Lessons Learned

Emma Froelich – Wilderness Ranger Intern

University of Wisconsin – Madison

June 11 – 18

Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest

As we emerged from the Wilderness, I imagined this is how Robin Williams’ character in Jumanji must have felt when his jungle-adapted self re-entered society, water from a tap? What a concept! As we drove back to civilization, my hair a greasy mess and my clothes sweaty and dirt stained, I mulled over the lessons I had learned. Hitch one was nothing short of a learning curve. Learning that oatmeal for breakfast gets old after day two. Learning that your toes will go numb and there’s nothing you can do about it. Learning that if you fall face forward with a full pack into a trenched trail you will get stuck and you will get laughed at. Wilderness seems to be one of the best teachers, very much like Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poet’s Society. Its unorthodox methods hold a different lesson for each student and, as cliché as it is, teaches one to seize the day. One week in the Selway-Bitterroot taught me that any body of water counts as a shower as long as you scrub the dirt off and that hiking up to a saddle through snow isn’t easy, but the views are definitely worth every step. It’s easy to get frustrated out there and there were times I found myself wishing for things to be easier. “If only Robin Williams’ character in Aladdin were here right now, I could wish all these trees off the trail,” I’d think to myself. But I think the most special thing about Wilderness is it’s not easy, if it were it’d be a National Park. Wilderness is a challenge not meant for everyone, but the lessons it holds are far more valuable than anything I could learn in a classroom. I know I’ve got a lot of lessons left to learn, but I’m excited to have Wilderness as my teacher.

Connor Adams, Emma Froelich, Henry Vaughn, Lauren Simms, Kristopher Mueller

Connor Adams, Emma Froelich, Henry Vaughn, Lauren Simms, Kristopher Mueller

Round Trip Ticket to "The Big Empty"

Sam Freestone - Moose Creek Trail Crew Member

Former SBFC IDAWA Student and SBFC Wilderness Ranger Intern

I thought about writing this blog post in a journal format. Something similar to the work of people like Pete Fromm or Richard (Dick) Proenneke who detailed the adventure (or lack thereof) of each day with a date and sometimes weather and temperature. However, as a Trail Crew Member on the trail to complete lofty goals on even loftier mountains, I’m finding nearly impossible to keep the finer details of my day in order long enough to share with you before falling asleep pen in hand. That really isn’t my style anyway. I like to get to know people by sitting down with them over a drink or two and sharing the tales which brought us to where we are now. I know this medium doesn’t exactly allow for anything quite like that, so how about I have a drink and write to you from the concrete porch of the bunkhouse I call home at Powell Ranger Station; then when you get a chance to read this you can go ahead and have your beverage of choice and do your best to imagine we're just sitting next each other.

For longtime readers of these blog posts, you may remember me from two years ago when I served as an intern, but for those that don’t here is a bit of my story. I was born and raised in a little town called Adel, Iowa where through my county conservation department I began as a parking lot wienie and slowly became acquainted with the concepts of the natural world and wildness. This was large because of a man by the name of Chris Adkins and through time I became aware of trips Chris led, taking high schoolers from my neck of the woods to the great capital “W” Wilderness of Idaho. To me the chosen few who went on that trip were elite and when I came of age I toiled for hours and hours trying to form the right words to use on my application so there would be no chance of me being passed over in favor of another. My work and worry paid off and I found myself with a round trip ticket to the big empty. The rugged country where I could curse and holler into the wind without worry of repercussion. I and ten others would go on a great adventure together as strangers and come back rugged people of the outdoors. We would all grow full beards in a week and walk with the calm saunter of a man who has spent too much time on a horse. To ease the process of our acquaintance with each other we all filled out and exchanged social elixir forms so that when our time came, we slide into that 15-passenger van without friction. During our two-day drive to across the plains, we received yet another social elixir form. This one was filled out by Connie Saylor Johnson. Her cursive accent was thick and to my teenage self who hadn’t interacted with cursive since the 3rd grade, it took time to decode. But with each sentence decrypted she became nothing less than a mystic walking the wildest part of this earth. We arrived at Lolo pass and took our touristy photo of our group at the Idaho border sign before storming the visitors center and discovering the hot chocolate which I now describe as the nectar of the gods. After piling back into the van for the last 12 miles of our journey to Powell Chris spoke of a song which he believed to be about Connie. The song, 'Yukon Sally' by Peter Mayer began to play and chatter in the van dropped to nothing as we all seemed to sense the importance of the music from Chris’ description. Still now that song gets to me. Arriving at Powell we spread our sleeping bags out on the floor of the cookhouse as Connie pulled into the compound…

Fast forward to now almost 6 years later and the part of myself that I left in the Selway is stronger than ever and continues to pull me back to place where it all started. Once this Wilderness became a part of my life there was little to no choice for me to do anything else but to try and give back to the land that held a heavy hand in my development as a person. Powell is about as close as you can live to the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness and that suits with me just fine. Anyways I’ve been rambling for a while so maybe I should go back to whittling quietly. Now that I’ve shared a bit of my Motley Crew’s long and winding road, I think it’s your turn to tell me what connects you to that big patch of dark green on the map and we can get to know each other one letter or comment at a time. Don’t be shy I look forward to hearing from you, good reading material can be scarce to come by here.

 

Kind Regards,

Sam

Sam's Photo.JPG
Sam's Photo (2).JPG

HOMECOMING

Henry Vaughan – Wilderness Ranger Intern

 The College of Idaho

 Orientation/Training

 May 13 – May 27

 Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest

Our first two weeks as Wilderness Ranger Interns has had us housed and training at Powell Ranger Station in the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest. Each day, we dip our toes, feet, ankles, knees, bit by bit into wilderness until we are totally submerged: acclimated as much as possible for our fast approaching hitches. We went from staying in beds and bunkhouses during the first week—where we could avoid the worst weather at night by turning up the heaters in our rooms and closing the blinds—to sleeping in our own tents and bags during the second. Before long, we’ll be spending our nights in the wilderness with the only comforts available to us being those which we can carry in on our backs.

 We’re developing important skills for working in the wilderness this summer: becoming familiar with our primitive tools, testing out our gear, learning how to navigate in a land without Google Maps; but I’m also recognizing an important new way to perceive nature. Around Powell (particularly outside of the bunkhouses), nature gets up in our face. Deer wander daily between the buildings. One intern encountered a wolf on an early morning trail run. Oyster and morel mushrooms regularly provide a free dinner to those with watchful eyes. These natural displays: such abundances of vitality, fecundity, and productivity from the trees to the insects to the uninhibited Lochsa River flowing right by our tents show a land community with greater agency—where it is difficult to keep humanity and civilization at the forefront of the mind. Closer to wilderness, nature has more room to breathe and speak and (aided greatly by a lack of cell phone service) we are forced to become a listener. And, though we have little say in it, I have yet to meet anyone at the ranger station who isn’t made happier by that prospect.

 The closest wilderness area to us (the Selway-Bitterroot) is a hundred feet away—right across the river. In between the banks of the Lochsa, as a sort of gateway between a developed Powell and an undeveloped wilderness, is a small island where the Lewis and Clark party is said to have camped as they made their way over the Bitterroot Mountains. On the far bank is the beginning of a land which can make a visitor feel as if they are stepping back even further in time to before the first American presences. The wilderness areas, where signs of civilization are intentionally minimized, are spaces where nature is most free to speak and where humanity, when present, is most likely to hear a clear and individually unique message. I, for one, am excited to see what this particular wilderness has to share with me.

Trainees and instructors discussing Visitor Use/Campsite Monitoring during the Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute 📷Verena Gruber

Trainees and instructors discussing Visitor Use/Campsite Monitoring during the Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute 📷Verena Gruber

A morning view of the Lochsa River by Powell Ranger Station 📷 Kris Mueller

A morning view of the Lochsa River by Powell Ranger Station 📷 Kris Mueller

"The Frank" - A Rich History of Place

Tom Lang

Frank Church Wilderness Monitoring Coordinator

The Frank Church – River of No Return is a remarkably complex landscape. The nearly 2.4-million-acre wilderness is the largest in the lower 48, spanning across five National Forests. The folding canyons of the Salmon River Watershed make the area difficult to access, and extreme shifts in seasonal climate can produce unforgiving conditions. It is an intense environment, accentuated by slopes of decomposing granite which fall from the Idaho Batholith.

Nevertheless, this stretch of the Northern Rockies has attracted human habitation for thousands of years, which has established a rich history of place within the wildness of Central Idaho. 

This past spring, when I began working on a research project to help unify monitoring efforts throughout the wilderness, I struggled to understand the character and scale of the Frank. Eventually, I realized that it is a cultural landscape, and the label of designated wilderness only tells the most recent chapter in its story. I also discovered that the task of systematically observing 2.4-million-acres of roadless country is exceptionally difficult. For managers, the obligation of preserving wilderness character is one that coincides with the duty of acknowledging the historical components of the landscape. As a result, the Frank has a number of legally recognized traditional uses which make it a unique piece of the National Wilderness Preservation System. Based on these complexities, it was clear that the goal of monitoring recreational impacts across the landscape required a collaborative approach.

The first step in this approach was to connect with the five wilderness districts so that an understanding of the projects goals could be formulated. The opportunity to meet with managers and talk through their existing data allowed for the objectives of this project to present themselves. Additionally, the design process needed to consider the mandate of the Wilderness Act, which requires wilderness areas to be “affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of [humankind’s] work substantially unnoticeable,” and for such lands to offer “opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation.” Therefore, we needed a data collection system that effectively translates the social and biophysical conditions throughout the wilderness, and will eventually provide insight regarding long-term patterns of recreational impacts.  

Following the formation of a collective vision, it was necessary to join wilderness rangers in the field in order to understanding the existing challenges concerning data collection across the Frank. The local knowledge shared by wilderness rangers helped expand the scope of the project, and the perspective I gained allowed me to develop data collection tool that meet both the logistical and physical challenges of the landscape. Ultimately, what was produced is a data collection system that works to objectively monitor the impacts of recreational use on the social and biophysical conditions throughout the wilderness – which helps inform management decisions, and enhances our ability to be conscious stewards of the landscape.

The Best of the Best- The Southwest Selway Bitterroot

Joey Hudek

Moose Creek Trails Liaison

As my 7th trail season has come to a close, I find myself reflecting on what was the best season thus far. I was in an interesting position this year as the leader of a Forest Service trail crew, while not working for the agency myself. Luckily, my two crew members and I didn’t have a problem with that. They were both Montana Conservation Corps alums, like me, and one of them had been on a previous MCC crew of mine. The three of us traveled all over the Central Zone of the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest. We did trail projects on front county OHV trails, cleared remote wilderness trails, performed serious maintenance on a suspension bridge crossing the Selway River, and discovered some trail blowouts that kept trails closed all season long. We even had the opportunity to get to fly into the Moose Creek Ranger Station! 

Usually, with such a diverse season of trail work, it is difficult to pluck out a favorite project, place, or moment. Obviously, my favorite would be one of the big construction projects. Bridge maintenance on a suspension bridge or flying into the Wilderness. Nothing could be better than that, right? Well, it turns out something could be.

The Southwest part of the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness. It must have been a cool technical project then, right? Actually, it was just some good ol’ cut and run. Why was it my favorite then? Honestly, I don’t know exactly why, but I do know that this area captured me like no place has before. The trails we cleared were high on ridges and weaved in and out of fresh burns. There were 360° views of craggy mountains and it felt like I could see forever. I could pick out the Bitterroots to the east, the crags to the north, and I’m not sure what was going on to the South in the Frank Church, but I liked it. The beauty was almost too overwhelming at times. I know that doesn’t seem possible, but I assure you it is. I wish I was able to put into words how I felt while hiking those trails, but alas I am no poet. I can only make the recommendation to visit the Southwest Selway Bitterroot Wilderness and experience its overwhelming beauty first hand. Your soul will thank you, I promise. 

Called the "Singing Nuns" - there seems to be no mountain high enough for this group!

Each summer SBFC recruits volunteers to work a two-week shift at St. Mary’s Peak Lookout above Stevensville, MT. Volunteers perform the usual lookout functions; maintenance work, wildfire spotting/reporting, etc. Because this lookout is a popular destination, many of these volunteers also greet visitors, and are prepared to talk about the history of the lookout, the area, the geography, etc.

This summer came with a delightfully unique surprise. While volunteer lookout host Sheryl O. was at her post, she spotted seven nuns (which she affectionately refers to as “The Blues Sisters”) fully decked in royal blue habits poised to summit the mountain. Mind you, this is not a walk in the park, this is a trail to a lookout. In fact, alltrails.com sites St. Mary’s as “a 5.9 mile heavily trafficked out and back trail…….with an elevation gain of 2,483 ft. The trail is rated as difficult”. Let’s not forget that these women are not wearing the latest in Patagonia hiking apparel either.

Sheryl and the nuns introduced themselves, chatted, and then came the grand finale - a chorus of nuns atop this 9,000 foot peak, creating glorious music. Remind you of anything? This was only seven of the group of 27 women who actually call themselves “The Singing Nuns”. They are from St. Michael’s convent in Spokane, WA and have their own website www.singingnuns.com.

According to Sister Mary Angela, the group performs for different events throughout the year; Fourth of July, Christmas concerts, retirement homes, etc., but for Sister Mary, “their favorite time to sing is for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass because we know that it is all for God's glory”.

We all are hopeful The Singing Nuns make the trek again next year.

singing nuns.JPG

A season of "Getting Franked"

Josh Page

Frank Church Lead Wilderness Steward

The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness is big. Like 2,366,757 acres big. Like the largest contiguous wilderness outside of Alaska big. Like big enough that spending a lifetime getting to know it wouldn’t even scratch the surface. In this wilderness I have had 50 or so days to discover what I can about this vast and varied landscape, and what few questions I have answered have led to only further questions. I have been as low as 3,000 feet elevation on the Main Salmon and at peaks above 10,000. I have seen a wolverine running towards a snowy peak one hitch and a rattlesnake giving its famous warning sound to me the next. I have flown, driven and (mostly) hiked into this wilderness. I have come across hunters, outfitters, through-hikers, rafters, forest service employees, volunteers and pilots. I have seen pictographs, old homestead remnants, preserved log cabins and lookout towers. Aside from the rattlesnakes and the wolverine, I have seen deer, bighorn sheep, elk, osprey, and a wolf. I have worked alongside people from Boise, Missoula, North Carolina, and Iowa among other places. What I have done is so much. And yet, next to the vastness of this place it is next to nothing.

How do I sum up a season in the Frank that is not even completed yet? Do I talk about that first hitch, working with two Wilderness Ranger Interns in the pouring rain and realizing their perseverance and tenacity was only matched by their ability to make this work so much fun? Do I talk about the knot in my stomach when I led a multi-day volunteer group for the first time along the Upper Middle Fork, a 26 year old new to this country, leading people with as much as three times more life experience than myself? What about the first time I solo backpacked for work, flying into Thomas Creek Airstrip before immersing myself into the canyons of Marble Creek, all alone and coming face to face with a full grown wolf? Perhaps the second volunteer trip where we worked up Marble Creek for a week straight only to finish and see a couple of through-hikers at the confluence preparing to hike the trail we had just put so much sweat into would be a good way to describe the season. Or Phase Two of that project being cancelled due to the approaching Kiwah Fire. There is also the burn area I worked in alongside Wilderness Ranger Khaleel Taylor, an entire drainage burnt to a crisp where we slept under house-sized boulders to protect us from the possibility of trees falling in the night, moving well over a thousand trees from the trail and getting covered in soot for eight days straight. And the following hitch where I worked alongside Wilderness Ranger John Zap, cleaning camp sites in the Bighorn Crags, backpacking over several passes, past beautiful turquoise lakes, dropping several thousand feet to an abandoned lookout tower and then several thousand more to Panther Creek. It’s crazy, in seven hitches all that I have seen and done. But this is just a quick synopsis of the season. It doesn’t capture all of the emotions that occur. The elation at a tree rolling away after a perfect cut plan, the sense of wonder at a blanket of endless stars at night, the loneliness of a solo scouting trip in a narrow and ominous canyon, and the visceral fear at hearing a snake rattle it’s tail were all felt and yet so much more I have left unsaid.

The reality is the work that I have accomplished this season can be undone with alarming speed and efficiency. With one avalanche, one flood, one rockslide or one fire, trails that can take hundreds of hours to maintain can be erased from the landscape. Even in the most cooperative of scenarios, hundreds of miles of trails need crosscut saws, pulaskis, loppers, silky’s, axes, picks, shovels, sledges and rock bars annually to continue as arteries into this immense terrain. It is a minuscule and vain task helping to open and upkeep these trails. If I am lucky, I will be tasked with doing so for years to come. The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness is seemingly endless, and I have only just begun to discover its secrets. It’s size and challenges demand my respect, and its character and stories have earned my undying love. 

Keeping Tradition Alive

Conner Adams - Trail Crew Leader - Nez Perce Clearwater

Four years ago, I didn’t know what a crosscut saw was. I had a vague concept of it as a tool that you would see on a Swiss cuckoo clock, rocking back and forth between two outlandish wooden lumberjack figurines every time the hour struck. I thought of an axe first and foremost as the burly weapon wielded by Gimli the Dwarf in The Lord of the Rings films. Pulaski was a rusty old town in Northern New York State, rock bar was where you beached your raft, and pick was what you did to your nose when no one was looking.

In fact, despite growing up around the Adirondack State Park in New York, I was completely unfamiliar with the concept of designated Wilderness until I was 25. My first encounter with Wilderness was in the Southeast. I entered the Raven Rocks Wilderness in northern Georgia, took a minute to read the sign, idly wondered why I couldn’t go hang-gliding in this area of the woods if I had wanted to, and then hiked on without a second thought. It wasn’t until I reached the Northern Rockies that I was finally confronted with the reality of Wilderness. Now, four years later, it is in my blood, and those tools that existed before only in museums have become as much a part of me as my arms or legs.

Despite having worked with chainsaws since my teenage years, I have developed a special fondness for the crosscut. Bucking and felling trees with a two-person crosscut saw is a manifestly different experience than ripping through wood with a Stihl. A chainsaw is a marvel of technology, a beastly machine thrashing through blowdown at full volume, heavy metal arpeggios rising and falling, the engine’s deep bass roaring, and trees cowering before the power of its gigantic amplified riffs.

Sawing with a crosscut is, to me, a different kind of music, a symphony for the ears. Wood creaks, the saw sings, my partner and I breathe in time to the song, my heart beats to a rising crescendo and the cymbals crash as the trees sways and topples to the ground. Sometimes I can hear the clap clap clap ahead in the distance as another crew member chops through a log, the rhythmic snaps echoing off the mountain walls. The sounds of Wilderness trail work are often the only accompaniment to my day. I have been sawing with my crew for long enough that we often don’t even have to speak to each other. My partner will tilt the saw up without being asked, just as I’m about to hit the dirt. He or she will bring the saw to a gentle stop just as it occurs to me that it’s time to pound in a wedge. Sometimes as we approach a new log, I will be handed the saw in the exact spot, at the exact angle I would have cut it. This unspoken bond between the crew and its tools is one of the most profoundly satisfying things about trail work.

When I’m out with a chainsaw, I often feel like I’m cheating, like I’m using technology as a crutch. I can tear through miles and miles of trail with minimal effort. I walk out of the mountains feeling as if I didn’t earn those views, that dip in the ice-cold swimming hole, that pot of spaghetti at the end of the day. With a crosscut and an axe, it’s an even trade. I’m not taming or mastering the wilderness with a combustion engine attached to some spinning teeth. Rather, I’m partnering with it, making a bargain: natural beauty and satisfying work in exchange for blood and sweat and effort.

I gladly accept all the benefits and conveniences granted to us by modern technology, but as the march of progress moves relentlessly forward, I am glad to hold on to a tradition that seems to me to embody everything great about the United States and the American conservation movement. I’m flattered and honored to be an instrument in the preservation and passing down of these traditions. Every time I cross the Wilderness Boundary with a saw in my hand and an axe on my back, I’m beginning a week of, in the words of Teddy Roosevelt, “working hard at work worth doing.”

Who owns this land? WE DO!

Will Merritt- Powell Trails Liaison 

Lost Horse/Twin Lakes with Catrock 

Aug 21-29

Nez Perce Clearwater National Forest 

The times they are a-changing here in the Selway-Bitterroot. For me at least, this is a very transitional time of the season. The weather here seems to have taken pity on our smoke-filled lungs and has turned a bearing towards fall. Cool nights and crisp clean air have replaced the hazy heat of summer, and the dragon fly stove is heating tea water both morning and night now. It is my favorite time of the year. This is the time of the year when one chapter closes, and another begins. The Wilderness Ranger Interns that I had that pleasure of working with this summer have hung up the boots for the season and returned to school. It is somewhat of an abrupt change. One that comes with a lot of pride but also some sadness, knowing that my trail family has moved on, and I must continue without them. And while I am excited and looking forward to joining a US Forest Service crew for the remainder of the year, I feel the need to reflect and digest the intern season. 

 

Luckily, I had the pleasure of co-leading a volunteer hitch this past week, which turned out to be the perfect medication to aid the reflection digestion of the intern season. A program based in Bronx, New York called Catrock (a part Sierra Club and Inspiring Connections Outdoors- New York) brought 6 urban youth (ages ranging 16-18) out to the wild, wild west of Montana/Idaho to experience Wilderness for the first time. Led by two fantastic individuals, and with the help of my co-workers, Natalie and Courtney, we were able to open a whole new world to these young adults. Coming from the concrete jungle, where sunset skylines are an impressive testament to the ingenuity and innovation of the human race, out to the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, where the only light that may impede your star gazing is that of the full moon, served to be life changing experience for them. Upon arrival, there was minimal knowledge about public lands in general, only a shy curiosity for this new landscape. By the end of the trip, each one could not only explain what capital W Wilderness means, but why it is worth defending. They even could recite the 5 qualities of Wilderness character that Wilderness managers are tasked with conserving.  Although important and extremely helpful, these volunteer trips are never about the work accomplished. The most important thing is having a positive, meaningful experience in the undeveloped. An experience of solitude, one detached from the technology of society, which allows for a genuine connection with natural.  

 

Edward Abbey is quoted as saying " The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders." Creating stewards of the land, who can draw from their own "boots on the ground" experience is exactly how we create new defenders. So on the last day of the trip, when I posed the question "Who owns this land?" I received a battle cry style response of "WE DO", from every single one of them. I knew we had 6 more young defenders. And as I watched this transition happen in a matter of 9 days with these youth from the Bronx, I was left reflecting on the same transition through the first 3 months of the season with the SBFC Wilderness Ranger Interns. The interns, although they came in with an already strong base of knowledge and passion for conservation, went through the same transition. And left the Idaho/Montana backcountry with countless memories and experiences that will help fuel their fight in defense of Wilderness. 

TRAIL 442 WHERE ARE YOU?

Nez Perce-Clearwater Trail Crew Member-Trevor Fero

From wonderful lakes, new camping locations and emotional trails, Hitch 4 was full of new experiences, hard work and lots of beauty. Day one we hiked in and camped along Cedar Creek on Trail 939. The next day we hiked to the junction where Trail 939 and 618 meet. Clearing our way down 618, we passed Maple Lake and the junction with 442. As the afternoon got longer we decided to cache our tools and hike down to our new base camp at Isaac lake. Even though Isaac lake was swampy and buggy it was still a beautiful place to camp. While staying there we also got to enjoy the company of a family of 3 moose. Staying at Isaac for 3 nights allowed us to completely clear Trail 618 to the junction with 619.

Once Trail 618 was cleared our next priority was to clear Trail 442. We left Isaac lake and the moose to camp along Trail 442 on a beautiful ledge looking over the East Moose Creek drainage. This trail was known to us as the “emotional roller-coaster trail” because of how dramatic the landscape and blowdown was. The trail began descending down a beautiful ridge line in the high alpine with minimal clearing to be done. At this point our spirits were high and we were sure we were going to clear this trail. But we were very wrong…. The farther down the trail the worse the blowdown became. Recent fire had destroyed the trail, which left us with longer hours towards the end of the hitch.

During those last couple of days on hitch we completely lost Trail 442 twice. On our last work day when we lost the trail for the second time early in the afternoon, it became clear to us that we would not be completely opening Trail 442. Feeling defeated and exhausted on our last evening, we tried to enjoy our last night on Trail 442. We then made our way into our sleeping bags earlier than usual, in preparation for our 17 mile hike out the next day.