Snow!

It's been snowing for two days and nights straight.  It went from an incredibly long and lovely Indian summer, straight into what feels like mid-winter.  This glass box of the lookout is encased in ice and snow.  Metal I-beams shrouded with hoar-frost is about the coldest sight I've ever seen.  Most of the snow is blowing horizontally across the mountaintop, but 4-5 inches of it have managed to grab hold and coat the rocks.  We haven't been able to see beyond the scraggy trees at the base of our rocky perch for days...

Isaac is out walking to Hand Cabins, searching for tracks to see what, if anything, has been lurking about in this inclement weather.  It's probably a smart thing to do, he'll certainly feel better for having gotten out, snowing or not.  I, however, am having terrible difficulty ripping myself away from the wood stove and this tiny glass box on top of the mountain.  I'm not a cold person.  I like heat.  A mountaintop in the middle of falls first blizzard is about the coldest place I can think of.

And we plan to stay here until the middle of November??   

On top of the world

We woke up this morning in Sheepeater Lookout for the first time.  The mountaintop was swirled in cloud, the wind still blowing (had been all night), and we were very very glad to have a roof over our heads, and a wood stove to feed.  It would have been miserable weather down in the valley in our makeshift tent fly propped up with sticks.  

The fire lookout for the season (Jim) just left, and although we wanted to make it to the mountaintop before he left to talk with him and visit, we were unable to convince our legs to carry us all that way.    By the time we were walking through Red Top Meadows it was already heading into late afternoon.  Knowing we wouldn't make it to the lookout by nightfall, we slowed and took our time up the valley, stopping to film some scenics as the sun sank low over the ridges, turning the desolate and burned valley gilded and mystical.  We followed wolf, coyote, and bear tracks up the dusty trail to the Fish Lake cut-off, where we decided to camp for the night, saving the heavy climbing for a fresh day.  We had a lovely night under a black velvet blanket heavy with diamonds.  The skies are slowly changing to their fall cloaks: the Big Dipper laying low over the ridges, and Orion stalking the heavens as the night turns to early morning.  

Now awaiting our resupply by pack string.  After the resupply up at the lookout, we will head off the mountaintop to go on a long walk-about, making a giant circle to try to run into and talk to some hunters and outfitters in the area and see what experiences they are having.  So far, this year's hunting season has been characterized by unseasonably hot temperatures, and very little elk activity.  I have been enjoying the persistent Indian Summer, but I can understand the frustration of hunters, sweating all over mountains looking for elk that remain hidden.

The power of water

Today I had a major case of the sad and lonelies.  It stemmed partly from trying to get started again, settling back into the flow, and partly from simply being unsure of what we were doing, what our goal was, and why.  All those big, vague questions that sneak up and tag you when you're not totally balanced and sure of yourself.  

Lately, it seems we've been doing a lot of sitting around and waiting to do things we don't really want to do (like interviewing hunters) or things we just aren't getting to do (like filming much wildlife).  At the moment I can't even begin to think of what our story is, and the more I think about it the less I want to make a film at all.  

I went for a walk to clear my head.  My goal was simply to find drinkable water.  We are camped beside Chamberlain Creek, but it is too big to make us comfortable drinking straight out of, and being that our water filter is laying somewhere in the back of our truck over 30 miles away, finding drinkable water has become fairly important.  I set out on what ended up being a fairly lengthy hike: this country always ends up bigger than it looks.  Hours later, I had all but given up the search, and was on my way back to camp, when I stumbled across none other than a perfect spring.  It burbled out of the ground only 50 yards above the valley flats, in a lush little glade, looking to me like the fountain of youth.  I drank from it, of course, and returned to camp to retrieve our water jugs.  It may not have brought me the gift of youth, but it sure lifted my mood!

Later in the evening, as I again fell into a dark mood, I sat and meditated by a tiny waterfall in Chamberlain Creek, and again felt better.  The healing power of water at work...  

Back in the game, kind of...

We again find ourselves back in the wilderness, after nearly a months absence.  We are slowly coming to terms with the fact that we will not spend a fully un-broken year in the wilds, but that fact has definitely taken its toll on our attitudes.  It would help if we could truly capture the comical qualities this adventure has taken on, but lately it seems we have only focused on the messy jumble it has created.  

This morning we were in Big Creek, having driven the long and bouncy 80 miles of road to get there, rushing around to get our gear together so it could be ferried to Chamberlain on the mail plane.  We, too, jumped the plane instead of hiking the nearly 30 miles, in order to be there for the start of hunting season.  Now we find ourselves at Chamberlain, sadly missing our tent poles, water filter, and sound tripod, three fairly important items that got misplaced in the morning shuffle and failed to make it onto the plane.  For a while we considered hiking the 60 miles round trip back to retrieve them, and finally (thankfully) discarded the idea because we were unable to agree on who would make the hike, and who would stay to film.  Either one of us would have been lamed by the excessive miles.  So we jerry-rigged (jury-rigged? I've never been sure which is correct) the tent, using just the fly and some artistically placed branches, and are crossing our fingers for decent weather that will not tax the less-than-perfect result.

It always seems to be a gathering of ups and downs getting back into the flow of this journey after having spent some time away.  This time was no different, but now we are looking forward to a much longer stretch of un-broken wilderness time.  Isaac is currently hiking somewhere between here (Chamberlain) and Moose Jaw Meadows.  I went part way with him, but decided I didn't really feel like hiking till midnight (we left at 5:00 pm), so I turned around and am now cozily tucked in my sleeping bag about to fall asleep under this barely stable tent canopy.  Hiking back alone I went through the typical mental struggles that seem to accompany transition time, wondering why we were even trying  so hard to make this film and what the point was.  But now, pleasantly tired and warm, everything has a rosier glow.  I feel as calm and happy as I have all day.  

Preparing for winter...already?

Isaac has returned from his filming foray into the Canadian coastal wilds, and we are again preparing to head out to the wilderness.  Hunting season begins on September 15th, at least in the wilderness.  This year that date is especially significant because wolves have joined the hunted species.  We are trying to get out there for opening day to be able to talk with some hunters and hear their perspectives on this historic event.  It will also be interesting to experience if or how quickly the wolves behavior may change in relation to the new open season.  

Here in McCall the weather has begun to turn towards fall, and people have begun to eye us strangely when we splash into the lake for a swim, as the temperatures have been dropping rapidly.  As we prepare to leave town this time, the task seems a little more serious as we intend to be out for about a month solid and after that, only through town perhaps one more time before heading into the mountains for the entire winter.  Things that seemed so unimportant during the hot summer months (warm winter sleeping bags, good down coats) have suddenly been topping the list of things to check into and get ordered/donated/shipped.  Our winter tent, the homemade teepee job that has spent the last few months balled up and zipped into a duffel bag in a dark corner of our storage shed, needs to come out into the light, be set up and measured for new poles to help it hold its shape in snow/sleet/or rain storms.  These are all things that seemed so far away only weeks ago, but now are coming into sharp focus as we realize the nearness of the first snows that will cut off our retreat routes back to town.

But this is all exciting.  Again, we are happy to be heading out; looking forward to the simplicity of hiking purely to get from one place to another, of thinking of little more than which routes to take where we will be most likely to stumble across wildlife... These things always sound intriguing after a few busy days of repacking, organizing, and planning, even if we will have to take a few extra layers of clothing to compensate for the new chill in the air.

We have been trying on various sizes of down clothing: parkas, bib pants, and even booties.  Now this may not seem like such a bad task, until you realize that the yurt and deck which we consider our summer living space, can easily reach temperatures upwards of 90 degrees even in September.  Then the task becomes a bit more daunting.  All the down gear might seem like overkill, but we have to remember that when filming, you spend so much time simply sitting still, waiting, being quiet and trying to melt into the landscape, none of which allows for vigorous arm swinging or jumping jacks to keep your body warm.  Sitting for long hours in single digit or negative temperatures can really chill down the body, so we are preparing by compiling mountains of the types of clothing that require stuffsacks bigger than those for our current sleeping bags.  How are we going to fit all this into our backpacks?  Well, we're not exactly sure yet.  One dilemma at a time, right?