The Freakin Wilderness

"There's nothing open for 150 miles...we're in the middle of the freaking wilderness and it's way after 1:30 am. Come on, we really gotta go home and pack...there's only 147 minutes left 'till Lloyd picks us up to drive the five hours to Missoula so we can catch the plane home." Unflustered and just as determined to play out some unilateral agenda, Steve sped on through the alpine region with Gina and me stuffed in the back of his royal blue, super economy Ford Fiesta (estimated cost new $7999.99). "I know this cool guy who lives up by the Hot Springs, he's always awake and he always has booze," he said, acting as if he never heard my cry for emancipation. The fast driving coupled with the badly maintained Forest Service roads, combined with multiple Long Island Iced Teas were officially freaking the both of us out. The situation had deteriorated to the point where something had to be done. We were somewhere deep in the colon of our recently adopted Salmon National Forest, possibly on the edge of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. I peered over to Gina using my best mama's boy body language, obviously asking her to straighten out this volatile situation. 

Steve was a couple years older than us. He was left handed, from Oregon and his detached/deranged look reminded us that we didn't really know anything about him, especially what he was into/capable of. "Steve, we had a great time tonight. You are a great two-stepper...every hick in the place had his eyes glued on your fancy-shmancy moves. We'll always remember our crazy last night in Salmon, Idaho...you helped us say good-bye to the forest...but, I think the night is over now," Gina said in a calm and nurturing tone. Without ever showing acknowledgment to her calming/nurturing plea, Steve quietly turned the car around and headed back down the rugged mountain toward the small Pacific Northwest town. 

Central Idaho's Salmon River country is exhaustively isolated from the rest of the world by the towering Bitteroot mountain range on the east side, and by the Frank Church Wilderness on the west. This spectacular hunk of National Forest is around the size of Rhode Island (it's the largest wilderness area in the lower 48). It's sliced down the middle by the second deepest canyon (Grand Canyon being the 1st) in North America with the infamous Salmon River (longest un-dammed river in the contiguous states) racing through it. 

This outdoor vacation haven has always attracted big game hunters, avid fishermen, gold panhandlers, rock - climbing enthusiasts and, most notably, white water rafters. The town of Salmon claims a population of 2000 residents, but locals say that's only during the height of the summer when all the vacation homeowners/tourists are around. It's plopped right in the center of the four Forest districts with the river itself sloshing directly through the touristy village. Some so-called notables who have called Salmon home are Kit Carson (whoever he was), Jedediah Smith (no idea what he was famous for) as well as many black bears, bald eagles, steelhead (i.e. anadromous rainbow trout/salmon thing), bighorn sheep, mountain goats, mountain lions, Chinook salmon, white-tail/mule deer, elk, an elusive wolf or two, moose, shitloads of different bird species and the recently re-introduced grizzly bear. Nobody said much for the rest of the ride back to town. Somehow it felt as if we didn't live up to some preconceived zany reputation. When he dropped us off at our Forest Service digs, we barely shook hands before he screeched his tires around a grazing cow and back on to the road. A quick time check before we entered our rented home together for the last time showed that it was now 2:15 am. We only had two and a half hours to do about three and a half weeks of cleaning/organizing/packing before our scheduled departure. The buzz from the many cocktails earlier in the evening had now turned to a dulled and telling headache. Experience told me in three hours my hangover would turn into a terrific migraine. 

The last minute sense of urgency produced piles and piles of clothing, toiletries, shoes, camping/fishing gear, cassette tapes, rain gear, big game animal skulls, teeth, bones and antlers (our most prized knick-knackery) as well as other unrecognizable (i.e. broken pieces of unidentified things) junk all across the floor. The backpacks and large puke green army duffel bag that were to carry all our belongs from Massachusetts to Salmon, Idaho, didn't even begin to hold the accumulated mass of mementos from our six month stay as volunteer Fishery Biologists in the Salmon National Forest. The task ahead was daunting; we were forced to quickly whittle down the amount of useless crap that we meticulously hand picked to bring back home to show off our adventurous endeavors with. In this lose - lose situation, we chose to reminisce about our great western adventure instead of wallowing in the drudgery of our predicament or dwelling on our penniless return home--straight into our parent's details/worlds. 

--Rod Murphy, Jr.

Stay tuned for more Salad in next month's issue of MASH...