we sweat through the same long work days, we say good night better than the Waltons, and we never forget to laugh about anything, even if it makes no sense whatsoever. I definitely wouldn’t trade a single one in for another, even if they do smell bad and fart excessively.
Getting to Know You - Genavieve MacDonald, NRock
Over the past two months, every one in the MCC has gotten to know a group of people that a short time before were just strangers living in distant lands across the country. One of the great things about the MCC is the unusual ways in witch we all get to know each other. In normal life, when you meet people, you usually gradually get to know them over time through the usual conventions, not so much here.
We came, we introduced, and BAM- out into the wilderness with strangers who would quickly become like family. Over the last month or two we have all gotten to know each other through our work, play, meals, chores, and everything else that we’ve done to pass the time.
One of my favorite inlets into my fellow crewmen’s personalities has been the morning stretch circle and the question of the day. Having to do these every morning, we really have to go out of the box when thinking up questions because all the basics got covered in the first two weeks. These Q.O.D’s always provide a good chuckle in the morning and often times can provide some revealing information about your fellow crew or what they may think about you. Some of my favorite Q.O.D’s of the past have been ‘if the past year of your life was a beverage, what would it be and why?”, “What do you think is the spirit animal of the person to your left and why?”, or “If you were a trail tool what would you be and why?” (the “why” is always a key part of the question).
All of these can provide fun and humorous answers, for example, on the spirit animal question, I learned that one of my crew saw me as a mountain goat because I’m at home in the mountains, am adaptable, and have a fondness of salt. I thought that Zoe was a flamingo because she’s has a bright personality, and is fun yet serious. Now I bet that with out question of the days neither of us would know these important pieces of information about each other. Everyday is a new question and another inlet into my fellow crew’s histories and personalities, who knows what will be revealed in the coming months….
Salmon-Challis Natl. Forest - Meade Morgan, GY
Hardly working. The signs we were supposed to post to beetle-blighted trees failed to arrive and so instead of working we tramped about in the rain in the measured wake of an old fellow named Cliff who explained and described and diagrammed in loving detail his familiar ski trails, preparing ourselves.
Through thick and silent stands of spruce and pine, across swollen streams and little sodden grouseberry marshes, emerging occasionally into sunlit meadows scattered with still leafless aspens, whiling away and easy afternoon or two.
Armed with a book on edible and medicinal plants we marched about collecting morels and memories of western blue flax, desert parsley, sage and shooting star, avalanche lilies, violets, goat's beard, waterleaf. Learning quick, but much yet remains to be learned before I die young or grow old or this mad technoindustrial culture erases it all. Coming slowly to my senses, sorting through the old city-born irritations and fears, hoping to find, intending to find, a saner man at the end of this.
I must say, it offends my pride to be forced to admit that much of what I was told regarding the corps (i.e, that the work will be challenging, that I will likely make new and excellent friends, that I will take stock of my young life, etc) has turned out to be true.
The folks are a solid bunch: Jorge, a tattooed thunderbolt from Miami. Beau, who quit his job in an act of rare gallantry and headed west to try and match his amazonian love in woodland skills. Katrina, five indomitable feet of freckled theatricality (and more). And our increasingly nominal leaders, Sally and Chris.
Good fortune forever attends me; to be surrounded by such folks...
Through thick and silent stands of spruce and pine, across swollen streams and little sodden grouseberry marshes, emerging occasionally into sunlit meadows scattered with still leafless aspens, whiling away and easy afternoon or two.
Armed with a book on edible and medicinal plants we marched about collecting morels and memories of western blue flax, desert parsley, sage and shooting star, avalanche lilies, violets, goat's beard, waterleaf. Learning quick, but much yet remains to be learned before I die young or grow old or this mad technoindustrial culture erases it all. Coming slowly to my senses, sorting through the old city-born irritations and fears, hoping to find, intending to find, a saner man at the end of this.
I must say, it offends my pride to be forced to admit that much of what I was told regarding the corps (i.e, that the work will be challenging, that I will likely make new and excellent friends, that I will take stock of my young life, etc) has turned out to be true.
The folks are a solid bunch: Jorge, a tattooed thunderbolt from Miami. Beau, who quit his job in an act of rare gallantry and headed west to try and match his amazonian love in woodland skills. Katrina, five indomitable feet of freckled theatricality (and more). And our increasingly nominal leaders, Sally and Chris.
Good fortune forever attends me; to be surrounded by such folks...
Monday, August 2, 2010
Hitch 3, by Kurt Barber, Western Wildlands
Smoking hot? Check. Cloudless? Check. Dust Storm? Check. Rock work? You know it. Baking in the sun and pulling out black boogers was a daily thing. I do have to say that I had a great time. The crew is starting to figure each other out which is bringing us closer. We're becoming more relaxed and more productive. Our musical camp keeps everyone in high spirits at night. Every hitch things are getting better and I'm so happy I came into the office back in February. One more hitch and we're moving on to bigger and better places. I love our spot but after 30 days I'm ready for a change. I just hope things go as smoothly as they have.
Scantily Clad in the Selway-Bitterroot, by Isaac Miller, Western Wildlands
As Journalist for the 4th hitch of 2010 MCC crew “Scantily Clad”, I had no time or energy to write a quality journal entry capturing the essence of the experience. This dilemma seems to be just another trade-off of being in the wilderness; just like trading thunderstorms and rain without bugs for perfectly clear skies but rampant mosquito bites, living in the wilderness for over a week is almost always accompanied by much fatigue and exhaustion. Now that the mind is rested, it’s time to sum up the experience with synopses of different aspects of the hitch.
To access the trail-head off Idaho Highway 12, we cross a bridge over the Lochsa River (meaning “rough water” in Nez Perce), a river that flows west to meet the Selway River to become the middle-fork of the Clearwater river even further west. The trail head signs are clearly marked; “Warm Springs Trail No. 49”, which has been our main project the past couple months, is carved into a wood post. Below, a new sign is noticed: “Clothing optional Area: Nude hikers may be encountered on trail”, the most natural way to encounter them. From there it is approximately a 7 mile hike up the trail headed southeast with about a 1500ft. positive elevation change. The trail parallels the Warm Springs Creek, a rocky rapid tributary of the Lochsa, which then has its own tributaries like Cooperation and Wind Lakes Creeks. Around halfway into our hike to camp, the wilderness boundary is also carved into wood: “Selway Bitterroot Wilderness Area: Clearwater national forest”.
Before discussing the vast 1.3 million acres of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area, whose anthropogenic contact comes solely from MCC crews and pack animals (aka forest service technicians), I find it especially important to go through the features of the trail. Trail 49 is one of many arterial pathways into the wilderness, but one of the few that runs straight into one of those recreational “hot” spots called hot springs. These pools are extremely relaxing and distinctly smelling. The tolerable stench is said to be caused at least in part by anaerobic bacteria living in the magma-heated water below earth’s surface and breaking down dissolved minerals to produce gases like hydrogen sulfide. Past the Hot Springs we encounter a Cedar-dominant area along the bottom of the canyon and close to the creek. As we increase in altitude after 2 switchback climbs, the flat needled Grand Fir becomes more frequent. Eventually, trees like Sub-alpine Fir, Engelmann Spruce, Lodgepole Pine, and Western Larch dominate the higher altitude (not to mention countless wildflowers and shrubs).
At intermittent spots along the trail we encounter many rock outcrops mostly of the same rock type: intrusive igneous granodiorite. The geologic region we are in is the Idaho Batholith, a mass of intrusive igneous rock 110-65 million years old. Crumbling slabs often fall right on top of the trail, reminding us that these mighty mountains are tragically becoming undone by gravity and, to a lesser extent, trail crews. The deep river canyons are said to have been carved mainly by stream erosion in our area, while avalanches and freeze-thaw cycles help in the winter.
The 1.3 million acre Selway Bitterroot Wilderness seems to be where most of the crews in our region, so it’s informative to know some facts about it. Founded in 1964, it’s the third largest wilderness area in the U.S., beaten in size by Death Valley in California and the Frank Church Wilderness area, which borders our area to the south. Four national forests occupy this area; ours is the Clearwater National forest in the northern half. It is home to one of the largest Elk herds in North America and many other megafauna species like Moose, Deer, Black Bear, and Mountain Lion. Ironically most large mammal sightings for us have occurred mainly outside of the wilderness boundary, perhaps because many prey species find refuge in areas closer to human contact, where predators like mountain lions are less likely to be found.
To sum up, I should add that it is a personal privilege to be in this part of the world for extended periods of time, even though the work is sometimes tough and seemingly pointless when I think of the few people who will enjoy hiking, riding, or hunting from the trail we’ve been maintaining. The trail will once again give in to the elements and resist human intervention, returning to the condition we found it in just a decade or less; a miniscule amount of time when thought about in terms of the immensity of time our area has been in its similar but trail-less condition. Eventually the marks of human contact will be reclaimed by nature permanently.
Hopefully, by that point, our area will be relatively healthy and habitable to its native adapted creatures, thanks to conservation efforts by groups like MCC, and the many engaged citizens and activists who’ve personally donated time and energy to keeping it wild and untamed. Wild and conquerable only by the whimsical forces of nature, the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness Area seems to be at its best condition when a balance is struck between it being kept wild and it being enjoyed by anyone who enters it.
To access the trail-head off Idaho Highway 12, we cross a bridge over the Lochsa River (meaning “rough water” in Nez Perce), a river that flows west to meet the Selway River to become the middle-fork of the Clearwater river even further west. The trail head signs are clearly marked; “Warm Springs Trail No. 49”, which has been our main project the past couple months, is carved into a wood post. Below, a new sign is noticed: “Clothing optional Area: Nude hikers may be encountered on trail”, the most natural way to encounter them. From there it is approximately a 7 mile hike up the trail headed southeast with about a 1500ft. positive elevation change. The trail parallels the Warm Springs Creek, a rocky rapid tributary of the Lochsa, which then has its own tributaries like Cooperation and Wind Lakes Creeks. Around halfway into our hike to camp, the wilderness boundary is also carved into wood: “Selway Bitterroot Wilderness Area: Clearwater national forest”.
Before discussing the vast 1.3 million acres of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area, whose anthropogenic contact comes solely from MCC crews and pack animals (aka forest service technicians), I find it especially important to go through the features of the trail. Trail 49 is one of many arterial pathways into the wilderness, but one of the few that runs straight into one of those recreational “hot” spots called hot springs. These pools are extremely relaxing and distinctly smelling. The tolerable stench is said to be caused at least in part by anaerobic bacteria living in the magma-heated water below earth’s surface and breaking down dissolved minerals to produce gases like hydrogen sulfide. Past the Hot Springs we encounter a Cedar-dominant area along the bottom of the canyon and close to the creek. As we increase in altitude after 2 switchback climbs, the flat needled Grand Fir becomes more frequent. Eventually, trees like Sub-alpine Fir, Engelmann Spruce, Lodgepole Pine, and Western Larch dominate the higher altitude (not to mention countless wildflowers and shrubs).
At intermittent spots along the trail we encounter many rock outcrops mostly of the same rock type: intrusive igneous granodiorite. The geologic region we are in is the Idaho Batholith, a mass of intrusive igneous rock 110-65 million years old. Crumbling slabs often fall right on top of the trail, reminding us that these mighty mountains are tragically becoming undone by gravity and, to a lesser extent, trail crews. The deep river canyons are said to have been carved mainly by stream erosion in our area, while avalanches and freeze-thaw cycles help in the winter.
The 1.3 million acre Selway Bitterroot Wilderness seems to be where most of the crews in our region, so it’s informative to know some facts about it. Founded in 1964, it’s the third largest wilderness area in the U.S., beaten in size by Death Valley in California and the Frank Church Wilderness area, which borders our area to the south. Four national forests occupy this area; ours is the Clearwater National forest in the northern half. It is home to one of the largest Elk herds in North America and many other megafauna species like Moose, Deer, Black Bear, and Mountain Lion. Ironically most large mammal sightings for us have occurred mainly outside of the wilderness boundary, perhaps because many prey species find refuge in areas closer to human contact, where predators like mountain lions are less likely to be found.
To sum up, I should add that it is a personal privilege to be in this part of the world for extended periods of time, even though the work is sometimes tough and seemingly pointless when I think of the few people who will enjoy hiking, riding, or hunting from the trail we’ve been maintaining. The trail will once again give in to the elements and resist human intervention, returning to the condition we found it in just a decade or less; a miniscule amount of time when thought about in terms of the immensity of time our area has been in its similar but trail-less condition. Eventually the marks of human contact will be reclaimed by nature permanently.
Hopefully, by that point, our area will be relatively healthy and habitable to its native adapted creatures, thanks to conservation efforts by groups like MCC, and the many engaged citizens and activists who’ve personally donated time and energy to keeping it wild and untamed. Wild and conquerable only by the whimsical forces of nature, the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness Area seems to be at its best condition when a balance is struck between it being kept wild and it being enjoyed by anyone who enters it.
Stepping in it - Tom Brangers, CD
Our spike was a very interesting and trying one. It started off with an amazing experience, we watched three dogs chase a moose across a river, then we saw a black bear about a quarter mile from our camp site, its a good thing Travis and Ashley taught us safe back country camping techniques! This was not our only run in with wild life, Katie stared down a large black bear by herself, she has nerves of steel!
The trying part of this spike came around Tuesday, we thought we had finished our first project but were informed by our sponsor that we still had a day and a half left. Needless to say this temporarily broke our spirits. Luckily we we worked through our frustrations and got to move on to our new site on Thursday. The new site was worth the wait, its a beautiful place, the best part of it is that we actually get to see hikers that are using the trail we our working on.
The week almost ended without incident, except for one situation- I stepped in Vicky's poop! To her defense, she did try to cover it up with a rock, but I thought said rock would be a good weight to hold down our tool cache. None of the crew has let her live that one down yet. Other than that situation it was a great week!
The trying part of this spike came around Tuesday, we thought we had finished our first project but were informed by our sponsor that we still had a day and a half left. Needless to say this temporarily broke our spirits. Luckily we we worked through our frustrations and got to move on to our new site on Thursday. The new site was worth the wait, its a beautiful place, the best part of it is that we actually get to see hikers that are using the trail we our working on.
The week almost ended without incident, except for one situation- I stepped in Vicky's poop! To her defense, she did try to cover it up with a rock, but I thought said rock would be a good weight to hold down our tool cache. None of the crew has let her live that one down yet. Other than that situation it was a great week!
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