We had all been itching to get out there. As crew leaders, most of our training so far had consisted of classroom modules, going over policies, logistics, safety, first aid, emotional wellbeing, and much more. All essential, but there’s only so much you can learn in a room. We signed up to spend most of our time far from civilization, sweating hard, sleeping irregularly, smelling worse than ever, and just having an all around great time.

Our first tech training hitch certainly delivered. Throughout the week, we got a great deal of practice with crosscuts, axes, and chainsaws, as well as a chance to familiarize ourselves with life at camp. Some of us came in with years of practice- others had never touched these tools in their lives. Regardless, every single one of us had something to teach and a lot to learn.

We spent our week along the Selway River in Northern Idaho, a place where every square inch teems with life. In heavily forested areas, radiant moss and lichen erupt from every rock and stump, blanketing the landscape in lush greens and blues. In burn areas, bushes and shrubs dominate in the wake of conifers, the ends of their branches tinged with the first blossoms of spring. Each day we were greeted by the laughter of turkeys, the creeping of snails, and--less fortunately--the malicious wandering of ticks. It was impossible to ignore the abundance of life, or the sense that everything here deserves our utmost respect and stewardship. Aside from maybe the ticks.

The work is similarly tangible. Every time you buck a log, cut down a hang up, or clear out a section of brush, you can immediately see the impact. You can feel it too: in your hands, in your bones, in your slowly recovering muscles. Enough sawdust on your lips that you can quite literally taste it. I have no doubt it’s what brought many of us here, the real and visceral nature of what we do. The work is tough, often frustrating, but there’s a kind of bliss in it too. It comes up in the flawless flow you can reach with a crosscut partner, in the recognition of a tricky bind, and in the humor you might find in the many far-from-perfect cuts you make along the way.

The highlight among highlights might be our life at camp and on breaks. We do our best to stay sharp during the workday, giving our most thorough evaluation of leans, binds, hazards, cuts, and places to grow. During our free time though, things get stupid fast. We all come in a little guarded, anxious about the long week ahead, but just a few days in the littlest things will send us cackling. Seeing like-minded people at their least refined, sharing in the same stink and joy and dirt and serenity and chaos, it’s almost guaranteed to make new friends feel like old ones. Like the rocks in the Selway, time smooths out our rough exteriors, leaving us exposed, but comfortable, and unbelievably silly.

This hitch seemed just long enough to make coming back to Missoula worthy of celebration. Little luxuries mean the world when you’ve gone without them: a shower, a bed, a meal that isn’t dominated by beans or peanut butter. Similarly, I expect our time off will give us space to appreciate immaterial luxuries of our hitches. The deep sense of our place in the vibrant landscapes of the Rockies, and the kind of kinship you only get from trudging through the same muck.