Over the Salmon River valley

What is a road trip, someone wrote a couple of days ago, without a side trip down a dirt road? I agree, although this time it was UP a dirt road. Beside the Salmon River (60 km north of home), I followed a road, paved for the first hundred metres or so, up into the hills, past a few small homesteads, up to the logged-off sidehill.

There I stopped, because there were warning signs beside the road: "This Road is No Longer Maintained", and a creek crossed the road, making a deep ditch. I pulled off as far as I dared, in case of other traffic (not likely, but you never know), and went for a walk.

Peaceful valley. Looking west, towards the late-afternoon sun.

Waiting for spring.

Up on the hill, my patient Toyota waits beside slash piles ready for burning.

One of the slash piles.

After a site is logged off, forestry companies pile all the slash in these large mounds, like enormous anthills. Sometime in the fall or winter, they may be burned, to reduce the risk of them fueling a forest fire. I watched them doing this a few years back when the forests were already burning; crews were busily reducing the heaps of dry logs to ash. No sense leaving dry fuel in the path of an oncoming forest fire.

Above all the destruction and waste of the logged area, Mount H'kusam floats serene.

What I found up there, I'll tell you tomorrow.

Rain, mist, misty greens.

The fall rains have arrived. And very welcome, too!

Sunday afternoon. Rain, off and on. And the logging trucks are off the roads. I found a Forest Service road at Berry Creek, dropping down from the hills over Upper Campbell Lake, and drove up about 4 km, until the road got too rough for my little car. When it stopped raining for a few minutes, I would get out and walk.

From my first stop, looking back downhill. The orange pipes are an old gate, now rusted too much to be used, I think.

It is peaceful up there, away from the highway. The only sounds are the wind tiptoeing through the branches, the gravel or scree crunching under my slow tires, and the occasional cry of a woodpecker. I drove with the windows down as often as possible, just listening. And breathing; cool, moist, rain-scented air. I found myself grinning like an idiot as I drove.

Second stopping point, looking back over the highway I'd come from.

Higher up, the road followed Berry Creek, far below. I could hear the water rumbling along far down in the valley, but even leaning as far as I dared over the cliffside, I could see no sign of it.

Creek valley to the left, Upper Campbell Lake at the bottom.

Another car passed me as I was stopped at a wide spot in the road. And re-passed me, going downhill now, at the next stop. The driver and passenger were grinning like idiots, too.

Up near the top, where the road is extremely steep, the rain had chosen the middle of the road to make itself a new creek, washing away the small stones and gravel, leaving the bones of the mountain to hammer at mufflers. I crawled along at 5 kmh until I found a flattish spot, turned around and crept back down, foot on the brake all the way.

And still grinning.