Mike’s Excellent Adventure, Part 2
Michael L Umphrey
Posted by Michael L Umphrey on 08/02 at 05:31 PM
(0) Comments • Permalink
Printer-Friendly Version
I had just gotten adjusted to the life of a firefighter when the Zuni Hot Shots crew boss up at Indian Creek Ranch requested a line EMT during morning briefing.
What’s a “line EMT?”
Linda Barbee, who had just arrived the night before and was still packed and ready to travel, pointed out that she was an ASSISTANT manager and I was just a tech, so it was her call who went to Indian Creek, and since she considered the assignment at Shepp a “gift from the universe” which she really wanted, it would make more sense to her if I went to Indian Creek.
How do these people find me?
There had been a thunderstorm three nights before, and with all the basin upcanyon burned, it had caused a flash flood, filling the creek with black sediment.
It had also buried three pumps that had been installed to protect the buildings, including a fancy one with a remote control from a helicopter--the only one like it in the world. They dug it out from under four feed of sludge.
The Division Supe was amused that he had salvaged the remote and carried it around in his shirt pocket.
The trouble was that the trail kept crossing the creek so I kept sinking in up to my knees in the black mud. Actually, the sinking wasn’t so bad. It was trying to figure out how to get back out without using any energy. I converted to sugar drinks about a mile in.
The sign letting you know you are nearly to Indian Creek Ranch. The “ranch” is actually a play house for an opthomologist in Boise, though a couple of caretakers live there in a cabin year around.
This sign is three miles above the the Salmon River. Normally things are packed in via mule, but the mules were evacuated due to fire. No indoor toilets. Some electricity from solar panels. Fortunately, since Gwen had assured me I would have plenty of time to read, I had six books (three of them hardcover) and three notebooks in my two duffel bags (I didn’t take a backpack).
The place was actually something of a paradise, in a Mother Earth News kind of way.
An outdoor toilet, but solar panels and an internet connection. Two one-acre hayfields, where the hay is all put up by hand into a large barn, built of lumber milled on site. There’s no landing strip, so the mailman tosses packages out when he flies over. Large gardens, sprinkled all day by a gravity-fed spring. A green, green lawn.
I took a tent but didn’t set it up. It was too nice outside (and there were buildings nearby if it started to rain) so I slept outside with the Zuni’s. Because of the altitude it was cooler at night than down and Shepp and very nice.
On the second night, the caretakers backpacked in and fixed us all a hot meal: chicken enchiladas cooked in dutch oven outside, fresh salad, crackers with cream cheese and pepper jelly, and a chocolate cake. Since my calculations were that I had a negative blood glucose level at that point, it was just right.
The doctor’s house, looking up from the caretaker’s cabin. The caretakers are actually a couple--Sue and Greg, about 40--who have now spent 20 winters here. Very nice, hardworking people.
The solar panels have been in place about 6 years. They also have a backup generator they fire up to do big things, like run the ringer washer. The satellite dish provides internet access. There are no phones, but the people along the river communicate via shortwave radio and everyone does email now.
Above the doctor’s house is a one-acre hay field, then above that is another hay field, then above that is a saw mill. The house was built over three years, with the concrete aggregate washed on site and the lumber milled on site. Down the hill to the left of the house there’s a huge barn and a chicken coop and a bunkhouse and a tool room.
Most days up there the helicopters couldn’t fly. Also, our radios couldn’t reach ICP or kick in the repeaters. It was peaceful. I had a half a bottle of aspirin, two benedryls, and a small piece of moleskin. I don’t know what I was supposed to do there.
Waiting for a boat back at the river after we left Indian Creek Ranch. I came out with the Zuni Hot Shots after three days. I was worried about keeping up with them because they were using real backbacks that only weighed about 45 pounds--no books or tents--and they just had old broke-in soft boots. Girlie men.
This was kind of a long shot, but after thirty minutes or so I was able to get up and move closer to everyone else.
Part of what Gwen said was right. After I got back from Indian Creek, the mystical medic Linda looked at my blisters and determined I needed to soak my feet often and wear my boots less, so I really didn’t have to wear boots after that. I’m glad I had my clogs along (one of three pairs of shoes I carried).
This might be Crooked Creek, since it was illegal to wade in the river.