WHITEBIRD to Brownlee Campground, down 95 along the Salmon and Little Salmon Rivers. Oh, that Salmon River Valley! Steep hillsides swoop down on either side, their evergreen-crowned summits giving way to open, wildflower paved lower slopes. Sometimes the hills swoop across, only to knuckle under and end abruptly in a ribbed knob, like the paws of some gigantic beast. 

In Council I found a really well stocked grocery, where I replenished my dwindling supplies. The road turns slightly west from there, leaving the river valley and running through a broad valley, then up into drier, broadly hilly terrain. The last few miles toward Brownlee follow state route 71, a twisty, winding road that descends toward the Brownlee Dam. The campground lies a few miles above the dam, along a small creek under towering ponderosa pines, with their deeply etched bark. I am nearly alone at the campground, as the holiday weekend is over.

However, that isolation included no cell service, and I needed to let Russ know where I was. At the recommendation of the camp rangers, I headed back the way I’d come. Before I found a cell signal, I passed a wildlife management area and decided to take a look. The dirt road passes through open grazing land, up to some spectacular views of the mountains to the north. But no cell signal.

So back to the main road. I had to drive 13 miles back the way I’d come to get a message out to Russ. Hoping he would get it, I returned to camp, and took the boys for a short walk before dinner. There is no sound here but the birds and the creek. Perfect!

The next day, despite some drizzle, I set out on a trail that led up through forested slopes to open meadows. Wildflowers in every hue carpeted the margins of the trail, and grew in profusion across the open meadows.

The rain stopped just before I decided to turn back, where I promptly took the wrong road. Fortunately, the road I chose led back to the camp, but much closer to the main road. Along the way I passed the burial site of a small girl who had perished on her family’s journey along the Oregon Trail.  Nothing but the blackened stump of a huge ponderosa pine (and the park sign) remains to mark the spot.

Back at camp, the day had turned sultry, and the pups and I settled in for a nice nap, to await the cool of the evening. A quick supper, some reading, and then bed.

Next morning was bright and sunny, so I set out again up the trail, to photograph the profusion of wildflowers in a better light.

I discovered the biggest puffball mushroom I’ve ever seen—this thing was the size of a soccer ball! I also discovered there was about a 50-yard stretch of trail where I could get messages. To my relief, Russ was fine, and heading my way.

I may have gotten over-enthusiastic in the bright sunshine: At yesterday’s turnaround, I decided to head further up the mountain, and while the scenery was great, I over-extended myself and poor old Scooby, who had to be carried in my backpack for a while. When my back gave out, we all took a breather in the shade.

It was a struggle to get back to camp and to Russ, who must have arrived half an hour after I set out on my hike. I was so hot that I simply marched past him, shedding clothes along the way, until I reached the creek and waded straight in (did I mention there was no one else in the whole campground at that point?). Freezing cold water never felt so good! I was glad I’d thought to put my spare water jug in the creek—it too was nice and cold.