Sometimes you just get a feeling that you should do something different then you planned. We intended to leave Missoula and boogie up to to Coeur d’alene, unsure of where we wanted to camp. Then we looked at the map and saw that we could travel an historic byway, Route 12 to Lewiston, further south than Coeur d’alene but a phenomenal drive according to guidebooks. The byway follows the path of Lewis and Clark over the Lolo Summit and parallels the Lochsa River for 175 miles. It’s one hell of a drive. We’d been on countless scenic drives at this point but Rt 12 consistently delivers drop dead scenes at every bend in the road. The Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness spans the road on the left side, the third largest wilderness in the lower 48, it is a rugged forest of evergreen and rock outcroppings. We sounded like broken records. Oh my gosh…that’s so beautiful. The light, the rapids, the evergreens and deep wide valleys. At one point, we were the only vehicle on the road when Mark and I both spotted a full grown bull moose with a gigantic rack ambling on the side of the road. We screeched to a halt as fast as we could with a 1500 lb trailer behind us and went running down the road. He was in a copse of trees and we ogled him for awhile before a tractor trailer came speeding by, scaring him back into deep brush. These serendipitous wild life sightings are so satisfying. It feels like a gift, a rare window into the natural world. I can’t quite explain it, but I’m better for it.
Halfway through, we decided to pick a hike and stretch our legs. In a turnout off the highway, Warm Springs trailhead began over a magnificent wood suspension bridge and disappeared into the forest. I had read there were hot springs back here but I had no idea how far. I was cresting a rise when I looked back to wait for Mark and saw steam rising from a pool below the hill I was standing on. We navigated a steep trail down and there was a series of small hot pools with the deepest and hottest being right below a natural spring. The temp had to be 115 degrees, but a side trickle of the ice cold creek was streaming into the pool as well and the mix made for a perfect hot tub temperature. I knew I wanted to go in but I was not prepared, The day was warm but I was in layers. A few rangers had told us they weren’t fans of the myriad hot springs in the west as communicable diseases and pathogens were possible. I knew that would be enough to keep Mark out of them but I wavered. For about one minute. I stripped down and hopped in. It was ridiculously idyllic. I was out of my mind with contentment. In all my years, I would never had thought I would find myself lounging in a natural hot spring in a remote valley with a sparkling picturesque stream rushing by. There was not a town or development within 50 miles. I realized this was a spot frequented by many but it felt like I’d stumbled upon a secret wonder and I was taken by it. It was a moment of pure joy.
Unfortunately, Lewiston was a disappointment after coming off the road. The first thing you see upon approach is a huge paper mill and the accompanying odor forces you to roll up the windows. It was jarring, going from bucolic wonderland to industrial city and belching paper factories. Our campground, 4 outside the city, had an intriguing and appropriate name: Hell’s Gate Campground. It bordered the calm Snake River and was a decent place to lay our heads for the night. We slept well and were gone in the morning. We both agreed that the one nighters were just midpoints to get us distances, but they felt wasted, like missed opportunities. Hell’s Gate was at the entrance to Hell’s Canyon, the deepest canyon in North America. That’s right, deeper than the Grand Canyon! The only way to access it is by boat and at this time of year, those were only available on weekends. We put it on our list of things to do next time.
We realized that we wanted to set up camp and stay put longer. We were wrestling with the conundrum of wanting to see it all and needing to make a home for awhile. It’s my birthday in a few days and I’m pumped to celebrate in the mountains of Northern Washington. Next stop: the Cascades.