Surprises in the Selway

I think most mountain people think of a hike they want to do and plan it; drawing a route or saving maps offline to prepare for the outing. I am a bit different. I actually enjoy planning nearly as much as executing my trips; and therefore have an entire database of geospatial information ready to utilize when i decide to go adventure somewhere. I do not have the personal expectation of actually completing all these adventures; i strangely find pleasure in planning them. Perhaps this isn't so strange; i get the feeling many people plan vacations and shop for things they could never afford. One side effect, however, is that the act of planning and the intense imagination that planning a hiking route necessitates can often spoil my appetite to actually do the activity.  I often find myself deciding, having never been somewhere or even seen that place from afar, that a climb isn't worth it or is too unpleasant or isn't strenuous enough to feel accomplished when finished. I have proven my ability to judge these things wrong time and time again in my life; i am always surprised when i explore somewhere new. Yet these feelings often make hikes on 'my list' seem less worthwhile. sometimes when i get the urge to put in a big day in the mountains i will look around my carefully curated list of routes and not find anything that seems appealing. in times like that, i will find a new place, somewhere that never made the list for whatever reason and plan a new route. This exact, illogical thought loop happened in June of last year. I had many hikes and climbs on my list that would have been suitable for the weather and snow levels of that weekend; yet i needed to go somewhere i had never though about before to satisfy my particular wilderness itch. (Yes, I realize that these statements are very good evidence in support of not obsessively planning things as the mere act itself steals some of the wonder out of discovering new places)

Although administratively homogeneous, I consider the Selway-Bitterroot wilderness to exist in two parts. The Montana side is steep, hot, rocky and spectacular. The idaho side is decadent and inpenatrable; full of thick brush and very sparse vegetative breaks revealing impossibly vast viewsheds of indistinct emerald ridges, undulating softly into the horizon, each with nearly identical proportions. The Idaho side is truly remarkable, and I have always appreciated and respected it due to its uniqueness, but it is generally not an idilyc place to hike. It goes between too humid and too hot very quickly each day, views are few and far between, and the mountains are bigger yet less 'noteworthy' than they seem on a map. These reasons have led me to all but exclude this area from my mountain planning. I figured the only thing that would get me deep in that wilderness was rafting the Selway if I ever draw a permit or packrafting Moose Creek if I ever find the flows and weather window. Yet after scouring my list for hours one day, and not being able to find anything that seemed worthy of the upcoming weekend (ridiculous, i know) I decided to find an overnight loop in the Selway side of the Wilderness to hike and commit to it even if my gut feeling was that it wasn't going to be super rewarding. 

For context, this was only a week or so after being charged by a large black bear in the Little Belt Mountains; an experience that deeply frightened me, and, to this day, continues to generate anxiety when hiking alone in dense vegetation. Yet after a few day hikes around Missoula, i put back on my heavily cultivated mountain-man mask and longed for, if not perhaps felt obligated to long for, another wilderness outing. I found a route that was ambitious in terms of mileage but otherwise not noteworthy. I figured i'd encounter the last patch of snow on the route, but otherwise was not concerned about anything i would likely encounter. I was very excited to try a new pair of hiking boots I just got and figured this would break them in well. I knew this was a bit risky, but I didn't really have an alternative at the time. After gathering my effects I was off in the morning. 

The drive the the Paradise Ranger Station from Missoula is a treat in and of itself. The Bitterroot Valley is a special place, full of Native and White heritage as well as representation of pretty much every forest type you can find in western Montana. The first time I saw the Selway was in 2011, when a friend and I arbitrarily chose that area to spend a night on a two week car camping road trip around Idaho and Montana. It was June, yet the heat along the river was so unbearable we literally changed our plans and found somewhere to camp as close as we could get to the slowly ascending snow line of one of the deepest spring snowpacks on record in the region. When I got to the trailhead, there was a raft party about to launch on the river for their four-day float. They all drove brand new Toyotas and had all the newest clothing and river gear. I wondered for a while if it was chance alone that landed this particularly well-off  crew a permit. Probably, but still seems suspicious. 

The cedar drapery on the edge of every side stream reminds me a lot of my time in the Washington rainforest. It wasn't immediately clear where to park; and having seen a Forest Service guard station employee I chose to ask them to ensure I wouldn't get in the way (I really just wanted permission to park in one of the pullouts closer to the trailhead). The employee was an old white man with a beard. He asked if I was a part of the float trip and after explaining I was just on an overnight hiking trip he furrowed his brow and changed where he was pointing. First, he apologized about not mowing the grass in the hiker's parking area. Then, he said with no tact, "I wouldn't go there if I were you". Although this type of warning may seem ominous to most, I value different things than most, so this man's opinion holds little weight. Yet, out of politeness, I asked why not. His eyes furrowed more and he abruptly muttered, "Rattlesnakes. Just took the horses in a few miles yesterday and saw a whole bunch of them. They are most active this time of year. I'd be real worried about your dog up there". I'm not going to lie, this is not something I had considered while planning this hike. I knew there were rattlers in the Selway but I was literally standing in a shaded cedar jungle and hearing this was a bit of a surprise. I thanked him for the info and started my walk. The only adjustment to my plan was to keep Denali's leash within reach; if I would come to a spot that seemed rocky and sunny, I would leash him and keep him right at my side. 

About a mile in, the raft party floated by on the river. I couldn't help but feel both jealous and annoyed as they passed me. I love that type of river trip yet it is seeming less and less attractive to me as I have aged. I really appreciate moving slower, on foot, feeling the earth and a connection to my savannah-hunting evolutionary heritage.  Anyway, the hike continued uneventfully for quite a while. I was happy to find a footlog at a stream I thought I'd be wading and was in a good mood. After heading up the side trail for a while, I encountered a creek