I once faced down a mountain lion with a knife. I’d been living in the Clearwater National Forest about 5 months by then. My days consisted of beautiful sunrises over timber covered mountains, drinking from fresh water springs, and explorative treks that could take all day. I truly felt I was in ‘God’s country.’ I had no guns, only a couple of knives, but I’d come to feel that that was enough.
Everywhere I went, I did so shirtless – human flesh is even quieter than animal hair through the brush. I learned to walk silently, and to be completely aware of my surroundings. I can’t count the number of animals I snuck up on. I had no fear in those days. Nature was a part of me. I was just another form of wildlife, and I wanted to never leave; not only to never return to civilization, but to get far enough from it, that I might forget it even existed. 20 years later, I dread camping.
We head east on I-90 to Big Creek. From there, we head south, keeping on a narrow, but well
maintained gravel road to the top of the mountains, then, drop down the other side into a little place called Lake Elsie. Of course, I recall living in the woods, but that was long ago. The wilderness often seems more foreign than familiar to me now. Where I used to challenge wild dogs that entered my camp in the pitch black of night, I now jump at the sound of squirrels in the undergrowth, and worry that if my cell phone doesn’t get service, I’ll miss some important call. I won’t even begin to explain the extent of my ridiculous paranoia of bears. I never sleep anymore when I’m camping.
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We’re here for my wife’s family reunion. Her sister is up from Texas, and they all thought it would be nice to get out. Although I love her family—and I’m not just saying that because they’ll read this story—truth be told, I am not excited to be here. Unfortunately, I think it’s probably obvious. At home is a pile of work waiting for me, and I’m already behind. Plus, I’ve already got two missed calls from numbers I don’t recognize, and I’m completely unable to call out (I hate camping). On a good note, my sister-and-brother-in-law came up early and set up our tent. At least I don’t have to do that. When did I get like this…?
Grandma and Grandpa have brought 5 kayaks, a canoe, and a rubber raft. It’s not long before the kids are out on the lake with as many cousins as can fit in, or be towed behind, the fleet of watercraft. My wife paddles off in the canoe with her niece and sister, leaving me on the shore. She asked, but I declined. They all look so small against the backdrop of near vertical, rock strewn slopes, and steep tree covered peaks. Their laughter echoes loud off the mountains and through the campground. I smile to hear my children, despite myself. But there’s a quieter voice mingled with theirs. It whispers down through the trees and over the water until it hits me with force. ‘Come’, it says to me alone. I hesitate, then turn and walk back to camp.
At times throughout the year, Lake Elsie is stocked with trout. My son has found a discarded hook and a bit of line. He’s crafted a makeshift rod, and I watch as he kayaks about the lake trying his luck, not because he’s actually trying to catch anything—he hasn’t even baited the hook—but because it gives him a reason to be out there. As I look on, it’s as if I’m watching myself, and when the voice calls again, I simply cannot resist; I strip off my shirt, leap into an empty kayak and paddle out to meet him. An hour later, I’m in the icy water, clinging to the side of his kayak, and apologizing to a trout as I attempt to free it from an abandoned lure by chewing through the line on the hook it has swallowed. It’s a terrible way for a fish to die—pointlessly trapped in it’s own environment with no hope of escape or survival – and I have to try.
The poor trout doesn’t survive. It’s impossible to say how long it’d been fighting. I feel sorry, and my son is heartbroken. He’d rather the creature lived, and we had a happier tale to tell. He decides to have him for supper, so as not to disrespect the fish by leaving him to rot. He takes the fish to a nice place near a stream, where he can clean it with respect. I watch for a moment, then leave him to his tears. I’m happy for him. ‘Come’, I seem to hear, ‘Remember who you are’.
Lake Elsie
The sky brightens long before the sun peeks over the mountains and onto the water. I open my eyes. Above me, through the screen of the tent’s roof, a goldfinch flits about among the high branches of a ponderosa pine. I’ve slept through the entire night. No fear of bears, no walking anyone to the restroom in the dark, not even an uncomfortable root beneath my bed. I feel wonderful. No thoughts of work or cell phones assail me. I only imagine how glassy the lake must be right now, and wonder if there’s a kayak available for me. Later, I’m planning to lead my wife on an exploration to the upper lake. But for now, I’ll explore the water.
The upper lake turns out to not be much of a find. But as I lead us quietly through the unknown with a couple of knives hanging from my belt, I begin to feel like myself again. It’s not like some big realization or lightning strike experience, but more of a warm assurance; I have finally come home. N
If you have not yet been to any of North Idaho’s many alpine lakes, we think it’s time you go. Here are a couple of our favorites, though the decision was difficult. We based our conclusion on location. These three alpine lakes all have access roads that connect to I-90 between the towns of Cataldo and Mullan, Idaho. That means these access roads are all within a 40-minute drive from Coeur d’Alene and close to the Silver Valley. Remember to bring “Denise Lundy’s 10 Essentials for Hiking” from our 2014 Summer/Fall issue. Also, there are no dumpsters on site at most, if not all, of our alpine lakes. If you pack it in, you pack it out. Please come prepared to keep our beautiful wilderness clean.
LAKE ELSIE:
No hiking involved to reach the campsite or lake. Restroom on site. Pack it in, Pack it out. No dumpsters on site. Bring water.
- I-90 East to Big Creek
- South on Big Creek Rd.
- Slight right at ‘Y’
- Continue on until reaching the camp site
CRYSTAL LAKE:
Drive to trailhead. Restroom at trailhead. Steep, 2 mile descent on foot (meaning, steep 2 mile climb out). Challenging. A few primitive campsites available; first come, first serve.
- I-90 East to Cataldo
- Latour Creek Rd. South
- Right onto Rochet Saddle Rd. to Trailhead
STEVENS LAKES:
Drive to trailhead. Restroom at trailhead. Steep 2.2 mile ascent on foot (meaning 2.2 mile descent out). Challenging. Lower Stevens Lake at 2.2 miles. Extra challenge to reach Upper Stevens Lake.
- I-90 East to second exit for Mullan, and left on Atlas Rd.
- Right onto Friday Ave to Willow Creek Rd.
- Willow Creek Rd. East to trailhead
“Being prepared, using common sense, and having a good attitude should get you through whatever nature throws your way.” – Denise Lundy
By Toby Reynolds
As Featured In: Winter/Spring 2015