LoLo Creek; On the Nez Perce and Lewis and Clark Trail

     In early September my wife Louise and I traveled a section of the historic Nez Perce and Lewis and Clark Trail, in north central Idaho.  It's also called the LoLo trail and it hugs a high mountain ridge, above the Lochsa River.  The elevation of the much of this trail is around 6,000 feet and the Lochsa River is 5 miles to the south at mere 2,500 feet.  The LoLo trail follows the old Nez Perce Indian trail that has been used over the millennium by the American Indians, traveling from the Palouse country, east to the Great Plains.   The Indians followed this trace to hunt buffalo in the plains country of what now is eastern Montana.   The mountains in this region are incredibly rugged and heavily forested and winters snows hang on well into June some years. 
      Our first camp was on LoLo Creek, which flows to the west and merges with the Clearwater River.  The campground was empty so we had our choice of locations and we found the perfect spot.  Right on the creek.  LoLo Creek is a silver ribbon of painfully cold and clear water, surrounded by old growth forest.  Western Red cedar, western white pine, Douglas fir, and grand fir.  A grand ancient forest.  At our camp there were several rounds of fire wood scattered about.  Western red cedar.  Dry.  Ready to burn.  Splitting maul required, which I just happened to have stowed in my pickup.  The cedar split with ease.  Butterwood.    I soon had a roaring fire that spit fire brands in several feet in every direction.   Like so many  incendiary rounds which were a real nuisance.  I deployed the tent and walked down to the creek, to check out the water hoping to see a 40 pound King Salmon darting up the swift water.  A finned silvery torpedo of muscle and brain, cruising its home waters, after a long trek from the Pacific Ocean, some 400 miles away. There were no fish to be seen. 
     Lewis and Clark traversed this area in 1805 on their way to their coastal wintering area, where they constructed Fort Clatsop on the lower Columbia River.  In 1806 the Corps of Discovery left the coast headed back for the St. Louis Missouri, and camped in this region for more than a month.   The deep snows on the LoLo trail in the Clearwater Mountains and the distant Bitterroot Range kept Lewis and Clark in camp for a month.  The expedition members spent their time trading with the Nez Perce and hunting deer, elk and bear and fishing for salmon and trout. By mid June the snows had melted enough that they were able to cross the Bitterroot Range.  
     We relaxed that evening, and the breeze carried the pleasing smell of spruce and cedar, while LoLo Creek played a symphony; water rushing over pebbles and tumbling over stubborn stone.   The next day we would drive to the east and begin the climb to the main ridge line. There were still several rounds of cedar firewood left the next morning and I smuggled them aboard my truck.          































its

A blur, A Stir, A Hawk, Feathers in Flight

A blur, A hawk, Feathers in Flight

     I left the house about 4 today.  For a short hike.  Light snow was blowing under gray-skies of November.  It was melting on the road as fast as it fell.  I was overdressed and started to sweat and I was soon unzipping the 3 layers I had on.  A fleece shirt. A fleece vest.  A heavy coat.  What was I thinking to wear such heavy cloths. 
     Just over the ridge I stopped to check out the Red Tailed Hawk nest along the creek.  100 yards down the hill.   The nest was gone.  I was stunned.  The gales of November must have snapped off the tree, and tumbled the intricately constructed nest to the ground.  I peered down for a longer look and realized I made a mistake.  It was the old nest that had been toppled, which was in a snag.  A dead tree.   Last March the hawk pair built a new nest in a green tree, about 50 foot from the old one.  A smart move. Genetic imprinting perhaps; knowing to avoid homesteading on ancient branch wood.
     A Kestrel peered at me from a nearby power line.  I have seen that same Kestrel in this area dozens of time.  I like to think its the same hawk I have been seeing for a couple of years.  Maybe not.  Probably.  The sparrow hawk flew off, veering away from me, landing in a small spruce tree just down the hill.
     I continued down the road into the canyon and a movement caught my eye.  Just above the ridge line.  It was a pair of soaring hawks, about 1/4 mile from the nesting site.  Settlers hanging around the old farm?  Honyockers.  And a third.  Another hawk was flying just above the pair, but holding pattern in close proximity.  Red tails?  I looked again but didn't have my binoculars so it was impossible to tell.    Two of the hawks seemed to be flying quite close to each other, almost bumping tail fins.  Or just wings. 
     Farther up Rocky Canyon there was snowpack on the gravel.  Just a couple of inches.   Fresh and pure white.  At one bend in the road I had a good view of Cottonwood Creek.  I walked to the edge of the creek.  There was sky blue waters, tumbling over the rocks.  Not an unpleasant sound. 
     I had to get back home before dark and turned to retrace my path.  The light was rapidly waning.  The full moon was hidden in an oncoming storm, and its beams were of little use.    

Bull Snakes in the Bull Pines

     Early October.  I decided to find a quiet hiking trail on the Blacks Creek Road, and I picked out two trails on the map, but when I arrived at those locations, both parking lots were busy and abuzz with  motorcycles and all terrain vehicles (ATV's).  Dusty and noisy.  

     I wanted peace and quiet not flying dust and the racket, clamor and clatter of engines. The smell of oil and exhaust.  Scaring wildlife away for miles in every direction. 

     I continued on and down the road, heading farther back in the mountains, and found another trail head at a place called Corral Creek. A tributary of the Middle Fork of the Boise River.  A fork of the fork.  I parked my truck in an open area and readied my pack and filled my canteens.   

     There was a fence line that ran across the base of the canyon and the gate was down. Had been for some time.  That was the trail head.  There were recent cattle tracks, and no human footprints but there was a fresh set of tracks from an ATV. The sign at the gait stated "No Motorized Vehicles Allowed".   Obviously ignored. 

      The sky was halved.  A bright blue sky to the east and with low clouds scudding across the western skyline. Like flocks of cotton-puff sheep. The crickets were holding a big chirp and it was obvious they were enjoying the warm days of early fall. A Pow-Wow.  Fresh sunshine probably helped power this shindig. 

     I looked at the gate and it had obviously been on the ground for some time.  From the looks of it.  I thought about putting it back up.  Bridging the gap.  Closing the trap.  I decided to leave well enough alone.  

     I started up the trail which followed along the creek bottom and it was very sandy.  The brown, black and gray crystals of decomposed granite.   Bedrock remnants from the fringe of time.   It felt like I was walking on a bunch of pillows, which was easy on the feet but unstable. 

      The canyon bottom had the appearance of being the recipient of some large floods in the past 10 years.  A clear water creek about 6 foot wide coursed through this drainage, lined with water wallies or willows.  The willows appeared to have reestablished themselves in the past few years, in the fresh gravels of the deluge.   

      The trail left the creek bottom and contoured along the south side of the drainage.   The rushing stream gurgled and poured over rounded boulders keeping up a racket.  Natures symphony.  I stopped for a short rest and noticed the hillsides bore the sign of a large fire in the last 10 to 15 years.  I sat and listened to the waters and enjoyed the view.  There were widely scattered stands of mature Ponderosa Pine here and there. Old growth. Yellow bellies. Pumpkins.  Most of the trees killed in the fire had already fallen to the ground, obvious victims of epidemic wood rot. Waiting for the gales of November to topple them.The south side of the canyon was forested with pole size pine about 10 feet tall.  Lush and green. Progeny of the fire.

      
     The ATV tracks disappeared, a mile up the canyon.   It was obvious why the trespasser had retreated. The brush had gotten to thick and impenetrable. Fast growing shrubs are the hikers best friend and may they forever grow several feet a year and plug all access for motorized gas guzzlers, or just make their ride pure hell with branches constantly scrapping their arms and legs. Faces. Taking the paint off their gas tanks. Tearing off mirrors, gun cases, throttles and bottles. Goggles.  Revenge can be had.  In defense of ATV riders most are law abiding and follow the rules and its the minority that wrecks it for the rest.

     I heard a squirrel chirping and chattering somewhere across the canyon. A tree squirrel by the sounds of it. Somehow the squirrel is managing to eek out a survival.  With the lack of mature pines and fir trees in this area pine cones were certainly at a premium.  And pine nuts for fodder. 

     The canyon was quite beautiful and scenic, a great place to hike.  Then came the cattle.  And the cow pies or manure.  Piles and piles of it and you had to step carefully around it much of the time.  There were several angus cows that seemed quite afraid or me, and for some reason they decided they had to flee directly up the trail in front of me.  The terrain was open so it was quite irritating to have them running in front of me.  After a couple of hundred yards they finally veered off the trail to the south, and stood there looking at me.  Fearfully.  No reason to be afraid of this bipedal hominid.  At least at the moment.  Until I can find a  sharp piece of obsidian and attach it to a 4 foot dogwood stem.     A spear comes to mind.  The grass in the narrow valley had basically been chewed down to the nubbins by these bovines and they had overstayed their visit by a month or more.   To be even more perplexing the gate was open at the trail head which gave these cows a great deal of room to roam.  And make them very hard to keep track of and safe.
      I continued my hike up the trail without my hoofed escort.  The canyon narrowed and became more rocky and the creek flowed right next to the trail, with a narrow buffer of water wallies.   I jumped back when a bull snake shot across the trail in front of me, not slowing down for a minute.    I saw another object on the trail.  A long stick.  I looked at it.  It never moved.  It was another bullsnake.  Hissss hissss.  The sounds like a rattle but it was only a good impersonation.  But a beautiful snake.  A real mouse killer. 
     The day waned and I was running out of time so I headed back down the trail.  It was a great day to be out.   Corral Creek is a beautiful chunk of country, in any regard.  A place to be safeguarded and treasured.

  
     

Double Woodpounders

July in the San Juan Mountains on Cimarron Ridge, above the Cimarron River.  9,000 foot elevation.  I saw a black shape dart through the trees.  Black backed with white belly and a dangerous sharp bill.  Awl like.  Not owl like.  A spot of blood on its head.  Bright blood but not real.  I grabbed my camera and took off in pursuit.  The shadow hid behind tree after tree and winged rapidly through the stand of quaking aspen trees.  I kept up my stalk and closed in but the bird kept shifting its position to the back side of the trees it was clinging to, on the side facing away from me.   It seemed to have an uncanny ability to stay hidden.  Sneaky.  Stealthy.  A very uncooperative bird.   

I finally got close enough for a shot, and tripped the shutter several times.  I nailed a good picture of a Hairy Woodpecker.  At closer examination of my pictures I was astonished to see two woodpeckers in one of the photos.  I had no idea there were two birds in the vicinity so it was a nice surprise. 

The first documentation of a Hairy Woodpecker was in the journals of Lewis and Clark on April 8th, 1805 on the Missouri River, in what is now in North Dakota.  This bird was seen at winter camp near the Mandan Indian villages. The sighting was never confirmed but experts think it was either a Hairy Woodpecker or a Downy woodpecker, which have much the same colored plumage and differ mainly in size, with the former being larger.  The bird may have also been the Yellow Bellied Sapsucker, but there isn't enough information in the journals to make a determination.  Both the Downy and Hairy woodpeckers are year round residents of the forests along the Missouri River, in the stands of Plains Cottonwood (Populus deltoides var. occidentalis). 

The mountains of the Cimarron are perfect habitat for foraging woodpeckers, with lots of old growth forest and many snags to feed and nest in.   The high peaks above the valleys are jagged rock with pointy crags and towers like columns.  Like ancient fortress walls.   Its a great place for birds.  Even bears. And naturalists and campers who can run through the woods for no obvious purpose or reason.  Crashing the aspen.

Chirps in the Granite Tors

Golden-mantled ground squirrel, Citellus lateralis

Golden-mantled ground squirrel

Least chipmunk, Eutamias minimus

Least Chipmunk

Columbian ground squirrel, Citellus columbianus

The mountain snows lingered on the high ridges but the valley bottoms were open and dry.  The first signs of spring were there with a few flowers and grasses making a stubborn show of green.    We were on a hike up the narrow canyon cut by Warm Springs Creek.  One of the creeks that feeds the South Fork of the Payette River.  The ridges and peaks were snow covered, where the clutch of winter held tightly.  

The mountain meadows were alive with the sounds and movement of chipmunks and ground squirrels, as they scurried about and chirped, whistled and squealed.  The Golden-mantled ground squirrels and Least chipmunks stayed near the large rocks.   Their gray granite dens, forts, and bastions of safety.  The Colombian ground squirrels stayed in the open grassy areas, near their underground tunnels, and they kept up a lively conversation compared to their other cousins.          

I spotted the three species of squirrels, all within a small area, and it was easy to identity with the help of a handbook on mammals.  The Lewis and Clark Expedition didn't have such a book, but they did have the pleasure making the discovery of many mammals and birds that were unknown to science at that time.    

One of the first references to a ground squirrel, in the Lewis and Clark journals, was noted by Meriwether Lewis at the Great Falls of the Missouri River, in what is now the State of Montana, on July 8th, 1805.  A member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition captured a ground squirrel, which turned out to be an unknown species.   

Meriwether Lewis colorfully describes that squirrel as follows: 

"the men also brought me a living ground squirrel which is something larger than those of the U' States or those of that kind which are also common here.  this is a much hadsomer anamal. like the other of it's principal colour is a redish brown but is marked longitudinally with a much greater number of black or dark brown stripes; the spaces between which is marked by ranges of pure white circular spots, about the size of a brister blue shot.  these colours imbrace the head neck back and sides; the tail is flat, or the long hair projecting horizontally  from two sides of it only gives it that appearance.  the belly and breast are of much lighter brown or nearly white.  this is an inhabitant of the open plain altogether, wher it burrows and resides; nor is it like the other found among clifts of rocks or in the woodlands."

The animal Meriwether described was the 13 lined ground squirrel, Spermophilus, tridecemlineatus.  In the Lewis and Clark journals there is no mention or description of any squirrel similar to the Least chipmunk or Golden-mantled ground squirrel, but they surely must have encountered them in Montana, Idaho or North Dakota.   Perhaps they did spot these types of squirrels but didn't take note of them for some reason.   I didn't see any 13 lined ground squirrels that day, because they aren't found in the mountains but on the open prairie of the central United States.   

The chipmunks and squirrels bring a certain liveliness to mountains with their running about, their calls and sounds and antics, and they are like your partners on the trail.  Compadres. Hombres. Comrades.   As the afternoon moved on, shadows from the tall trees wedged across the canyon and we hiked back out to the trail head, and loaded our gear in the truck.   We had an easy trip ahead of us, compared to what Lewis and Clark had to endure, traveling thousands of miles on foot, sometimes on horseback or pulling canoes upstream in frigid arctic cold rivers.   

Red-Tailed Hawk Update

 Photo Credit:  Alan Wilson, http://naturespicsonline.com/

Red-Tailed Hawk update:  Early this week the two young hawks on Cottonwood Creek, were spotted at various times, in the nest or perched in trees.  During some stormy weather earlier in the week I spotted the two youngsters in the old nest, side by side.  Yesterday I saw one of the adults flying towards the nest area with a mouse dangling from its beak.  I did spot one of the young birds about 200 feet away, perched in a cottonwood tree, surrounded by a squadron of smaller birds including Western Tanagers. I am not positive it was a hawk and it could have been an owl.

Yellow-breasted Chat

Yellow-breasted Chat (Icteria virens)

Spotted on Cottonwood Creek in Idaho on 5/24/2010, singing vigorously