Winter in the White Clouds
As layers of snow coat the peaks, I'm reminded of a ski trip years ago and the silence of wilderness in the White Clouds. Even though we've not finished the job, thank you for your help protecting that quiet.
Winter can be the quietest time. The summer hikers are gone, snow blankets the landscape, and much of the wildlife has moved down to lower elevations.
But still, there is life in the mountain wilderness in winter.
Back in the 1980s I crossed the White Cloud range on skis. We took a week from Galena Pass, into the high peaks, and out Slate Creek. We circled Castle Peak and saw mountain goats. Noisy Lake was anything but, yet snowshoe hare tracks were everywhere. We spent a day doing telemark turns above Boulder Chain.
We never saw a soul or heard anything beyond jet aircraft far above.
That is, until we crossed the pass from Big Boulder into Bighorn Basin on Slate Creek. There we began hearing dynamite blasts from Thompson Creek Mine. We could also see the lights as they worked through the night. Carole King called the glow "Challis Borealis" in a song.
At times, I wonder if the winter silence of the White Clouds will endure. Idaho is bearing the impact from the explosive growth of motorized recreation, and while there is room for everyone nearly everywhere, there also must be room for the true quiet of wilderness, for it's own sake.
The White Clouds are a mountain range fully deserving wilderness protection. Many of you have worked hard to secure that protection. We will get there.
But rather than fuss about politics, as some new snow blows in, let's simply think about the silence of winter in the White Clouds. It's something to cherish. It's something to protect.
