SCOUTING THE ROAD TO RAMONA FALLS

It seems that one of the consequences of staying alive for a long time is that you begin to gain a sense of appreciation for the cost of change. This is achieved through the accumulation of memories, through the death of more and more of your contemporaries, through cycles of human construction and demolition, and occasionally, demonstrations of environmental tinkering via Mother Nature’s big box ‘O’ tools. Evidently in November, Mother Nature determined that a portion of the Sandy River needed a make-over

It used to be that you would drive to Zigzag and turn North at the Lolo Pass junction, drive a little over four miles to forest road 1825 and then…but then it doesn’t really matter because forest road 1825 has a gate across it now. So it’s get-out-of-the-car-and-walk-time.
At first, as you walk along the trails that snake along the river, you marvel at the delicate ground cover and the tenacious tree-like things that struggle to grow out of the moss and lichen covered rocks. But then abruptly, the trail disappears, seemingly scooped out by a titan gardener with skyscraper sized spade.

In a little less than a mile, you reach the bridge.

Fortunately, there is a wealth of bridge alternatives.

Don’t take this tree though, because it only goes to a little island in the middle of the river and you end up having to wade through really cold water to complete the crossing.

The sign says the Ramona Falls trailhead is still 2 miles ahead.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I…
I took the one without a tree in front of it.

From here, or very close to here, there is a message board that is kind enough to inform you that a mile ahead, there will be NO seasonal bridge across the river until maybe May – but it depends. But that note was probably written before the November moonscape make-over.

Here Mother Nature experiments with a lunar crater motif.

As best as I was able to determine, this is the place where you would expect to find a seasonal bridge (if it was the right season). I think the dark space into the trees on the other side of the river is where the trail continues, but I didn’t have time to verify it owing to a prior softball commitment. From this point, my GPS device claims that it is 3.8 miles back to where I parked the car.

These building supplies off to the side of the trail provide another clue about the possible location of the site of the seasonal bridge, but if you ask me, I think they are going to need more wood.

A wiser choice of tree-bridge allows me to cross back without getting wet.

(To be continued)