Oh hello again, wind.

There were no windblocks up on the rim. The wind started and stopped throughout the night, and about 2am came back with a vengeance.

Today was to be a purely road day, but it wouldn’t be an easy one on the feet. The mud had hardened part way – then cattle, elk, mule deer, and pronghorn walked through the clay-like mud, churned it up into a jumbled mess right before it solidified into hard ridges.

Did I tell you I saw a herd of elk yesterday? They were majestic! And large herds of pronghorn too. This morning, a group ran around and around in the hills off to the right, maybe just for the love of it.

Was I out here walking for the love of it? Yes,  but it’s hard to love all the moments… like when I twist my foot weird on the jumbled and uneaven mud road.

Oh, then there was the coyote! I look back to see a handsome fella maybe 20 yards away. He has a thick whitish, gray, creamy coat and doesn’t notice me, then walks over to the road, poops, and carries on. So there is poop mixed into the hard mud I’m walking on as well. I play dodge the poop. In fact, there is so much poop it reminds me of the Oregon desert.

I look at my maps and see that today is the day I will walk back down into the canyon for the night. A dirt road into Indian Hot Springs is the easiest place to access the Breneau River in the whole hike, but easy is all relative. Thank goodness I’m on foot because I would probably have a heart attack if I had to drive it, or was even in the car with someone else driving it. In short: don’t drive it.

Back to the map. I also see that I could add in a little cross-country hiking and cut off 3-4 miles of road walking. I’m game, let’s go!

There was lots of evidence of fires in this desert…in some areas the sagebrush was entirely gone and replaced with grasses (easy walking), and other times the sagebrush grew thick (sharp and pokey walking). On my cross country jaunt, I hoped for the first, but as luck would have it, i got both. Before i knew that, my plan had been to hike cross country a mile to meet an old road for another 1.5ish miles to another road, which would take me another 3 miles to the river.

All was going well until it was time to find the old road. There was no old road. And it’s extremely unusual to find a road in the desert that has been completely reclaimed… especially in an area of thick sagebrush. This road would have had to predate the growing of this sagebrush.

I grunted.

At one point in the now two-mile bushwack, it’s impossible to keep a stright bearing in this kind of landscape because I am weaving in and around the sharp pointy everything, I see by my app that I’m right on the old road grade. But there is nothing. Later, a certain hint of patterns in the sage stop me, and I notice an old rusty tin can. The old road! Always the tin cans.

I finally emerged onto a dirt road that is so braided and wide that four trucks could be driving side by side. Year after year, trucks must have slid around in the mud and rocks, making this monstrosity in the desert. 

I walk this veritable highway and note that I’m supposed to be dropping suddenly into the river canyon, but I look all around and can’t see the canyon. Desert rivers can be sneaky like that. It’s flat, flat, flat, then boom! 700 foot drop off to a river below. The other side? Flat, flat, flat for 100 miles.

That was today walking down to the Breneau River.

I pick my way down the panic-inducing road and turn a corner to see some ATVs next to an old abandoned truck. I walk up expecting some questions, I haven’t seen another human since the start, but I pass by without receiving so much as a glance.

At the bottom, I see several choices of roads and another BLM kiosk. I must say, again, Idaho BLM, you do a good job of recreation infrastructure. I’ve passed several intact map kiosks along the route, and the fact that these signs are intact continues to be impressive.

I take the road that heads into the trees, hoping to find a camp. And I do! The river is running a muddy shade of brown. I am camped just downstream of the Jarbidge and Breaneu confluence, and the two rivers pump up the volume… this section is popular with rafters and boaters, too. I don’t see any boats though, the periodic hail and grapple storms I’ve been walking through today tell me the mountains are probably locking up and adding to the snow in the high country. After the next warm spell, though, or rain on snow event, and boom! Boating season!

Then: pitch camp, filter water, and into the tent for some R & R.