In which I do a lot of hiking, see unexpected wildlife, and do my best mushrooming while driving.

I slept great, waking at about 5:30 AM.

I made my coffee and sat down to finish up a blog post I’d started the previous week about an FAA inspection of my new old helicopter. Of course, I couldn’t post it. I had no cell signal at all and didn’t expect to get one for the rest of my time in the area. I was totally off the grid for the next four days.

I made breakfast: buckboard bacon, onions, wild asparagus, tomatoes, spinach, and eggs. While I ate, I began planning my day.

The First Hunt

Since we were camped in a narrow part of the valley, it took a long time for the sun to hit the camper and the solar panels on its roof. Once the sun was on us — maybe at around 8:30 AM — it was time for a hike. I figured we’d head across the campground and into an area where more of the burned trees were still standing. I didn’t expect morels to grow in full sun so this would be a good place to start.

Although I initially packed a fanny pack with a bottle of water, small paper shopping bag (for mushrooms), my bright orange pocket knife, a Lara bar, and Penny’s treats, I decided that the hike would probably be short and I could just take was was absolutely necessary: my phone, which was preloaded with a map of the area in GaiaGPS so I wouldn’t get lost; my knife, and the paper bag. Yes, I left water behind. I didn’t expect to walk very far and it was still quite cool out.

I was wearing a long-sleeved knit shirt with a flannel shirt over that. I almost brought along a sweatshirt but (fortunately, as it turned out) decided to leave it behind.

We headed west away from the camper, past the outhouses and stacked logs and picnic tables. Soon we were in the forest of burned trees. It was truly amazing how much damage the fire had done. All of the old underbrush was completely gone and young trees and other plants poked out of the sometimes very thick ash. All around us, the larger trees that had been burned but not toppled stood like silent sentinels. On a different day, it might have been creepy, but that morning was perfectly clear with lots of warm, bright sunlight. Soon, in fact, I had taken off the flannel shirt and was starting to feel warm in the long sleeved shirt beneath it.

Among the new plants coming up on the forest floor were a multitude of mushrooms.

There were mushrooms everywhere. I have never seen so many in a bright and sunny place. I had no idea what they were, but I took photos. (I actually like photographing mushrooms.) I noticed three distinct varieties of what my friend Sue would call LBMs — little brown mushrooms. I thought for a while about gathering some of them to show when I met up with the group on Friday. They do a big mushroom ID thing on Saturday evening. But there were so many that I figured I could always collect them the next day.

 
Seriously: I like taking pictures of mushrooms.

Did I see any morels? No. As I wandered through the woods, climbing up into an area that seemed to have more vegetation, I didn’t see a single morel. I started wondering why and came up with four possibilities:

• It was too early for them. It had been cold the night before — probably in the 40s. Someone somewhere had told me that morels need at least three nights in a row with temperatures in the 50s to come up. Was that true? Damned if I know. But I doubted it had been that warm at night at my current elevation of about 3100 feet.
• Someone else had beaten me to them. After the previous year, I knew this was a real possibility. There’s big money in morel mushrooms and a lot of people hunt for sale rather than consumption. They’re more serious and dedicated than I am. But other than a few footprints I later found on a trail, there was no sign that anyone else had been in the area recently. And the forest is huge; surely they couldn’t look everywhere.
• My mushroom eyes hadn’t switched on. Searching for mushrooms is a matter of turning on a very specific pattern recognition in your brain. I was obviously seeing mushrooms that looked like mushrooms. But morels didn’t really look like mushrooms. Maybe I wasn’t sufficiently conditioned to find them?

• 
  As this melted can hints, the fire got very hot.

  Morels didn’t grow there. Maybe it was too burned up? Maybe the fire had killed off the mycelia that the morels spring from. It certainly had been a hot fire — that was obvious later when I found a partially melted beer can near a trail. (And seriously: WTF? You can carry in a can full of beer but you can’t carry the damn can out when it’s empty?)

It didn’t matter what the reason was — at least not that day. The point is, I wasn’t seeing any morels.

I started heading back, swinging more north to put me on a different path for the return trip. And then I suddenly came upon a trail. I looked at GaiaGPS on my phone and, sure enough, the map I’d loaded in showed a trail. I traced its line on the map and decided it might be worth hiking up to where it crossed a stream. After all, mushrooms were really an excuse to get out hiking. I’d only gone about a mile and I really needed to do more. So I turned and followed the trail up the hill, hearing the sound of rushing water getting louder and louder as I went.

The trail needed work, too. This area of Washington, which is basically the foothills of the North Cascades, has tough winters. Under normal conditions, trees fall in heavy winds or with snow loads. But with so many dead trees weakened by fire damage, there were even more fallen trees than usual. They blocked the trail in more than a few places, requiring Penny and me to go over or around them.

The hike was all uphill, although not really very steep. The trail had gentle switchbacks that made it easier. Eventually, we wound up alongside a wildly rushing cascade of water that cut through the forest. The sound of the moving water drowned out any other forest sound.

The trail took me to Shetipo Creek, which was roaring down the side of the mountain.

There was a concrete tank with wooden planks for a lid and pipes on either end. At one time, this system had taken water out of the creek and funneled it down through pipes, probably to the campground. I touched a hand to the outgoing pipe and could feel neither vibration or cold water running thorough it. I followed the incoming pipe upstream to where it went into the water. I wondered when it had been built and whether it was ever used. (The next day, I spoke to a ranger about it. He told me it had been in use until the fire when much of the pipe, which was plastic laying on the surface, had melted.)

I consulted the map and saw that I’d left the mapped trail some time ago. Odd; I hadn’t seen a fork in the trail. In any case, we couldn’t continue on a trail so we headed back. I felt done.

It was an easy hike back to the camper. I always did hike best downhill. It was around 10 in the morning and had gotten very warm. I worked up a good sweat and could go for a drink of water. I think that motivated me to get back quickly.

I was near the very bottom of the trail, not far from where it ends at a parking area near the entrance to the campground, when I looked down and saw it: a morel mushroom. It was a lighter color than I’d been expecting and it was relatively small. Since I’ve never found just one morel in a place, I searched all around it. But it was there by itself.

Of course, I cut it and stuck it in my bag.

Then I spent another 20 minutes poking around that area, looking for more. I came up empty.

The irony of this: although I had hiked 1.8 miles, the mushroom I found was within 100 yards of my camper.

Another Campground, Another Hike

We went back to the camper, had something to drink, and had a snack. That mean half a liverwurst sandwich for me and some chicken and kibbles for Penny. By then, I’d decided that I’d be better off continuing the hunt at lower elevations. There were a few more campgrounds along the road on the way back to Silver Falls. I’d find a spot in one of them and try another hike.

So I stowed all the loose belongings in the camper, loaded Penny up in the truck, and headed out.

I stopped on the bridge as I was leaving the campground to take this photo. The fire didn’t stop at the river.

It didn’t seem to take long to get to the next campground downriver from Cottonwood: Three Creek. It was a tiny campground, also damaged by fire, and I couldn’t figure out how many sites it had. I backed the camper into the one that was most intact, mostly to get it out of the way in case someone else happened to come in. That was unlikely. I hadn’t seen a single vehicle or person all day.

I didn’t feel very hopeful about this spot, so I didn’t gear up. By this time, I’d changed into a tank top and had the flannel shirt on over it as a sort of lightweight jacket. I put my knife in my pants pocket and my phone in my shirt pocket. But I didn’t bother tracking my hike. I don’t think we even did a half mile. We skirted around the campground, crossed the road, wandered around the forest there until we found a small creek, followed the creek back to the road, crossed the road again, and made our way back to the campground. Along the way, I found an archery arrow. Lots of mushrooms but no morels. The elevation was probably around 2900 feet. Still too cold? Or too burned?

The reclusive little brown mushroom and its offspring wait at the mouth of its cave for mushroom hunters with cameras to pass by.

Drive-By Mushrooming

We got back into the truck and continued on our way. I drove slowly, not in any hurry. For much of the drive, the gravel road was narrow with a steep embankment of two to 20 feet in height on the left side of the road. As I drove, I scanned this little hillside with the crazy idea that I might see some mushrooms.

Not so crazy, it seems. I saw what looked like a morel. I might not have the best eyesight, but my vision is finely tuned for pattern recognition sometimes.

I found a wider place in the road and pulled over as far as I dared. I pushed the button that would fold in my side mirrors just in case someone came by and needed to pass. I shut the engine and, leaving Penny in the truck, got out with my knife and that paper bag. I walked back down the road to where I thought I’d seen the mushroom growing out of the hillside. Before I reached that spot, however, I saw another one. And another one. And another one.

They were all (barely) within reach. I cut them off, one after another. I got to the spot I’d seen the first one from the truck and found three more. They were all the dark brown morels I’d been expecting to find and they were all large.

Of course, a truck drove by just as I was prepping to cut one high on the hillside. I’m sure the driver knew what I was up to. I waved lamely. He waved back. Then he was out of sight around a curve in the road.

I continued hunting along the embankment but came up empty. So I headed back along the road toward the truck. I found a game trail that climbed up the embankment and followed that, continuing my search on higher ground. Nothing. I came back down, now past the truck, and headed back.

I found three more. I cut the first two and was about to cut the third when I remembered a promise I’d made to myself: I wouldn’t take every mushroom I found. I’d leave behind small ones that were hidden behind brush and difficult for others to find. This way, I’d help prevent the morels from being over harvested so they could continue to grow. This last mushroom was a perfect candidate, so I left it right where it was.

I got back to the truck and stowed the bag of mushrooms inside the camper’s back door where it was likely to be cooler than the truck’s dashboard and safer than the passenger side footwell.

Of course, I kept looking as I drove. But other than finding one huge one from the truck much later in the day, I had no further success.

I was passed by not one but three Forest Service trucks going the same way I was. In each case, I pulled over to let them pass. They probably thought I was driving so slow because of the camper and the unpaved road.

At North Fork

I passed Spruce Grove Campground for two reasons: first, the tight right turn would have required multiple maneuvers to make, and second, the sign said “Trailers not Recommended.” Although I wasn’t pulling a trailer, I did have a long, high profile vehicle that required more than the average amount of space to turn around. I had no idea what the condition of the forested campground would be and didn’t feel like dealing with a challenge. So I kept going.

The next campground was North Fork. There was a barricade with a Road Closed sign that had been moved out of the way. I read that to mean that it was open so I pulled in.

There was a lot of debris all over the campground. Burned and fallen trees, mostly. The mess left from winter. Again, I had trouble identifying more than a few campsites. I backed into one along the river which, unfortunately, was not level. It would do, however. If I decided to spend the night, I could always put the back wheels up on blocks.

Our “campsite” at North Fork Campground.

I made lunch: sardines with minced onions on a bed of mixed greens with balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I drank water. I gave Penny some sardine juice — they had been packed with olive oil — over her kibbles and she ate them up. Then I cleaned off the morels I’d found so far, put them in a plastic container, draped a wet paper towel over them, and stuck them in the fridge.

Here are the morel mushrooms I’d collected that morning, before I cleaned them. The one cut in half is the first one I found. Morels are hollow inside.

The elevation there was about 2650 according to the map I’d loaded in GaiaGPS. There was a place called Entiat Falls just 1700 feet downriver. I thought it might make a good hiking destination with a mushroom hunt along the way. I packed the fanny pack with the paper bag, a pair of binoculars, a snack bar, and a bottle of water. Then I grabbed Penny’s leash and we headed out.

I soon discovered that there was no trail from the campground to the falls. A rushing stream — North Fork — crossed the road at a bridge and the only way for us to cross it to continue downstream was to get on the road. On the other side, we went back into the woods, but the going was tough with lots of marshy areas. It didn’t take long before I got tired of trying to find my way and headed back to the road.

Of course, by that time, we were abeam Entiat Falls. There was a parking space there with an obvious way down to the falls. “Falls” is being generous — all it really is is a place where the river plunges over some really big boulders. It was rushing like mad with a thundering sound and lots of spray.

Entiat Falls wasn’t much of a waterfall, but the water sure was moving fast and loud.

I wasn’t done walking yet so we continued down the road. Because we were on the road and not in the woods, I put Penny on her leash. We walked along the oncoming traffic side so I could scan the embankment for more mushrooms. The road was paved there and rather pleasant, with no traffic at all. I could hear birds and the rushing water off to my right and not much else. The temperature was warm, but I was comfortable.

I checked GaiaGPS to see how far I’d gone. 8/10 mile. I decided to go a full mile before turning around and kept walking, scanning the ground at the side of the road, with Penny leading the way on the leash.

I don’t know what alerted me to the movement ahead. Maybe it was Penny. Maybe it was just something I caught in my peripheral vision. My brain said deer — after all, I’d seen at least a dozen of them in the previous 24 hours — before my eyes locked on to what it was.

It wasn’t a deer. It was a bear.

A big, black bear on all fours ambling across the road about 100 yards ahead of us.

Shit.

I turned around and walked as fast as I could back the way we’d come, dragging Penny along with me. To her credit, she didn’t bark. I kept turning around to make sure the bear wasn’t following us, remembering everything I knew — and didn’t know — about bears. Was I supposed to make noise or be quiet? Was I supposed to run like hell or not turn my back on it? Did bears eat people? Small dogs? Or did they eat trees like pandas and koalas? Surely I’d lose a race with a bear. I was so damn out of shape.

And that out-of-shape feeling was confirmed the farther I speed-walked away. Soon I was sweating, panting, nearly out of breath. And I knew exactly how far away the truck was: nearly a mile! If this bear came after me — or if it had friends in the woods up ahead of us — there was no way I’d be able to beat it tback to the truck.

But there was no chase. The bear, which must have seen us, was simply not interested in us. There were no other bears in the area — at least none willing to put in an appearance. After speed-walking for about a half mile, I finally slowed down to catch my breath. I still wanted to get to the truck and camper as quickly as possible, but I wasn’t interested in having a heart attack along the way.

We reached the bridge and, just before crossing it, I looked down and found a morel mushroom. Go figure, eh?

I looked around a bit, but didn’t find any others. No worries. The only thing I wanted to do was get into the camper, close the door, and have a nice, cold drink.

Five minutes later, that’s where I was.

Siesta

I drank a lot of orange juice mixed with water. I used two plastic cups to make ice in the freezer; I had no ice trays with me. Then I crawled up onto the bed to relax and cool down.

Within 10 minutes, I was dead asleep with Penny on the bed beside me.

I slept lightly for the next three hours. I almost got up once but my body told me I wasn’t ready yet so I went back to sleep.

Finally, I dragged myself awake. I looked outside and saw the storm clouds I’d been expecting that day. While it’s true that I couldn’t go online to check the weather, I had checked it before leaving home. Rain was definitely expected and there was the dark storm cloud that would bring it.

I realized that the trees around me were kind of fragile and that a storm with strong winds could topple one or more, possibly onto my camper or across the road. The narrow part of the road between North Fork campground and Silver Falls had looked prone to flooding. I suddenly realized, with my half-awake brain, that I didn’t want to get stuck out that narrow bit of road. It was time to move on to find another place to spend the night and ride out whatever storm might be coming.

So I stowed the loose belongings again, climbed into the truck with Penny, and headed out.

Needless to say, I was looking for bears along the road about a mile from where I’d been parked. No joy. But a little farther down the road, my drive-by mushrooming skills paid off again: I found a humongous morel. I hopped out of the truck, ran across the road, and cut it off for my collection. That made an even dozen.

National Forest Camping

One of the things I like best about National Forests is that unless otherwise posted, you can camp just about anywhere you can park. I had a few ideas for spots just upriver from Silver Falls that I’d seen the previous year and that’s where I headed.

Along the way, where the road got very narrow with embankments on either side, I saw a handful of deer. No more bears.

I drove past the gate that had been closed the previous year and made a right turn. There was a campsite down along the river there, but it was already occupied. I crossed the bridge. The campsite on the other side of the river was occupied, too. I followed the paved road around to the south, noting one empty spot that would do in a pinch. But what I was looking for was a left turn on a narrow gravel road that wound down into the forest, closer to the river.

The spot I remembered was already taken, but there was another spot I didn’t remember about 100 yards before it. It was certainly large enough for me to get the truck and camper in. I almost turned into it, but then I realized that would have my back door facing my neighbors. So, instead, I backed in so my camper door would face the woods and a tiny creek that meandered past.

I got out to check the level inside the back door of the camper, then got back into the truck to reposition. I did this twice. Finally, it was level enough for comfort. I rolled up the truck windows, shut it off, and got out with Penny and my laptop, which had been charging in the truck all day.

The trees around us looked healthy and not likely to topple in a wind storm. I took out my little grill and set it up on the ground outside the back door. I screwed on the propane can and fired it up. Soon I was grilling up a nice piece of salmon and the last of the wild asparagus I’d gotten from a woman who I’d helped with a bee problem the week before.

Salmon dinner on the grill.

Thunder rumbled overhead, but the rain didn’t start until after I’d brought in my dinner. I put some of it aside to include in an omelet later in the weekend and ate the rest. It was good, although I think I would have enjoyed the salmon more if I’d cooked it a bit longer.

By the time I was done eating, it was raining hard. It would continue to rain hard all evening and into the night.

I spent some time working on a blog post about the previous day’s trip up to Cottonwood campground. By 9 PM, I was exhausted — which really surprised me, given the length of my nap earlier in the day. I was dead asleep by 9:30 PM while the rain pattered on the roof overhead.

I go off the grid for four days to hunt for morel mushrooms.

One of the best things about being single is all the time I have to do my own thing. Since my divorce started back in 2012 (and eventually ended years later), I’ve picked up a number of new hobbies, some of which are seasonal. Mushroom hunting is one of these hobbies.

Mushrooming Since 2015

I started learning about foraging for mushrooms at a weekend-long class at the North Cascades Environmental Learning Center in October 2015. Not long after that, in May 2016, I went on my first morel mushroom hunt with my friend Sue. I actually went out several times, both alone and with Sue, to a variety of places. We did okay — good enough to have morels with a handful of meals.

If you’ve never had fresh morels, you have no idea what you’re missing. They are amazingly delicious. My favorite way to eat them? Dust with flour, salt, and pepper, and sauté gently in butter. Holy cow. I also made a morel mushroom pizza which wasn’t bad; I’d certainly do it again if I brought home enough mushrooms to want variety in how I eat them.

The same year, I joined the Puget Sound Mycological Society (PSMS), mostly so I could go on their Ben Woo Foray just outside Mount Rainier National Park. 2017 was a very wet year and I saw, in 10 minutes, more mushrooms on the grounds of where the event was being held than I had all summer long on the relatively dry east side of the Cascades where I live. I learned about other edibles — which is honestly all I care to collect — and brought home enough to eat and freeze and enjoy. Heck, I was still eating chanterelles that winter when I took my camper down to Arizona.

The PSMS has other outings and a handful of them are on my side of the mountains in the spring. Last year, I joined the group for a weekend camping trip at Silver Falls Campground about 30 miles up the Entiat River. I came in my truck camper on Friday afternoon and was one of the first to arrive in the group campground. Soon others were pulling in after a very long drive from the Seattle area. It was not a successful weekend, at least as far as mushroom hunting is concerned. I think we were about a week too early. I came back the following week and tried again on my own. The woods were full of mushroom hunters and we were all looking for the same thing: morels.

Up the Entiat

The Entiat River valley is a perfect spot for them. There were huge forest fires in 2015 that devastated much of the valley beyond Silver Falls and did some serious damage to the Silver Falls area. The trail to the falls and even the campground were closed for more than a year. Since morels prefer conifer forests after a fire, it made sense to look there. But there was too much competition in 2017 and I came away disappointed on both trips with barely enough mushrooms for a side dish.

This year, I decided to try again — but with a bit of a head start. I figured I’d head up the Entiat two days early but continue past Silver Falls, all the way up to Cottonwood campground eight miles farther at the end of the road. The road had been closed about a mile past Silver Falls the previous year but a call to the ranger station assured me that it was open. And although Cottonwood campground was technically closed due to fire damage, it wasn’t gated. I was told I could use it as long as I hauled out my own trash.

I had a slight idea of the fire damage the ranger told me about. I’d flown up the canyon a few times the previous year. One of my favorite helicopter joy rides, often with friends, is to follow the Columbia River to the mouth of the Entiat River, then head upstream and follow that to a fork in the canyon. If I make the right turn, I can pop over a ridge not far from Holden Village and Lake Chelan. From there, I follow the lake up to Stehekin. In the spring, there are too many waterfalls along the way to count.

Anyway, I’d seen what looked like a campground from the air in a piece of forest with nothing but blackened towers of burned trees. That was either Cottonwood or one of the ones along the way. Lots of fire damage. Would that mean lots of mushrooms?

There was only way to find out.

A Late Start

There were a bunch of things I needed to do at home before I could head out. First and foremost was an article I was supposed to write for Vertical magazine that I had put off too many times. My deadline had been Friday and here it was on Wednesday and I still hadn’t written a word.

The trouble is, I do my best writing in the morning. Actually, I do my best everything in the morning. But the morning is also when it’s cool out so that’s the best time to work on my garden and do other outdoor things. I’d been promising myself that I’d work on the article in the afternoon, when it was too hot outside to work. But I never did. Now I realized that if I didn’t write the article, there was no way I’d be able to get it to my editor for another week. And since I’d already missed one drop-dead deadline on this piece, missing another would not be a good idea.

So I climbed up into my loft-based office, fired up my computer, and got to work. Three hours later, I had a 1600-word interview all ready for review by my subject. I emailed it to him.

Then I had to move the “outhouse” I use with my glamping tent. (I really need to blog about that setup and my most excellent portable toilet.) I’d moved it down close to the tent for guests about two weeks ago. Now it was time to dump it and reposition it in a more permanent place for the season. I didn’t like where I had it. And the damn thing had already blown over once in heavy wind — thankfully, it had been empty — and I needed my neighbor’s backhoe to get it back on its wheels. I didn’t want that to happen again when it was full. (Ick.)

Moving it took about an hour, mostly because I had trouble getting it hooked up to my ATV’s front hitch. Then a very slow drive up the path from the tent, around the driveway edge, and in place near the big aspen tree by my garden. I needed to borrow the sewer hose from my camper to make a hose long enough to reach the sewer connection in my driveway. Finally, I secured it on jacks so it wouldn’t topple over again.

By that time, it was time for lunch. I had leftover lamb shank.

Next, I had to prep the camper. That meant pulling out a lot of the things I’d left in there after my winter travels that I wouldn’t need for my upcoming trip. When I went to make the bed, it was pretty obvious that the cats had been in there — the bed was covered with cat hair. So I had to get out the shop vac and suck all that hair out. I vacuumed the rest of the rig, too. Then I made the bed, organized the kitchen and bathroom and dining area, and started to pack up the things I would need for the trip, like food and my jewelry-making stuff and my drone.

Then I needed to raise the camper on its legs, back the truck under it, lower the camper onto the truck, and secure the camper to the truck using the tie-down straps. That took about 20 minutes; I’m getting good at it.

The clock was ticking loudly. I knew that if I left home after 6 PM, there was a good chance I’d get to Cottonwood campground after dark, which was definitely not what I wanted. By the time I was ready to take a shower and pack up my clothes, it was 3:30. And that’s when I realized that I hadn’t reviewed the comments my interview subject had emailed back to me.

So I climbed back up to the loft, opened the file he’d emailed back to me, opened my Word document file, and went through the few edits he’d sent. I proofread the article and emailed it to my editor with apologies for being late.

It was 4:30 PM when I finally got into the shower. I needed a serious scrubbing — I’d been sweating all day — and had to wash my hair. So a long shower.

Then getting together my clothes and more food items. And checking off items on my list, some of which needed fetching from various places all over my home and garage and tent. And chicken coop — I needed to bring eggs.

It was 5:30 PM when I finally locked up the house and rolled out of my driveway.

I needed to make one stop: the local Fred Meyer supermarket. I wanted to get a few grocery items: sushi to munch on in the truck, a roasted chicken, and some salad. And I needed fuel for the truck. I was pleased to get a 50¢ gallon discount when filling the truck’s huge tank, even though I still had a quarter tank of fuel.

If stopping for propane would have been easy, I would’ve done it. But the RV dealer on the way out of town was closed and it would have been a time-consuming ordeal at a convenience store. I was pretty sure I had enough propane on board for the trip so I skipped it.

I rolled out of Wenatchee at 6:33 PM.

The Drive Up

It was not a long drive — not in miles, anyway. The campground was 38 miles up Entiat River Road. The turn for that was maybe 10 miles from Wenatchee’s north end bridge. So figure about 48 miles from where I crossed the river from the East Wenatchee side.

It was surprisingly windy along the river. Although it had been a nice day with partly cloudy skies, storms were in the forecast and, from my home’s position on the hillside, I’d seen sheets of rain falling in various directions. But once I was on the road, I no longer felt in a hurry. I set my cruise control for 55 in a 60 mph zone to make it easy to drive my high profile load. The only other vehicle on the road going my way was a police car, which passed me.

There was no traffic at all in either direction on Entiat River Road. Sure, there are homes up there, but I guess everyone was home. The road runs alongside the river, which was running high and fast from snow melt up in the mountains. The next two rivers up the Columbia — the Stehekin, which empties into Lake Chelan, and the Okannogan — were at flood stage. The Entiat was close but none of the bridges across it were closed and there was no flooding on the road.

The farther upriver I got, the narrower and twistier the road became. It was actually a great motorcycling road — I’d taken my bike up to Silver Falls several times for a hike. But behind the wheel of a high CG vehicle, it wasn’t much fun.

Most of the valley was in shadows when I made my turn. I’d periodically get a flash of late afternoon sun in my face, but after a while even that stopped. My average speed dropped from about 50 when I made the turn down to 30 when I entered the national forest.

I was very surprised to see a gate closing off Silver Falls campground. The sign at the beginning of the road had listed all the campgrounds from Silver Falls on as closed but I was going by what the ranger told me. I hoped there was no gate at Cottonwood. But even if there was, I’d deal with it. One of the great things about traveling with a truck camper (or a camper van or a small motorhome) is that it’s easy to park and when you do, you’re camping. So if there was a closed gate at my destination, I’d simply find a place to park off the road out there and settle in for the night.

About a mile past Silver Falls I reached the gate at the road that had been closed the previous year. It was open, as I expected, and I kept going. By this point, I was into the fire damaged area. The sun, although still shining on the tops of the mountains around me, was not shining anywhere in the valley. Still, I could easy see the fallen trees and burned stumps. In some places, where were still tall live trees but in others, there weren’t. At one point, a sign warned of a narrow road for a half mile and the road went down to one lane with tall embankments on both sides. Fast running creeks came out of the hills on my right and formed channels of water on the other side of the embankments; clearly they had been built there to stop flooding and erosion on the road.

And that got me thinking about the kind of damage forest fires do. It isn’t just burned up trees and undergrowth. It’s the subsequent erosion caused by rain and snowmelt on terrain that is no longer able to contain or slow down the running water. It’s the debris that clogs streams and causes them to reroute in directions that road planners never expected. It’s the undercutting of roads and bridges. It’s the layers of ash that choke off oxygen to the soil, making it difficult for plant life to return.

One by one, I passed the other campgrounds along the way. None of them were blocked off, although one had a paper sign over its regular sign that said “Day Use Only.” All of the signs on the right side of the road that had once identified the campground by name were gone. Only the structures that had once held the signs remained.

The pavement ended and I continued on. By this time, I had caught up with an SUV. Although I was only going about 20 to 30 miles per hour, he pulled over to let me pass.

Small creeks crossed the road and I drove right through them. Three of them. None of them were deep, but the road was definitely being eroded. The road climbed some hills and descended on the other side. The landscape was full of the burned remains of once tall conifers.

And then I was at Cottonwood campground. Like the other campgrounds, its sign was gone, but a road sign pointed me to it. I turned left, crossed a bridge over the raging Entiat River, and followed the road around to what was left of the campground.

At Cottonwood Campground

I say “what was left” of the campground because it was a mess. If there had been cottonwoods there, they were all gone. Most of the trees were gone. The campground was basically an open field full of burned tree stumps.

Somehow, the bathroom buildings had been spared. They stood almost evenly spaced alongside the road among neatly stacked piles of lumber and heavy wooden picnic tables.

I drove down to the end of the campground and followed the loop back to the road I’d been on. It was hard to identify where the sites had been. Fire pits were my only indicator in some places. Fallen trees blocked off what might have been driveways or parking areas. It would take a lot of man hours to get this place back to the way it had been — even without the trees. It had already been more than two full years and they had a long way to go.

What a shame.

I found a driveway that led down to two or three spots along the river that were still intact and turned into it. At the end, I had quite a challenge turning around my rig in an area that might have measured 30 feet square with obstacles that included trees, a piece of rebar in the ground that would have made short work of my truck tire, and huge stones. At one point, I thought I was stuck, but since stuck wasn’t an option, I kept trying. After about 20 forward/reverse maneuvers with me getting out of the truck to look for that piece of rebar every time, I finally got it turned around. I backed into one of the spots and stopped when the truck seemed level.

I took this photo of my camper in its overnight spot the next morning before pulling out. This was one of the few undamaged spots in the campground.

It would have been a pleasant spot if it weren’t for all the fire damage around us. The river was only 20 feet away. I had a picnic table and a fire pit, neither of which got any use.

And yes, I was the only person there. I had the whole campground to myself. The only sound was the water rushing by.

By that time, the sun had gone down and it was beginning to get dark. The SUV I’d passed a while before pulled into the campground, drove down to the end, and then drove out. I never saw it again.

Penny and I went for a quick walk around, mostly to stretch our legs and give Penny a chance to do her business. Then, since it was starting to get chilly, we went back into the camper and closed it up for the night. I had some chicken and a salad for dinner; Penny got the chicken fat and skins with some chicken juice over her kibbles.

We were in bed and asleep by 9:30 PM.

More to come…