Sometimes I think I’ve been here before,
recognizing a particular boulder in a
small meadow along an alpine trail,
a trail that is new to me.
Sometimes a conversation
is word for word the same
as from the past
and the afternoon light slanting
just so.
Now, today, there is this image.
I’ve not seen it before,
at least not that I can remember,
not in this life,
not in this dimension.
And yet familiar—- winged
creature, delicate–
emerging from a tree’s heart,
a spirit shadow
released to wander
on autumn’s moonlit nights;
drifting across wetlands where pond turtles rest,
gliding through the oak savannah to the
river and beyond.
What do you seek in your wanderings?
Perhaps I can go with you.
Perhaps our answer lies upstream,
in the mountains.

When I was a child I would bring Monarch butterfly caterpillars into the house and raise them in a Mason jar.

First to be done was put about an inch of dirt in the bottom of the jar and dampen it a bit. Then put in a short stalk of milkweed with enough leaves to last a couple of days, accompanied by the caterpillar. The finishing touch was wax paper across the top, fastened by a rubber band. And the very last job was to poke small holes in the wax paper so that air could circulate. It was important to keep fresh leaves for the caterpillars to feed upon. And if the interior got too yucky from caterpillar poops I’d take everything out and put in fresh dirt.

After a week or two the caterpillar would stop eating and growing (shedding its skin several times to accommodate growth) and start moving all over the jar looking for a place to put its chrysalis. Then it would make a silk button and, attaching its rear end to that button by a tiny spine, hang head down in a “J” shape for a couple of days. The skin would split and out would wriggle a smooth, cylindrical, chrysalis, drying to a lovely jade color decorated by a single line of golden dots.

About a week later the chrysalis would start turning dark
and I’d know it was getting time for hatching. The dark color
was actually the wings showing through the now transparent chrysalis. And then would come the emergence of the butterfly.

When my children were young I made sure they had that same magical experience.

The fourth generation of the Monarchs, usually emerging in September or October, doesn’t
remain in the area of hatching but begins a long migration to Southern California or to Mexico where they will overwinter and start a new generation to return north.

Empty chrysalis

This morning I once again put my finger into a jar to have the delicate, long legs of a Monarch butterfly begin to crawl up to freedom. Right now the insect is in partial sun, resting on the
milkweed plant in the front yard, wings drying, fluids surging through its body. Soon it will take wing.

Cattle on Bennett Mountain

Sometimes it’s the unexpected in a trip that brings a memory and a smile. On our trip to Idaho we stayed one night at an RV park in Mountain Home. It was a pleasant stay—concrete pads, green lawns, clean restrooms—and we had made a reservation there for the return trip as well.

But leaving that first morning we took a wrong turn, getting on a different highway than the one we’d planned to take. So we chose an off-ramp, driving a narrow, but paved, road across the sagebrush flats heading in the general direction of the highway we wished to find. Soon we could see giant windmills dotting the landscape and as we got closer we became concerned that the road was simply access to these huge, white, three-bladed generators. No one else seemed to be going our direction. We stopped near a farmhouse, the only one we’d seen. With map in hand I went down the driveway to knock on the doors of both buildings. They looked as if they were being used by someone, but no one was home. A friendly border collie wandered over to sniff at my legs, tail slowly wagging. On the other side of the yard was a large, rounded garage, like a hanger, dark inside. Farm equipment—trailers, a small dozer and other tools meant this was definitely in use and I thought perhaps the dwellings were to house workers. Several horses neighed from a fenced enclosure. I called out but no one answered.

As I was heading back toward the driveway a vehicle drove quickly into the yard, pulling a utility trailer. The driver smiled as I walked over to ask for directions. But he shook his head and distinctly said, “I don’t speak English.” And I don’t speak Spanish. What to do? I can count to 10 so said, pointing to the map, “diez twice”? Of course I wasn’t making any sense at all to him. He pulled out a phone and talked rapidly in Spanish to someone, then handed me the work-worn instrument. The voice on the line, with an accent but very clear, told me that he would be there soon; he was on his way anyway. Whew, rescue potential!

The man’s arrival brought instant help. And he laughed when I told him about my “diez twice”. He told us that if we kept going we would climb up over a mountain and down the other side was the highway we sought. The road would turn into a dirt road near the top but it was a good road, he said, and was a pretty drive. Towing our trailer would be no problem although it might get a little dusty. He had cows grazing up there he explained. We thanked him and continued our journey. (mental note to self—take a Spanish class this fall. I took Latin in high school. Our language teacher, who taught Spanish and Latin, had a Swedish accent. My brothers took Spanish.)

It was a good drive. The road climbed up Bennett Mountain— bluffs made up of layers of lava appeared. Sagebrush covered the hillsides, and as promised, there were black Angus cattle along the way. Nearing the top we could see springs coming out from the base of the bluffs. Numbered birdhouses were attached to the posts of the wire fence and swallows seemed to be the main inhabitants. Now and then we pulled over to let a pickup pulling a horse trailer, or a larger truck go by, going down the way we had come up. As the area opened up a little more, there were rocky gulches supporting willows and aspen and there was more grass.

Across from the service station in Arco, Idaho

At the top it was quite pretty—there were conifers, either Douglas fir, hemlocks or spruce (cones hanging downward, not upward like a true fir), and much aspen. The scenery had an alpine appearance to the upper slopes, and as we descended we saw bluebirds using the birdhouses. Soon we reached Highway 20 (diez twice), which was lined with alfalfa fields, some with hay already baled, and by 4:30 we were in the little town of Arco where we stopped to get gas. A man, who used to live in Oregon, saw our license plate and walked over to chat for a minute. Next stop was Challis.

I was in Challis, Idaho for only one night but Tom stayed overnight in an RV park for the rest of that week. Challis has a population of about 1200 people and is located in a rather isolated area along the Salmon River drainage. It is the county seat of Custer County. At one time one of the nearby mines employed 2,000 people but today that number is down to 400. One of the trailers near Tom’s site was owned by a man who works in that mine, and who was working long shifts followed by a number of days off.

Challis was platted by Alvah Challis in 1876 as a supply depot for the mines and ranches in the area. Custer County was formed in 1881 and a branch office of Wells Fargo was opened there. “In 1918 the sheep population of the state of Idaho was 2.6 million–meaning we had six times as man sheep as humans.”–from a chamber of commerce website. Sheep had replaced mining as the primary industry.

We ate dinner in one of the local restaurants that first night and were grateful that they served us just as the last person was leaving. Our watches still had Pacific Daylight Savings time and were an hour earlier. They just closed the blinds, turned the closed sign on, and fed us, with no sense of rushing our meal.

After dinner we wandered down the street a ways and I took a few pictures. Rounded hills form a backdrop for this small town. I was in Challis only two more times, both times in cars that needed gas and clean windshields because of our back roads habitat survey trips. Tom was able to get in a game of golf one day with a friendly group that called themselves the Old Geezers. And one day he explored a few back roads near town. Another day he came out to where I was staying and we took a hike into the Sawtooths. (see previous article)

It’s always fun to see buildings still being used that were built in the mid-1800s in the west. And to see how new buildings are built to be compatible with those original structures. We left the area on the 25th, just missing the 9th Annual Salmon River Testicle Festival. There were posters around town.

Yesterday, Friday, was the last workday. It was cold that morning and last night. The wind was very strong. I had my heavy jacket on while sitting in my tent writing.

Seven of us drove over to a place off of Highway 75 and did a transect. It was cool, some clouds drifting across, a nice change from our sweating, hot days. We ate lunch at our cars and then drove to aother site. Actually, we turned around on the first road we got on that morning—seemed a bit too dangerous to continue with gullies washed into the edges. The second site was much better.

The afternoon site was more interesting. We drove up a shallow valley past a private in-holding, in one place stopping until a black cow got out of the road, and along where there was green grass and willows. Such a contrast to the dry sage-covered hills! It was not irrigated land but naturally wet. We made our way across a boggy area, where cows had been, by balancing on a small log and jumping onto a couple of hummocks that were above the bog. We hiked up the dry hillside and ran a transect. There was very little grass. I saw a couple of new plants—one that looked like rust-colored Indian pipe, which is actually a broomrape (which is parasitic on sagebrush), and an Elk Thistle. The thistle was growing in the very boggy area, was only about eight inches high, and quite pretty. We found two others not quite as advanced. Elk thistle, also know as Everts’ thistle, saved the life of Truman Everts in Yellowstone National Park in 1870. Everts, an explorer, became separated from his group and his horse for 37 days. Because a botanist had remarked that the root of this plant was edible and nutritious, it was the only plant he knew was safe to eat, and he subsisted on the raw root. (on-line source).

We got back to Greenfire earlier than usual and I was able to shower and wash my hair before dinner.

There were only 14 of us for dinner—a delicious, big pasta salad. After dinner I walked out to the tent area—the wind was blowing so strongly that my rain cover was jumping up and down on the tent—whap/whap/whap. I saw the little bunny that I’ve been getting fleeting glimpses of at night. I stood out there and yodeled with only the rabbit to hear me and he/she moved a few feet away, no doubt wondering what kind of coyote I was. I got my camera and took its picture, first from a distance and then working my way closer.

I slept until 6:30, the latest I’ve slept the whole time. After getting dressed I started sorting some of my possessions: stuffed the sleeping bag, took all my things out of the tent, rolled up the mattress pad, took the rain cover off. Breakfast was good. Then I went back to my site with a fence wrench that I borrowed from Ronnie, who I’m sure, has every tool a person might need in the outdoors. She also cooks great meals! The wrench made pulling the tent pegs easy. I took down the tent, stuffed the poles, and put the tent and cover in its bag, then hauled everything over near the parking lot.

Tom arrived around 9:30 and after many goodbyes and hugs, we left, driving back through Stanley and beginning our journey home.

 Have I said that the robins began singing LOUDLY and with great vigor shortly after 4:00 a.m.? And they were still singing, although less robustly, at 10:00 p.m. Today, our 3rd workday, we again divided into two groups.

Our group went to a site up Highway 75 and then up a dirt road quite a way. It’s surprising to drive this far and then see an inhabited dwelling, in this case a small house about an eighth of a mile past where we stopped, near a cluster of cottonwoods. These trees extended down, although more scattered, opposite to where we parked and a little beyond. We walked through sagebrush, scrambled down into the dry gulch that held the cottonwoods, and up the other side through some rather tall sagebrush.  We ran the tape measure out to mark a transect and got to work.

This time I learned to do the point and drop part of measuring. One person holds a yardstick and a three-foot long metal rod. Another records. You line up the rod with a meter mark and hope the wind doesn’t blow too hard, then let the point drop straight to the ground. What gets recorded is the first plant it touches, and another if there is one under it. Also recorded is the ground—rock, sand, duff, whatever. The people who do this measure usually do a shrub cover measure as well, since both go fairly quickly.

I was always surprised by the flowers that bloom in these dry, sage-brush covered places. Generally there is a lot of space between the sage plants, more than one sees driving by. We were pleased when one of our surveys actually included a flowering prickly-pear cactus. Usually, we just saw one or two along the way to a site.

One of the more interesting aspects of this particular day was the bird we saw as we went up a dusty road. A long-billed curlew! What a strange thing, to see a bird associated with water out in this arid place. It had flown up, banked its wings, and landed again and with the window down we could hear its call. It turns out that curlews nest in places like this. Curlews like places with sparse vegetation, avoiding places with trees or dense grass and shrubs. They eat insects, benthic invertebrates and small vertebrates. Loss of habitat is the biggest threat to their existence. Off-road vehicles can be disturbing, particularly during brood-rearing season. The crew that went out the next day was also able to see this beautiful bird.

During a break in our survey we gathered around a white, perforated pipe that was recognized as a mining claim marker. In this case though it was lying flat on the ground rather than being upright. One problem with these and other open pipes used for various purposes is that birds will sometimes go down into them and not be able to get out.

We ate lunch in the gulch, in the shade of the cottonwoods. Water must be underground there and it was obvious that it flows through during the rains. Back at the road we wondered about where the house got its water. They might have had a well but it also looked as if the cottonwoods near the building formed a circle, possibly surrounding a small pond.

From there we drove to Highway 93 and after about a mile we went through a fence and up a road, going past several cows and calves. The road took a steep plunge downward and we navigated down that and up the other side. This was followed by a quick survey transect, quick because the vegetation was so sparse. The soil was almost sandy.

Following that survey we drove into Challis to get gas in the cars and clean windshields. Some of us got a bit of ice cream as well. Riding along in the cars we learn a bit about each others’ lives through stories. This day someone brought up 911 and we could all remember where we were at the precise time of learning about it. That, and John Kennedy’s assassination. One person had taught school; one had been in the Peace Corps in Africa; one had led a number of Sierra Club hikes and enjoyed planning the menus; one had worked in Washington DC for a legislator; one had loved her job being the special use investigator/coordinator for the USFS for 15 years.

We had a meeting after dinner to discuss all we’ve been doing and what people had learned. As the meeting came to a close I offered to read one of my poems from my chapbook, Being, ( “Bear Basin”), then gave away the 10 books I’d brought and wished I’d brought a few more.

Wonderful granite peaks, splashed with snow at this time of year, formed a background for our drive through Stanley, Idaho. In the foreground were cabins and meadows, pole and rail fences. Tom and I were on our way on Wednesday, the day off from plant survey chores, to take a hike. We turned off the highway (75) onto the road leading to Stanley Lake (elevation 6,500 ft, located near the base of the Sawtooth Range) and parked in the hikers’ parking lot. A couple of hundred feet up the road was the start of our trail, obviously very popular and wide, but nonetheless, offering a
 journey into some backcountry. Horses and bikes are also allowed on the trail, which goes through big, green meadows for about a mile, offering lovely views of the mountains. Pausing for more than a few seconds meant being food for mosquitoes though.

I saw wild strawberry plants, a few columbine, some tall shooting stars, the first of some white Mule’s Ears that would soon fill one meadow, lupine, tall penstemons, and yellow paintbrush. Paintbrush is semi-parasitic to adjacent plants (something I just learned). The bright reds and yellows are actually bracts, while the flower itself is very inconspicuous.

Many people were hiking this trail, including about 10 people from my group. Our destination was only two miles up the path. Some went on to the upper falls, although we later learned that involved a rather difficult stream crossing and that the fall was a misty fall, rather than roaring. Another group took a 14-mile round-trip trail that ended in snow and a frozen lake, plus one chilly lake that the two youngest people ventured to jump into. Our trail was nearly flat for the first mile and then climbed 300 feet.

When we arrived at a high point we met a couple who said they’d turned around when they found out about the crossing and had been told to come back to this spot and follow some ducks (cairns) that marked a side trail to the large stream. We hiked about a quarter of a mile and were soon in an area of polished granite and pines, reminding me of the Trinity Alps, Castle Crags and the Sierras. Purple penstemons were a bright contrast to the smooth granite protrusions.

We met a few people from the survey and exchanged information as well as taking requested photos. Suddenly I began to feel a strong need for food, getting a bit wobbly on the edge of the drop-off. We sat down to eat lunch in the shade of some boulders, out of the sun’s heat. After lunch we explored along the rim and discovered more sites from which to view the rushing stream below. There were numerous falls, white with foam, although no dramatic cascades.

I think we were the last of our group to hike out. Whenever we stopped we tried to find shade to stand in and a slight breeze was quite welcome. When we met others coming in we all spoke of our hands waving to ward off mosquitoes. Still, it was a beautiful hike. Along with all the wildflowers I noticed aspen, Douglas fir, hemlock, lodgepole pine, spruce and I think white fir. And in one spot along a meadow area I spotted a very small bird entering a hole in a snag, about four feet above the ground. When it came out its beak held fecal material. I think it may have been a pygmy nuthatch although I couldn’t stay long enough to watch it come out the second time because of the mosquitoes. We were so ready for happy hour and dinner that night!

Tuesday

What a day! I’m trying to eat bigger breakfasts, now knowing all the energy needed to make it through the day and still have a functioning brain. Had granola with yogurt on it, some pieces of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and coffee.

First, we drove down the road about a half-mile, including the long driveway, and then started hiking up the opposite side of the river. I made sure to take my hiking sticks along on this trip. About a quarter of a mile was difficult—a slope of loose rock with some sage cover but if you slipped you’d have a good chance of ending up in the very swift river. It was also with this trip that I started wearing my boots instead of shoes. Then we came out on an open flat—short sagebrush, grasses and some wildflowers—Bitterroot, phlox, buckwheat, etc. And two small broomrape plants that were growing on a large ant mound. The ant mounds here are like a pile of sand about 2 ½ feet across and six inches high at the center. The wind was strong the whole time. I had no use of my camera all day because I had neglected to recharge the battery the night before.

This area hadn’t been grazed in a long time except by wild horses during the winter, a small band. There were also droppings of elk and deer, which are numerous in the winter. We could look upstream and see the Greenfire building. After running two transects we made our way back to the rocky slope and went to our home base for lunch. Immediately after lunch we split into two groups with one going to run more transects similar to the day before and our group, which went to someplace entirely different.

Once again we drove up winding, dusty roads and then along a very bumpy road with rocks to be skirted or carefully driven across. I was glad it wasn’t my car! This trip including fording a small, v-shaped gully that actually had water in it. It was surprising to me to see water out in the middle of all this sagebrush and dust. Riding in Pam’s Subaru Forester made me miss my old one that was totaled a couple of years ago. These cars have good road clearance and my car and I had seen many miles together.

We drove up into a forested area and could see mountains beyond that still had splotches of snow. It was quite lovely. And it was exciting to see conifers that weren’t juniper! The elevation was about 7,500 feet. A little stream about three feet across, lined by willows and I think some aspen, paralleled the road. In one area there was dark green grass, dotted with iris. It seemed to me that a beaver might be happy there. The way the conifers grew in the folds of the sage-green hills gave an almost alpine look to our surroundings. Pam sang out, “The hills are alive with the sound of…..”

We opened, then closed, a gated fence and wandered on foot through a wetland area that had been impacted by cattle, before going back through the gate and running one transect.

As we were driving away from this site we saw our first sage grouse that flew a short distance before landing—those in the lead car saw four take off and we saw one. Great fun to see the “critters” whose habitat we were surveying. Lively discussions ensued at dinner, along with much laughter. I was able to shower and wash my hair before heading toward my sleeping bag. Hadn’t brought a blow drier but was able to borrow one. Walking in the moonlight toward my tent I was sure I saw a small rabbit.

Monday

First day of volunteering! Breakfast was tasty but I soon learned I needed to eat much more on succeeding days in order to have enough energy for the job. Coffee was camp coffee made in a very large pan. We put a small strainer over our cups to filter out the grounds, sometimes a cooperative effort. Donna was leading a bird watch at 6:15 but I skipped that in order to get my sleeping bag and other damp items thrown over the clothesline to dry. I put the foam pad on a bench on one of the porches hoping the heat of the day would dry it. After breakfast I put together my lunch and filled my water jug. We loaded up at 8:00.

Donna was driving her car to the site as were several others. The first half of the day would be devoted to teaching us how to do the surveys. The road was very dusty and bumpy, winding through rolling hills of sage. We drove probably 15 miles to get to the site, then parked and walked off into open sage (foolishly I left my water jug in the car). We learned how to run four different kinds of transects. I worked with three others using the Daubenmire frame, a plastic rectangle that we put down alongside our 50 foot-tape every 2 meters. Within that frame we estimated the percent of each of the kinds of plants (most new to me), the amount of bare soils, rocks, gravel and litter as well as measuring the height of the tallest grass, forb, and shrub (nearly always sage). There was a lot kneeling down and standing up. It was quite hot by lunchtime when we made our way back to the cars –and my wonderful jug of water. I was grateful for someone letting me drink from one of their water bottles out in the field. We saw a golden eagle fly over where we were working.

After lunch we drove to another site—also dusty and bumpy. Here we did the same projects but mostly on our own. This time I took my water jug! From here there was a lovely view of the Lost River Mountains off in the distance (top photo). Some had snow on them. The tallest mountain in Idaho is a part of this range, Borah Peak, elevation 12,662 feet.

Indian Paintbrush

Sage Grouse Scat

We were going back toward the cars to head home when I stumbled across some pellets on the ground. I knew they weren’t elk although there were plenty of elk droppings among the sage. And I was sure they weren’t deer. Our leader told me they were sage grouse! I was so proud of myself! : ) Proof of the existence of the bird. Of course I took a picture.

As we were driving out we saw a nighthawk huddled down on top of a fencepost. Usually seen during the evening hours this one was perched in broad daylight. Such a funny face it has.

The wind had picked up and was quite strong at our last site and I began to worry about the things I’d left on the clothesline. The wind blew a lot most of the time we were in Idaho and I was thankful my husband had insisted on using large pegs on my tent instead of my backpacking pegs. When we got back I rushed to the clothesline to see whether my belongings were still there. They weren’t. I peered over the steep bank down to the river and couldn’t see anything there. Others were also concerned about their belongings. It turned out that one of the Great Old Broads who had been cooking our meals came out and rescued our things as the wind whipped through and had put them in a downstairs recreation room. Whew! I carried the foam pad out into the sunlight, took a quick shower, and went upstairs for happy hour. Dinner was spaghetti with the sauce including portobello mushrooms that someone had brought, French bread, and salad. I noticed that food had risen to a prime position in my value system.

Before going to bed I sat outside the tent in my folding chair. At 9 p.m. it was still light enough to write in my journal.

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I knew nothing about sage grouse before I came to Idaho to work on this volunteer project. But I’ve learned a lot. I knew only that the males puff themselves up and strut about in an area called a lec, to attract and breed with the females. Lecs are returned to year after year. They don’t have to be large but may be as large as 40 acres, depending on the number of males present. Lecs need to be in an area where females are willing to nest. The females prefer sites with some tall sagebrush and dense grass. Sage grouse need large landscapes, sometimes more than 230 square miles although if all their seasonal needs are nearby they don’t need as much acreage. The birds don’t fly much but walk and take short flights. They thrive with lecs that are surrounded by lands with less than 14 percent development. Also, a study in eastern Oregon showed that leks will not be established if conifer cover is more than 4 percent.

After hatching, the young are taken to upland sites that are more open and have a mix of sagebrush, grasses and forbes (they eat insects on the forbes). A study in Oregon found sage grouse chicks ate 34 genera of forbs and 41 families of invertebrates. The chicks particularly favor ants and beetles.. Info from the Sage Grouse Initiative. Clutch size is six to 10 eggs and those laid earlier in the season are more numerous than those laid later.

In summer they look for areas with more moisture–wetlands, irrigated areas, farm lands, or sage patches that have recently burned. In the fall they move toward their winter range, finding places with less snow and lots of sagebrush for food and shelter. In winter they eat sagebrush leaves. Sagebrush, which also provides shelter, must cover 10-40 percent of the habitat.

In the high desert sagebrush areas, cattle are often found on grazing allotments on Bureau of Reclamation (BLM) lands. Usually ranchers use these allotments so they can grow alfalfa on their private land for winter food for their stock. These dry lands require many acres to support livestock. For the sage grouse this can sometimes be a habitat problem. In addition, the grouse don’t do well with fences, and mortalities are common when a bird flies into an unseen fence. According to the Idaho Department of Fish and Game, grouse collisions occur at “roughly one strike per mile of fence” and are particularly common during the breeding season. Placing wooden posts between segments no more than four yards long is helpful.

“Marking fences reduced collisions by 83%.” Fences in the study were marked with vinyl undersill that included reflective metallic tape. Collisions still occurred if the fences were closer than 1.2 miles from an active lec.

Although there has been concern that populations were receding, cooperative efforts between ranchers, government agencies and others are believed to be sufficient to stabilize and/or grow the numbers of these interesting birds.

A loud, frightening roar woke me from a deep sleep—like the roar of a waterfall– and I sat upright in my tent. What? My rational mind clicked on and I thought it must be a cloudburst from a violent thunderstorm. But moonlight still shone along the side of the tent. Oh, great. The automatic sprinklers had gone on.

I could hear voices outside as others woke and tried to deal with whatever chaos this had caused in their lives. There were at least five tents scattered along the edge of the large lawn, most pitched next to shrubs that would give afternoon shade. We’d been told that the caretaker had been asked to turn the sprinklers off. Well, they were definitely on. I hurriedly unzipped the screen and rainfly, grabbed my boots and large duffle bag that I’d left outside and tossed them, dripping, toward the back of the tent.

Snuggling back down into my sleeping bag, I felt secure in the knowledge that I was dry as long as I didn’t open the doors again. But it was hard to try to go back to sleep with that ch-ch-ch sound followed by a light spray and then a thunderous roar as the larger spray hit. After about an hour I felt dampness on my pajamas. Yikes! Water had apparently pooled on my ground-cloth, seeped through the floor, seeped through the three inch foam pad (extra material my husband had brought to maybe add to the trailer mattress but turning into a luxury item for me in my backpacking tent), and through my sleeping bag. I‘d brought a self-inflating pad since I wasn’t sure about the foam and it was rolled up nearby, so I stretched it out, put it under my sleeping bag and finally went back to sleep.

With the arrival of Monday’s dawn we were all throwing sleeping bags and more over the clothesline strung along the edge of steep banks that dropped abruptly to the river below.

In February I’d signed up for a plant survey with Great Old Broads for Wilderness, an organization I joined two years ago. I’ve not worked on any projects with the group although I’ve helped staff an information table at some events.

Great Old Broads for Wilderness is a national organization that engages and ignites the activism of elders to preserve and protect wilderness and wild lands. Conceived by older women who love wilderness, Broads gives voice to the millions of older Americans who want to protect their public lands as Wilderness for this and future generations. We bring knowledge, commitment, and humor to the movement to protect our last wild places on earth.

We’d taken a couple of days to get to this staging area, about 18 miles from the little town of Challis, Idaho where my husband would be staying in an RV park in our 17-foot Casita trailer. He had joined us for the first evening happy hour and meal and would join us again in the middle of the week for a hike and dinner.

We volunteers were staying at the Western Watershed Project’s Greenfire Preserve, located on the East Fork of the Salmon River. It is a 440-acre parcel, formerly a homestead supporting cattle, being restored to its natural condition. The site has been named from Aldo Leopold’s essay Thinking Like a Mountain, in which he writes about shooting a wolf and watching the “the fierce green fire dying in her eyes”. Today it is an education center where people can learn about properly functioning habitat, attend seminars, and where other gatherings can take place such as research projects and conferences. The elevation here is about 4500 feet. There is no snow though and very little rain. Elk, deer, coyotes and even wolves frequent the area in winter.

Some beds were available, each room with a shower, but a number of us had opted for tents outdoors with the sound of the river to lull us to sleep. Many GOB projects take place under more primitive conditions with campfire cooking and porta-potties, so this seemed somewhat luxurious.

Dinners and breakfasts were provided but we supplied our own lunches. I’d brought a package of bagels, some fruit, and salami—my lunch every day for five days. Water bottles were also a necessity since this was high desert and the days were warm. Coffee was ready at 6:30, breakfast at 7:00, happy hour 5:30 p.m., dinner at 6:00 or 6:30. Sometimes there were discussions about the project after dinner, with most heading for bed soon thereafter although a few stayed up late having deep conversations. I was not one of those.

At 8:00 the morning after our dousing, we were loaded up and starting out on our first project. We would be surveying plants in sage grouse habitat and watching for any adverse grazing effects.