Nine days ago, our crew of five set off on the fifteen-mile stretch of the Selway River Trail that bridges Moose Creek Ranger Station to Shearer Guard Station. Our sixth member and famed leader, Patrick, metamorphosed into a Ponderosa Pine and has been recovering in his hometown of San Diego, California. We wished him well but were unsure when he would make his return. Shearer will be our new home until September, a downgrade from Moose Creek Ranger Station, but a home with a “quiet sort of home about it,” or so Peyton says. A trip off the gated boundary of Moose Creek R.S. means surging into wilderness. The motor-powered wheelbarrows that mark our movement around the compound now lie woefully abandoned in the wooden barn along the edge of the fence, along with our helium pack support balloons and our supply of simple machines.

Then, of course, there’s Pete the Packer, a mule-whispering, straw hat-wearing magician who delightfully offered to pack the team out to our first camp at Rattlesnake Bar. A 7.7-mile trek.

Each team member, now armed with tools enough to brush our way there, headed south past the mule pen and gnome castles on a trail that led us into dense greenery with thimbleberries and ferns that reached up to grab our hands. All around were the blackened husks of the canopy that once was.

Not long after the fence of our forgotten shrunk out of view entirely, did we break through the lush field to where the trail sloped down along the ridgeline. Now in front of us was the grand Selway River Valley. At this time of year, the snowmelt has stopped almost entirely, and the river, no longer fed by those temporary rushing streams, slows, taking its time to meander over the rocks below. Across the valley, the dark grey and yellow rock faces peek out boldly in between the towering ponderosas.

As we walk along the ridge and the morning grows old, the sun is oppressive, yelling its taunts down from above. I think it’s angry at us for killing the brush it nourishes so well.

It’s not long before we hear the strong swish swish of mule wings that gaze life upward to wonder as their powerful wings thrust them onward to our destination. At the helm is Peter the Packer, calling out his spells.

We plunge forward deeper into the brush, take our lunch break in a grove of trees that provides lovely shade, before pushing further. Step by step is the way. Finally, to our right is a break in the brush where a tricky rattlesnake is awaiting us. It takes some haggling and two riddles to be solved, of course, but she lets us pass to enter the Rattlesnake Bar. We are tired, we are hungry, and we are eager to meet the coming days.