When the girl was fourteen, her mother let her paint her
bedroom. The girl selected a bright, sky
blue—a color so vibrant her mother suggested she might regret it. It was called Cerulean Blue. But she never regretted it; each time she
sought the solitude of her room and closed the door, her world at once became
vast and serene. It was her first
glimpse of independence and freedom.
*
Greetings Dear Reader from the Spring Creek OHV parking lot
in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area; as I type, there are heavy, dark
clouds out Beagle’s west window and, out the east window, giant puffy white
clouds, against a bright, cerulean blue sky, lolling around the tips of the
jagged, snow-streaked mountains. That’s
Idaho for you. Ahh, giant rain drops
just began falling on Beagle’s roof adding a nice bass note to the melodious
creek tumbling along a mere twenty yards away.
Why a parking lot? First,
it is no ordinary parking lot:
It has been a day of changing plans, making good, solid, decisions and living by a few safety rules.
But let’s step back to yesterday for a minute and our
exciting night at Bruneau Dunes State Park.
I arrived early in the day and was delighted to see my reserved pitch
available. After a quick parking job,
Opus and I headed out to hike the dunes.
It was growing hotter by the minute and the air was heavy with
anticipated thunder showers so we stopped and sat on the dock at the small
lake. Looking across the water and up to
the “large” dune (as opposed to the “small” dune as they are labeled at the
park), I watched the wind pick up the top of the dune and reposition the sand,
endlessly changing its shape; there was never a moment when the dune was just
as it was before.
When the wind began to really pick up, I knew the storm was headed our way so we hunkered down in Beagle to watch it take over.
I sat inside, listening to the wind howl, feeling how it buffeted Beagle side-to-side like she was slowly rolling over nice round rocks—she took all mother nature had
to throw at us. I felt safe and protected.
Outside the west window the young tree was blowing wildly; its thin,
tender new branches being thrust one way and then another and all the while the
young, bright green leaves, strong with youth and purpose, tossing fiercely in
the wind, remained firmly attached to their place in the world.
*
Leaving Bruneau Dunes, I made my first good decision of the
day: Carpe Dump’em. Never pass up a nice, clean dump station when
it is on your way out of a campground. So even though it had only been two
nights, I cleaned out the tanks and refreshed my fresh water.
First stop: Silver Creek Preserve. I had been daydreaming
about paddling around in its serene beauty for weeks. I drove directly there, Beagle in tow,
assuming there would be a large parking area at the Visitor’s Center. Driving up the dirt and gravel road, I
noticed a park volunteer working on a trail and so pulled over to ask for
directions. You know me and gravel
roads, we do not get along and I was getting very uncomfortable. He mentioned that the Visitor’s Center is
about another mile up the road and, because I asked, he directed me to the two
places at which I could put in Supina—one was just on the other side of the
single-lane bridge, near where we were standing.
I gazed at the lovely, dark, softly flowing water and noted
the only sounds were those of birds. I
saw no other people on or near the water and made my second good decision: I opted not to put in Supina. It was too lovely, really, the thin channel
of dark green water and tall reeds; Supina with her bright white and aqua colors
would ruin it. Plus, just the thought of
turning on my obnoxiously loud air pump in the midst of such serenity made me cringe.
To top it all off, the drive to Silver Creek brought me
within striking distance of the Sawtooth Mountains and they were calling me
loud and clear; I could see them in the distance with their sharply etched
peaks greedily holding on to the record snowfall. I am a mountain girl—it was time to get up to
the Sawtooth National Recreation Area and camp in my favorite meadow.
Or not.
Due to the aforementioned record snowfall, my meadow camp
was not open. Here I made a very
un-Kit-like decision: I stopped in at
the ranger station to ask about camping.
To my great disappointment, I learned that none of my planned campgrounds
had opened yet (usually they open on May 15—I never thought to call.) This included my next scheduled stop, Stanley
Lake. The ranger mentioned a couple of
places open past Stanley toward Challis but that was over a pass and at least
another hour or two away. And it was
nearing 3:00—my stop and stay time. Clearly the disappointment and fatigue were playing across my face as her next suggestion was this
spot, the Spring Creek OHV Parking Area, a mere ten miles up the road.
Then came a very Kit-like decision; I didn’t take her
advice. I drove a few miles into a closed,
but not locked, campground and found a spot in which I could maneuver Beagle,
albeit through a bit of snow. After
settling her in just right between tall dark green evergreens, I looked to my
left and saw, twenty yards away, the raging Big Wood River. Welcome to my Arsenio Hall moment: Things that make you go “Hmmmm.” Camping in a closed campground, within twenty
yards of an already raging river during the spring runoff from an epic snow
year? And so, my last and best decision
of the day: I drove out, turned left,
and found the recommended Spring Creek OHV Parking.
As a bonus, a couple who had been in the ranger station with
me have also chosen this spot—I had no idea until I took Opus for a walk—this
“parking area” is a long (at least a quarter mile), wide, gravel area parallel
to Highway 75 but set about fifty yards away, and along the perimeter, facing
the lively creek, six or so half-moon shaped areas have been developed for
times just like this. So the only thing
I can see out any of Beagle’s windows, are mountains, a creek, three-foot snow
banks and an occasional car. It might
not be the day I planned but it is a day of which I have dreampt.
*
When the woman woke, she opened her bedroom door, gazed up at the mountains and into the bright, cerulean blue sky, her world at once vast and serene. Independence and freedom were hers.
