During the summer of 2017, Alex and I (Eric) humped too-heavy packs from Yellowstone National Park to the Birch Creek Valley, about 300 back-country miles away. This was the third part of a 900 mile trail through central Idaho called the Yell-to-Hell.
I’ve already spoken briefly about the first range we became acquainted with, the Centennials, and the second range, the Beaverheads. This trail is our meager attempt at interacting meaningfully with our home, Idaho.
The third part of the trail took us through the Lemhi Range which houses one of Idaho’s nine 12,000 foot peaks (hereafter, The Twelvers), and the Lost River Range. The Lost River Range is the crown of Idaho’s head, home to seven of the nine Twelvers.
These ranges are among Idaho’s most rugged. They stand astride some of Idaho’s driest and highest valleys. They contain some of Idaho’s most tremendous stone. And for 7 days in July, they also tolerated two very tired, very overwhelmed late-young or early-middle-aged men.
Take a look.
Grateful we don’t believe in omens. Diamond Peak is the high point of the Lemhi Range, standing around 12,200 feet above the distant sea. It stands triangular, like a pyramid or a child’s drawing. It is the 98th most prominent mountain in the United States.
The same storm, somehow purple, marks the macabre Beaverheads, whence we came.
Diamond Peak’s ungodlily long summit ridge. It affords one the rare oppurtunity to march steadily upwards, with down on all sides, for a very long time.
A look north through the Lemhi Range from Diamond’s summit ridge. I swear to God this photo was not taken with a fish-eye lens.
A surprise atop Diamond Peak. This tampon inside the summit register jar made us wish we had tough, life-producing vaginas rather than the tender and weak testicles we’re both cursed and blessed with.
The feeling of Pass Creek Canyon is worlds away from the white exposed stone of Diamond Peak.
These irrigation pipes in the Little Lost River Valley, separating the Lemhi and Lost River Ranges, have the gall to believe themselves higher than the mighty Lost River Range. We took a few more steps and breathed a sigh of relief. Their significance was an illusion of perspective.
One thing we kept learning was that in some parts of the Lost Rivers, our maps and GPS did not agree on the run of the trails or the lay of the land. Here trudges Alex up a 10,500 foot map-mistake subpeak above Hell Canyon and the Shadow Lakes.
But the mistake was a welcome one, as we dropped into Hell Canyon and were surprised with the Shadow Lakes. We thought we’d accidentally marched north to Glacier National Park.
I’d never seen such wavy stone with such frequency as in our traverse through the Lost Rivers. Alex rummages and our cozy tents await.
Honestly.
Overlooking the East Fork Pahsimeroi River from a ten and a half thousand foot pass. We spent minutes upon minutes debating whether the cloud shadows mimicked the snow remnants, or vice versa.
Front to Back: glacial erratic, Alex, Leatherman Pass, our last pass until the Birch Creek Valley.
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