Cat House savors a quiet moment on the lookout catwalk, drink in hand, as the wilderness stretches endlessly beneath Idaho’s glowing summer skies.
logging past. We went up Marble Creek and over to the Hobo Cedar Grove. As we trekked the path that slowly descends to the creek be- low, we immersed ourselves in the area’s logging history. Long ago, the area was littered with logging camps, where hundreds if not thou- sands of men spent the summers in the forest felling trees and send- ing the precious timber careen- ing through the forest on flumes as they snaked down mountains to the waterways that would eventu- ally carry the precious timbers to log mills. Our first stop was an abandoned steam donkey. Now just a sizable rusted hunk of metal with parts hanging off, the massive machine was discarded in the woods. Like
kids playing make-believe, it’s easy to lose yourself in a world of imag- ination, where you pull the ma- chine’s giant levers to control the massive cable that snakes through the woods, pulling gigantic fall- en timbers across the forest floor. Next, we found the camp, its crum - bling cabin foundations and scat- tered remnants forming a ghost town that echoed the hard labor that was the daily life of the men who lived deep in the forest. Tired from our exploration and the miles of dirt under our boots, we headed back to Arid Peak Look- out, our rustic mountain home, for one more night. By the time we hiked back to the peak, exhaustion overtook us, and everyone needed a nap. We all found a comfortable
and relaxing spot to rest while lis - tening to the trees rustling in the breeze and birds chirping. The evening brought quiet con- versation, a hearty dinner, and early rest, at least until flashes of lightning and rumbles of distant thunder jolted us awake. Initial- ly far off, the storm moved closer, lighting the lookout’s interior in ee- rie, fleeting bursts. Most fire tow - ers feature glass-insulated chairs for safety during lightning storms; Arid Peak lacked these. Instead, metal-framed beds attached to the tower’s network of copper ground- ing wires became our temporary haven as we nervously perched atop mattresses, carefully avoid- ing touching conductive surfaces. Lightning danced around us, il-
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