I backpacked to Huckleberry Mountain

Friday dawned, bright and early.  There were six people who had committed to go backpacking, using appropriate distancing procedures .The intention was to leave La Grande about 10, hike a few miles and set up camp.  Saturday was going to be a day hike, Sunday would be packing out. Then emails started flying back and forth.   The emails talked about how the weather forecast was looking for the weekend.  The intensity and hysteria increased to a fevered pitch.  People were frantic.  It was chaos!

Bottomline, of the six people, only one went, me, who had made a level five commitment.  And truth be told, while I longed for my friends, I was cautiously optimistic that the weekend would be good, and I would not be impacted by the news of the global pandemic of coronavirus, riots in the streets of American cities, statements by the President about killing people, and all that other tragic news.

I left La Grande shortly after 10, as planned.  On the drive to the trailhead I watched a mother badger escort her three offspring across the road.

There was nobody around when I parked the car and started ridge walking the five kilometers to Huckleberry Mountain.  Spring is a great time to view wildflowers in the Blue Mountains, and this hike was turning out to not be an exception to the rule.  The hiking trail was occasionally off the ridge, and sometimes is was what has become an atv trail.  The air was redolent of fragrances from bitter cherry and bitter brush.

At one time, years ago, this atv trail I was walking on was a hiking and horseback trail.  Now, alas, atv's had widened and made the trail two tracks.  There is something to be said about atv's, but I decided to leave it for another day.

About two kilometers of hiking, and I see a tent, right next to the trail.  How could somebody, or why would somebody even want to camp so close to the trail, even a seldom used trail?   The tent looked unused.  Inside was a wood stove, on the floor some leavings of a small mammal.

Huckleberry Spring was passed, and at the meadow I dropped my pack and walked around looking for the right campsite.  There was the declining aspen stand, the view of the North Meacham canyon, the large ponderosa pines with the view of the meadow and back from where I'd come.  That was the place, so the tent was set up, sleeping gear spread out, and time to relax.  

For an hour I quietly sat, writing and reading.  Around 6:15 I casually glance up, look out to the meadow and see a mountain lion running left to right.  I stand up for a better view and notice a female elk on the right side of the meadow--right where the cougar was heading.  The elk started making barking sounds as elk are wont to do, stomping the ground and taking a couple steps toward the charging cat.  The cougar veered off and into the thicket of snowberry.  The elk continued making noises for another minute, then nosed down into the grass, and up stands her offspring on wobbly legs.  The mountain lion may have stopped in the snowberry patch, for a squirrel in a tree started making a ruckus, which went on for several minutes.  Nonchalantly, the elk and her baby walk downhill, across the meadow, and into the forest.

Pacing the distance from where I was to the tree the elk had been was found to be 100 meters.  This was next to the tree I had left my pack when I first arrive at the meadow.  I looked around for signs of what I had just witnessed and found a few droplets of blood, and some deep impressions of elk tracks, but no sign of the cougar.

Droplets of blood left from the birthing process.

Deep impressions from an agitated mom elk.

A great horned owl had called out in the night.  The next morning I was hiking down ridge by 6:30.  The ridge, trending west, was grassland on the south side and forested on the north side.  At one time there was a worn trail following the ridge, but was seldom used now.  Good views of North Meacham and Hoskin Creeks.  Somewhere along the way I got onto the wrong ridge, a sub ridge of the one I wanted to be on.  There were more shrubs, steeper slope, and no trail.  I persevered to the creek bottom and realized to go downstream I was going to have to scale a veritable cliff, or ford the raging creek.  I took off my boots and waded.

A seldom used hunter cabin was explored in spite of the warning on the outside of the building that trespassers would be immediately arrested.  The state of the interior was such that woodrats, mice, gophers and other rodent-like creatures had had their day with the mattresses.  The trail heading downstream from the cabin hadn't been used in a few years as evident from the downed trees, overgrown shrubs, and lack of much track.

Little cabin in the woods.

Somebody must like watered down Canadian whisky.

One barrel of chemicals.

The original intention of this hike was to continue to the main stem of Meacham Creek, another three or four kilometers downstream, but the more I thought about the elevation I still had to do to return to camp, I turned around.  The second stream crossing was completed and I started the stroll uphill.  The weather was a little warmer than I was use to, and many rests were done on the ascent.  One sit down rest was accompanied by a western fence lizard.

The bright blue under the throat indicates this individual as a male.

On Saturday evening the breeze picked up.  And the temperature dropped by twenty degrees, or so.  There was "weather" coming in, and it wasn't looking pleasant.  The weather finally materialized at one in the morning with lightning, thunder and a light sprinkle of precipitation.  No hail.  But lots of consecutive flashes of lightning.  I didn't look out of the tent, but the inside was well lit by the frequent lightning.  After a few minutes of intense storming, the system passed, and I  went back to sleep.

An indication of impending doom.

The hike out later that day was one where everything seemed fresh and clean.  The floral smells were in the air, flowers looked newly blossomed, warblers and vireos were singing. and no dust was on the trail.

Life continues, fresher than ever.

Reflecting on the trip, I realized I would probably never have seen the cougar/elk interaction had even one or two other people joined me.  This solo trip had paid off in the wild kingdom sort of way that never would have happened had other people been around camp with me, setting up tents, cooking dinners, talking.  At times there are merits to going solo.