4 Sep (Mon) ◦◦◦◦◦ Walked up to Kirkwood Pass with shovel, partly to get an idea of the “tree situation” since I’ve not been up there yet—gads! Sure, this trail doesn’t get much use but in a normal season I’d have been up there at least twice by now. Passed mebbe a dozen downed trees in the first two miles, several of them big jobs. Groan! But, about what I figgered. Cleaned w-breaks and rocked the rock-filled rocky trail. (Trails traversing the sides of moraines are always full of loose stones….) Along the way, heard an odd sound that I took for an owl cry and headed off in the general direction, ears and eyes open. Looked up: there’s a blue grouse twelve feet up a lodgepole, staring at me and making jungle sounds. Stood there for several minutes watching it bob its head up and down, making nervous remarks in grouse-ese. Amazing variety! You never hear their quiet-talk out in the woods—it’s reserved for intimate converse with fellow members and doesn’t carry. ◦◦◦◦◦ Home at six. Worked on this log up in my hammock. Velcro followed for the third time and curled at my feet as I wrote. A real pleasure to be way up there with a breeze and a big view with stripe-ed kitty who came up of his own volition, just to hang out with the ranger. Not many cats would climb forty or fifty feet up a pinetree to spend quality time in a hammock with their crunchy-provider.
5 Sep (Tue) ◦◦◦◦◦ Walked up the Kirkwood trail again, this time with axe, 3’ saw, 3 lb hammer…wedges, gloves, WD–40 (the full kit) plus food and sundries to do battle with trees-across-trail and myriad mosquitoes. Worked like a dog, unseen by human eyes but watched intently, no doubt, by silent forest critters various. Cut- and hacked out many trees—blow-downs, snow-downs, plus recently avalanched members of the forest community. Didn’t raise blisters but came close and the moskeets fed bountifully. ◦◦◦◦◦ Walked home (after stashing tools) by crossing Kirkwood Creek and following the rocky ridgetop above. Saw many lovely sights, various permutations of rock and water lined with flowers and thick grass. Found a “new” old trail paralleling the less-old old trail on the west side of the creek but farther up the hillside away from the riparian tangle. It floors me to find how heavily this country has been used—there are multiple abandoned trails on both sides of most of the major watercourses. How many sheep-herders have worked this drainage in the last hundred and forty years? Did they have wives and families? Did any of them make it back home again? No one will ever know.
→ 6 miles → 13 trees → no visitors (again)
6 Sep (Wed) Stiff after yesterday’s tree-whacking. Slept poor; each time I rolled over, legs began to cramp. ◦◦◦◦◦ Saddled ponies and rode back to my cached tools (almost three miles up the trail). Not terribly psyched to cut more trees but realized too late, yesterday, that if I didn’t bring all them tools back today they’d sit out in the open for ten days. Unacceptable. Hoped there weren’t too many trees left to cut. ◦◦◦◦◦ Carried loppers and pruned limbs from the saddle, with the inevitable pine-needles-down-the-shirt thing. Most tedious. I’d stop from time to time, get off, unbuckle belt, unzip pants, then jump up and down until all the loose needles sifted down my pants legs. Life of a ranger…. ◦◦◦◦◦ Parked horses where I’d stashed tools and walked the last mile to the top. Not too bad! Only a few more trees, a couple with multiple cuts. One more involved job that took awhile plus some tricky hanging branch removal. Lots of rocking. ◦◦◦◦◦ The Hoover Wilderness boundary sign I installed last fall weathered its first winter well aside from a passing bear who couldn’t resist leaving its calling card. There was a little chunk out of one side and sharp teeth-marks. Ursa, for some reason, likes chewing on redwood. Through the years, bears have routinely trashed trail signs posted at Buckeye Forks. (Other places, no prob, but there—every time.) I’ve heard it said that the reason Yosemite went to all-metal backcountry signs was because they couldn’t keep up with replacing the ones bears damaged. ◦◦◦◦◦ Still a patch of snow right over the pass in the usual spot but you can definitely ride through now. I scrambled up to “Pond-At-the-Pass,” three minutes from the divide, just over a rock hump. You’d never know there was anything there…nothing obvious that would make one want to walk in that direction. J.D. showed Kohman and me this enchanting, formerly secret-spot my third day working for the FS in ‘83—the day we walked into the north fork of Buckeye and I chopped on trees with an axe for the very first time. I recall the thrill of topping that rise to find spread before us a pristine little kettle pond and tiny meadow and rolling slabs. No one knew it was there because it was hidden from view and—more importantly—not marked on any maps. Unfortunately, when the 7½’ quads came out a few years ago, there it was for all to see. Since that time, there’s been signs of use each time I visit, even a couple of small firepits (quickly erased). Sigh. Now there’s an excuse for people to plan on stopping to camp at the pass, knowing there’s water. Must say, though—it’s a pretty sweet place to spend a night. Or a few days. ◦◦◦◦◦
→ 8½ miles → 6 trees → pruning → no visitors (third day straight)
©2020 Tim Forsell 25 Jul 2020
I too have often wondered what the old sheepherders thought of the Paiute area. Did they enjoy the scenery and beautiful feeling of wilderness or did they wish for an easier assignment with more visits from the camp tender?
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