The Chilco mountains are really a series of peaks of a range marking the westernmost reaches of the Coeur d’Alene Mountains. The trail starts out on a decommissioned logging road, which immediately climbs the heavily forested flank of Chilco Mountain. Eventually a singletrack breaks away from the old road and here the ascent begins in earnest. Belying an incredible jumble of fallen logs, the tree cover remains dense and intact, and the forest floor is almost barren. There is a thriving squirrel population, however, which I sent flying into the trees while the Scribe, huffing and puffing, crept up the mountain at a snail’s pace. In the Scribe’s words, the trail stretches steeply uphill in a never-ending series of brutal, bone-and-muscle-crushing switchbacks. For clarification, there were about seven switchbacks, and they were easy and fun! Not to mention the squirrels! Anyway, we reached the ridge in about half an hour, consisting of a lot of coaxing and encouragement, and came upon a picturesque campsite, complete with fire rings and a perfect view to the west of the Rathdrum Prairie and the Selkirk range. Right afterwards, the trail split, with the left spur leading up to North Chilco Mountain in about a quarter mile and the right to South Chilco Mountain in about 3.5 miles. We took the left, where the forest receded and crossed a wide talus slope. Here we met a couple of small dogs, which I thoroughly inspected while the Scribe gabbed on and on. The talus slope then gave way to a grassy knoll, more rocks, and wooden and ferrous remains of an old lookout tower. The Scribe proceeded to photograph and document, while I scuttled here and there and sure enough corralled another dog!

Soon we were on our way again, backtracking to the trail fork and taking the path to South Chilco. The trail dropped in a couple of switchbacks along the western flank of North Chilco, crossed another talus slope with some mighty nice aspens and clear views of the Selkirks in the distance, then ascended the ridge between the two mountains. The trail continued to decline down towards the saddle, with the coniferous cover overhead changing to larch and Douglas fir. There is a handy campsite in the saddle, complete with log stools, albeit close to the trail. From the saddle onward, the original, murderous, straight-up-the-mountain-come-what-may route was replaced with a meandering, gradually-rising, nicely-cushioned trail that climbed the east face of South Chilco in a number of switchbacks. What a pleasure to hike in the woods without the Scribe’s constant moaning and groaning! And we made good time, since the huckleberries were long gone and the arid ridge offered few of the fleshy fungi that the Scribe so pedantically loves to photographically catalog. In fact, he had to make do with but one miserably shriveled specimen of the magical variety Crimson Crown, pictured here.

In no time did we reach the South Chilco ridge, which the trail followed quite diligently, offering filtered views of the Rathdrum Prairie to the right and wave upon wave of Coeur d’Alene Mountains on the left. At one point before reaching South Chilco, an idyllic little campsite opened up to the left, with a sweeping view of the Coeur d’Alene and Cabinet mountains (which, as you can see, I looked at extensively and longingly).

The trail along the ridge pleasantly alternates between dense forest and minute glades carpeted with beargrass and huckleberry bushes. The South Chilco peak, as a matter of fact, was a bit of a letdown, as it consisted of one of these meadows, providing only filtered views of the surrounding mountains. We moved on, following the ridge for perhaps another quarter-mile until the forest opened up completely onto a rocky knoll, site of a long-vanished lookout tower, and splendid views, including Hayden Lake. Taking pictures left, right, north, and south, top and bottom, the Scribe suddenly noticed the storm clouds bearing down on us. It was time to head back.

Off we went crossing the ridge, through the glens, down the slopes, switchback after switchback and soon were engulfed in pea-sized hail. We rushed further down the slope towards the saddle, the hail covering the path like snow, then turning to slush, and soon small rivulets formed. I forged ahead, and the Scribe tried (vainly, I might add) to keep up. We were almost at the saddle when the Scribe noticed a tan-colored movement out of the corner of his eye. Thinking it was a whitetailed deer, and assuming I would give chase (a very valid assumption!), he called me back. Not having anything better to do, and with no deer in sight, I trotted up to him. Seeing that his call didn’t scare the deer, the Scribe amended his theory. Might have been a cougar. He kept me close to his side until we reached the saddle. Here we stopped so that he could doctor his feet. I watched the woods behind us carefully, but saw nothing. The smells on the other hand…but they were confusing. There were old smells of bear and lion and wolves and newer ones of cheesy feet…

And onward we moved, back up the other side of the saddle, through larch and Douglas fir, amidst huckleberries and dried-up beargrass stalks, across the talus slope, up the switchbacks to the fork, past the campsite on the ridge and down the murderous incline on the far side. The hail passed, the sun pushed the dark clouds aside and wave upon wave of panting and wheezing and gasping hikers pushed up the mountainside (alright, just four two-legged and three four-legged ones). Down the hill we came and emerged out onto the forest road to bright sunshine.