After nearly five days of battling the germs that someone gave to me, I bucked up enough to drag my sniffly self off the couch and into the woods for a quick snowshoe. With few really good resources online to give us some idea of where to go, Other Half and I figured we’d drive west on Hwy 21 until we saw someone else’s tracks, and follow them. This kind of logic has led me astray many times in the past, so I was betting it’d make good some time. This time was that time.
Spotting a groomed track near the Seafoam turnout, about 17 miles out of Stanley, we parked and set out. The road, we later learned from a couple of Idaho Power guys on snowmobiles, hooks up with Valley Creek road, which runs the length of the basin. About a half mile in, just after crossing Marsh Creek, a sign directed us left, deeper into the woods to Bradley Scout Camp, 3 miles.
Luckily the way had been packed down by snowmobilers, so it was pretty easy going. The trail ascends very gently through the trees for a mile or so, and is traversed by so many legions of animal tracks that I kept whipping around every time a chunk of snow fell from a tree branch.
When we reached the second turn-off (to the right), the route became a bit steeper, as it climbs steadily to the gate marking the entrance of the camp. A left-hand fork here takes you up to the Cape Horn Lakes, which I’ve never been to or heard anything about, but could be a cool detour. It looked steeper and we were (ok, I was) tired and hungry, so we trudged on to the camp, which we smelled before we saw.
Under any other circumstances, picnicking next to a tepid pool of rotten-smelling water would be low on my list of spontaneous romantic experiences. This was no exception. It was kinda gross. Still, the surprise of finding a (stinky) swimming pool in the middle of the woods in the middle of winter was charming, and the concrete provided a dry sunny spot to squat and enjoy lunch. Even the half buried buildings of the silent camp became sweet in their total emptiness, and potential fullness. The shadows of three bare flagpoles stretched across the snow and pointed the way out.
We followed a new set of snowmobile tracks made by the aforementioned Idaho Power workers, looping back to the original groomed road we’d started out on. Crunching back across the bridge, we entered an open meadow where the stunted trees bowed under anthropomorphic clumps of snow. Maybe we’d huffed too much hot-spring smell, but we were like kids seeing animals in clouds, spotting polar bears and giant ballerinas and white elephants lounging about.
In addition to the exercise and vitamin D, I got a little artistic inspiration out of the day. Another check in the pro column for staying in Stanley this winter.
I dig it.