A Most Unusual Catch

Day four of a seven day backpacking / car camping / fishing trip found me exhausted. On day one, after a car camp at Lola Creek Campground near Stanley, Idaho, we packed down Marsh Creek to the confluence that forms the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, fished our way up Bear Valley Creek, discovering a great set of hot pools to soak in. Day two found us rumbling down the Middle Fork chasing cutthroat and bull trout, bombing back to camp and tossing on our packs to head back to the truck, stopping to turn a few fish in Marsh Creek on the way. We then drove to the Fourth of the July Trailhead for a planned ridge hop into the White Clouds on day four. With a day to spare on day three, we hit Heart Lake, a burly hike to a stunning high mountain lake. 

When I awoke on day four, I felt off. Physical fatigue was certainly part of it, but it seemed more than that. I began collecting my gear to get ready to pack when my body basically gave out. I laid down on my cot, seemingly unable to move, until Nate finally poked his head in the tent to see what the hell I was doing. I told him I was spent, and fell asleep. 

We had to toss our itinerary in the fire. It seemed impossible I was going to burst a nasty 2,000 foot ridge hop in full pack anytime soon, so we opted to find a creek to fish and a quiet place to car camp while my body recovered. We stopped in at the Stanley Fly Shop and queried about a destination, only to discover the creek fishing wasn’t really good. The attendant suggested we fish the Salmon River downstream of Stanley. We began to follow his advice when we realized it would mean fishing right next to a bustling highway with floaters, swimmers and rafters in our midst. We chose to try to find solitude instead, focusing on an ideal campsite, and perhaps a creek to ply.

We began to drive, and drive we did. We poked up a couple unknown creeks to discover poor camping. More driving. The campground at the end of Iron Creek Road, packed, every campsite and improvised campsite full. More driving. We turned onto Cape Horn Road, which stared at the majestic Sawtooth Mountains. Every possible site, every piece of open space in every direction had someone camping at it. We marveled and grumbled at the number of the people, and kept driving. Hours had passed; the entire day that was to be spent knee deep in water or wooded solitude had been wasted staring out of the windshield. Nate and I were both frustrated to no end. If we didn’t find a spot near the end of Cape Horn Road, we would be resigned to once again camp at the Lola Creek Campground (assuming there was space), where we first began our journey.

Finally, a little luck. We stumbled upon a lone campsite just across the bridge that spanned Marsh Creek, and happily set up camp, the painful waste of a day driving began to fade in our minds. Beer in hand, we walked Marsh Creek for a quick though unsuccessful fish. As the sun began to drop west toward the mountains, our spirits were again soaring. We had finally broken free from the monotonous windshield view; we readied for a night of solitude, fresh air and the promise of another day fishing. We enjoyed dinner and a couple hours of conversation as sunset became dusk became near dark. Calm and content, we moved toward bed when some unexpected guests arrived. 

They came stumbling around the edge of my tent, meowing: three small, skinny kittens. Our short lived peace of mind turned quickly again to consternation. “Damn it, Dufresne,” Nate grumbled. “Someone left those kittens to die. We have to rescue them.”  And he proceeded to give chase, cursing his way through the sage after two of the kittens, who evaded his every move with ease. 

The least skittish of the three stayed near the tent, but my efforts to bring it to bay were fruitless, so I grabbed a piece of lunch meat and tossed it toward the kitten. It greedily devoured it; trust was formed. Soon I was petting a purring little gray kitten, who I had named Little Man. I gave him a dish of water, and continued to feed him small bites of turkey.  Nathan, bound and determined to collect all three cats immediately and toss them in his truck so his brain could be put at ease, continued his stumbling, stressed chase in the sage. I took Little Man and the food and water into the tent zipped him in.

After a good while, Nate, emptyhanded, finally gave up the chase, muttering under his breath as he wandered back to camp. While happy to see I had captured one kitten, he was still uneasy. The bottom line was that we were leaving in the morning. If we weren’t able to capture the kittens, they would be left to fend for themselves, and given the ravenous way Little Man ate and the visible ribs on the most skittish of the cats (a little girl with some tan on her face among the gray), they wouldn’t last long. 

As I stepped into my tent, I faced a decision. Do I leave the tent open in hopes that the two stragglers would join their sibling, knowing the caveat was I could lose the only kitten we had caught? In the end, I decided to leave the tent open. I climbed on my cot and into my sleeping bag hoping for the best.

I first woke up, I would guess around 1:00 AM (a dazed guess based on little beyond intuition and the fact that it was freaking cold) to Little Man attempting to nurse my chin. I moved the little sucker down onto my sleeping bag, began to pet it, and smiled as I heard its motor begin to purr. Perhaps 45 minutes later I heard the scuttle and scamper of little feet on the tent floor. It appeared the plan was working. Another half an hour later or so, two more little cat bodies jumped up onto the cot, waking me, and cuddled up with their sibling. Soon three little motors purring sent me to sleep.

The night became a dance of half sleep and ridiculous cat shenanigans. I woke at least three times with Little Man milking my chin or nose. At one point, one of the cats, who I had named Fox Face because he had a sharp nose and pointed ears, began batting at the tent window toggle (thwap, thwap, thwap) until it fell off the cot (thump). It then hopped back up, began batting again (thwap, thwap, thwap) until it fell off again (thump). The continued for some time. Later yet, the kittens decided it was time to wrestle, rumbling and tumbling all over me in a kaleidoscope of happy, warm kitten bodies.

When all three cats would finally settle in for a short-lived time, Little Man and Fox Face were content to let me pet them, purring happily, but the smallest, most emaciated cat whose ribs showed clearly always kept her distance, laying toward my feet with the other two cats as a buffer. Whenever I attempted to pet her, she moved away, so I let her be.

When I finally awoke officially, the sun was warming the tent, and only one cat lay on my stomach, the skittish little one who I had named Baby Girl. She finally allowed me to pet her for a good while, seeming happy to be warm nestled atop my zero degree bag.

Little Man and Fox Face were already bounding around outside, but kept their distance, hiding in the under carriage of Nathan’s truck anytime he went near them. Nathan was back to worrying, wanting to grab them immediately and toss them in the truck. I convinced him to give them space while we broke down camp. 

Finally packed, I laid some turkey on a pizza box in the back seat of a truck, and began tossing bits on the ground, each throw landing closer and closer to me. Fox Face and Little Man quickly allowed me to pick them up and put them in the truck. They were happy munching away on the pizza box. Baby Girl, however, kept her distance. Eventually, her stomach overcame her fear, and I was able to grab her and get in the truck as well.

The question now was what on Earth to do with them. We’d finally captured the cats, but we had days of fishing and camping in front of us with three kittens stowaways in our truck.

We opted to stop at the information station in Stanley, slinking out partially opened doors ensuring the kittens stayed trapped in the truck, walked the wooden plank and entered. Behind a desk sat a sweet looking teenage girl who greeted us with a smile. 

“Hello,” I began, “I have a rather odd story,” and so I recounted our night and the kitten rescue, finishing by showing a picture on my phone of the three rascals cuddled together on my sleeping bag. 

Her face lit up at the picture, “Ooooh! I would take them all but my mom would kill me! Stanley doesn’t have an animal shelter, but you can leave the cats with me and I will take care of them until the sheriff can drive them to Challis. They have a shelter there.”

And just like that, a solution had presented itself. We were headed through Challis for the next stop on our fishing adventure. We thanked the young gal, headed back to the truck and drove to Challis, Baby Girl cuddled up on my lap the entire way. Around an hour later, we passed our most unusual catch off to the kind gals at the Heart of Idaho Animal Sanctuary, happy that the crazy detour that led us to a most frustrating day of driving and the strangest camping night of my life had finally found a happy ending.