Selway Bitterroot Wilderness - Day 5

I was well-rested when I woke at 5am. The tent fly was wet from more rain overnight, but the sky was clearing and the day looked good. The idea of hiking up the North Fork was exciting, but I forced myself to wait until the sun rose above the trees and dried my tent. If I started with the grass still wet, my boots would get soaked again in an hour and I did not want to waste all that time spent drying them out.

As I waited, sipping my tea, I re-read the last chapters of "In the Shining Mountains" looking for clues to Dave's life that I could investigate while I was in Montana. He mentioned a bar in Livingston - the "Strangler", and also the junkyard west of town where he put old sixties to rest. I wondered idly if his car was still there, rusting quietly with a .357 in the radiator.

It was only the fifth day of the trip, and there was enough food in my pack for another three days. If I collected my cache from the bridge, I would have food for five days. That seemed plenty of time to find my way up and across the North Fork, even if I ran into snow at the higher elevations. I could even explore Three Links Creek from the top down, picking up Dave's tracks from earlier in his trip. The excitement mounted until I finally packed and headed out. After retrieving my cache, I started north into new terrain.

Very soon I encountered low but thick vegetation around the trail that was still soaking wet from rain. I tried tip-toeing through, but my boots were getting wet again. I sat on a log for a few minutes, fuming about these supposedly waterproof boots that leaked so readily. Then it occurred to me - I could make gaiters out of my ground sheet! With my tiny scissors I cut two squares from the tarp, cut a hole in the middle, and then put one on each leg. I even tied them on with strips of tarp. I stepped back onto the trail with my new equipment and proudly marched along, for once not caring about water drops. They worked perfectly.

For several hours I followed the trail up the creek. It was a steep valley, and the trail rose and fell but stayed close to the creek. I navigated carefully on the map because I had a feeling the ford would not be well marked. It was another hot, sunny day, and when the trail crossed a side creek the cool damp air was a refreshing change.

A little after lunchtime I came to the ford - not only was it not marked, there was no obvious trail on the other side. The North Fork was perhaps fifty feet wide here, and seemed shallow enough although the water was moving very quickly. I took off my boots and stowed them in my pack, then waded into the water. The water was cold and strong against my legs. My hiking poles vibrated from the force of the water. I told myself that I wouldn't go deeper than my knees, but soon I was compromising. I tried to work across the river but there were lots of deep places where the current was particularly fast. After a while I looked up to check my progress. I was less than a quarter of the way across, and I could see that the deepest sections were still to come. I also had to be honest with myself - I was mid-thigh deep and that only because I was stepping from one tall rock to another. I turned to retreat.

Back on the bank I crawled up onto a huge cedar log and dried my feet in the sun. I could not believe that I was going to be turned back again, but I was completely sure that I had done my best to cross the ford. The river was simply too high still. I put my boots back on and turned to go.

I later found that there was a much easier ford less than a mile farther up the river. When preparing for the trip I had trimmed my map to contain just the planned route, unfortunately cutting it off just below the ford. But at the time, looking at the strength of the water, I could not believe that it would ever allow me to cross.

It was a long six miles back down to the big bridge over Moose Creek. I reached the bridge close to sunset - sweaty, tired, and fed up. I stopped on a gravel beach for an attitude adjustment. I peeled off my sweaty clothes and draped them over my pack, then stepped into the water for a bath. It was a life-saver. I even washed my hair, and felt the anger and disappointment wash away with the dirt. I hadn't seen another human on the trail for three days. It was one of the most beautiful areas I had ever been to, and I couldn't stay mad. As I dried off on the bank, I looked across the river and saw a small herd of elk moving through the trees. They moved up the hill, crossing from dark shadow into the last rays of sunlight.

After getting dressed, including clean socks, I decided to push through back to the ranger station. Perhaps I could get some route suggestions or trail info from them. It was already dusk, and the station was four miles away, so I hit the trail hard and tried to make time. My legs were pretty well worn out and it was well past dark before I got to my old campsite in the clearing. I set up camp and was asleep almost instantly.