The Salmon River Breaks; the Granite Triangle

On July 19th, 2003, lightning ignited a fire on Cramer Creek, in the Salmon River Breaks of Idaho, on an impossibly steep grassy mountain, and a tragedy was in the making, as a series of small mistakes turned to disaster. The fire was discovered the next day and the shuttle of firefighters by helicopter began that afternoon, to the high ridges near the fire. The flames continued to eat away at the grass and brush on the steep mountain side and 200 acres were burning by the next evening.

There are places in the Rocky Mountains and other ranges in the world, that are almost impenetrable, due to the steepness and ruggedness of the country and the density of the trees and brush. This type of massif demands respect, and can only be ignored at your own peril. The landscape dominates the movement of animals and people, and trails intertwine and overlap, or there are no trails, just scrambles and technical traverses for the likes of mountain climbers. And mountain goats and bighorn sheep. Or you best not travel those slopes at all, unless you want to risk a fall or get bashed by numerous flying, tumbling and rolling rocks.

The Salmon River Mountains, located in central Idaho, are such a place. The Salmon River on its course to the Snake River cuts a deep canyon through rugged mountains dodging lofty peaks, and granite fortified ridges. The gorge of the Salmon is around 3,000 feet elevation and the peaks surrounding it are 8,000 to 9,000 feet in height, all in the space of around three or four miles. A hike from the river bottom to the summits is a gut wrenching, mind numbing experience with a full pack. Or even an empty one.

The Salmon River, also known as the River of No Return, originates in the snowfields and peaks of the Sawtooth and White Cloud mountains and flows a tortuous course to the north, until it reaches North Fork, Idaho, where the river turns abruptly and flows in a westerly direction. This area is generally known as the Salmon River Breaks or the Salmon Mountains. The lower slopes of these mountains are covered with grass and brush, which grades into timber as you climb in elevation. Spruce, pine, fir. The famous or maybe infamous Salmon River Breaks, is known as big fire country because fires spread so rapidly and the terrain is impossibly steep, rocky and remote. And deadly at times. River of No Return, indeed.

There have been many conflicts in this remote corner of the Rocky Mountains, between man and the mountains and all its elements of water, rock, ice, snow, avalanches, and fire. Explorers, warriors, mountain men, miners, river rafters and firefighters have tested their mettle in this wondrous land; tragedy and drama are no strangers.

My first experience in the Salmon River Breaks, was with a fire team on a wildland fire, located just north of the river. I drove the dirt road from North Fork to Shoup, Idaho, and the track narrowed the farther east I went and mountains seemed to push hard at the river, the granite flanks of the ridges literally diving into the waves. The fire assignment turned out to be a short one, but the chance to explore parts of the Salmon River Breaks, shall not be forgotten.

The Salmon River appeared like a silver ribbon enclosed in gray rock, with a wedge shaped piece of blue sky peaking through a gaping maw. The abyss is incredibly narrow and deep, leaving a fissure, or tear in the sky. The Salmon River does not surrender easily and fights back and roars at the rock, cliffs, and tangles of boulders and the waters tumble, roll, spray and froth with white. The rumble of rocks rolling on the river bottom and punching at banks and boulders is a symphony that drowns out all other sounds, and the sight of water rounded stones from ancient floods indicates the timeless power of the Salmon. The whitewater rapids rumble, crash, growl, snarl, and howl, in one of natures biggest shindigs.

On August 12th, 1805 the Lewis and Clark expedition entered uncharted territory into what is now Idaho, after crossing over Lemhi Pass, and Captain William Clark, for the first time, camped on waters that flowed into the Pacific Ocean. They were ecstatic to have finally reached this point on their long journey, but were soon dismayed to look out to the west and see one high mountain range after another.

The next day they traveled over rolling hills to the main Salmon River, where they encountered the Shoshone Indians for the first time. The Shoshones possessed horses which the expedition badly needed, to carry their cargo and trade goods, and trying to cross the mountains without these beasts of burden would have been nearly impossible.

The second part of their mission was to see if there was a water route they could take to the Columbia River by canoe. The Shoshones provided them with a guide and Clark and 3 men traveled another 40 some miles down the Salmon River and on August 23rd camped on Squaw Creek above the main Salmon River about 4 miles west of Shoup, Idaho.

Clark wrote in his journal:

August 23, 1805 "We Set out early proceed on with great dificuelty as rocks were So sharp large and unsettled and the hill sides Steep that the horses could with the greatest risque and dificulty get on .."

.... below my guide and maney other Indians tell me that the Mountains Close and is a perpendicular Clift on each Side, and Continues for a great distance and that the water runs with great violence from one rock to the other on each Side foaming & roreing thro rocks in every direction, So as to render the passage of any thing impossible. those rapids which I had Seen he said was Small and trifleing in comparison to the rocks and rapids below......"

The Shoshone guide indicated there was a better route, which traveled north to the Bitterroot Valley, and heeding that advice, Captain Clark sent a messenger back to Captain Lewis, telling him there was no passage down the Salmon River. Clark and his men retreated back up the Salmon River and on August 27th they met up with the main expedition and Lewis. They charted a new course up the North Fork of the Salmon River, and started the tortuous climb into Bitterroot Mountains to Lost Trail Pass.

The Lewis and Clark expedition, with the help of the Shoshone's, evaluated the risks of traversing the Salmon River and made a good decision, to retreat to the north. They had met their match in the Salmon River Breaks and the mountains had won, and it was to rugged for even the likes of seasoned Indian guides and their ponies and mountain men.

During the journey across Lost Trail Pass, Clark Writes in his journal:

Sept. 3rd, 1805. "....hills high & rocky on each Side, in the after part of the day the high mountains closed the the Creek on each Side and obliged us to take on the Steep Mountains, So steep that the horses Could Screcly keep from Slipping down, Several Sliped & Injured themselves....."

There are many lessons to be learned from the experiences of Lewis & Clark and the Shoshone Indians, for those that cared to listen. In August of 1985 hundreds of firefighters would encamp in the Salmon River Mountains, to fight dozens of lightning ignited fires.

One of those blazes was the Butte Fire which was 10 miles, as the crow flies, from Squaw Creek drainage on the Salmon River where William Clark and his party turned back in 1805, due to the ruggedness of the country. On the afternoon August 29th, 1985, a crown fire run boiled up in Owl Creek and Wallace Creek and the fire lunged to the north towards the ridge top, at Tin Cup Hill, where hundreds of fire fighters were constructing control lines. 118 firefighters were entrapped on that remote mountain and surrounded by a firestorm, that roared like 100 freight trains and burned for hours with multiple flaming fronts. 78 of those firefighters used their fire shelters to escape the heat and smoke and all survived, huddled on a mountain 10 miles from the cool waters of the Salmon River. There was considerable drama that day but none of it ended in a tragedy, but it goes down in the history books as one of the biggest fire entrapment's ever. The Salmon River Breaks and its seemingly invincible ridges and thick timber, won the day and thoroughly rejected, trounced, thrashed and routed the firefighters and forced them into full retreat.

And the story does not end on Tin Cup Hill. In July 19th of 2003 a lightning fire started on Cramer Creek, 4 major drainage's to the west from where the Butte Fire occurred in 1985. A contingent of firefighters was sent to fight a fire, on yet another ridiculously steep, rugged and rocky mountain in the Salmon River Breaks. It was a perfect furnace, like a huge wood stove with its mouth at the cool waters of the Salmon River at 3100 feet and a mountain above at nearly 8,000 feet, forming a stove pipe that reached for the sky. A 5,000 foot tall furnace a couple of miles long and a mile wide, stoked with extremely dry grass, brush and timber. Into that pyre walked a few dozen firefighters, and two never returned. Heroes to us all.

The Cramer Fire occurred about 22 miles downriver from the location in 1805 where William Clark started his retreat back to the east and north. Clark made the determination, with the advice of the Shoshone Indians, that neither horse nor canoe could safely traverse this area.

The Butte Fire, the Cramer Fire, and the path of Clark William intersect within a triangle of mountains, in an area I call the Granite Triangle. The triangle is formed by drawing a line from the Shoup, Idaho northwest to Tin Cup Hill, then connecting that line to Long Tom Mountain, with the Salmon River forming the bottom. In this region the historic footsteps and helicopter flights of firefighter and explorers merge and cross, which is no accident. The mountains are guarded by some of the steepest and rugged slopes in the world, nearly unconquerable, and a river that has to knife its way down a wedge of canyon, and literally fight its way through boulders and around rock ledges.

On Sept, 3rd, 1805 Clark wrote in his journal:

"..This day we passed over emence hils and Some of the worst roade that ever horses passed our horses frequently fell....."

Over the years I worked on many forest fires in the Salmon River Breaks and the beauty and ruggedness of this region, always continues to amaze me. It's a special treat to see the wildlife, especially the sight of bighorn sheep clambering across rock slides with their exquisite camouflage, the same grayish color as the granite boulders. My path has crossed the Lewis & Clark and Shoshone Indian trails many times, and roads and trace of historic fires.

On a summer night above the Salmon River, somewhere near Owl Creek, you might hear, if you listen real hard, the chatter of firefighters on a nearby hill and the whine of chainsaws, the whinny of a horse, the sound of drums, or a desperate transmission over a two way radio, or the fleeting movement of a line of horses and buckskin clad men on a far ridge. Or maybe its just a rock or log tumbling down the hill, or an owl hooting, a wolf howling, the rumble of whitewater, the wind in the trees and sweeping over granite ledges, or a herd of elk running single file down a ridge. Echos and shadows of Indians, woodsmen and explorers.

Buffalo Trace on The Chinook Prairie

I have always enjoyed trekking the prairie of eastern Montana. On on particular trip I drove north of Chinook, Montana, towards the Canadian border. The medicine line. I had a map showing federal lands and I was searching for undisturbed prairie. A chunk of bunch grass wilderness.

The road bed was gravel and my car kicked up a plume of chalky colored dust. I found a wide spot in the road to park and headed out on foot across the flat prairie, on no particular path, intent on exploring and wandering. To the south, about 30 miles away, I could see the high peaks of the Bears Paw Mountains at 5,000 to 6,000 feet. The summits are scarfed with black patches of timber; douglas fir, subalpine fir and ponderosa pine and the creek bottoms are lined with wild rose, chokecherry, service berry and willow.

The prairie I was hiking was about 2,600 feet in elevation, on a level plain, with an occasional shallow drainage, most of them dry, and a few stock ponds and small lakes, that shelter ducks and shorebirds. The prairie looks flat but it's quite deceiving because there are hidden arroyos which you can't see until you get out and start hiking. I continued my trek, wandering towards the east and my truck was soon out of sight. The sky was a dark indigo blue color and cloudless, and it was a fine day to be out.

The prairie seems trackless but there are a many over grown trails of buffalo and elk, Indians, cowboys and whiskery runners. The prairie is dominated by grasses, typically, buffalo grass, grama, wheatgrass, and needlegrass and the home of mule deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, prairie dogs, coyotes, fox, 13-lined ground squirrel, badgers, sage grouse, sharp-tailed grouse, and greater prairie chickens. Long gone are the buffalo, wolves and grizzlies.

It's so quiet on the high plains you can almost hear yourself think. The limitless horizon is daunting, and it seems to swallows you alive. Some find it lonely on the prairie but I find it exhilarating. Often the only noise is the rustling of wind across the dry stalks of bunch grass, and the occasional screeching of a Red-Tailed Hawk, "keeeeer keeeer". Or the whistling sound made by the wings of a brace of teal, flying low headed for scarce water.

A Horned Lark landed on a nearby perch, and stared at me, as if I am disturbing his peace or invading forbidden territory. The lark, in his bandido like outfit (minus the sombrero) looked directly into my eyes, warning me to flee his prairie empire. The Horned Lark has very unique coloration with black like horns, a dark mask and a conspicuous black breast band under the throat like a bandanna. The Lark lingered for a few minutes, giving me the evil eye, and I decided to move on, and end my intrusion on it's nesting territory.

At night the vast prairie of eastern Montana is wall to wall stars, planets and meteors. The Milky Way dominates the sky from horizon to horizon and northern lights often dance the sky shimmering, shaking, waning and waxing. The Indians have a belief that the northern lights are our ancestors, coming back to visit.

I walked slowly through the short grass and kept one eye to the ground, looking for interesting rocks or other objects. Much of northern Montana was glaciated by continental glaciers, leaving a wide diversity of rocks and minerals, in its wake.

I spotted something on the ground, out of the corner of my eye that looked odd. The object had a curved shape and it was a horn. I thought perhaps it was from a domestic cow but it was a horn from a buffalo. A trace of the ancient herds. The outside surface of the horn was badly eroded and flaked but it retained its shape and heft. I decided to keep the buffalo horn put it in my pack.

13 million buffalo, once roamed Montana. By 1883 buffalo had been exterminated by hide hunters with one of the last massacres occurring in northern Montana in the Sweetgrass Hills. A few remnant herds were protected in Yellowstone Park and on the Flathead Reservation and exist to this day.

I crossed a shallow ravine, crawling through thick brush, and a few hours later turned and headed back to the west, towards my truck. I hesitated because the terrain looked very unfamiliar with no distinguishing landmarks, except for the Bears Paw Mountains, way off to the south. I knew I had to hike in a westerly direction but I wasn't sure where my vehicle was. It was a warm summer day and I had plenty of time to find my way, and to scout new territory. Ahhh, the life of the high plains drifter.

Playing at the Bottom of Glacial Lake Missoula

I grew up in the small town of Pablo, Montana and as kids we played at the bottom of a lake, that was at one time, 2,000 feet deep. Covered by waters and glaciers. This huge inter mountain lake was an ice age relic, that disappeared about 13,000 years ago. Glacial Lake Missoula. Pablo is a small town in the Flathead Valley and is located directly adjacent to the Mission Range, a magnificent archipelago of alpine peaks and forests. Geologic research has shown that the massive Cordilleran ice sheet or glacier, covered even the highest peaks of the Mission Mountains, some 4,000 feet deep, as far south as the Pablo area.

The glaciers are mostly gone now except on some of the highest peaks of the Missions.

Glacial Lake Missoula was formed when the Cordilleran ice sheet moved south and blocked the Clarks Fork River near the Idaho border. A huge lake was formed behind the immense ice dam and its waters spread 200 miles to the east, with major lobes to the north and south. Lake Missoula at its peak covered 17,000 square miles, and inundated parts of several major river valleys including the Clearwater, Blackfoot, Clarks Fork, Bitterroot and the Flathead. Research has shown that this ice dam was breached by waters of Glacial Lake Missoula at least 40 times, creating huge floods the inundated eastern Washington and Oregon, following the Columbia River to the sea. This ancient lake and the ice sheets are long gone but a great deal of evidence was left in its wake, including Flathead Lake.

As kids we knew little about geography, but the traces of momentous geologic events was everywhere. Not that we cared as we were just interested in playing and exploring. There was a sandy area in our back yard and we dug pits, trenches, tunnels, piled up mounds and scraped shallow canyons. It was easy digging with nary a rock to be found. I remember many times digging furiously down through those soft layers, to see how deep I could go. The bottomless abyss. In reality my excavations probably never reached a depth of more than 4 or 5 feet, before supper interrupted mining operations. We were like a bunch of badgers rooting around and digging in the sand.

We constructed highways, bridges, tunnels, towns, forts, mountain ranges and canyons in the sand and raced our toy trucks and cars through a make believe world. These fine feats of engineering usually disappeared a few hours later, covered up by newer endeavours or simply stomped on or blown away by spurious winds.

This ocean of sand in the area around Pablo, was lain down by streams, rivers and floods from melting glacial ice or silt deposited at the bottom of lakes, which then drained away leaving a flat sandy plain.

Then there were the tunnels the older kids had dug, that were so narrow you had to belly crawl through them. These adits were dug horizontally in the soft sand and were about 8 feet below the surface, and 10-15 feet long. I was very fearful of venturing into those shafts and never lingered long in those dang, dark tombs. The soft walls and ceilings could have easily collapsed, snaring us permanently in glacial debris.

There were scattered ponds in the valley, that were formed during ancient glaciation, from huge chunks of ice left behind by retreating glaciers that melted, leaving permanent lakes. Sometimes called pot holes. The lakes and creeks abounded with fish, ducks, geese and shore birds and were a delight to explore and investigate. We plied these waters with our home made fishing poles, pursing devious cutthroat trout and in the winter dusted off our ice skates and spent many hours gliding and sliding on the thick ice.

In the winter we would snow sled at a place we called Big Mountain, after the ski hill up north at Whitefish. Our sledding hill was a series of small mounds which were probably glacial moraines; areas of rock and sand literally bulldozed up by ancient glaciers. The hills were heavily forested with dark green Ponderosa pine, and a couple of miles to the west, rose the foothills of the Mission Range.

The Mission Mountains shadowed over us with its towering peaks, ridges, glacial horns, cirque valleys and rushing clear water streams that roared down white water rapids. Glorious stands of pine and fir covered the mountains and parts of the valley floor and many a youthful expedition traversed the hidden glades and towering stands of yellow pine.

Cataclysmic geologic events sculpted the Flathead Valley and surrounding mountains and created a wondrous landscape and it was an incredible place to come of age. I probably still have glacial silt embedded in some of my toys that have survived my childhood and many fond memories of romping at the bottom of ancient lakes.