Journey Day 378 | CDT Day 41
My three companions pose as we try to find our way into the Idaho trail section.
7/23/87
Up and out of camp, we're soon at intersection in the cold, clear morning. We go back to a sunny spot for a break. After thoughts, we go right on shorter route. About 500 feet up, we see a truck down at a crossroads take the other fork and disappear. So we hike on. They end up ahead, fog descends, making mist and cold - no more looks back at the Divide we abandoned.
Cow pasturing, strange bird screeching in the mist. Come upon others talking with a rancher on a horse. He's little aid, but soon after at a break, a truck with three young guys picks us up and we're in Wisdom after a bumpy ride in the gateless flatbed, cold wind buffeting us.
Out happily, we head for late breakfast and I overeat. Fight consumer urge and exit overpriced market with candy bars and lemonade mix. Down the street and out to crossroads. Old man curious, but no ride, assures us we'll have no problem hitching to Jackson, so of course we do have considerable problems. The sun grows hotter, trucks, cars, etc. fly by. No luck. Write letters to pass what seems longer, but is over two hours, before two guys take us six miles to the entrance to the entrance to the Huntley Ranch, where they work.
We sit two hours more with our patience dwindling and our skin scorching as the day goes away. Finally we get a ride as Laurie sets her deadline to begin marching. So we're into Jackson. I even have a letter to Grama finished and mailed and one to Eric started. Another meal in Rose's Cantina, where we munch, break ice with the proprietors. Enjoying our burgers when Tom Clemow, 79, lifetime Jacksonite, joins us and we convince him to carry us out. He's a nice, old fellow, who talks with Rose and a sanitarian involved in tonight's town meeting over an illegal discharge of sewage into the creek. He leaves to borrow a pick-up with room for us in the bed from his brother-in-law. We talk with proprietors, sanitarian until he shuttles us out to waiting flatbed. I ride up front and we begin dialog. He still has interest in Clemow spread, which surrounded Jackson Ranch. We witness haying by Jackson hands, including Mrs. Jackson, who is lead raker despite her setegenerian rating, according to Clemow.
Tom Clemow overseeing haying in 1987.
I have a great time watching as Clemow commentates. Then back into the rig for tour past current and past spread, as Clemow (There have been six generations of Clemows in Jackson) smokes cigars and steers.
I sat with Tom Clemow as he drove us back to the trail.
We stop at Miner Lake Campground, visit with Ken Johnson, host for a spell, but he's of little help. Up ever bumpier road to roadblock as Clemow lectures me on northside exposure's advantages for timber growth.
We part, he drives off. Find camp down ridge nearer creek. Pitching when Carl drips gas bottle on me, pissing me off. I steam, finish pitching in funk. Inside tent, I organize, read ahead and cool down. Route sounds good ahead. Then update with beer, bread. Maybe read. Definitely sleep...
