With my tummy full, I returned to the trailer to continue my writing. Perched at my favorite writing table at the bay window in the back, I was again distracted by a most curious sight. Three teenage boys had arrived at the far side of the river bank, carrying two ropes and a 4X8 piece of plywood. One of the older boys crossed the bridge next to the trailer and all worked their way up stream. The two older boys now waded toward each other, into the river, which was traveling at a speed far too fast to walk in safely. Soon they engaged in throwing and trying to catch one of the ropes. With this accomplished they returned to the banks and tied the rope off on large rocks. The two boys now, using the tied off rope for support, waded out into the middle of the river to tie the second rope to the first, and both returned to the far bank. The second rope of some 100 feet of so, with one end attached to the cross rope, was pulled down the far bank to the piece of plywood. There was some conversation about the proper length and several adjustments up and down the bank were made, before the line was secured around one end of the plywood. Then the darndest thing happened. The older boy, grabbing onto a short 3 foot lead attached to the plywood at the same end as the rope in the river, jumped in the middle of the board, and while standing up, balanced himself precariously, shifted his weight so the board took on the likeness of a water ski. Off he went into the raging waters of the river where the rapids were the fastest. Water skiing without a boat. Back and forth he swung with the skill of a person who had done this sort of thing many times before. Soon it was time for a change and the plywood swung to the shore for the next river skier to take his place. I had never seen anything like it before.

The next morning after breakfast, we struck out for the point described by Tim and Vickie. Following their instruction we found the entrance to the climb within a mile of the campsite. The climb was spectacular and a grueling test for the vehicle and the driver, as we soon left the paved portion of the road and drove over rocks and clay, on a one lane road, with a shear drop on one side. This caused palpitations as we met a truck coming the other way. Someone had to take the outside and thank goodness it was the other guy. So close were we, that we had to pull the mirrors in of both vehicles.  I could hear the small pebbles, being spit out by the tires, as they flew over the edge and into the precipice below. This was what we now call a “white knuckle ride”. An hour or so later we pulled into the parking lot at what I thought was the top. The altimeter in the GPS that was guiding us, read 8100 feet. At the back of the parking lot was a sign. Simply put, the top was a 1000 feet up the trail, leading from the sign. Having come this far, we were not going to be stopped by such a climb. As we neared the top (now on foot), the area around us began to open up to a panoramic view worth all the time and effort. From here we gazed out onto 4 different states and the rugged sides of Hell’s Canyon.  An unmanned fire watch building at the very peak, was the only man-made structure in view. Wild flowers in magnificent profusion replaced the giant Douglas Furs which had shaded us up to the top. We sat for an hour or so, on the surrounding rocks, talking about us and enjoying the delightful view, which was now accompanied by a light breeze. We were all alone at the top of the world and loving it.