Boreal B[l]og

The large German Shepherd in front of me on the trail informed me someone was nearby. 

“You fire or trail?” I stopped cold, never having been asked that dichotomous question.

“Trail.” With my orange hard hat and carrying tools, I could almost be working fire, but I was not wearing Nomex and the last fire here was seven years ago.

I was part of a crew hiking out the French Pete Trail in the Three Sisters Wilderness. Six of us had hiked in nearly 2 miles, forded a stream, and then worked another mile clearing encroaching brush, repairing and widening the tread, cutting out large logs over the trail using two person 6 foot crosscut saws. It was our third week here, the first two visits spent removing a 34 inch diameter log on a slick slope. No power saws are allowed in the wilderness.

I carried a moderately heavy pack with my first aid kit, the remains of the 3 liters of water, a 500 mm folding KatanaBoy saw, a 14-inch Corona, a radio, the remains of my lunch, a rain jacket, axe in one arm, Pulaski in the other, other items in my pockets, plastic wedges to keep saw cuts or kerfs open preventing saws from binding while we cut a log, my GPS, a strap to pull logs off the trail, a small hand saw, so I didn’t have to remove my pack to cut something under 3 inches diameter. I also had my phone; I tried to remember taking pictures of the crew at work. Occasionally, I’d get a video of cut logs rolling downhill into a stream. I had several of those on Fall Creek during our clearing of the Fall Creek Trail, which promptly burned over a year later, thanks to an unattended campfire in July.

“Can I ask you something?” A woman with piercing blue eyes and short hair, maybe in her early sixties, looked at me. My judgment on how to cut a log could use improvement, but it is far better than guessing a woman’s age.

“Sure,” as I put down the ten pounds of hardware my arms had carried the last mile.

“Is Lowder Mountain open?” The dog came up to her side. 

“Yes,” I replied. “We cleared it a month ago or so. Took us two days,  Nice hike.” One of those days was spent cutting out another 34 inch diameter monster with end bind, which meant it was on an angle across the trail, and wherever we cut, compression from above would pinch the saw. The following week we finished the rest of the trail, but it was foggy on top, so there were no views of the central Cascades.

“I hope you aren’t trying to get there from here.” She wasn’t. It was theoretically possible but the middle four miles of this trail needed to be marked and cleared. We talked for a few minutes about the route, which followed the creek until there was a crossing about 2 miles in. Some changed to light shoes for the crossing. I’m a lifelong canoeist and many time Alaska hiker. Wet feet don’t bother me. I wore gaiters and took 8 water steps each way across. My feet were damp, but the boots weren’t squishing. I was fine, other than being tired, and at 75, I would need a full day to recover from this outing.

I told the woman there was a spur trail about 1500 meters ahead. “Oh, she will love getting down to the water,” pointing to the dog.

We parted, I walked under two large logs higher over the trail, which were no problem as is, up a hill, and continued back to the vehicles.

See you on the trail.

This entry was posted on October 1, 2024 at 17:47 and is filed under UNPUBLISHED OUTDOOR WRITING. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.