After climbing into our tents under smoky skies, we awoke to a morning that was much brighter - and much bluer - than I think any of us expected. No one mentioned it - we're all too superstitious for that - but I'm sure this raised our spirits dramatically, as it meant that we wouldn't be going home until the next morning.
One of the camera-shy marmots I've ever encountered.
For now though, our focus was elsewhere. Today, Mike was one of the first out of his tent, the potatoes that he contributes to the group breakfast requiring more prep time than the bacon, eggs, and salsa that accompany our feast.
It was 10:30am by the time we sat down to delicious. Each of us loaded up our plates with two meals - or more - of the not-so-healthy fare, and for several minutes, it was silent - but for the occasional "mmm" - around camp.
Group breakfast is always the same, and there's a reason for that!
Most curious perhaps, was the fact that the dogs - generally good dogs, but also consistently close by when food was around - seemed to be more interested in something over by Monte and Devin's truck than they were in breakfast. "Oh my god, it's a weasel," Devin exclaimed when she finally caught sight of the little guy.
What a cutie!
The weasel was cute, but like any small four-legged friend, would be an unwelcome stowaway under the cab. Grabbing a stick and spray bottle full of water, Monte spent 20 minutes chasing that guy from the top of the spare tire to the gas tank, then eventually to the engine bay, air intake, and front wheel well. Eventually it jumped out, but in doing so would find its way into the path of a rolling tire. An enjoyable, cute situation, gone horribly wrong.
From our camp along the Big Hole River, there were two ways - we believed at the time - to reach our first lake of the day. The short way - which we planned to take - made a beeline through the woods, taking us directly to Miner Lake Campground and then heading further up into the mountains to Rock Island Lake. The second option - which Ben decided would be best for his beast - was more than twice as long, and involved pavement.
Bidding each other farewell, we all set off at the same time, everyone assuming that we'd hang out at the campground while we waited for Ben to complete his extended journey. Boy, were we wrong!
Almost immediately, we entered a tree tunnel.
Soon - and for nearly the entire length of the trail, the tunnel closed in, even on our narrow Tacomas.
It was a scratchy, slow ride through the woods. There were no views. Mike's ham radio antenna was broken - and lost - by a low-hanging branch. More than half a dozen downed trees blocked our path. Each time, as we flexed our manly muscles with axes and pull saws, we'd reflect on how vindicated Ben would feel, and how much we longed for a chainsaw. "This must be why Gaia kept trying to route me the other way," Monte mentioned as we paused to catch our breath after clearing a particularly stubborn tree.
Not many people come this way, because it sucks.
Still, as always seems to be the case in nature, there were a few little gems along the way. A spring wildflower here and a creek crossing there broke up the monotony. But mostly, our route sucked, and after driving for more than an hour to cover only a handful of miles, we all wished we'd taken the long way around.
This Mariposa Lily seemed out of place to me, but there were several along the way, and I'd see more later in the day.
At least this muddy mess broke up the monotony.
We arrived at the Miner Lake Campground to find Ben relaxing in his van. I wouldn't go as far to say that he was gloating, but he was certainly proud - if a little surprised - by how much more quickly he'd reached our rendezvous than the more capable Tacomas.
Easily acknowledging our defeat, we chatted for a while behind the trucks before deciding we might as climb back aboard for the ascent to the top. All of us except Ben, who'd - after the flat tire the day before, and several new scratches and broken hangy-off-bits over the course of the trip - had enough of the steep, narrow, rocky roads. "You guys go ahead," he said. "Don't worry about me, even if I camp down here and you camp up there tonight."
Right, as if that was going to happen.
Still, we weren't going to abandon Rock Island Lake altogether, so we wound our way out of the campground and onto the trail. Somehow, I ended up in the lead for the first time on the entire trip, and boy was it liberating. Over the years, as I've gotten more accustomed to driving these bumpy trails, I've either become a better driver, or - perhaps more likely - I've just become numb to the bumps. Or maybe a little of both. Whatever the reason, it was nice to be out of the dust.
My newfound freedom was short-lived. Less than three miles up the road, I saw the sign we never like to see: Closed to all Motor Vehicles. Year round. Except snowmobiles.
We'd been stymied again!
Too slow to turn around before everyone else, I once again found myself at the back of the pack. Knowing that it was where I truly belonged, I pulled out the camera and snapped a few photos, before grabbing the blueberries out of the fridge and trail mix out of the dry box for a bit of a snack. Then - as I'd done on several previous occasions - I set out to catch the pack.
Arriving back at the campground only seconds after everyone else, we found Ben - lounging again - near the fee station. None of us had seen it as we came in the first time, but we weren't about to pay for five trucks worth of folks to camp, so this place was officially ruled out. Plus, we still had quite a few hours until dark, and Monte had one final lake on his list of "mostly inaccessible" lakes, that we thought we ought to take a shot at. Ajax Lake.
After - once again, we're slow learners - attempting a dirt route to connect our two lake trails, we were blocked by private land, forcing us back onto pavement for a few miles.
As we headed north, there was just one problem. Mike, Monte, and Zane were running low on fuel.
Coordinating over the radio, it was decided that Monte and Zane would head to town, to fill up tanks and jerry cans, while Mike, Ben, and I would continue on towards Ajax Lake. The idea - if it hasn't become obvious this far into the trip - was that we'd be moving at a slower pace, allowing our companions to catch up as we ascended 2,600 feet in search of a lake. And a camp.
Initially, the roads were smooth, but a nice afternoon wind pushed the Redhead's dust off the track so I could maintain a reasonably short gap.
Entering the forest, the roads stayed reasonable, and we started to wonder if we could maintain our lead over Monte and Zane.
Ajax Mountain provided a constant frame of reference that I thoroughly enjoyed.
As one road led to the next, only I could communicate with Monte, some 25 miles away, and with fewer than five miles to the summit, I knew we were going to be caught. He and Zane had maintained speeds above 50 mph for nearly the entirety of the dirt, a good bit faster than we'd travelled, even with the nicely graded surfaces.
And so, as we climbed through the last few miles - and most of the elevation - we were once again five.
And then, we arrived.
Ajax Lake was worth it.
This would have been quite the place to spend the night!
There was only one problem. As we pulled up to the lake - after completing a couple tight switchbacks - we were greeted by three women and their trucks. Part of a larger group, they informed us that a slack line was being deployed across the lake, asking us - but mostly me - to be careful as I sent the flying camera into the sky to capture the beauty of this awesome place.
If you look closely, you can see a group of (insane) slackliners perched on a rock, their slackline still too slack to traverse.
We were all - I think, though we never really discussed it - a little bummed that we'd been beaten to this spot. Tempered slightly by the fact that Ben had decided to forgo the final push to the top - so we wouldn't have camped here anyway - I pointed the hovercraft toward a mine further up the hill while my companions started working out a turnaround strategy with the women we'd met a few minutes before.
Following an old scree road, I finally found an adit high on the hillside of the rocky bowl.
The Ajax Mine was a small gold mine discovered in 1874. Consisting of five adits - ranging from 5-to-220 feet in length, total production from 1902-1940 was only 1,642 tons of ore, yielding 979 oz of gold, 7,621 oz of silver, 276 lbs of copper, and 140,239 lbs of lead, with most of the production taking place during the first year of operation.
Collapsed!
The view from up here was amazing as the light filtered across the
We probably spent 20 minutes at the top before Ben called over the radio that he'd found a nice spot for us to call home for the night. Bidding the women goodbye and good luck, we turned around the Tacomas and headed for lower ground.
Back the way we came.
The afternoon was turning into a beautiful evening.
The spot Ben had found was perfect. Even without a lake view, we had plenty of level ground and the sound of the river rushing over rocks in the background. Sheltered in the trees, temperatures were pleasant, and would stay that way through the evening, requiring little more than a light sweatshirt, even as we sat around the flameless fire pit.
Mike made guacamole. Somehow, there seemed to be more than usual, and it tasted better. As usual, there wasn't enough.
Conversation carried on into the night.
After five days, we'd finally wiped out Padfoot. We thought. A 15-minute nap on mom's lap, and his battery was full again.
This Western Tanager made several appearances until we sprinkled a bit of food, at which point, it never returned.
With the following morning being our last, we stayed up way past our bedtime. As always, we'd part ways with smiles and hugs, knowing that it wouldn't be long - while being not soon enough - that we'd all find ourselves on the tail again together. Next time though - after our little InterVANtion - we'd all be driving Tacomas.
On the way home...
There's a little spot in Spokane Valley that I first ate at on the way home from Monte and Devin's wedding in 2023. I forget if it was for lunch or dinner, but it was delicious - "the best taco truck burrito I've ever had," I said to my family at the time.
My departure time at the beginning of this trip - as I headed east - meant that it was way too early to stop as I passed by. Luckily, as I headed west, I was through the area just 15 minutes before Tacos El Guero opened, and you can bet I was going to wait.
Remembering the carne asada burritos, I ordered two, "for later." For "now," I decided on a carne asada torta and a fish taco. The torta was - as with the burritos - one of the best I've had at a taco truck; the fish taco, not so much.
Highly recommend the tortas and burritos at Tacos El Guero. The quality of the carne asada is second to none.
The Whole Story
