Hikers Hoof It To Packsaddle

‘When I was a kid in the ‘30s we used to climb up to Packsaddle from Johnson Falls,” said longtime Clark Fork resident Harold Walker.

He was referring to the 6,000-foot-plus rocky peaks in the Green Monarch Mountains that look, from the western side of Lake Pend Oreille, like two horns of a packsaddle.

Although the distance was more than 16 miles one way, “We’d walk up there and back in a day,” Harold said.

These days Packsaddle is known as “a long drive and short hike.” Unless one tackles the trail from the lakeshore side of the Green Monarch Mountains. In the latter case, it is considered “a long drive and a long hike.”

Both routes are graded more difficult by the U.S. Forest Service, but the short hike is only a moderately steep mile and a half walk to the top.

The 4,800 acres of the Green Monarchs (excluding a few privately owned properties) has remained in public domain since the turn of the century.

The area is logged on occasion, and at those times most local people stay off the roads.

With confirmation that no logging was in progress, and with full tanks of gas, the Monday Hikers traveled to Clark Fork from their meeting place at the Bonner Mall to tackle Packsaddle.

Monday Hikers began on the inspiration of Rosalyn Clark. When her husband retired and they moved to the Panhandle in the fall of 1990, she brought with her 14-1/2 years of hiking experience.

“It was so much a part of my life,” she said, that she immediately began looking for a group here. As a result of a little publicity, eight or nine people turned out for an inaugural hike on April 1, 1991.

Although Rosalyn takes input from everyone, she carries the stick and bear bell, wears the purple T-shirt with “Leader” emblazoned in white on her back and counts noses.

Seven vehicles crossed the Clark Fork River on what is affectionately called the new bridge and wound along the river toward Johnson Creek. Rather than turning off there, the caravan continued up steep switchbacks into the Green Monarchs.

Driving slowly and hugging blind curves, the group reached Trailhead 76 an hour and a half after leaving Clark Fork.

Trail 76 begins in a moist woods and shortly enters a large meadow festooned with wildflowers. Huge boulders tumble down a steep, bare slope.

Onward and upward, evergreens provide intermittent cover from the summer sun and, as on this particular day, buckets of rainfall. Clear outcroppings offer spectacular vistas of an endless mountain landscape shaded in blue mist.

At the top, a giant pile of rocks completes the climb and provides an unhindered view of the lake. Until a decade or more ago, a steel fire tower stood on top of these rocks.

“It got awful hot during lightning storms,” said retired politician and longtime local resident Compton White. When things were quiet, he continued, firespotters communicated by phone, played their mouth harps and guitars and harmonized for the families and friends listening in Clark Fork.

Although no evidence remains on Packsaddle, firespotters spent long summers there and in other towers scanning the forests and mountain ranges for smoke. The firetowers in North Idaho continued to be occupied until aerial flights began in the late 1950s.

The majestic scenery remains, and one can’t help but believe it looks the same as it did when those solitary men watched over the shimmering forests, knowing that the safety of their loved ones in the small towns below depended on the clarity of their vision.

Near the end of the downward trail, 30 hikers stuffed their sacks with huckleberries while their shorts and tank tops dried in the baking sun. It was a day of rain, sunshine, good fellowship, bountiful food, wildflowers and views.

, DataTimes