I took a notion to venture deep into NE Washington's Selkirk Mountains, mostly within the Salmo-Priest Wilderness, for a 2-night backpack. The basic loop trip is 18 miles, and I added perhaps 9 more miles via interesting sidetrips. On Tuesday, I took the noon ferry from Bainbridge to Seattle, arrived at the Gillette Lake car-campground in Colville Nat'l Forest at dusk, and hit the trail around noon Wednesday following a hearty breakfast in Ione.

This trip samples some superb wild country, with all of the big critters present, albeit in reduced numbers, that were here prior to Euro settlement. Road 2220 up the Sullivan Creek drainage is in good shape all the way to the TH at Salmo Pass. There were some lingering snowpatches here, as well as along the first half mile or so of trail on the descent to the South Salmo River. The tread over the course of the entire loop is generally good-to-fair, though with some slumping on steep mountainsides. Deadfall across the trail is intermittent, but not so much as to be too much of an irritant. I camped on the river the first night. The river must be forded here, which was difficult (crotch-deep for me at 6'1'') because of the fast snowmelt on this particular warm day. The South Salmo Valley is noteworthy for perhaps the finest stands of old growth forest in Washington, east of the Cascades. Big cedar trees are ubiquitous!

Prior to retiring for the first evening, I walked the abandoned trail (plainly marked) from camp, downstream a bit over three miles to the international border. This was a fun, though somewhat energy-draining, jaunt. Expect a lot more deadfall here, with brush that gradually closes in more and more the closer one gets to British Columbia. The brush issue is partly due to the change of vegetative cover downvalley -- from relatively open, old growth cedar and Engelmann spruce, transitioning to fire-affected birch, aspen, and scrubby Doug-fir. The trail peters out pretty much completely about a quarter-mile before reaching the boundary swath. Determined, I continued crashing through the brush, past what genuinely appeared to be grizzly bear scat (full of pine nuts) and a big game ""wallow,"" until reaching the narrow corridor of stumps that demarcates the U.S./Canada line. It appeared that the survey team had not been through here in quite some time, as I was pretty much in the swath before realizing it.

I stuck my left foot into B.C. soil, drank from my canteen in salute to the Canucks, cursed them for their all-too-American logging practices (as would be evident from the summit of Snowy Top the next day), and returned upstream to my tent by evening. The river had swollen even more by then, to the point that I would not have been willing to attempt fording it.

I headed upvalley on Thursday, after a brief thunderstorm, into Idaho. I skipped down the short spur trail to the old, rotting Salmo cabin. It's still standing, despite having a large tree lying across its roof. The river must again be forded here to reach the cabin though, being much farther upstream, the quantity of menacing water is less. I chose not to cross it, since the cabin was perfectly visible from the opposite shore. Later approaching Snowy Top Pass in Idaho, the snow on the trail eventually became semi-continuous, nearly to Shedroof Mountain several miles away. In spots, the trail's routing had to be scouted out, though this was never terribly difficult once atop the ridge.

I cached my pack temporarily and scampered up the short but steep south flank of Snowy Top Mountain to an exceptional panorama. The Selkirks of B.C., Idaho, and Washington were in full view, from their lowest valleys to their most craggy peaks. The Upper Priest River Valley is especially scenic from this point, beautifully blanketed in unblemished ancient forest. Several subranges in Canada resembled monstrous reptilian backbones. My guess is that I was gazing into the vicinity of Valhalla and Kokanee Glacier provincial parks. Alas, more examples of logging and road-building were visible than I would ever care to see, particularly in B.C. I camped on snow the second night, a couple miles south of Little Snowy Top lookout -- a sidetrip that I did not take, since I couldn't imagine it being any better than Big Snowy. I had to drop off the ridgetop about 300 feet to find non-frozen water for cooking/drinking, which saved me the hassle of having to melt snow. Incidentally, finding water along both Shedroof and Salmo divides later in the summer might be a trick.

The final day started with moderate rain, turning into a chilly, soupy fog, requiring even closer attention to the direction of the trail under the many heaps of snow. Although no section was necessarily treacherous, I was glad to have my ice axe along for some security along the snowy slopes. Deer and elk (and mountain caribou?) tracks were everywhere (also helping with trail direction), but I never saw the animals themselves. Snow diminished in the Shedroof Mountain area due to a more southerly orientation. To complete the loop, note that the old road that must be walked for less than a mile back to the original starting point has been happily and permanently decommissioned, now open only to foot and stock use. I saw not one other person over the entire three days, though a newly arrived car was at the TH when I returned, suggesting that another bold soul was enjoying the same challenges I'd just experienced.

I found the Selkirks to be very emotionally moving for me, with respect to the the wild qualities these mountains have retained, despite having not been treated especially well outside of protected areas. The heart of wilderness remains very much alive here, however, and we would do well to advocate for as much additional protection of it as possible, regardless of human-drawn bureaucratic lines.