“Soon I am standing in the direct rays of the sun,
and gazing out over the world“
You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, they say. And that truth rings in my ears. I’m a fair-weather hiker, but I wasn’t always. A few years in Ohio, North Carolina, and even Afghanistan left me longing for the pine-covered mountains, and freshwater lakes, rivers and streams of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho that I grew up with, but never truly took advantage of. It was this longing, this realization of missed opportunities, that inspired my first real backpacking trip—planned from overseas, and executed right here in North Idaho. When I finally made my way back to Coeur d’Alene to stay, it was with a new respect for what we have, and a new desire to experience it.
I hike the Penn/Cave loop on Canfield Mountain. I don’t have much time today, and this is a favorite. Pressing forward up the trail, I soon find myself bathed in more and more sunlight as the trees grow less dense. Ahead is a corner I know well. It will take me to the ridgeline and to a favorite view point. My pace quickens as I approach, knowing I’ll rest at the top. Rocks, dirt and pine needles slide and grind beneath my feet as I round the corner. Soon I am standing in the direct rays of the sun, and gazing out over the world. Gazing down as though I were somewhere in the sky. Below, the forest gives way to city streets and structures. A hawk floats on thermal winds, drifting, drifting, until finally it glides low and is lost in the dark green backdrop of the opposing mountain side. In the distance, Lake Coeur d’Alene sparkles under the summer sun. The white sail of a small boat stands bright against the water. Beyond the lake are more mountains, more trees; more of what keeps me here.
A few wild flowers grow in the shade of a large ponderosa pine among tender blades of fresh grass. Finding a safe plot, so as not to crush the flowers, I lower myself to the grass and recline against the broad trunk. The air is clean up here. I fill my lungs with it, my heart thumps in my chest, sending nature’s medicine throughout my body. I feel lighter, as if the air has washed away a layer of something heavy and unwanted, like shale slipping off a hillside. Slight perspiration dampens my face, my forehead, cooling me in the light breeze flowing up from the valley. The scent of dry needles, wild grass, and warm pine sap carried on the updraft brings images of my youth, the way an old song takes one back to a specific time and place; so many summer days at the beach. Tubbs Hill, where I overcame my fear of heights; trips across the lake in a friend’s boat; camping with family. Every place has its own smell, and these scents bring only images of Coeur d’Alene to my mind.
Clasping my hands behind my head, I close my eyes, and listen to nature awhile. Insects, birds, scratching in the undergrowth. I recognize all of these sounds, and am comfortable with them. I drink some water before continuing along the route.
I meet three deer on the trail today, and bid a soft “Hello” to each. And each one steps off the path, into the trees only a few yards. I give a short whistle as I approach and pass—it’s just enough to engage their curiosity, keep them from bolting away.
On my descent down ‘A’ to Cave, I’m scolded by a short tempered squirrel. He’s close. I can see the wind escape his throat as he complains. I’ve not considered it before, but the squirrel is actually barking. This strikes me as funny, and I can’t help but to laugh. “Poor fellow,” I say to the squirrel, who stops barking and looks at me a moment. “No wonder you’re so sensitive. That’s quite an embarrassing bark you’ve got there.” Apparently it’s a touchy subject, for he scurries off through the brush and up a tree, berating me worse than before. You can only imagine the insults. I move on. Sticks and stones, they say. Sticks and stones.
Story continues after a quick message from our sponsor below.
Last summer my wife and kids took me to their favorite new discovery at Q’emiln Park, in Post Falls. We’ve been to the park many times before as a family. Sometimes it was simply to enjoy the variety in the trails and terrain—my favorites are those trails that wind over rocky hill tops, or follow the ledges of high cliffs. Other times it was to travel the low canyon trails in search of a suitable route for rock climbing, or rappelling. Always, it seems, there are friendly faces and kind greetings at the climbing routes.
In the late spring and early summer, we’ve found the tremble in the ground as we approached the open dam makes the heart race a bit. Moss grows thick upon the rocky paths and ledges that lead down to, and along the river. Before we ever see it, we feel and hear the roar of the enormous rush of water that crashes through the dam and pounds down upon the jetsam of boulders left in the wake of the destructively powerful waters of the past. White spray rises high into the air, masking the destructive power in its simple beauty. Yet, the caution signs, bent and distorted from years of abuse, seem to hint at the truth; it’s dangerous to get off the path.
It’s mid-summer when my family leads me in the direction of the dam. The excitement showing in their countenances, and the sense of urgency with which we travel, draws me onward. They’ve been planning this day for several weeks, and I’m secretly hoping I’m not let down.
I am not. With the dam closed to a mere trickle, the river channel has become a wonderland, a boulder strewn playground of natural obstacles and deep, clear pools. Fish swim casually about as we leap in with them, and the birds fly about in the rocky cliffs above us, as though we weren’t there. We easily spend the rest of the day here, exploring caves and following fish through the maze-like waterway, playing hide-and-go-seek, taking photos, and warming ourselves on the sun heated rocks.
We are all worn out as we make our way back to the trailhead. On the ride home, we recount the day’s events. It’s quickly decided; this will be a new family tradition. We’ll hike to this place every year, at least once, and spend the day. And we’ll keep searching for more of these amazing spots.
Although the greater Coeur d’Alene area has become well known for its many triathlons, marathons, trails races, and even its Ironman, one does not have to be a triathlete, or even a runner, to live a happy and healthy lifestyle so easily accommodated by our surroundings.
By Toby Reynolds
As Featured In: Summer/Fall 2014