How to Hug a Redwood...

I’m a tree hugger. That’s probably one of the BIGLY-est reasons I attended Syracuse’s College of Environmental Sciences and Forestry. I reckoned my career path would lead me to many trails of trees. 

In the late 70’s, I worked for the US Forest Service for four seasons. When my co-workers weren’t looking, I’d sneak in an occasional squeeze on a big green specimen. 

Now, I’m gainfully unemployed. I don’t give an empty can of IPA of what others think. 

However, I’m willing to share my secrets with my Billions of WW J blog fans out there. Here’s how it’s done with pictures even! (Photo credit and kudos to Lisa P. Strong Work!)

1) Approach the tree in a friendly manner. A “Hello!” wave Is a great ice breaker.

1a) If you desire a more formal introduction, you can perform the Japanese “Salarymen” method and present a business card first. 

2) After the rudimentary introduction, schmooze a little. I’m partial to the following one-liners:

“Come here often?”, “Nice day if it don’t rain.” and the always popular, “What’s your sign?”

3) When the conversation is on the wane, demurely ask, “Would it be OK if we hugged before parting ways?” (Authentic Tree Huggers always ask first. You don’t want to become infamous as being a “Bark-Grabbing” loser.) 

4) When permission is hopefully granted, lean in with arms extended, close your eyes and thank the Deity of your choice for saving the last remaining 5% of the Old Growth Redwoods left in the World. 

Now here’s  the History Lesson about goodness in people and Government Agencies.

Before the 1920’s, Logging Companies did what they do, shout “Timber!” after making the final cut in the tree. Those Behemoths of Biomass were crashing to the Earth at an Jeff Sambur nano-second rate. (That’s fast!) All that falling Redwood decking and shingles got the attention of good (and rich) concerned citizens and the State of California. 

What did they do? 

I’ll tell you what they did. They began buying up pockets of the precious Old Growth groves left from the lumbermen. Those nice wealthy folks (with an Un-Koch Brothers) conscience, donated the acreage to the state. Their payment was a humble sign proclaiming who purchased the grove. That’s a genuine mitzvah (Good Deed).

Those State of California Dreamin’ bureaucrats bought groves too. Eventually three State Parks were created to preserve the Old Dude Redwoods. 

In the late 60’s, the Feds got involved. They purchased more Old Growth from the logging companies, thus creating Redwood National Park. 

In 1998, California and the National Park Service combined the management scheme into one 132,000 acre State and National Park for all tree huggers.to enjoy. (Regardless of race, creed  or religion.) 

Sadly, less than one third of those salvaged from the brink groves are considered Old Growth. However in about 2,000 years (if left alone) the infant and teenage Redwoods will be the new Green Skyscrapers of the Pacific Northwest. 

So... Teach your children to hug trees. It might impart upon them a desire to preserve the Natural Wonders left in this crazy, money-mad, short-sighted World.

Last photo: This is what a former Redwood clearcut looks like. OK. That’s Fake News. The photo was taken in the John Day Fossils National Monument in the high desert country of eastern Oregon. Trust me though, a Redwood clearcut is NOT as impressive as the Standing Tall variety. Want to get inspired? Go and see for yourself. 

From Strawberry Campground in Malheur National Forest. Good night,

Jeff

“You’re Living in Your Own Private Idaho”

Song by the B-52’s

I’m in the “Famous Potatoes” State. I wasn’t really planning to be here, but somehow the Wandering Wondering Jew took a detour north. The World works in mysterious ways.

Near Driggs, ID, I hiked to a view of the rear end (or front end, depending on your point of view)  of the Grand Tetons. That was cool, so out came the maps. Hmm! The Sawtooth’s National Recreation Area was sort of nearby. 

Of course, I Googled it, that’s what Wondering people do. (Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, lack of knowledge did!). 

From the US Forest Service: 

“The Sawtooth National Recreation Area (Sawtooth NRA) consists of 756,000 acres of beautiful mountanious scenery. The Sawtooth NRA includes the Sawtooth Wilderness, Cecil D. Andrus-White Clouds Wilderness, and the Hemingway-Boulders Wilderness areas. The Sawtooth NRA has over 700 miles of trails, 40 peaks rising over 10,000 feet and 300-plus high-elevation alpine lakes that add to the spectacular scenery and vistas.”

Yep! I was going in. I drove through Ketchum. A groovy sort of town infamous as the venue where Papa Hemingway committed severe lead poisoning with a shotgun in 1961. There’s a nearby smallish Wilderness named after the Noble Prize winning author. When I asked a local about hikes there, he said “where’s that?” Oh well, maybe he’s never read “A Farewell to Arms.” 

That night, I camped at the USFS Wood River campground. It was perfect. 

The next morning, I headed up the Amber Lake trail. For whatever reason, the path pulled up short of the promised lake. Another example of Lakus Interruptus. Still a pleasant introductory hike in the Sawtooths though.

Later, I stopped at the US Forest Service Visitor Center for recreation ideas. Those nice folks told me to do the ten mile Sawtooth Lake hike. The reason? It’s the most photographed spot in the area. See for yourself. Isn’t the lake photogenic even without my grin? 

On a small divide, I ran into backpackers Charley and company. I struck the mother lode of Sawtooth information. He strongly suggested a three night trip into the Sawtooth Wilderness, including seeing the popular Toxaway-Alice Lakes Loop. “Set up a basecamp at Lake Edna for two nights. From there you can day hike up to Cramer Divide AND THEN do a nice six mile loop before returning.” I made mental notes of all of this. 

Upon parting ways, he said, “Don’t tell the people in Colorado about the Sawtooths. It’s Boise’s local playground.” (He’s right. God placed this gem a mere two hour drive from the 756,000 humans residing in the Boise metro area.)

Sorry Charley! I told. If it’s any consolation most of my readers are Russian “Bots” trying to hack into my blog. They haven’t succeeded...yet. 

I packed that night.

As usual, I hit the trail early before my two pots of coffee caffeine high wore thin. I had a goal in mind to settle in a choice spot on the shores of Lake Edna. There were ten miles and one pass in between. I breezed by Lake Edith making good time. Those swell trail builders of Idaho lovingly ,made gentle switchbacks in a steep land. My knees and lungs thanked them.

 Now a note about Sawtooth names: They are old fashioned and comforting, such as, Alice, Vernon, Virginia and the already mentioned Edith and Edna. The names harkened back to simpler times when flapjacks with gobs of butter and syrup were the preferred breakfast. A time when “Father Knows Best.” 

For awhile, I had Lake Edna to myself. By 7ish, I had company on my little peninsula. A youngish gang of six set up nearby. Happily, they were good neighbors. (Demographically speaking, Idaho is a youthful state. The third youngest as of 2012). On this hike, I was the Old Man in the Mountains. The kids were well mannered though, none of them called me “Gramps.” 

I got out the next morning before the heat was on. It’s been a scorcher summer in the American West. Each of my steps created a mini dust bowl. Making a campfire complete with s’mores was out of the question. It was drier than my three year old Clif Bars. That’s lack of moisture dry. Despite the toasty conditions, I had a fine half marathon hike. Here’s a few pix.

On my third day, I packed up early for my climb to Sand Mountain Pass. From that perch only beautiful views awaited me. Afterwards, down I went to Toxaway Lake. Then  I had to negotiate Snowyside Pass. In my humble opinion, those miles were the most inspiring and perspiring of them all.

At Twin Lakes, I was alone. I had first dibs on a room with a view. Then the hordes came around. Fortunately, everyone was respectful of spacing and quiet time. It was another joyful day.

I headed our early with thoughts of a three egg omelette awaiting me in Barley the Van. I practically trail ran those last seven miles. 

The Sawtooths reminded me of a smaller version of the Sierra Nevada’s of California. The granite peaks, scree and boulders yield the same “Range of Light” qualities. For me, it was love at first light.

Now back to the B-52’s. Their New Wave song admonished the listener to, “Get out of that State! Get out of that State you’re in!”

I will, I will. All in good time, my pretty.

From bucolic, McCall, Idaho.

Goodnight.

Jeff

Wilderness Interruptus...

When old buddies Nelson and Bill invited me to tag along on their Bridger Wilderness backpack trip in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, I answered “Hell Yes!” 

They had an ambitious plan of a week long adventure with multiple night stopovers in a few base camps. One goal that caught my attention was to hang in a rarely visited part of Bridger’s 428,000 acre Wilderness. The place (I swore secrecy, but I can be bought) is popular with big wall climbers but not-so-much with the hiking crowd. 

Through the years, I’ve discovered backpacking is a sure “Lose Weight! Ask me how!” ordeal. On my last three night trip into Colorado’s Maroon Bell Wilderness, I shed 3-5 pounds. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-future-aint-what.html

I reckoned I’d have the girth of 16 ounce can of Imperial IPA if I were in for a week. So I settled for five nights of weight loss. 

We met in Pinedale, Wyoming. That evening we all adjourned to the Wind River Brewpub, home of mediocre microbrews. (It’s the only game in town). We commiserated about our ailments and owies, the current never ending political and Constitutional Crisis (in whispered tones) and laughed in between. We set a game plan of a 6 am breakfast followed by a 57 mile commute to the trailhead. We then bid each other goodnight. 

The parking lot was awash with vehicles. (I was here with Nelson a decade ago. This wasn’t the case). I parked Barley at an angled spot. A drugstore Cowboy (when your jeans have ironed creases and theirs no horseshit on your shiny boots, you are a drugstore Cowboy) informed me Barley might be in the way of the incoming horse trailers. I moved a few feet and heard, “Blap! Blap! Blap!” OY! I’m no mechanic nor do I pretend to be one on TV, but I know this is No Bueno. I hustled over to Bill and asked for his opinion. We checked the oil level (OK) and looked for leaks or hanging stuff (none). He sagely advised me to take it easy going back to Pinedale with my windows open. Barley was now exhausting noxious gases into my living space. Double OY.

We hit the trail en route to Marm’s Lake. Upon arriving we noticed all the primo campsites were occupied. We settled for a sloped chunk of property above the lake. This would be our home for two nights. 

The next morning we all went off in different directions. Bill volunteered to scout the route to our secret Nirvana. Nelson went off to do bonus miles. Me? On Nelson’s suggestion I headed up to Texas Pass to play voyeur into the Cirque of the Towers. (The reason for all the vehicles in the parking lot). 

It was a beautiful hike on an atypical weather day. Warm, windless and very blue. The Wind River Range can witness White Death anytime of the year. In the 80’s I woke to an inch in late July. Apparently a massive high pressure system loomed overhead. I wasn’t complaining.

The trail went up to Shadow Lake. It was a crowded camper scene. I spotted a worn down social trail leading uphill along a creek. I passed a guided quorum of backpackers and was then alone. 

At Texas Lake, the route went vertical to the pass. There were tight switchbacks consisting of slippery gravel. Yes, I wiped out. No blood, no foul. At the top, there was a sign indicating the border between the Teton and Shoshone National Forests, but no vista of the Cirque. I dropped down a few hundred feet, until I saw what the hubbub was all about. OK, it’s an amazing place.

See for yourself.

I had lunch with a view while watching backpackers come up two by two. I retreated back and discovered all those hikers knew each other. They were a supersized extended family of Ukrainians. Upon learning this, I called out, “ Nostrovia Comrades! Welcome to the new Nation of the US of Kremlinstan!” I didn’t really say that, but I thought about it. I smiled all the way back to camp. 

I stopped grinning when I realized my mechanical predicament. My food supply would run out by Saturday. The mechanics in Pinedale cease work on the Jewish Sabbath. I needed to be out by Thursday for a Friday repair. I had one day to do a look into the “Promised Land.”

I’ll make a long blog short. There’s no trail into the mystery valley. That’s why few hikers trod in there. Which leads me to another point. I hate bushwhacking. When I was a grunt for the US Forest Service, my jobs included firefighting, setting up timber sales and doing forest inventory. There were no trails included in my job description. I’d walk, crawl, fall and  curse over downed trees. I’d  head straight up hillsides without the benefit of switchbacks. I sweated a lot. At the end of the work day, I was bruised and beaten down. I fertilized the forest with my blood. Now, I’m not really a fan of going sans trails.

So... I got lost. Nelson and Bill were somewhere behind me. I waited and realized, I missed a turn.  I retreated back to established turf while looking for my screwup. On a hillside, I saw a trace. I followed it up with the thread coming and going. Eventually it opened up to an amazing sight. There were BIGLY wall peaks, domes and ponds. There was no Nelson and Bill in view. I sighed, took a few pix and returned the way I came.

That night I had a swank outfitter camp to myself. On Thursday, I hoofed out ten miles. I spent the night in an overpriced Pinedale hotel. By noon on Friday, I was $740 poorer but a working Barley the Van richer. The Pinedale brewpub’s beer didn’t improve with age. 

Final Note to Nelson and Bill: I’m sorry if I caused any duress. Trust me when I say I’d rather have been in the Wilderness than Pinedale, Wyoming...again. My treat for Happy Hour when I see you in the Fall. 

From Victor, Idaho ( Yawn! )

Cheers!

Jeff