Our Lakes July 2025

There is a pair of small alpine lakes nestled up under the Needles Summit outside of Donnelly, ID. On any map I’ve ever seen, these lakes are never named. So, when Ambrose chose them for our destination early in our backpacking journey together, we simply called them, “Our Lakes.”

On Thursday, July 3rd, I drove out to the trailhead. Officially, it’s the North Fork Gold Fork trailhead, but I have called it Dogsnout since the first time we drove out there. On the map we used to navigate the car, that’s what the road looked like to me. The very tip of a dog’s head outlined in gravel roads.

I got a later start that ideal. Ideally, I would have driven out the night before and spent the night at the trailhead, ready to hike out first thing in the morning. But my concussion the prior week interfered with those plans, and I didn’t end up leaving the house until nearly 10 in the morning. Ambrose would have canceled the trip on me for being so tardy, but if he had been around, I wouldn’t have gotten the concussion and things would have been very different anyway.

I got to the trailhead right around 1 pm. Very late in the day to start hiking, but I didn’t have a long trip planned. Less than 6 miles. No problem, thought I. I got out of the car and walked around, looking at the campsite where Ambrose and I had stayed in the past. I remembered the little path down to the creek. There used to be a wooden box that served as an open air outhouse, but it was nowhere to be found.

A couple drove up in a side by side and parked near the trailhead as I got ready to leave. I turned my phone off and stashed it, along with my wallet and spare glasses, in the car. I warmed up my legs and arms. And then I turned on the GoPro and started my trip. The couple asked me if I was going to the lookout, and I told them I was going to some lakes near the Needles Summit to camp. They wished me a good trip.

They were the last people I saw until I came out on Sunday.

Since I had last hiked on this trail, fire had come to the area. I remembered as I saw the burned trees and denuded undergrowth that I had read about that fire. I had seen that it would impact this trail and been sad. As I hiked, I realized I should have at least re-read my own book and blogs for some reminders on what this trail had in store for me. But I hadn’t, and it was too late now to get any beta.

The bridge over the first creek crossing was a welcome surprise, and brought some memories back to me. I knew roughly what the next creek crossing would look like, and that I had called it ‘Nail Creek’ though that wasn’t its official name. And, after that, Shit Creek – definitely not an official name.

At ‘Nail Creek’, I paused to watch a beautiful bird hop around. Then it divebombed a butterfly and ate it, which I found fascinating. I hadn’t considered before that birds would eat butterflies. After that creek and before Shit, I came upon the aptly named ‘Forgotten Creek’ (again, not official name), which I had forgotten about. It looked a lot different post-burn, but was still easy to cross.

I recorded videos as I hiked, especially when the trail reminded me of hikes past. I had brought my GoPro as well as my camera for just that reason. I wanted video. My camera does have a video mode, but it’s not as good as the dedicated GoPro, just like the GoPro isn’t as good for photos as my camera or my cellphone. But I don’t bring my cellphone on backpacking trips.

Shit Creek was running pretty low. Hard to believe how scared I’d been on that first crossing, using a small log. It scared the shit out of me, literally.

And then, Shit Hill, also known as The Hill That Never Ends. It’s not that bad of a climb, but oh, on that first time it was tough. It was especially tough to see Ambrose hiking so easily ahead of me when I was supposed to be the one who was young and in shape. That’s when I learned the importance of snacking. The hill looked quite a bit different than I remembered. The part nearest the creek still had an abundance of growth, but fire had touched it higher up. The trail would hardly be discernable were it not for the use and maintenance from the motorcycles.

I reached the top and tried to remember what came next. I knew that I’d see my Shark Fin Rock before I got to the junction, but there was a lot of trail before that point for me to traverse. I had to take a break before I got to the junction.

Once I got to the junction, I got lost. I knew I had to turn left somewhere, but I couldn’t find where the trail turned off. I wandered around a bit, and decided to just use the GPS to help me find the trail. That’s when I figured out that the trail marked on the GPS and the trail that I’d followed on my 5 previous trips were not the same trail. But I got to some high ground and spotted a large boulder formation that I recognized. From there, I found the trail again.

And I managed to stay on that trail for a good stretch. But then I ran into problems. Downfall, burn, and the years it had been since I’d hiked this trail conspired together to make the trail impossible to find. And I’m really good at finding trail. If I can’t find it, it’s not there anymore.

So, I decided to just go cross-country, on the theory that the GPS trail would have to match up with the actual trail at some point. I tried to hike around a hill at a steady elevation so I wouldn’t be climbing down and then up again. I made my way over to a saddle and came up against my break time.

On that break, I looked at the GPS and decided to try and follow the marked trail to where it came close to the creek. Then I’d cut over to the water, because I was running low and it was very hot. I was sweating a lot and not peeing as much as I should be.

After another tenth of a mile of stepping over logs and through bushes, I revised my itinerary. I was just going to go directly towards the water, because having more (and cold) water would make me feel better overall. I picked my route and climbed over and under fallen logs towards the creek, only to crash through some bushes directly onto the trail. Somehow, I’d found it, and at a place where water flowed over it.

I paused to get some water into my dirty water bag for filtering later, and then followed the trail, which was pretty easy to follow here where the fire had not touched. I came across more water, as the land was rather boggy, full of seeps. There were bushes and flowers and tall trees shading me from the sun. I was just so relieved to be on the trail again.

And then, I came upon a small clearing where someone had built a fire ring next to the trail. Now, typically, I try not to camp right next to the trail. It’s not good trail etiquette. But on this trip, at this particular moment, at nearly 7 pm, I was going to do it. I dropped my pack and drank the last of my filtered water, which has been wonderfully cooled by its proximity to the dirty water bag.

Then I got to work filtering the dirty water and realized I really should have tested my filter before I went on the trip. I had soaked the filter, but not tested it. We had a fast filter and a slow filter, and either this was the slow one or they were now both slow. I need to test the one I left at home and compare. I had a moment of panic as the water did not initially flow out of the filter, but I sucked hard on the end to get it started and it did begin to flow. It was slow, but slow was fine as long as it moved.

I did a rather poor job of pitching the tent, but I figured I’d only be there one night. Why bother doing a tight pitch when I’d be moving on in the morning? That was a decision that I’d come to regret, but sometimes you need a lesson.

After eating dinner, I retreated into the tent and got ready for bed. I read a bit and journaled and had to get out another time or two to pee before I could fall asleep. But I felt rather awake. I kept waking up in the night. I even read for a while around 2 am, but I didn’t get the message my subconscious was trying to send me, not even when I heard the pitter patter of raindrops on the tent.

When I woke in the morning, around 8, it was no longer a few scattered pitter-patters. It was well and truly raining, in a way that it doesn’t often do in Idaho, and my poorly pitched tent was letting in way more rain than was good for me. I got a forecast from my InReach and found that it was supposed to rain all morning. I needed to do something. Because the ground was a little rocky, I had put my poncho under the tent as a ground cloth. I carefully eased it out from underneath and then put it on so I could go outside and fix my pitch.

I got a bit wet and a bit cold doing the fix, but in the end it was worth it. The tent was no longer allowing rain to come inside. Now, that didn’t mean I was dry in there, just a bit less wet. Because now I had both doors shut, and that meant that the condensation from my breathing (and the overall humidity) was collecting on the inside walls of the tent. At one point, the rain outside started coming down so hard that it caused the condensation to splash on me (and my gear).

I also got my food bag when I fixed the tent so I would have food to eat while I waited for the rain to ease up. If it stopped by noon, I would consider going on to the lakes today. I ate my breakfast bar and then settled in, trying to stay as warm and dry as possible in the 50 degree weather and rain.

Around noon, I made myself a dark chocolate cheesecake for lunch. A bit later, there was a break in the rain, and I took advantage of that to go outside and dig a hole. I also refilled my dirty water bag and got my water bladder set to refill. Just because I was spending all day in a tent didn’t mean I could forget about hydrating! I had just enough time to refill that bladder and get back into the tent before the rain started again.

I decided to stay the night there and make for the lakes in the morning. The forecast indicated no rain for the next day. And the rain did clear up in late afternoon. I was able to get outside and cook my dinner. I ended up spending a good amount of time just standing outside. Long enough to pick up a couple mosquito bites. I was just so tired of being in the tent. I needed to be out.

I slept much better that night, with a tight pitch protecting me from any rain that might come. I kept one door open, but it was humid enough still that I still had a lot of condensation overnight. Still, I got up and got ready to go. I ended up putting the tent away wet and covered in debris, but the only other option would have been to wait for the sun to come out and dry it before I started hiking. No, thanks.

It was less than two miles to the lakes, and it was mostly good trail. There were a couple of sections where the trail had been completely burned out, and I moved carefully through those. Other sections had been burned, but the trail was still discernable. I began to recognize landmarks. The huge rocks where we’d camped the second time we attempted the lakes. We had to camp there because the trail past them was completely snow-covered. I lost the trail again after I crossed a stream, but I was close enough to the lakes to go cross-country, so I did.

The lakes, Our Lakes, were just as I’d remembered them, only more burned. Most of the area around them had been spared, but there were burned areas. I had forgotten how little peaks jutted out of the forest about the lakes. So beautiful. I hiked around a bit, looking for a good place to camp. I ended up dumping my pack in a place that was really too rocky to pitch the tent, but was good for sitting. I still needed to dry the tent out before I could pitch it, so I got started on that task.

As I looked around, kicking at rocks to see if they’d move or not, I realized that the soles of my boots were starting to split. I made a note to try and see about repairing them when I got home. The best place to pitch the tent ended up being in the middle of a burned section. Not ideal, as there were several dead trees surrounding the space, but I was willing to take the risk. And someone else had camped there in the not too distant past, as they’d left a tent stake behind.

Once the tent was dry, I got it pitched, but I didn’t “move in” for several hours. I was enjoying being out of the tent after the prior day’s imprisonment. I explored a bit. On the other side of the big lake there were some icy patches of snow still lingering on. I did camp chores, including washing my Kula Cloth and my underwear. I dug quite a few holes. I finished one book and started another. And, finally, I decided to scatter the ashes I’d brought.

I’m bringing some of Ambrose’s ashes to a lot of different backpacking destinations. I want to put his remains in places where we went together, so that he’ll always be somewhere, out there. And this place. This place is so special. I sang my mantra as I conferred some of his ashes to the little lake, and continued singing as I walked to the big lake and conferred the rest. The lighter particles swirled in the wind as the heavier particles sank below the water. I cried for him. I wondered if he knew that last time he was here would be his last time. I don’t think I’ll go back there for a long time. I want that trail fixed before I make that trip again.

I began to develop a headache through that afternoon. I paid attention to it, because I’d had a mild concussion the week before, but it felt like a migraine. I have been getting migraines when I’m on my period for a long time. Usually they come the day before or the first day, but sometimes they wait a few days, and that’s what this one felt like.

I had a Jalapeño Cheddar Biscuits & Herbed Sausage Gravy by Pinnacle Foods for dinner. I’m pretty sure that’s one that Ambrose bought for himself, so I made sure to thank him for it, because it was amazingly delicious. It didn’t smell like much when I first opened the package, but once it rehydrated, YUM.

I finally got into the tent after dinner. I accepted that if a tree were to fall on me, then that would be what would be. In the night, I got up a few times to pee and saw the stars. So many bright points of light in that crystalline sky.

I set the alarm for 5:30 the next morning, but I didn’t actually wake up until 5:44. I thought I was hearing birds singing, but there was this one bird that kept singing like beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep. So consistent, my half asleep brain thought. How is the bird so consistent so early? I wonder what time it is… then I checked the GPS. Yeah, it was the alarm going off.

It didn’t take me too long to get packed up and ready to go. I headed out just before 7, and managed to find the trail. I followed it pretty well all the way to that badly burned section, where I lost it. I had to use the GPS to find my backtrack. Then back to the part of the trail where I’d camped. I thought I’d be able to follow the trail from this end and have a shorter trip of it, but, unfortunately, that turned out not to be the case. The trail completely disappeared on this end as well.

I ended up going cross-country again, but rather than follow my prior track, I decided to take a more direct route. I hadn’t wanted to climb too much on the way in because it was afternoon and very hot. But now, it was morning, and not that hot yet. I climbed up and over to take the most direct route back to my prior track.

Once I got to that prior track, it was pretty easy to follow the trail. What I was curious about at this point was how I had missed the initial junction. I made my way back to that area without too much drama, and as I followed the trail back to the junction, I saw exactly why I had missed it. The only thing remaining of my junction was a single rock at the side of the trail. The junction had otherwise been completely burned out, so it was not a surprise that I’d missed it. Though if I’d reviewed my old trip notes before I left home, I probably would have figured it out.

From there, the trail was easy to follow, thanks to motorcycle maintenance. I made my way down without losing the trail. I stopped for an extra long break a little more than a mile from the car. I wasn’t tired; I just wanted to write. And, it turned out to be good timing, because when I crossed the bridge over the North Fork Gold Fork, I saw people up on the hillside. I called out and had a brief conversation with a pair of foragers who didn’t even know that there was a trail where I was. The woman liked that I was a woman backpacking solo. I almost told her, “and without a bra!” but didn’t.

When I got back to the car, there were two other vehicles parked near mine. I didn’t see any people, so they must have been taking the trail up to the lookout. My headache was still there, so I had to resign myself to driving home with a headache. I know that I can do it, but I think next time I’ll bring one migraine pill along on backpacking trips just in case. If I’d taken one the day before, the headache would have been gone for the drive.

I’m very glad I didn’t have to drive down 55 to Boise to get home. On summer Sundays, the traffic can really build up around the turnoff to Banks. On a holiday Sunday? It would be a nightmare. Instead, I got to drive over to McCall and then down to Cambridge. Still a long drive, but a much nicer one to me.