Big cat

Well, we can call the whole project off now: I saw the one thing I really really wanted to see while out here in the wilderness!  Just kidding…about calling it off anyhow.

I really badly wanted to see a mountain lion.  They just seem so wild, and wily, and mysterious, and regal, and independent, and beautiful, and strong, and…and so darn reclusive.  We have seen many cat tracks out here, and followed them along trails in the dust, and in the snow.  We have heard stories, and seen places that look so, well, cat-like that you just have to imagine a big cat must be watching from somewhere just over the ledge where you can’t see it, but it can certainly see you.  But we had not yet seen hide or hair of the real thing.

It was just a few  days ago, that I set out with Kea (the golden retriever we are companioning while caretaking at Taylor Ranch) for a good old energy-burning hike up the steep benches to our north.  We had lofty goals of reaching the high ridge beyond in quick time, and gazing out over the wide view you have from way up there, while burning a few extra amps of energy on the steep miles to get there.  We set out full of conviction and scampered along the trail (or more realistically: scampered, huffed-and-puffed, wheezed, scampered some more, played rounds of tag and keep-away, panted…) until we got just beyond the first bench.  We were rounding the corner to the steep gully into the second bench when motion caught both our eyes.  A bald eagle flapped close and large out of the gully, and we were both distracted by the graceful flight of the huge bird as it flew by on our level, about 20 yards away, before noticing a second flash of movement.  This time it was the tawny and sinuous body of a mountain lion as it leap off of something in the grass about 100 yards away and bounded towards a scree slope.  Not quite grasping what I was seeing, I grabbed Kea with a firm arm around her chest and we both sank to our haunches to watch.  I breathed “cougar!” and could hardly believe my eyes as the cat reappeared from behind a clump of trees, picking its graceful way up the scree with the dignity and agility only a cat could possess.  

We watched until it was out of sight, and then wheeled around and churned back down the trail, leaping over rocks and running pellmell all the way back to the cabin where we grabbed Isaac and he grabbed the camera, and we all (more quietly now, and without Kea) retraced our steps back up the mountain where we staked out our blind and watched and waited to see if the cat would return.  It turns out it had a freshly caught bighorn ewe it had been eating, and though it never did return for the rest of the feast, we were able to film several coyotes, some eagles, and many entertaining ravens and magpies.  We spent the rest of that afternoon into evening, and the next morning watching, and waiting.    

Blue moon

Happy New Year!  …and enjoy the blue moon if you can see it tonight.  We are blanketed cozily with high clouds, that are ever lowering and thickening, and by tonight it is supposed to snow.  But we saw it last night, and it was huge and beautiful, rising smoothly just beyond Indian Profile rock and ascending into the sky that began light, before turning a deep cerrelean blue, to then darken into a night pricked with diamonds.

      

Holidays, waiting for mail, and sick mules...

The cold snap that left us without power from the pelton wheel finally ended, and alas, we are still here, not basking in the golden sunlight of a breezy Hawaian evening.  But even so, things are looking up considerably.  The temperatures have been much more seasonable, rising well above freezing during the days, and hitting five or ten at night.  The river has thawed considerably, and stopped making the pained squealing and groaning sounds that seemed more tortured animal than frozen water.  Although the smaller creek running beside the cabin remains frozen solid across, and all attempts to re-start the Pelton wheel have failed.  (Isaac spent an entire morning chopping the foot-thick ice off of the intake trough in the creek, attempting to get water flowing again to the power house: to no avail).  But all in all, the warmer temps have been good, and now we are just hoping for a little snow to push some wildlife down from the higher elevations.

The Wednesday mail plane before Christmas, actually arrived on Thursday because they couldn’t fit in all their stops.  But when it arrived, it brought a full sack of letters and cards and packages from friends and family, a true Santa’s sack from the sky.

Christmas came and went in a fun flurry of decorating the cabin, hauling in the top of a Doug Fir and twining it with lights, baking, making ice luminaries and wreaths, Skyping family at home, and cooking venison roast over a bonfire.  The day was capped off with a lovely hike upriver, looking for tracks on the skim of snow left behind by a minor weather sneeze.  We found mountain lion tracks and otter slides, saw a full curl bighorn sheep ram, and admired the aquamarine color of the river flowing over ice formations.  But when we returned home, we found one of the mules (Bat, as in Dingbat) laying uncomfortably on her side, looking restless and sick.  We suspected colic, and hoping for a mild bout, began walking her for half hour spells, and then letting her rest.  By nightfall she was not looking much better, still laying down the instant you let her off the lead, and not interested in water, even freshly warmed.  A sick mule is a scarier prospect when the vet is a plane ride away, and its Christmas day…  But by 10:30 pm, we went down to check on her one last time, and she was standing, looking much happier.  She drank nearly a full bucket of warm water, and seemed perkier.  We went to bed relieved, and by morning she was one hundred percent.  Phewwww…

  

Moving to Hawaii

So I am ready to move to Hawaii.  Actually, to be less demanding, any tropical island would do.  The next blog will be written from a breezy hammock, swinging gently beneath whispering palm trees, with a warming sun kissing my limbs, and perhaps a rum punch sitting within reach.  

It’s been sub-zero here lately.  Sub-zero, or really anywhere remotely close to zero, are not the kinds of temperatures in which I want to spend much time.  Yes, we’re still at Taylor Ranch, and yes I should be thankful for that.  I am thankful for that.  But honestly, I’d rather not be here at all.  Actually, to be truly honest, Isaac is not even here right now.  And I am absolutely not blaming him for that.  We agreed it was a good idea.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I wanted to do this.  

Isaac took a job (a “real” filming job) for a couple weeks.  He is in Africa.  He will return in a week.  I’m pretty sure it is hot where he is now.  In case you sense a little envy in my words, there is.  In fact, there is a lot of envy.  Although when he left I distinctly remember feeling sorry for him that he had to sit on a plane for so long just to get there.  Now I think I’d sit on a plane for three days if that’s what it took.

Before you go feeling too sorry for me (although a little wouldn’t hurt), I have to say that I got a bit of a break as well.  I went to Delaware for Thanksgiving to visit my family.  And to steal some words from a friend in McCall, when I asked how his trip home for thanksgiving had been, “it was wonderful, isn’t it always?”.  And so I came back refreshed, ready to go back into the wilderness with new eyes, invigorated spirit, and endless enthusiasm.  The doubt started to creep in when my plane landed in Boise in a snowstorm, and I walked to our car parked at a friends house a mile away, and by the time I got there my cheeks felt as if they were made of blow glass, and if anyone had gently flicked them they would burst into a million pieces and fall tinkling to the ground at my feet.  And that was Boise.  Boise is supposed to be in a “banana belt” of sorts.  My ass.

By the time I had driven to McCall that night, floundered my way to the yurt in the dark, unlocked the door with a screwdriver, and was attempting to start a fire, I was thinking about frostbite.  The temperature was -3, and would drop to -15 before the night was over.  It took me a half hour to start a fire (we had left the woodbox empty, and kindling had to be chopped, the butane lighter wouldn’t even try to light, and I struggled with regular wooden matches).  Then I realized the propane lanterns we use in the yurt also wouldn’t light, I guess because the propane was too cold?  Never before experienced that, but it sure seemed that way as they wouldn’t light for 2 hours until the yurt had come up to a more reasonable temperature.  But why am I complaining about the yurt?  I would give my left leg to be in the yurt right now.  Once it comes up to temperature it is downright cozy.

But after a day layover in town, I jumped on the mail plane and headed back out to Taylor Ranch, dragging my feet a little knowing what was in store, and wishing with all my mind that weather would come in and we wouldn’t be able to fly.  But the weather was sunny (don’t get the wrong impression, that just meant it was light out, because there wasn’t an ounce of warmth to be had from the giant fiery planet).  And the good part of my conscience knew I had to get out there to help the caretaker who was there in my absence.  This was her first time caretaking Taylor Ranch in winter, and that can be a daunting task for anyone.  Not that I had much know-how to bring her, but it’s just nicer with two people.  Two people to kick the generator when it won’t start (which seems to be every time you go to start it), two people to sob and cry when everything is freezing up around you, nothing is working as it should, and Jim’s voice over the Skype waves just isn’t convincing enough, two people to invoke the powers of the god-of-all-generators to please let the damn thing start so we can have just a little power, just enough to call Jim and say “help!”, two people to heat water to pour into trash bags to sit under the generator engine until it is warm enough to try again.  

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that it has been a trying few days.  All the water systems are now shut off.  We are using the generator (when it will start) morning and night to charge the main batteries, and then are very frugal with using anything that requires power.  We are getting water from Pioneer Creek which runs by the ranch, but is now running under a good 15 inches of solid ice, and requires safety glasses and an ax every time you need to fill a bucket.  We see the sun for only a few hours every day, between noon and three, and the rest of the time we are in hoar-frosted relative darkness, in the shadows of the canyon walls.  Don’t you want to come visit??

Just this morning I made the grand mistake of using the toilet in the cabin where I am sleeping.  This is normal practice, I thought.  We simply flush by pouring a bucket of fresh drawn creek water down the gullet.  But noooooooo.  Not today.  This morning when I poured the flush bucket, instead of disappearing nicely down the hatch, the contents rose over the top of the toilet bowl and spilled all over the bathroom floor, to turn almost instantaneously to ice.  The thing was frozen solid, an important fact which I had not noticed before making use of it.  I proceeded to spend the rest of the day attempting to un-freeze the toilet, by many different methods.  The one that finally worked was to bring up a small radiator and place it right next to the toilet for hours (all after struggling for more hours to get the generator running to first fill the batteries so I would have enough power to run the radiator…. Ya see what I mean?  Let me tell you, it was a truly fun experience. 

I think I’d better cut myself off for the day.  No more writing until I have a better attitude.  Because this truly is a special place.  (And you can take that any way you want to) 

Winter digs

We arrived at Taylor Ranch today, or tonight rather, after hiking 35 miles down Big Creek.  The whole journey took three days: three fairly easy, wonderful days of hiking through a season we thought we had left behind.  Back at the Lookout, a line of storms left the mountain crowned in snow, and us dreaming of lower ground.

The process of moving off the mountain was no easy task.  We had been situated up there weeks ago with the help of a pack string.  They came up to haul down all the gear from the fire lookout who had been stationed at Sheepeater for the summer season.  The mules brought us a few very heavy tubs of food and gear which we had packed back in McCall, to get us through the month or so that we intended to stay at the lookout.  As it turned out, we didn't stay our full month, and therefore had a few more leftovers than intended.

Pulling off the mountain involved several heavily laden trips with backpacks crammed to the gills, odd boxes and tubs lashed to the outsides.  Isaac took the brunt of the loads, even taking an extra trip in order to help me save my already sore feet.  We were ferrying the gear to Chamberlain, which meant a 26 mile round trip and a few thousand feet of elevation.

Needless to say, we were very happy to finally have all our gear stacked in the "warehouse" at Chamberlain, awaiting a plane to take it to Taylor Ranch.  On the 21st of October, we too were awaiting that plane, which would take us to Big Creek where we where meeting up with Shane, our friend and mentor for the project, who was coming out to hike with us down the river to Taylor Ranch, do some brainstorming, and help with filming.  

Everything went nearly as planned (amazing in itself...) and the next day the three of us were hiking down the trail along Big Creek, which was in various stages of donning its fall wardrobe.  It was a real treat to see cottonwoods and aspens, red-osier dogwoods and vine maples all congregated along the river corridor, decorating our trail with splashes of color and the smell and feel of fall.  The weather cooperated, and remained cool but not cold, sprinkling us only a couple times with hints of rain.  It was refreshing to be walking new trails, and we got to see some beautiful places along the way: the sweeping bend of Coxey Hole, with its rocky pillars and a deep pool in the elbow of the river the color of jade, suggesting a wonderful summer swimming spot, and the awe-inspiring cave at the mouth of the aptly named Cave Creek.

After dark on the third day of hiking, we arrived at Taylor Ranch, crossing their bridge over Big Creek to enter the 65 acre oasis tucked into the bottom of the steep-sided canyon.  Taylor Ranch is a field research station for the University of Idaho, and along with resident scientists (and our friends) Jim and Holly Akenson, they have allowed us to call the place our winter base.  Its location is perfect, being smack in the middle of winter range for a whole variety of wildlife, and we look forwards to an active winter season.