https://wildernessskillsinstitute.org/nrwsi/

Bryce Shull

Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute, 5/19-5/23/2025

The season finally feels like it’s begun. After a week of indoor training in Missoula, my fellow SBFC Fellows and I were eager to get into the field and attend the Northern Rockies Wilderness Skills Institute (NRWSI) at Powell Ranger Station in the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest. Nestled beside the beautiful Lochsa River and bordering the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, Powell is a perfect setting to kick off a season of stewardship.

Going into the NRWSI, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t know how big Powell would be, how many people would be there, or what exactly our classes would cover.

We left Missoula early Monday morning, making a quick stop at the Lolo Pass Visitor Center before arriving at Powell. My first impression was surprise— Powell was much larger than I anticipated. The station included bunkhouses, a gym, a barn, storage facilities, and more. Even more striking was the scenery: the Lochsa River flowed right next to the station, and the surrounding mountains made it feel like we were tucked into a hidden gem. But what stood out the most was the deep sense of community. Returning participants greeted each other like old friends, former coworkers reunited, and complete strangers bonded over their shared passion for wilderness stewardship.

On Tuesday, training began in earnest. All of the SBFC Fellows were enrolled in the Trail Maintenance Foundational Skills course. We loaded tools and gear into the rigs and headed to a nearby trail, where seasoned trail workers from across the country shared their knowledge and experience. We got our hands on crosscut saws, axes, Pulaskis, McLeods, and picks. For some fellows, this was their first time using these tools. Regardless of our experience levels, we all shared a common excitement for the week ahead and for the season as a whole.

Our second class focused specifically on crosscut saws. We learned how to properly care for, maintain, and use them in the field. We bucked logs, felled trees both large and small, and gained confidence using crosscuts and axes through hands-on practice. READ MORE

Finding Human Connection in the Largest Wilderness Area in the Lower 48

Raegan Dick | Wilderness Ranger Fellow

Norton Ridge/Marble Creek Trail, Salmon-Challis Forest

05/26-05/31/2025

On the third day of this hitch, I was nervous. The day before, we had made it 2.5 miles up Norton Ridge— a daunting 5.5-mile trail that gains nearly 4,000 feet of elevation to an abandoned fire lookout deep within the Salmon-Challis Forest. It was a tough trail, and I knew it would only get harder the higher we climbed.

As we climbed Norton Ridge that morning, we ran into a woman named Kristin and her two dogs. She lives on a ranch inholding within the wilderness— one we had admired from across the Salmon River earlier in the day. We chatted briefly about our respective work before continuing up the trail.

By the end of the workday, around 3.5 to 4 miles in, our crew decided to push to the summit and see the fire lookout. The temperature had climbed to 85 degrees, and most of us were nearly out of water, but the opportunity to explore the fire lookout was within reach, so we went for it.

It turned out to be one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done. Even after four weeks out west, I’m still adjusting to the elevation— the 7,500-foot difference from my home in Michigan hit me hard. The heat, lack of water, and general fatigue from a full day of trail work compounded the challenge, but quitting wasn’t an option.

The fire lookout came into view as we reached the summit, and I knew it was all worth it. Now eye-level with the snow-capped peaks, it felt like you could see for miles and miles in any direction you looked, almost like being on another planet.

As we began our 6.5-mile hike back to base camp, I was preoccupied with how relieving it would be to finally collect and filter water from the river once we were back. All of a sudden, I slipped down the toe of the trail and twisted my ankle. The pain was sharp, but I knew that the only choice was to continue forward, one foot in front of the other. READ MORE