Climbing out of my tent, it looked to be another beautiful day - perfect for a hike to Sawtooth Lake. My guidebook informed me that it was 11 miles roundtrip of 'moderate terrain' to the lake at 8200 ft in altitude. I drove 3 miles west of highway 21 on a gravel road to Iron Creek trailhead, loaded my backpack, and was off.
The trail was very wet. It was almost as though the nearby Iron Creek decided to divert itself along the path. I skipped from side-to-side along the trail for the first mile or so through the forest. Just as the trail was drying off, I looked up to see a couple of deer further down the path. I assumed they would scatter as I approached. Strangely, they didn't...
As I walked closer, I realized that the deer were a doe and two fawns. The fawns must have just been born; they were wobbling around on unsure footing. Their mama scampered about 20 yards into the woods and frantically paced back and forth and watched me. I stopped just to marvel at what I saw. I really couldn't believe it. At first, the fawns seemed to be aware that they should run. But they just couldn't! One stared at me for a minute, then laid down, obviously tired. The other made a tiny squeaking noise and then walked right up to me! I could have reached down and petted it!! I took some pictures and then just stood there. The second one finally laid down as well, exhausted. I felt the urge to pack those little guys in my rucksack and bring them back to Minnesota with me. They were so cute!
The trail steepened further on and turned into switchbacks. Gradually, the trees thinned, but the snow on the trail increased. Eventually, I lost site of the trail in the snow about 2 miles from Sawtooth Lake. I really wanted to see the lake, so I decided to ascend the highest point nearby, which happened to be one of the Sawtooth Mtns in order to get a bird's-eye view of the landscape. Bad idea. I climbed and climbed and soaked my pack, shirt and shorts with sweat along a gravel-y, boulder-y, snowy hill. I turned around every so often to survey the situation, not see anything new, and climb further. I was like a billy goat. Finally, 3 hours into the hike, I decided to turn around. My legs were like the fawns'. The climb up was very exerting and climbing down was worse. I lost track of the exact way I had climbed up, but I had picked a tree in the distance that was familiar. I slid over too much snow for comfort. How deep was it exactly? I have no idea. I had summit fever, just like what they get on Everest, only I was about 21,000 feet below that crazy elevation.
I disappointedly turned around to head back to the trailhead. I stopped a little ways down the trail to dry out, empty the gravel out of my boots, and eat lunch. As I sat on my boulder eating, a group of four hikers (the only people I saw on the hike) passed by. I told them that I couldn't find the trail. One of the hikers said he had been to Sawtooth Lake before. They were not deterred. I felt dejected that they would make it as I headed back to my car with my tail between my legs. Happily, I was vindicated when they passed me by on the way back to the trail while I was taking a picture. They knew where the trail was, but they said there was too much snow to continue. I'll have to return to Sawtooth Lake someday in July or August when the snow is off the trail.
I popped back into Elk Mountain RV Resort for a slice of marionberry pie ala mode. De-lish. Jack, the morning cook, served it up and told me all about his local dirtbiking, skateboarding, and hiking exploits. I would have been in Idaho another month if I pursued all of his wonderful recommendations. Instead, I decided to push on to Boise and then Oregon.
The 125 mile drive along highway 21 between Stanley, Idaho, and Boise was one of the most beautiful I have ever taken. It took me about 3 hours to cover the route due to the winding turns and switchbacks through the various national forests. Campsites were scattered everywhere among the lanky ponerdosa pine trees. As I approached Boise, the trees faded out and left the bare velvety hills. I passed along the dammed creeks that created a large area for boaters to enjoy themselves.
I decided in Boise to push on to the scenic Columbia River Gorge, about 350 miles further west on Interstate 84. I finally arrived in The Dalles, Oregon, just after midnight having driven much of the way in the darkness. It was the first time I had driven at night since I started my trip and I thought that it be nice to not do it again. (What had I missed in eastern Oregon? I may never know..) Also for the first time - and because it was getting so late - I checked into a motel - a clean, comfortable Motel 8 just off the interstate.
My plan was to look check into the windsurfing in nearby Hood River the next day before heading north to Seattle.
The trail was very wet. It was almost as though the nearby Iron Creek decided to divert itself along the path. I skipped from side-to-side along the trail for the first mile or so through the forest. Just as the trail was drying off, I looked up to see a couple of deer further down the path. I assumed they would scatter as I approached. Strangely, they didn't...
As I walked closer, I realized that the deer were a doe and two fawns. The fawns must have just been born; they were wobbling around on unsure footing. Their mama scampered about 20 yards into the woods and frantically paced back and forth and watched me. I stopped just to marvel at what I saw. I really couldn't believe it. At first, the fawns seemed to be aware that they should run. But they just couldn't! One stared at me for a minute, then laid down, obviously tired. The other made a tiny squeaking noise and then walked right up to me! I could have reached down and petted it!! I took some pictures and then just stood there. The second one finally laid down as well, exhausted. I felt the urge to pack those little guys in my rucksack and bring them back to Minnesota with me. They were so cute!The trail steepened further on and turned into switchbacks. Gradually, the trees thinned, but the snow on the trail increased. Eventually, I lost site of the trail in the snow about 2 miles from Sawtooth Lake. I really wanted to see the lake, so I decided to ascend the highest point nearby, which happened to be one of the Sawtooth Mtns in order to get a bird's-eye view of the landscape. Bad idea. I climbed and climbed and soaked my pack, shirt and shorts with sweat along a gravel-y, boulder-y, snowy hill. I turned around every so often to survey the situation, not see anything new, and climb further. I was like a billy goat. Finally, 3 hours into the hike, I decided to turn around. My legs were like the fawns'. The climb up was very exerting and climbing down was worse. I lost track of the exact way I had climbed up, but I had picked a tree in the distance that was familiar. I slid over too much snow for comfort. How deep was it exactly? I have no idea. I had summit fever, just like what they get on Everest, only I was about 21,000 feet below that crazy elevation.
I disappointedly turned around to head back to the trailhead. I stopped a little ways down the trail to dry out, empty the gravel out of my boots, and eat lunch. As I sat on my boulder eating, a group of four hikers (the only people I saw on the hike) passed by. I told them that I couldn't find the trail. One of the hikers said he had been to Sawtooth Lake before. They were not deterred. I felt dejected that they would make it as I headed back to my car with my tail between my legs. Happily, I was vindicated when they passed me by on the way back to the trail while I was taking a picture. They knew where the trail was, but they said there was too much snow to continue. I'll have to return to Sawtooth Lake someday in July or August when the snow is off the trail.
I popped back into Elk Mountain RV Resort for a slice of marionberry pie ala mode. De-lish. Jack, the morning cook, served it up and told me all about his local dirtbiking, skateboarding, and hiking exploits. I would have been in Idaho another month if I pursued all of his wonderful recommendations. Instead, I decided to push on to Boise and then Oregon.
The 125 mile drive along highway 21 between Stanley, Idaho, and Boise was one of the most beautiful I have ever taken. It took me about 3 hours to cover the route due to the winding turns and switchbacks through the various national forests. Campsites were scattered everywhere among the lanky ponerdosa pine trees. As I approached Boise, the trees faded out and left the bare velvety hills. I passed along the dammed creeks that created a large area for boaters to enjoy themselves.
I decided in Boise to push on to the scenic Columbia River Gorge, about 350 miles further west on Interstate 84. I finally arrived in The Dalles, Oregon, just after midnight having driven much of the way in the darkness. It was the first time I had driven at night since I started my trip and I thought that it be nice to not do it again. (What had I missed in eastern Oregon? I may never know..) Also for the first time - and because it was getting so late - I checked into a motel - a clean, comfortable Motel 8 just off the interstate.
My plan was to look check into the windsurfing in nearby Hood River the next day before heading north to Seattle.
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