THE LINK UP
The Rocky Mountains are often called the “backbone of North
America.” Something about this statement has always felt
inadequate. For me, the Rockies seem more like a heart than
a spine. Hearts hide their secrets and protect them. Hearts
often present a façade—an outward appearance for the public.
The public is generally content to accept what they are
given, unwilling to probe and delve deeper to search for
what is concealed. Hearts require loyalty and dedication
before their secrets are revealed. For these reasons, the
Rockies, and especially the Bitterroots, have appeared more
as a heart than a backbone. Admittedly, driving down Highway
93 is awe-inspiring. The peaks rear up from the valley,
jagged and magnificent. Some people may venture in a few
miles, enjoy the tidbits along the way, and return to their
cars, happy in what they have experienced. Others recognize
these tidbits for what they are—tantalizing bits of bait,
gently luring the hiker deeper into the mountains to
discover the secrets kept hidden from all but the truly
devoted. Sitting atop the Bitterroot divide, tired, fighting
the mosquitoes and praying that I would not lose my foot to
gangrene, I tried to remind myself of this. Sometimes, when
hearts are laid bare and the secrets are brought forth, one
gets more than what was bargained for.
The ultimate hiking experience in the
Bitterroots is the “link-up.” A link-up is a hike beginning
at a trailhead in one creek drainage, climbing up that
drainage until you reach the top of a mountain. From the top
you continue over the mountain, generally without the help
of a trail, until you reach a new drainage that you descend
until you have reached the trailhead of the new drainage.
Sounds simple right? Linking two canyons often requires
patience, a good map, pants for the inevitable bushwhack,
and a sense of adventure. Did I mention patience? Having
done a number of link-ups, I am grimly familiar with the way
the system works: a map of the Bitterroots is studied
intently; someone grows a wild hair and suggests two canyons
to link; shouts of joy and sighs of relief are heard as
trails are found on the map, showing how the canyons can be
linked by a trail the entire way. Then, the hike begins. The
back of one canyon is reached and now the crying starts.
Trail? What trail? The map shows a trail over the mountains
to the next canyon. Doesn’t matter. What the hiker now
discovers is that maps are created by an evil people who
like a good laugh. The evil group enjoys drawing random
lines and leading unsuspecting hikers into a maze of fallen
trees and tangles of alder that will lead to bruised and
scraped-up bodies. Alder is also created by these evil
devils. For those who have attempted a Bitterroot link-up,
this may sound all too familiar. It was not without a sense
of dread, then, that I agreed to spend my fourth of July
weekend linking Tin Cup Creek, south of Darby, with Boulder
Creek—a link-up of almost sixty miles.
First and foremost, I will say that
there was, unbelievably, a trail the entire way. Some may
call me a liar, but a trail does indeed exist, linking Tin
Cup to White Cap to Canyon and finally to Boulder Creek.
Unfortunately, finding a trail below my feet was only of
minor comfort. My exploits typically metamorphose into
epics—at times, admittedly, my own fault, but sometimes
through no fault of my own. Tin Cup Creek has two
trailheads. Sadly, Jonathan and I commenced our journey at
the wrong one. The previous winter had dumped substantial
snow pack on the Bitterroots, which was still melting in
early July and resulted in a torrent of water coursing
through the creeks. Five minutes into our hike found us
wading through frigid, fast-moving waters only to meet up
with the proper trail after crossing. By the conclusion of
our fifty-six mile hike, I grew to hate creek crossings—and
mosquitoes. By the end of the first day of our planned hike,
I’d already begun to loathe creek crossing and, because of
this, I unintentionally sealed my own fate. In order to make
it to what became our first camp, we were forced to cross
several creeks. Some had wobbly logs covered in sharp
spears, others were pure wet crossings and all of them
lacked bridges. On top of this, during our journey, I
discovered that my boots had a defect and were gradually
slicing into the side of my foot. Because of my dread of
reliving the harrowing crossings I’d just made, I
decided--only seven miles into our hike--that I would push
on through the next forty-nine miles.
The Tin Cup-Boulder “loop” is an
amazing hike. Initially, the trail winds its way through
thick forest until opening to reveal majestic cliffs that
overlook the canyon. Picturesque waterfalls greet the hiker
regularly as one wends his or her way toward Tin Cup Lake,
eleven miles in from the start of the trail. The lake is
nestled in a basin between sheer mountain faces. From here,
the trail climbs through breathtaking meadows dotted with
pothole lakes and scattered white granite rock on its way to
the Montana-Idaho border. It was on this climb that the pain
in my foot truly began to take hold. Using hiking poles
enabled me to continue walking, which was a bit of a mixed
blessing due to the growing pain in my foot. We continued to
wind our way up the pass, stopping to admire the views of El
Cap peak to the north, and down into a tree-covered Idaho to
Triple Lakes, fifteen miles from the Tin Cup trailhead. From
these quiet lakes, the trail continues its windy descent
into Idaho, passing a spectacular series of cascades and
finally leading the hiker to one of the Bitterroots
concealed secrets, of which I will say no more as only those
determined enough will enjoy the special surprise we
received upon arrival.
 Once we continued walking, the
mosquitoes nearly drove us insane. These pests relentlessly
drove us onward, pushing us forward until we found ourselves
forced to commit a cardinal sin: camping on the trail in an
open boulder field, semi-free of the buzzing annoyances. In
my one-man tent, the stark reality of the damage being done
to my foot confronted me. To this day, the wound remains the
most disgusting I have seen. No amount of mole skin (which I
had tried earlier to no avail) would now offer aid. I had
only prayer and anti-bacterial ointment to get me through
the next forty miles.
Prayer came in handy only a short time
later that same evening when it felt as though our epic had
reached a climax. The full fury of heaven and hell seemed to
explode around us as lightning began to lacerate the sky and
thunder snarled and echoed through the small canyon. Perched
in the middle of my tent hugging my knees, I struggled to
distinguish between the sounds of thunder and tumbling
boulders. By morning, we were damp, soggy and fatigued from
a restless night. The flourishing juneberry bushes lining
the trail showered us further as we continued on to Coopers
Flat. After thirty miles of creek crossing, we finally
crossed an actual bridge. We literally kissed this small
miracle and then found ourselves in a lovely meadow
surrounding an old cabin, originally owned by an old bear
trapper. From here, the trail curls its way through thick
forest until beginning a slow and prolonged ascent to the
Montana-Idaho border. The musky smell of elk accompanied us
up until we gazed upon Montana again and Boulder Lake. The
mosquitoes, sensing the imminent conclusion of our adventure
pursued our blood with newfound zeal.
 After one final night,
in which we crammed our two bodies into my one-man tent to
prevent any further mosquito attacks (they were biting my
husband through his bivy sack), we trudged past thundering
falls, through open and lush forest, beyond a cascade
crossing the trail (one more creek crossing) and finally
collapsed at Boulder Creek trailhead on July 4th.
A generous couple offered to drive us to our car, parked at
Tin Cup.
Our adventure had come to an end. A
gaping foot wound, which left me confined to flip-flops for
months, persistent mosquitoes, the fury of the heavens
unleashed and the panic experienced during every treacherous
log-walk across a creek endeavored to prevent me from
discovering not only the secrets of the Bitterroots, but
also the secrets of my own heart. I learned just how strong
it truly is. Paulo Coelho, in his book The Alchemist,
relates that “every search ends with the victor’s being
severely tested.” I was tested and received my award. The
heart of the Bitterroots was opened and secrets were
revealed. Veni vidi vici.
For more information on this truly
amazing hike, a trail description can be found in Mort
Arkava’s Hiking the Bitterroots.
|
