Montana InterVANtion (Jul 2024)

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It's been quite a while since I've been on a trip with Monte @Blackdawg, and I haven't been on a trip that included both Monte and Ben @m3bassman since my very first TacomaWorld trip - The De-Tour - back in 2017.

It hasn't been for lack of trying. Rather, as these young dudes have grown up, they've focused on the same things many of us focus on at their age - jobs, families, and home maintenance - all things that make finding a window to get out and explore harder and harder.

But this year, the stars seemed to align, and somehow, we got Monte, Ben, Zane @Speedytech7, and Mike @Digiratus - almost everyone from the original De-Tour - to commit to a week-long trip in southwest Montana during the last week in July. There, we'd wind our way through the flanks of the Pioneer Mountains in an attempt to visit a series of lakes and ridges.

As usual, little would go as planned - narrow roads, trail repairs, forest fires and mosquitoes all conspiring against us - and yet somehow the comradery of it all would be what we'd all remember.

And hopefully - after a bit of an interVANtion - it would be the last trip Ben would bring his van.

(stay tuned)​

 

Late Arrival | InterVANtion #1
Part of the Montana InterVANtion (Jul 2024) trip.

Have you felt it? You know, the feeling that the universe is a little "off" recently? As far as I can tell, it's the only explanation, really, for how this trip got underway. No other phenomenon would explain Monte @Blackdawg showing up before me to kick off an adventure.

I say this because Monte is notorious for showing up late. Even on The De-Tour - the first trip I ever attended with this group of guys I now call good friends - Monte's was the last truck to pull into the parking lot at our meet-up point. The Re-Tour was no different. And even our most recent get together - in Death Valley - he careened in a fully 18 hours after everyone else!

But, this time, it was me who showed up late. Does this mean that Monte has become a more responsible, timely human being as he's gotten older? That I've become less and less reliable as I've aged past my peak? Whatever the answer, it's obviously time to change the topic.


Racing to Camp...
I was out of the house just after 3:30am. Headed east, I hoped to catch Monte and Devin, Mike @Digiratus, and Zane @Speedytech7 before they left camp for the day, just south of Butte, Montana. Unfortunately, speeding along at 62mph - a full 18mph slower than the posted speed limit - I wasn't getting anywhere fast. Just as I stopped for lunch in Missoula, I got a text from Monte, "Going up Sheep Mountain now. Headed up to Lions City after to find camp." And with that, I was a full day late.

Finally on dirt, the smoke was thick as I wound my way into the Pioneer Mountains.​

I made a quick stop in Glendale - an old ghost town - but didn't investigate too much, since I wanted to get to camp!​

Soon, I was climbing out of the valley and into the trees.​

Speeding along the dirt, I wasn't sure exactly where I'd find everyone, but as I passed a particular spur, I thought, "that looks like a place that Mike would like to camp." Not 10 seconds later, as I continued up the hill, I could see the spur open up into a clearing. And in the clearing, a red 1st gen Tacoma was gleaming in the evening glow. It was Mike!

Excited to see the guys, I threw the Tacoma in reverse and careened back down the road, completely forgetting to check my mirrors. Turns out, the gentle righthand curve was a little tighter than I'd remembered, a detail I realized only as I heard the crunch of a branch that somehow managed to wedge itself between my swingout bumper and tailgate.

Yay! Body damage.

​

Reminding myself that nearly every other body panel already had some sort of damage, I disentangled myself from ... myself, and worked my way - more carefully - into camp. It was 5:00pm the day after the trip had started, and I'd arrived!

At first, I wondered where everyone was, but then I found them clustered around - and under - Zane's truck, trying to diagnose a rear brake issue.​

After a good-humored round of hugs accompanied by, "Nice of you to show up," and, "Thanks for joining us," talk turned to the imminent arrival of our final companion. Or, rather, an arrival that would have been imminent had Ben @m3bassman been driving his 1st gen Tacoma.

Instead, Ben would be in his extra-long elephant - err, Sportsmobile - which we'd discover to have a top speed of approximately zero miles per hour on dirt roads. As such it was a couple hours before he finally pulled into camp, where we immediately noticed that a large electrical cable was dangerously dangling down from the front bumper.

Ben being swallowed by his truck, wondering, "where does that huge wire connect, anyway?"
Note: we never figured it out and just left it - the ground wire for his underpowered winch - disconnected for the remainder of the trip.​

While it's been two-and-a-half years since I've been on a trip with Monte, I haven't been on a trip that included both Monte and Ben in seven (!) years, so it was awesome that the stars seemed to align for this adventure. In fact, this was a reunion of sorts; the first time we'd have nearly the entire cast of The De-Tour out on the trail together since 2017!

With camp finally full, it was time for a campfire. And of course, for a big dose of Mike's famous salsa.​

Four Plus One...

Our - or I suppose, my - first morning in camp was the only time that I got up before sunrise. Even then, it was only moments before the fiery ball rose above the horizon, and by the time I'd launched my replacement drone into the air, first light was already streaking across the distant ridges of the Pioneer Mountains.

Camp in a land of old mines.​

Climbing back into bed for a couple more hours of light sleep and reading, it wasn't until 8:00am that I heard the sounds of coffee being made by Mike and Ben, prompting the rest of us to wander our way into the mid-morning sun.

Sometimes battling the hi-lift beats stacking rocks "just so."​

It was right around 10:00am when Monte led the way out of camp, with Mike and Zane hot on his tail. Behind them, Ben slowly executed a 5-point turn before lumbering up the road, and I followed in the tail-gunner position, so we could ensure a vehicle-mounted Ham radio on each end of our group.

This positioning was something we'd discussed the previous evening around the campfire. In fact, I'm usually a fan of running in the rear-most position, since it allows me to stop for photos, hang back out of the dust, and generally proceed at whatever pace suits my taste. However, I'd been warned - mostly by Mike, who'd run in this position on a couple previous trips with Ben's van that I'd not been able to attend - that running behind the van was an exercise in patience.

Surely it couldn't be that bad, I thought.

As if reading my mind - which is often betrayed by my face - they assured me that it really was that bad.

At any rate, as Ben and I plodded up the road, the whole scheme seemed to be working splendidly. I was able to hear the radios at the front and they were able to hear me. Likewise, I could communicate with Ben, and though he couldn't communicate with the radios at the front, I was able to relay everything that was said, which mostly amounted to keeping him abreast of how far behind we were.

By the time Ben and I stopped at an old mining structure, everyone else had continued on.​

Next, we checked out an old mill at the Lion City Ghost Town.​

As we were checking out the lower elevation remnants of the once-active mining community, three Tacomas were making their way up the face of Keokirk Mountain. Realizing that I was keen to follow, but not wanting to push the van through some of the steep, narrow grades, Ben decided to wait at the bottom while I hoofed it to catch up.

My "hoofing it" does not preclude photo stops.​

By the time I got to the top, everyone else looked like they were ready to go.​

Yep, ready to go!​

Determined not to be in too much of a rush, I poked around on the top for a bit, taking in the views and poking around a few mining remains that have long surrendered to the harsh winters that pile dozens of feet of snow as far as the eye can see. I can only imagine what it must have been like to work here, chipping away at the stone, hoping to hit the motherload.

At least - after a hard day's work - the views were ...acceptable.​

Eventually, I made extensive use of the skinny pedal and followed everyone back down from the saddle.​

Back down the mountain and on the main road, we hooked up with our newly minted van-lifer, who'd been lounging on his couch reading a book. Not a bad life, I must admit. Once again a party of five, our next destination - as were all our destinations on this trip - a lake nestled into the higher elevations of the Pioneer Mountains.

I think we're running low on antennas.​

More "mature" (ok, old) than I used to be, I noticed Ben had his camera out as I came to this small water crossing, so I put on a bit of speed for what I thought was a good show. Even so, his reaction was, "I expected more from you." Perhaps I set expectations inappropriately with him on a trip to Idaho.
​

We'd never make it to Cherry Lake. This wasn't a total surprise. Monte had mapped these roads using topo maps with the occasional assist from satellite imagery, and we all know how quickly nature can reclaim trails that are rarely used. In this particular case, the trail still existed, but rockfall impeded the progress of anything larger than a school bus, so we had to turn around.

The trip toward Cherry Lake wasn't a total bust, however. We did find a nice little spot nestled into the trees to enjoy a quick lunch and for Ben to show off another advantage of his new lifestyle. Just as we were settling down to eat our sandwiches and cereal, enormous drops of rain began to fall. In less than a minute, Ben's awning was out and as he lounged - again, on his couch - the rest of us stayed nice an dry as the utterly drenching thunderstorm passed overhead.

Maybe this van thing isn't so bad after all. Or, more likely, maybe I just need an awning.

With Ben chewing our ears off about how great his awning set up and tear down times were - and us reminding him that those benefits came attached to a planet-sized boat - we pointed ourselves to the next lake on the list, Lake Agnes, and began the climb up and over Storm Peak.

Whether appropriate or ominous, we were climbing Storm Peak in the rain.​

Amazing how a little water really does make the color of the landscape pop!​

Climbing towards and intermediate ridge, I managed to avoid the lightning as I snapped a shot with the flying camera.​

Normally, the trail up to Storm Peak wouldn't warrant much of a mention. A few football-sized rocks here and there, the most notable feature of the tail was how it wound its way through the trees as it slowly gained elevation. Normally, the seven-mile jaunt to 9,400 feet above sea level would have taken us under an hour.

Today however, it took us nearly three. What were inconsequential corners for those of us in small, narrow, purpose-built Tacomas, turned out to be major obstacles for a van weighing in at twice the size and nearly two feet wider. I started to see why the guys - Ben included - had warned me about my position as tail gunner. At an average of three miles per hour, I could have hiked faster!

After several attempts at navigating an 8-inch root in the trail, Monte and Zane decided it'd be best to just stack rocks for the elephant.​

With plenty of time to send up the drone, I was lucky enough to catch a few sunbreaks every now and then.​

I may have been stuck at the back, but that didn't mean the guys up front were averaging faster speeds. They would regularly stop to wait for Ben and I to catch up. Here, just below the summit of Storm Peak.​

From the summit, we had another couple of miles to Lake Agnes, where - given the time of day - we now planned to find camp. And so, we set off along the grassy ridge, the leading Tacomas soon pulling away from the van on the first gradual ascent.

It may seem that the van is keeping up, but I may have radioed the lead group to pause for a few minutes so I could grab a shot.​

As we crested the next ridge, I took a quick look at the map. Temperatures so far had been quite warm - in the mid-80s °F, and I could see that we'd lose a couple thousand feet of elevation - the equivalent of about 10°F temperature change - if we continued to Lake Agnes. Additionally, the trail - or at least the GPS track - showed several tight switchbacks, much tighter than anything we'd navigated on the way up - suggesting to me that the route down could consume several hours for one of us.

So, I grabbed the mic for the radio and suggested that we camp a few dozen feet off the road. Here, I suggested, folks could opt for shelter or a view, and we'd be more comfortable around the campfire. A few minutes later, we were settled.

Ben's first order of business - clean the trail off the top of his rig!​

While most opted for a sheltered spot closer to the fire ring, I assumed my usual position, along the edge of the ridge.​

With that, it was time to settle down to one of the most pleasant evenings of the trip. Tents were deployed, chairs were retrieved from the beds and arranged in a circle, and conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next.

Though we don't get together frequently, it's as though no time has passed each time we do. Except we're all getting a little heavier. And slower. And maybe we don't remember quite as well as we used to. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever.

Monte (top left), Devin (top right), Ben's dog Venice (bottom left) and Mike (bottom right).​

Between conversations, each of us would wander off for one thing or another. Mike, to make guacamole - which, I must report, was abhorrently withheld on this particular evening until Devin and Monte completed preparation of carnitas tacos, Ben to exercise his new, amazing human-size, 600mm lens, Zane to endlessly throw a frisbee for the pups, and me - I suppose - to grab a tub of homemade chocolate-chip cookies for everyone to enjoy.

Just so there's no confusion, Ben is on the left and the lens is on the right. That thing is a monster!​

As the light got longer, I made a few trips over to the Tacoma to capture the color.

Golden.​

Rays.​

Purple twilight.​

Eventually, the fire started, chairs we shared between two- and four-footed friends, and Zane snuck in a "Peoples Eyebrow."
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The highlight of the night was not the tub of chocolate chip cookies. In an amazing upset - this coming from a guy who can't ever get enough avocado - wasn't even Mike's guac. It was the carnitas tacos. They were - dare I say - the best we've ever eaten on the trail, possibly beating out those that Mike has assembled for us in the past.

Heaven.​

I suppose I'd need to try Mike's again - a few times - and then Monte's - just to refresh my memory - to really call a winner. Or, at least to narrow it down to the top two in preparation for a 7-dinner plate off. It's a task I'd not-at-all-begrudgingly agree to, were I presented with the opportunity.

By 10:00pm, it was time to call it a night. This - perhaps more than anything else - was an indicator of how time marches on. Seven years ago - no matter the pouring rain or temperatures below freezing - I can't remember a fire breaking up before midnight. Now, I think we're all grateful when someone starts to yawn around 9:45pm.

A final shot of the cloudy skies.






.​

 

Nice pix.
Nice feel.
Nice terrain.
Nice everything.

Thanks for sharing.

 

The InterVANtion, After Being Turned Around Twice | InterVANtion #2
Part of the Montana InterVANtion (Jul 2024) trip.

I spent an extremely pleasant - if a little windy at times - night on the ridge. Luckily, years of ignoring my parents' advice to use hearing protection when woodworking, preceded by the fact that I was once - a very long time ago - a youngster who listened to music with the volume turned to teenager, relieved me of the worst of it. Oh, and the earplugs I had handy in the tent probably helped a bit too.

At any rate, I slept through all of the noise with no problem, waking only once - about half an hour before sunrise - to go to the bathroom and snap a quick shot of the smoke that was accumulating to our east.

Luckily, with the wind blowing out of the northwest, this particular smoke wouldn't be an issue for us.​

Then, it was back up into the tent - for a few more hours of shut-eye - until the sun streamed in through the windows and warmed my already-cozy sleeping situation to the "sweating" level. Overnight, the wind had pushed all the clouds south, and it was going to be another beautiful day!

Good morning, Pioneer Mountains!​

The same sun that eventually got me going seemed to motivate everyone else as well, and before long, there was a bustle around camp as breakfast was made, frisbees were thrown, and everything we'd pulled from our mobile homes the previous night was fit like puzzle pieces into our rigs.

After packing up, I pulled right up to the edge to wait for the rest of the gang.​

As tents were being stowed, this undesirable - responsible for killing many of our forests - was found trying to hitch a ride. (Pine beetle)​

Padfoot was ready to go go go!​

Not surprisingly, with a setup that requires little more than pressing a button to lower the sleeping area to roof-height, Ben was the first one ready to hit the trail. Hoping to save us all a bit of time - and in particular, me a bit of very slow going - I mentioned over the radio that he should get a start down the trail, and that we'd catch up shortly. I was a little worried that he'd take offense to my suggestion, but he seemed happy - and maybe even a bit relieved to not be holding us up - and we soon heard the drone of the diesel fade away as he plunged over the ridgeline.

Leading the way into the unknown.​

The slow speed of Ben's descent cannot be overstated. In the 10-minute window between when he departed and when we began down the back side of the ridge, he'd made it less than half a mile. This, according to him, was apparently due to the fact that he had to steer with one hand, while holding the 4wd transfer case in low gear with the other, to prevent it from popping out into high.

We were already three quarters of the way down the hill by the time Ben reached the dry creek crossing at the bottom.​

Heading back up the other side.​

This, adjacent ridge - it would turn out - would be as far as this road could take us. As it plunged into the trees on the far side, towards a set of tight switchbacks that had me worried the previous evening, the grass got taller, the tracks got fainter, and finally, the road was no more. Pulling off to the shoulder, Ben keyed up his radio, "You seeing what I'm seeing, Monte?" he asked.

As end of road views go, we didn't have any complaints about this one.​

With less than half a mile to a well-graded Forest Service Road that would take us to Lake Agnes, Monte plowed ahead through the grass, hoping to pick up the trail as it entered the trees. Alas, it was not to be, and soon we were retracing the route that'd consumed most of the previous day, winding the big gray elephant back along the narrow, wooded trail that'd delivered us to Storm Peak.

With Devin piloting Igor, we headed back the way we'd come.​

Up, up, up.​

This section was quite steep, and Ben was white-knuckling it a bit as parts were also slightly off-camber.​

Back across Storm Peak.​

Back into the trees. Sorry Ben!​

Down through the trees, we tried something new. Knowing that Ben had the GPS tracks - and that there was only one way down - we put him at the back of the caravan to see how communications would go in that configuration. Turns out, they worked reasonably well, allowing us to travel at a more reasonable pace, waiting for Ben - with our engines off - as he picked his way through the harriest sweeping turns and bumpiest 5-inch-tall rocks.

There's nothing remotely interesting about this photo, except that as I took it, Zane calmly told me to get into my truck, because he'd heard over the radio that "Ben has lost his brakes."​

Turns out that Ben didn't actually lose his brakes on the way down, it was just that the van stalled. This in turn disabled the power steering and brake booster, but was easily remedied by restarting the diesel generator under the hood.

"It was funny to watch the Tacomas scurry like rats," he joked as he pulled up behind us so we could being our long-way-round to Tendoy Lake.

Back together for only a moment, I resumed the tail-gunner position, and the other three Tacomas quickly pulled away.​

Our new route had us pounding the pavement for a few miles, which worked out perfectly for a few reasons. First, we made it to Dillon, where Mike and Zane finally found some of the premium grade juice that their Tacomas require. Second, we were able to find a nice Taco-and-Ice Cream joint where we could indulge in a myriad of tasty treats. And finally - even if just for a few minutes - Ben wasn't the slowest guy on the trail. My 62mph pace, and 42-second 0-62 acceleration put me squarely at the back of the pack!

Tasty tacos and the first time I've had quesabirria. Not as good as Monte's, though!​

It was in Dillon - over lunch - that Ben first broached the subject of his green Tacoma making a reappearance on our trips. It was subtle - almost more of an apology for slowing us down on the trails - and we all brushed it off. After all, having Ben on the trips - whether he's driving a glacier or not - is way more important in our book!

Dillion is south of Tendoy Lake, which was south of Storm Peak, and the idea had been to hit Dillon the next morning, after we camped at Tendoy Lake. Despite the fact that it wasn't the most efficient route, we still liked the idea of camping at Tendoy, so we exited town the way we'd entered, and soon we found ourselves winding our way back into the Pioneer Mountains at Birch Creek, and then Willow Creek Road.

Like all afternoons, this one started to get a little smoky, but with cooperating clouds, our complaints weren't all that valid.​

Rally point, just before the spur to Tendoy Lake.​

I forget exactly what led to Ben finding the actual, in-service spur to the lake, but somehow, the rest of us ended up on an old road-turned-foot trail that quickly petered out after a creek crossing that would have been difficult even for the Tacomas. As we were discussing next steps, the radio crackled to life, Ben letting us know that he found a signed spur suggesting that a once secondary route might now be the only route to our goal.

Zane led the way as the trail started to get rocky.​

The trail quickly became interesting as Mike worked his way through the large, loose, river rock.​

This would have been a fun little trail - at least, as far as we could tell - in the Tacomas, but we knew it wasn't going to work for the behemoth behind us.​

“Wow, we got f#%ked out of two trails today,” Monte announced over the radio, all of us now wondering as to the backup plan for the evening.

Hoping to find something further up the main road, Ben - who'd hung back as we'd investigated the spur - let us know that he'd head that direction as we made our way back to the fork. And, only a few minutes later, he let us know that he'd found another lake - with a nice spot to camp - that was easy to access, even for him!

Our own little slice of paradise.​

Within minutes, we'd all rendezvoused along the edge of Long Branch Lake - we'd found our home for the evening. And it was at this point that Ben began to talk in earnest about his plans for the future. Or at least, his plans for the future as it pertained to the most important aspect of his life: Tacomas.

"Hear me out," he started. "I've had a lot of time to think about this on the trail the last couple of days."

"That's the truth," someone piped up, "your van is slow as shit. You've got enough time to think about anything!"

Anyway, Ben proceeded to lay out his plan to resurrect the Tacoma, which he's had in storage since he started using the van as his primary adventure vehicle in 2022. At that point, he made the [terrible] decision to turn the Tacoma into a race truck, cutting off all the useful 4wd bits, ditching all the nice suspension, and selling all the gear that he used to go camping. Now, though, he informed us that with the "the help of his friends" - specifically, those of us lounging in chairs next to him - he had a plan to get it all back. Or at least, enough of it so that he wouldn't be lumbering along in the Sportsmobile, fighting through every inch of terrain. His idea was that he could make a trip out to Seattle, and in the process, he'd:

• stop at Zane's, hopefully to piece together some sort of leaf pack out of the several that must be laying around the shop.
• stop at Mike's, to pick up an old canopy that Mike's been trying to get out of his garage for almost as long as I've known him.
• stop at my place, to build a sleeping platform for the bed, an in-cab doggo platform for Venice, and perhaps take my old tires off my hands.

We hadn't done it on purpose, but clearly our nickname for the van - The Elephant - and all of our teasing and ribbing about how slowly Ben was going on such easy trails, had "worked," even if we didn't have any outcome in mind. It did however leave Ben exhausted. Though it was only 4:00pm, he soon abandoned his reclining camp chair for the comfort of his plush pop-up bed.

Only a few minutes later, Monte nonchalantly proposed a name for this trip: The InterVANtion. It was perfect, made even better by the fact that - as easy as the entire ordeal had seemed to us - Ben had spent so many brain cells on his interVANtion that it'd worn him out. Ultimately, he'd nap for so long that - sometime around 11:00pm - Mike got worried and went to check on him.

It was perhaps the most successful interVANtion in the history of interventions.

While Ben caught some Z's, we setup camp and engaged in our evening campfire rituals.​

"Hey everyone, we're ready to play!"​

Still as glass.​

Predictably, just as - or perhaps because - things were quieting down, Ben rolled out of his van and caught Monte just as he was dousing the final coals of the campfire with water.

"Dude, I slept through the campfire! " Ben exclaimed, throwing a couple more logs into the ring. "You gotta stay up with me for a little while so I can enjoy it," he added.

And of course, being the best friend of the bunch, Monte obliged.

 

… and your writing is good, too.


Enjoyable.

 

Quartet of Lakes | InterVANtion #3
Part of the Montana InterVANtion (Jul 2024) trip.

For being a fallback location - and but for some flies the previous afternoon - our night at Long Branch Lake was hard to beat. Overnight, temperatures dropped down into a pleasant range for sleeping, and our sheltered location along the edge of the glassy lake meant that we didn't descend our ladders until nearly an hour after sunrise.

Good morning, mountains.​

In fact, a few of us had awoken earlier - when it sounded like one of the dogs was out playing in the lake - but only Ben's van was positioned to witness a cow Moose slosh across the shallow body of water. Still in bed like the rest of us, it was too late by the time he grabbed the camera and made his way to the water's edge, the moose was missing!

This is a Padfoot. Padfoots are much cuter - and faster - than moose.​

I'm not sure I've seen a lake so large and yet so shallow. Not more than 18" deep in the center, but full of (small) fish.​

As the sun rose, the brilliant green of the grass really began to pop.​

Our plan? Explore some of those mountains!​

Despite our trail setbacks of the day before, spirits were high. Today was a new day - one where we weren't headed far, as the crow flies - but where we hoped to finally reach the end of a trail we started!

Little did we know that it would be so much more. But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Like clockwork, we were all packed up and out of camp a little after 10:00am. With Monte leading the way, Zane and Mike followed, with Ben and I bringing up the rear. I assumed that - as with the previous days - I'd be tail gunning it, so I made no effort to leave camp quickly, hoping that Ben would make it a good way down the trail, allowing the dust to settle before I raced along the forested road.

Climbing out of camp.​

Unbeknownst to me, Ben was a new man after his InterVANtion. Realizing that I'd prefer a quicker pace, he'd waited at the main road for me to come up from camp, and it was only as I was climbing back into the Tacoma, that I heard him ask if everything was OK over the radio.

Waving as I accelerated past him, I sheepishly admitted to my dallying on my way up from the lake, and thanked him for letting me by. And then, more than 7 minutes behind the lead group, I set about catching them.

Just as I caught Mike, I couldn't resist stopping for a photo when I spotted the mountains in my mirrors.​

It turns out that Monte had stopped another mile or so down the road. Being a poster child for tardiness, he'd started a stopwatch to check the spacing between vehicles. "You guys need to work on your spacing," he announced, as Mike and I rolled in. "What's the rush?" said Zane, "Ben is still miles up the road."

Let the waiting begin.​

Mike playing games.​

Might as well partake in a healthy mid-morning snack.​

An obviously heated debate about how long it will be before Ben showed up.​

In the end, Zane wasn't wrong. Zane arrived a minute and change after Monte; Mike arrived seven minutes after Zane, and I followed exactly a minute later. Ben showed up 22 minutes after Monte parked his truck. We were all ready for him to have his Tacoma back!

Our five-vehicle convention didn't last long. Ready to get underway, engines, turbos, and superchargers reved as the dusty ones pulled away. Where they were going in such a hurry was beyond me, but I hung back to let the worst of the dust die down before stopping only a quarter mile further up the road to grab a photo of the two best looking vehicles under the watchful eye of Torrey Mountain.

Zoom-zoom.​

Put-put.​

Just as I was climbing back into the cab, I noticed this killer on the hood. Damn you, Pine Beetles!​

From our rally point at the beginning of Birch Creek Road, it was only a few miles before Monte announced over the radio that he was pulling into Dinner Station Campground for a quick stop at the restrooms. This turned out to be a popular attraction, and one that I'm sure was more pleasant for the first visitor than the last.

​

Luckily - having taken care of business earlier in the morning as I gazed out over the glassy surface of the lake - I never found out if the notoriously flimsy, half-ply toilet paper was running low. Instead, I perused a sign that seemed strikingly appropriate, given the arthropod I'd recently dispatched on my hood.

Whoever wrote this seemed to be way more forgiving of the Pine Beetles than I am.​

Hurry up guys, it's hot in here.

​

Back on the trail, the road got rougher immediately past the campground. Still, save for a couple points along the way, Ben - who'd remained at the back, bless his soul - did a good job of keeping up with the much more agile 80% of our trucks, and we only had to stop a few times to wait for him to catch up.

Not that we minded at all. The scenery was great, and the temps were cooler than they'd been the previous day.

Missing a green truck in the middle.​

Here comes the driver of that missing green truck now!​

When I started going on trips with these guys, I might have walked a section of trail like this. Now, I barely give it a second look as I stuff trail mix into a hole in my head.​

These bits still require a bit of attention in a bigger beast.​

As the road wound its way through the trees, I was reminded of tails I'd run as part of the Siskiyou Crest Adventure Trail. This terrain is some of my favorite - the relatively sparse undergrowth reminiscent of the summers I spent in the Plumas National Forest - and I couldn't help but stop for a quick photo of a Birch Creek waterfall, figuring that I had a few minutes before I'd hold up the truck following behind.

Playing with time. 1/2 sec exposure (left) and 1/200 sec exposure (right).​

After a short pause, I was back underway.
​

As I recall, there was only one point where Ben mentioned over the radio that he had to get out and clear a tree. A relatively small specimen, the rest of us had passed it - in our short, narrow Tacomas - without a second glance, but if Ben had learned thing from our route the previous day, it was that his profile was a smidge larger than ours!

There were a few points where we waited to ensure Ben could make it up without issue. None of them turned out to be an issue, with the van easily - albeit slowly - chewing through the terrain.​

Looks like a boat, performs like a boat. Is it a boat?
​

We arrived at the first lake - Boot Lake - a few minutes before 1:00pm. Water levels were low, but there was a fantastic camp site with plenty of level ground for activities. Activities - I hoped - that would include lunch.

Water levels at Boot Lake were not impressive, but the views sure were!​

The camp site we found even had a set of bleachers, on which we instinctively took up our positions.​

Before we could get out the munchies, someone - I forget who, but I think it might have been Mike - suggested that, by pushing on another quarter mile, we could settle into a camp site at Pear Lake, and not have to worry about unpacking, repacking, and unpacking again. Plus, his plan - to make a pair of his tasty steak burritos as an early dinner - would mean getting out much of his kitchen, as compared to the sandwiches and snacks that usually constituted our midday meals.

This sounded find to everyone else - and I know I for one was hoping to compare the tastiness of Mike's burritos to that of Monte's carnitas - so we jumped back in the truck and were pulling into a not-so-level camp site at Pear Lake only a few minutes later.

Or, some of us were.

Monte - always keen to follow a road to its end - radioed that he was bypassing the camp area in search of the end of the road. A quick glance at my tablet, and I radioed ahead that the road appeared - to me - to climb to a couple higher lakes, and that I was following him up.

The trail above Pear Lake was the most fun we'd run so far!​

On our way to the end of the road, I couldn't help but pose for a moment at May Lake.​

As the road climbed to Tub Lake, it got narrower, rockier, and steeper. Definitely not something that we were going to be recommending to the whole group, the two green trucks ate up the trail, their drivers full of anticipation. And that anticipation was rewarded as we pulled into the wide area at the end of the road; as we gazed out across a beautiful alpine pool. It was a special place.

"A younger me would hike up here at midnight for a star photo." -Monte​

Look at that water!​

Our stomachs aching for sustenance, and assuming that the rest of the guys were already chowing down on Mike's burritos below, we broke out the camp chairs, dunked the dogs in the lake to clean them up a bit, and settled down to sandwiches and cereal. Gazing out over the water, time seemed to stand still, with nearly an hour passing before we finally packed up and headed back down the trail to find a spot to call home for the remainder of the day.

And - at 2:30pm - there was a lot of day remaining.

Back down we go, under some amazing light.​

Much larger than Tub Lake, Pear Lake was no less dramatic.​

Back at camp, we found everyone right where we'd left them. To our surprise, no one had unpacked, and linner - or dunch, depending on who you talked to - was yet to be consumed. Sheepishly, we apologized for the lack of communication, while relating the experience we'd enjoyed just over the ridge. As always, our blunder was quickly forgiven, and soon we were all arranged in a circle, enjoying an afternoon in the shade.

We all found nice places to setup, but I think I found the best!​

It was 3:30pm when we got our first hint of weather. There was no liquid ice falling from the sky, and no electricity crackling into the air, but as the winds picked up, dark clouds streamed by to the west, a dramatic scene unfolding above the ridgeline behind the lake.

Light and dark.​

Ben, having been made aware of a bald eagle on the far side of the lake, set off around the perimeter, lugging his (amazing) 600mm lens the entire way. I think it was worth it.​

Shortly after his circumnavigation, the skies opened up. Our first indication was the lightning - far to the west - followed by the rumble of thunder across the valley. Excited, cameras and tripods were retrieved, long exposures begun. Alas, it was still too light, and even with the darkest of ND filters and the highest of apertures, the longest exposure we could muster was still under 1.5 seconds. It didn't much matter, because the wind that'd brought the clouds soon had us dodging some of the largest raindrops I've experienced in a long time!

With temps still in the mid-80s °F, I should have grabbed my shampoo for a late afternoon shower!​

As happens with summer thunderstorms, this one passed quickly, and soon we reconvened around the fire ring, ready for our nightly dose of Mike's guacamole.​

For the next few hours - and even into the night - the thunderstorms blew through. As they did, we'd move our chairs under Devin and Monte's easy-up, the conversation continuing to flow without missing a beat. It was one of the most pleasant afternoons and evenings of the entire trip, all of us content to enjoy our time together in a place we had all to ourselves.

Then, shortly before sunset, a break in the rain - but not in the storm - was the perfect time to send the flying camera up into the sky to see if I could capture some fireworks. Pointing the nose west, I realized that video would allow for a much longer exposure than anything that would work on the more expensive still video camera.

I pressed record and waited. Two minutes later, I was rewarded with a monstrous display!

Gotcha! Forty-four consecutive frames, slowed down to 1/6th real-time.
​

I forget what time it was when we all called it quits and headed to our respective beds, but whenever it was, we'd spent more time in camp than we had on the trail. To my surprise, I'd enjoyed it more than I would have imagined, and I found myself looking forward to more of the same.






.

 

I’ve been out of the forums for a long time and upon return, am impressed by the evolution of our community.
This post is another positive example. Worth revisiting, more than once.

Good work, turbodb.

And good shooting.

 

Two Flats and a Fire | InterVANtion #4
Part of the Montana InterVANtion (Jul 2024) trip.

It rained on and off regularly during our night at Pear Lake, with gusty winds buffeting the tent and making me glad that I'd tied down the ladder to keep the entire contraption from folding up on me while I slept. With earplugs in and knowing that the tent would have plenty of time to dry out in the morning, I slept well, the patter of rain on the roof a soothing - rather than worrying - sound.

There were still a few clouds in the sky when I awoke for the first time, about 40 minutes before sunrise.​

When I woke up a second time - just more than an hour later - the clouds were already clearing.​

Enjoying the view from up high, I putzed around for a while with the drone. As I did, a rumble - which I initially attributed to thunder, then - as it continued for more than 30 seconds - to a very large approaching vehicle, but eventually to something I couldn't identify - reverberated through the valley.

Later that morning, Monte would ask, "Did you catch it on the drone?"

"Catch what?" I replied. Feeling a little bad that I hadn't been as careful with the drone noise as I thought I had.

"The mountain calving. Or the rockslide. Or whatever?"

Of course, not knowing what it was that I was hearing - and being the worst drone pilot I know - I'd had no chance of catching it in my frame, much less on video. Bummer, because it sounded like a big one!

From above I could see Anchor Lake, a place we never visited.​

Sun playing across Pear Lake and the surrounding mountains. And a tiny Tacoma.​

With the drone back on the ground and everyone else still asleep, I packed up my handheld radio and camera gear to follow Ben's footsteps around the lake. I knew there was essentially zero chance of seeing the Bald Eagle, but I could always hope.

This little guy was the closest I got to a Bald Eagle. "Bald Eagle Breakfast."​

With no major wildlife sightings - and not wanting to hold anyone up - I made it around the lake in record time. Well, probably normal time. Whatever it was, folks were awake-but-only-just as I returned to camp and set about putting the tent away while everyone else did the same.

Knowing that we had quite a few miles to cover, Monte had suggested an early start, so naturally I suggested that we delay a bit and pull our trucks out onto the earthen dam for a group photo.

How could we pass up a backdrop like this?​

Photos captured, we sent Ben down the trail first, figuring that we could hang around and enjoy what was turning into a beautiful morning at the lake, rather than waiting at several less-spectacular spots along the trail.

Found this Hera Buckmoth (Hemileuca hera). Unfortunately, it wasn't doing too well.​

Yellow Lupine (left). | Some sort of Aster (right).​

Hey guys, if you're going to be out and about, can we play too?​

After 15 minutes or so, we decided that we'd given the beast a long enough head start, and we hoped that if he made it to Dinner Station Campground - where we'd stopped the previous morning - that he'd hold up so that we could all caravan out to the highway together.

Down the mountain.​

I really liked how this ridge seemed to loom in front of the trail as we drove through the tall pine.​

Turns out, we vastly overestimated the speed of the big gray van, and we easily caught up well before the campground. From there - rather than heading east to I-15 - we stuck to dirt as we pointed our trucks south toward MT-278. This would take us up and over a couple more ridges before dropping us down through grassy foothills where we'd air up for a 40-mile stretch of pavement and the trailhead for our next lake attempt.

It was as we crested the first ridge that Monte piped up over the radio that he was going to take a spur to the top, where we might as well eat lunch. It was only 11:15am, but given that most of us had skipped breakfast that morning, there were only calls of confirmation in reply.

Perched on the top of Tower Mountain (can you find the Tacoma in the foreground?), the views were nothing short of spectacular.​

Unfortunately, flat spots to prep and eat lunch were non-existent, so as soon as Ben showed up - and had a chance to check out the view - we piled back into the trucks and got ourselves turned around so we could get back underway.

After dropping down the south side of Tower Mountain, we found ourselves racing - literally - along a well-graded road next to French Creek.​

In other circumstances, this might have been an interesting place to stop and poke around.​

Slowest truck first, fastest truck last. I guess it wasn't really a race.
​

As we aired up, some of us - me - tried to scarf down a bit of food. As I recall, it was only a bit of trail mix and some homegrown blueberries, but I might have squeezed in a bowl of Wheat Chex as well. Whatever it was, it hit the spot and with my ARB compressor putzing along at speeds* that Ben's van would put to shame, I was finally ready to go 20 minutes after I began.

* I'm not sure why my compressor is so slow, or if it even really is. All I know is that Ben was able to air up the 33" tires on his van - from 35-70psi - in significantly less time that it took me - also on 33s - to go from 18-40psi. I'd think that pushing air at the higher pressures required by the van would be more difficult for the compressor, but for some reason, his setup significantly outperformed mine!

Determined to keep up after falling way behind when we'd previously pounded the pavement, I pushed my revs to 4,000rpm. As I pulled out into the oncoming lane to snap this shot, Zane keyed his mic and joked, "We going to slow for you grandpa?"​

After 90 minutes, we were back on dirt.​

And a few minutes later, we were a caravan.
(Ben - really missing his green truck - opted out of this photo. )​

Having left camp with lots of ground to cover for the day, we'd been pushing hard to reach the trail that would ultimately deliver us to Darkhorse Lake. Now, only the road through Skinner Meadow stood in our way, and to our delight - mostly - it turned out to be well-graded, dusty, and through some beautiful terrain. All of us kept our speeds high in this section, and it was 2:30pm when we stacked up at the turn that would have us climbing into the forest.

Climbing into the forest, towards trouble.

A magical meadow.​

This way to the lake.​

The trail up to Darkhorse started out simply enough. As with many of the trails we'd encountered, a sign at the beginning warned that it was "not maintained," a good sign as far as we were concerned. Plus, while the trail was a bit rough, and portions of it were a little wet, it was easily wide enough for the big grey machine, and that gave us hope that we'd all be able to make it to the top, where we planned to camp.

Zane's trucks are always so well built that it's easy for him to stick right behind whoever he's following, no matter the speed.​

Just wandering through a little water.​

Lumbering along.​

I don't know where it happened exactly, but as I was climbing through a steep-and-rocky - but not all that difficult - section of trail, I decided to hop out for a quick photo. And, though the rocks always look smaller and the incline more gradual, I could see Monte, Mike and Zane through the windshield, which mean that I had a few minutes before Ben would be starting up this section of trail.

Scampering down the grade was easy, but as I huffed and puffed after jogging 300 feet uphill, I noticed the first problem of our afternoon. I immediately got on the radio to let the crew know that I'd picked up a flat!

Looks level. Is not.​

What really caught my attention here - as Monte and I surveyed the situation - was that we appear to be twins.​

Flats aren't an uncommon occurrence when you've got five guys who do as much adventuring as we do, and every one of us is prepared to deal with the situation on our own. From hi-lift jacks to breaker bars and full-size spares, we've all changed our fair share of tires. A 20-minute ordeal, if that.

We'd communicated over the radio that I had everything I needed, but that didn't keep Monte and Zane from wandering a quarter mile back down the trail to give moral support, and Ben from working his way up from the bottom to do the same. We set about stabilizing the truck, and soon, Monte was loosening the lug nuts while I pulled the spare off the rear bumper.

Technically, this was the easiest tire I ever changed, since Monte did most of the work. As twins though, I feel it's only right that I get most of the credit.​

With two of us working, we were back under way in less than 15 minutes. Definitely not pit crew material, but not too shabby for a couple car campers.​

Less than a half mile from our destination, where things started to go sideways.​

We were at 8,800 feet - only a couple hundred feet below Darkhorse Lake - when ash began to fall from the sky. I'd mentioned the orange hue of the sunlight as we wrapped up my tire change, but at the time we'd simply chalked it up to the smoke that'd been prevalent for most of the trip. Suddenly, things seemed quite a bit more serious, the trucks a quarter mile up the trail from me reporting that the westerly wind had picked up dramatically, and that the air was suddenly thick with smoke.

And then, over the radio, we heard, "The van's got a flat tire. I've broken a valve stem."

Working his way through the same section of trail where I'd discovered my flat, Ben had sheared the valve stem off his rear passenger wheel. Normally - as was the case with my flat - this would have been a non-issue, but the thickening smoke and ash added an entirely new dimension to the problem. If the fire was in the process of cresting the ridge behind us, we might have mere minutes to get ourselves turned around and on our way down the hill.

Hoping to get a better sense of our situation, the drone screamed into the sky, climbing 1,600 feet above our current location.​

To our relief, the source of the smoke appeared to be at least two ridgelines to our west. While the 45mph winds were making it too smoky to camp, at least we knew that we'd have plenty of time to get Ben's tire situation sorted, without concern of fire chasing us out of the woods.

It only took a few minutes to retrace the mile-or-so to Ben's position, where I proudly presented him with the Colby valves that promised an easy fix to his valve stem snafu. I'd picked up the valves after breaking my first stem on the Plumas National Forest Discovery Trail, and we were all curious to see if they lived up to their hype.

Step 1a: Miss the shot of Ben punching the old, broken valve stem into the tire.
Step 1b: Reenact said punch-through, with exactly the same facial expression.​

Step 2: Insert Colby valve from the outside of the wheel, and tighten it up.​

Step 3: While commenting how awesome it was to not have to remove the wheel and tire from the vehicle to affect the repair, reinflate the tire to trail pressures.​

The Colby valve was magic. Changing a tire isn't difficult as we'd demonstrated on my Tacoma just a few minutes earlier, but the ease with which Ben's van was recovered was fantastic. The entire process took less than 8 minutes, and level ground wasn't an issue. "Send me a link to those," echoed through the group, as we got turned around and set out for a more pleasant location to spend the evening.

The skies were not clearing as we headed back the way we'd come.​

Down we go.​

Heading east, the smoke was moving faster than we were, though the thick forest helped to filter much of the falling ash out of the air before it reached our breathing holes. Still, as we popped out of the woods and onto the edge of Skinner Meadow, we still found ourselves wondering both if we really wanted to camp in the soupy surroundings, and whether we'd have to abort the final day of our adventure, if the places we wanted to visit were completely socked in.

Luckily, only the first of those issues was a "today" problem, and by the time we'd worked our way a few miles north, we decided that it was clear enough next to the river that we'd be fine camping there for the night.

Fire break.​

We'd admired this spot on the way up, so it was nice to call it home for the evening.​

Circle the wagons.​

It was shortly after 7:00pm when out tents were deployed and our chairs were arranged around the cold fire ring for an evening of conversation. There'd be no flames to watch as we whittled away the hours - as if the fire raging to our west wasn't enough, we'd seen USFS employees posting Stage 1 Fire Restrictions on various sign boards throughout the day - but that didn't slow us down one bit. Chips, salsa, and guacamole were consumed; a myriad of plans - pending the weather - for the following day were discussed.

In the end, while there were several possibilities as to where we would end up the following evening, one thing was constant: we were all looking forward to a group breakfast feast.


.

 

A note about the compressor times, I was going from 50-70ish ( I want 80psi but the gauge doesn't go that high). So 20psi is comparable to the pressure delta you were going for, but it should take longer to overcome the higher pressure. I can't recall but do you have that setup to do all 4 at once?

 

I do two at a time, takes 10m for two. I'd have thought that at those high pressures for you, it'd take a lot longer, but I dunno, really. I've had several folks tell me that the compressors wear over time, and there's a rebuild kit, so I might give that a go if it starts to get a lot slower. For now, I just use the time to take photos and snack on unhealthy treats I find bumbling around in the cab.