Down in Hells Canyon

We're just back in the land of lawnmowers after 9 days in the wilds of Hells Canyon, on the Oregon/Idaho border, below the snow-capped Seven Devils, our home half-way down into the depths of the Canyon, amidst the gathering roar from the Snake River below. We hiked in over Freezeout Saddle, along with Rick Bombaci, the friend we met last time we travelled here when Becs was five months pregnant with Freya. We'd originally planned to only stay for 4 nights, but bit by bit, despite more rain than they ususally get there in a whole year, we got sucked into the place, and as Rick needed to get back home for a couple of days anyway, we used that chance for Becs to re-stock on food at Imnaha tavern (famous for its rattlesnake stew) the nearest spot - a 12 hour round-trip hike with over an hour's driving in the middle, hole and flood-dodging in Rick's 1970 vw camper, Gus the Bus. Cor was she shattered when she returned, in pouring rain. Still, she was the one who was keen to go! And she got to eat her first ever beef burger.

At each end of the trip we camped at a 'base camp', just below the saddle, but for the main chunk we were on a spur of what's called the bench area, half-way down this 8,000' plus canyon, top to bottom, and, after the first couple of days when we saw a couple of other parties of hikers/riders, completely alone in this vast wilderness. We kept an endless fire going, dragging thick-barked ponderosa pine out of the forest, to keep dried out, warm and fed, as endless bands of rain and respite passed through. And the kids were just amazing, both of them hiking in in their wellies, armed with stories and sun-dances to keep the legs moving, and then out in the open within all that space and mystery in their waterproofs all day long, making up their own ways of just being with wood and leaf and the odd poor beetle (there's a green one F made a special home for, under bark, shelter from the rain, which was still going strong when we left). I don't think we've ever seen them so shining and alive. The only day when we had to retreat to the tents was when a big storm passed through, whirling up along the canyon, bouncing off the crags. It was while Rick was away, and Tom had to sleep in his tent to stop it from taking off. While Becs sang F and K endless Scots songs in the dark night, to keep the wind at bay and the spirits entertained.

Rick has become a true friend. There have been long nights of playing tunes on the fiddle and whistle and recorder and flute, shared worries, and much joy. He is just one of those people who has sharing and caring in his bones - he loves to make others happy (although he also has a very solitary thred, and has done many very long-running solo hikes in wild spots across north america). And he has taken the kids utterly to heart. Freya wants to marry him, though torn in allegiance given her love for Jack, up in the Highlands! He has also completely upped our camp cuisine standards. We've moved from our staples of porridge and cheese-pasta, to fancy dehydrated sauces (he has a machine), and much mustard.

So we're now back in the 'town' (pop 1000) of Enterprise, finding our feet. Both kids hiked out again under their own steam, although Tom had to carry Kai on the stretch to our little base camp, in a rucksack, all tucked up with only a tuft of hair out the top, covered with a bin-liner as protection from the passing downpours, because he was on the second day of a fever - a little nerve-racking given that we were two days from help, but he emerged fine and was full of umph climbing up to the Saddle counting as many different creatures as he was able to spot. He got to 20. And then a beautiful jet-black raven brother passed overhead to say goodbye as we sat on the saddle eating our sandwiches (more mustard), looking back down the Canyon, and forward to the alpine peaks of the Wallowa Mountains. On the way down, close to a bunch of elk prints, we saw clear, massive cougar prints. They are seriously big cats.

And as we find our feet, get used to lots of speaking, and partying (Rick has introduced us to half the town, and the kids were up to 11 last night, in the foothills of the Wallowas, Freya in heaven surrounded by a bunch of teenagers, talking pigs, wedged between a 'very tincy' dachshund and a fat ginger cat) we need to make some decisions over the next couple of days. We returned to an email from our first farm placement, which was to be in Repubulic, Washington State from next week, to find that they've run into a big problem with the hut we were to use. So it's unlikely that we'll go there. We've pondered whether to stay here at Rick's, maybe working on a local farm, for a while longer (he will be much of the time in the mountains, as a ranger over the summer, and we could also join him up there for stints), but our hearts are tugging us north, and we feel sure we'll be linking up with Rick again in thesee times to come. So we've just put out feelers with a bunch of other farms, and checked out wild camping possibilities with Rick. And Becs is up for hitching a ride on a fishing boat to Alaska - we checked out fares on the ferry and it's too extortionate for us all to get up there ...

So, we'll see. But it really does feel that in these past 9 days, out there in Hells Canyon, beginning to feel the space, smell the pine, see the bursts of colour in all the tiny, alpine, flowers, sucking up the sun whenever it poked its nose out, water cascading about us, that our adventure has begun to dig a little deeper.