Sawtooth Mountains!

Boulder Mountains from the Wood River

I have always wanted to come to the Sawtooth area. Often when I've seen a picture on a calendar of a beautiful spot that I don't recognize, often as not the caption has said "Sawtooth Wilderness."

I can't believe I'm really here!

Morning in the mountains

Woke up to weak sun and cold temperatures. The car thermometer was reading 32°F.

But OH, what does the temperature matter when you can see such sights? The Boulder mountains border the Wood River valley on the east, and they are gorgeous mountains... especially with new snow! This route is known as the "Sawtooth Scenic Byway," and boy, is it ever!

Looking back at the Boulder Mountains from near Galena summit

State route 75 follows the Wood River generally north, climbing gently. Instead of getting warmer as the morning went on, the temperature dropped to 27°F. (probably in part because of gaining altitude), but at least the sun was out part of the time, and it wasn't nearly as windy as it was yesterday.

If it hadn't been so cold, I would have stopped more frequently, but instead just drove slowly and drank in the beauty of the place. (I was also feeling a little uneasy at this point, as the tire-pressure light came on... the tires didn't look under-inflated, but it was worrisome. I thought it might have to do with the cold weather, but even driving and the heat of friction didn't make the light go off.)

I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of cranes flying overhead at one point. At another meadow there was a herd of deer gamboling in a meadow — they looked like kids out of school or dogs at the dog park, jumping stiff-legged and scampering off then shaking their heads and looking behind to see if their friends would play chase. Totally made me laugh. And the next time (yes, there WILL be a next time), I'll check out the "Billy Bridge" that's supposed to be a place where you can view mountain goats. I'm sure I'll see more in Montana and Alaska, so I didn't stop.

Galena summit: looking to the headwaters of the Salmon River
and the Sawtooth mountains in the distance

Galena Summit 

Once over the summit, the valley on the other side opens up. Here are the headwaters of the Salmon River, also known as the "River of No Return," so called because on their way west Lewis & Clark found the river unnavigable. This forced them to abandon their boats and get horses from the Shoshone to continue their voyage.
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The Sawtooth range lies to the west, and it is beautiful. What is it that makes some mountains so pleasing?

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Apparently a lot of other people think it is beautiful, too. While there obviously are working ranches, there is also increasing development: a few monster homes, some "ranchettes," and a number of what appear to be "vacation" developments encroaching onto the National Forest land. I've seen this pattern in Nevada and Utah, too, and it's a little unsettling to see the demarcation lines between private and public lands so evident. 

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Pronghorn! (before it started running)

I felt lucky to see a herd of pronghorn grazing in the valley — the first I've seen on this trip. They are actually fairly common, but it's always a treat to see them. They are very, very fast runners, reputed to be able to maintain 55mph for a half mile.

Alturas Lake

It wasn't getting all that much warmer, despite coming down in elevation and also being later in the morning, so I decided to just go ahead and stop for late breakfast at Alturas Lake.

Beaver lodge & pond. Yes, that's ice on the water!

It's a pretty lake, and had it been warmer, I would have been tempted to put the kayak in the water; as it was there was about an inch of snow on the outhouse roof! Everything is still closed for the winter.

I hiked around a bit nearby the lake and discovered an extensive beaver pond with a lodge in the center. There was ice on the water! No beavers swimming around (not sure how much they come out now), but it was still fun to see. Once again, I marveled over the sturdiness — or foolhardiness — of the mountain men who willingly entered the freezing water in order to trap them.

Snow falling on the Sawtooth across the Salmon River valley.

A woodpecker was hammering on one of the trees, but only heard it, never saw it.

I next tried to get into Fourth of July Lake, as I'd heard there was a nice hiking trail there, but... I hit snow on the road, and it was evident from the tire tracks that the previous person who had tried to come in this route turned back. Between this, and the fact that the weather was turning a bit for the worse, following their example seemed the prudent thing do.

On the way out, there was a bright flash of blue — a mountain bluebird!

Falling snow obscuring the gorgeous view

Redfish Lake

Redfish Lake is named because of the number of chinook salmon that used to spawn here. Legend has it that you could walk across the lake on the backs of the fish!

The salmon that swim up the Salmon River have one of the longest migrations of fish anywhere in the world — over 800 miles from the Pacific Ocean upstream to their spawning grounds, fighting eight major dams on the way. Of course, there are far fewer of them now, but they are making a comeback. Salmon fishing season here is for three weeks in July.

Not what one expects to see... dead bird in the WC

Redfish Lake is a gorgeous lake; it must be crowded during the summer. There are many campgrounds and picnic areas around it, but now pretty much everything was closed. On this day, only one other couple, and their dog, was here.

Just one men's toilet was open (none of the women's), and it held a surprise and something of a mystery: HOW did that dead bird get in there? (Or, presumably the bird was alive when it got in, and then succumbed to... something. And then the question is, what ate it, and how did IT get out, since the door was quite securely closed?)

By this time, the snow was falling in more earnest, and it seemed like it was time to move on and spend some time driving in the warm car, even if I was getting somewhat used to it by now. It's been quite some time since I've driven in snow, but the experience comes back — the "tick, tick-tick" of frozen water hitting the car. It's like being inside a swirling snow globe! Fortunately, the snow wasn't really sticking, and I knew I'd be going lower, so it wasn't a big deal. And kind of a good introduction to what may come next fall...

Flowers near a hot spring

Down the River of No Return

The scenery after the town of Stanley was actually not what I expected (I thought it was going to be more similar to the broad valley upstream), and I wished that I'd had the book Roadside Geology of Idaho along. The rocks kept changing: slate, breccia, heavily folded beds, stream and moraine deposits. I keep telling myself that I'll be back to spend more time here on another trip; it's not that far. I need to get going north and spend more time there, further away.

The route, now the "Salmon River Scenic Byway," passed by hot springs, bubbling out from higher on the hill. It was reminiscent of Yellowstone, which lies maybe just 200 miles to the east. Hot springs are relatively common here, but I still get a thrill out of them. This one had been used to heat settlers' cabins in the winter, but was no longer being used for anything — it was a historic curiosity spilling into the river, along with an unused stone bathhouse structure that was built by the CCC in the 1930s, preserved as a testament to the program and the people who participated in it.

A sign flashed by "45th Parallel: Halfway Between the Equator and the North Pole." I guess I am making my way north!

Cliffs at the Challis Bison Jump Site

Challis Bison Jump Site

The valley opens up to more agriculture, and there were more places that enticed one to stop. I did get out at the Challis Bison Jump Site, a place where bison were driven off a cliff. I've heard of these, of course, but this is the first actual site I've visited.

The site was discovered in the 1970s, but it is still being studied, and there is some controversy as to the age of the "big kill" of 20-30 bison. It's hard to comprehend that many animals going over the edge of a cliff, but it surely would be more efficient, not to mention safer, to hunt this way than pick off animals one by one.

Of course subsequent excavations (2004-2007) have been covered over, so there's not really that much to see, except a surprising number of dead rabbits, and a blooming Larkspur!

Larkspur blooming!

But being in a place like this, feeling the breeze on your cheeks and sun on your skin, allows you to close your eyes hear the yelling (there must have been yelling) of the hunters, and see the panic of the animals as they plummeted off the cliff to the people waiting below to butcher the dead and dying animals.

Perhaps we have not come so far...

(Thankfully, by this time the tire-pressure indicator light went off, so I figure it was due to the cold weather that it went on. But I'll keep my eye on it, and ask the techs when the car goes in for servicing at its 15k checkup.)

Idaho Hermits

Driving through the volcanic rocks above the Salmon River, you can see small caves hollowed out in the cliffs. Apparently this area was known for its population of single men (and some women) who chose to lead "socially remote" lives, and some occupied these caves. Some were failed prospectors, others were hunters or miners, or even some families lived this way during the Depression. "Dugout Dick" supposedly had quite a number of these rough homes; he would move from one to the other, but they were all reputedly neat and clean. Now, Dugout Dick* is gone, and houses are encroaching on the wild lands.

Mailboxes along the Salmon River, near where Dugout Dave lived 

I had a reservation at the Sacagawea Inn in Salmon, where it was nice to get a shower, access to wifi and power, and I had an scheduled conference call with my book club.

I've actually spent the last few days here in Salmon, writing, organizing and researching. It's been a nice interlude, but I'm getting antsy to get on the road. One more entry about Salmon, and I'll be on my way to North again.

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*You can read more about this colorful character in this article from the LA Times.

On the Road

The past two days have begun with rain.

I'm glad that the car is set up to sleep in.  It makes it so easy to pull over to a quiet place and get a good night's sleep.

I didn't make it to Reno the first night. Just too tired, and there was a threat of severe weather -- heavy rain, hail and thunderstorms in the mountains. Just didn't seem worth it to do that white-knuckle driving when I really wasn't in any hurry, so pulled off the freeway and spent the night in a rural neighborhood in Auburn. Went for a bit of a stroll in the morning after the rain stopped. There is always something to see: a cat slinking through the wet grass, trailers and RVs in almost every driveway, the school bus on its rounds, birds flitting through the brush. The rumble of traffic on the freeway is in the distance.

You see and hear things that are familiar and things that are not.

New neighborhood in Sparks

Sparks

I'd wanted to stop by to see my sister in Sparks, but she wasn't up to having visitors, so I just explored her neighborhood a bit.

The houses are all brand new, with broad streets and sidewalks. It's a cookie-cutter neighborhood, solidly packed with houses and small yards and an abysmal walk score since amenities (Safeway, CVS, restaurants) are a good mile or more down a considerable hill. There are bike lanes on the main streets, though, and I was excited to find that this development bordered on open space with walking paths and a children's mini-park.

This tee marker is getting buried

The walkways looked inviting, so I set off on a hike. Turns out the open space was a defunct golf course! The walking paths were the paths for the golf carts. (This was the first time that I've actually been on a golf course, but I'm not sure it counts!). The desert is working on swallowing up any relics of civilization, though: the manicured greenways are long gone, replaced by more hardy plants; the rock tee markers are overrun, and even the engravings will erode with time; the pathways are getting covered with mud and debris from the rainstorms that move surprising amounts of material downhill. My boots were covered in mud by the end of the hike.

Open space under power lines 

It was wonderful to get out and smell the clean scent of sagebrush. Puffy clouds scudded overhead, and birds twittered in the brush.  It was remarkably green and pleasant for the desert. Views of Mt. Rose and the snow-covered Sierra offered a beautiful backdrop. I saw jack rabbits, quail, doves, sparrows, a mockingbird, swallows, and a goldfinch, so there is a thriving ecosystem. Turns out it is protected as an open space because there are power lines through it. It's a small benefit to the local animals, when so much of their territory is being invaded by encroaching "civilization."

Fighting technology

I'll get it figured out, but there is a bit of a learning curve. Trying to write the blog on the phone was hopeless. Doing it on the iPad is slightly better, but using the keyboard is painful, and I haven't yet figured out the best way to move photos from phone and camera to iPad. Plus the place to enter text doesn't scroll down, and formatting with fat fingers just plain sucks. Burning through a lot of time and battery power to post this, but it will get better, I'm sure!
Have resorted to parking outside McDonalds, using free wifi, and using the trusty Netbook to get this posted.

Couple of days late; been through Elko, and am writing this from Twin Falls, ID.

Reminders

I am so grateful.

While I have purchased some new things for this trip (and the last posts might make it seem that I'm a profligate spender), most of you who are reading know that this is not "normal" for me.

It is the little things coming with me — from friends near and far — that are the most special. 

In the Great Purge, I was only able to keep a very few things that were either necessary for daily life or irreplaceable family heirlooms. Everything I kept fit into two small 8'x10'x10' storage units and my backpack. At the point when I closed the door on the house, I didn't even have a car.

The items that I've been gifted with are doubly treasured, not only for what they are, but for the friendship and the memories they represent. All of these will be coming with me on this trip:

Swiss army knife: I have carried this knife with me for almost 40 years. I've used it countless times for one reason or another. It's unique, with an antique car emblem on it, and I've never seen another one like it. It fit me perfectly, since it doesn't have a corkscrew! Thank you, Pat Murphy!  

ThermaRest pad: I have slept on this every single night that I've not been house/pet-sitting or backpacking. It's been SO nice to have just a little more padding and insulation on the cot. Thank you, Linda! 

Bookmark from Peru(?): Every time I use this when reading a real book, I admire the design and the stones and remember our friendship over the past 30+ years. I've even used it as a hair decoration, it's so pretty. Thank you, Jane! 

Socks! Yes! Socks! When you only have a few pairs, they tend to wear out quickly! Thank you Dee and Katharine! 

Slippers! Susan... I'll think of you every time these are on my feet. I'm so happy to have something I can easily slip on and are sturdy enough for a quick dash out of the car. I might even drive in them! And I even like your mom's "decorations." 

Backpacking stove: Fran, thank you again so much for this, especially since I was so unhappy to have lost mine. It's a great little backup stove.  

Aluminum (AKA "Sharpe") camping plates: You know these! Technically, these weren't given to me (they were scrounged from various thrift shops), but such good memories are attached to them that they need to be included here.

Bright red "ladybug" hand-knit cotton dishcloth: I use this pretty much every day, and I will think of you, Chris, working on your next knitting project!  

Arequipa beach towel, mini-duffel & thermos: Yaaay for Girl Scouts! The beach towel is perfect: big enough to lie on in the sun, or cover anything <ahem> that needs covering in a hostel, yet not so heavy that it takes a lot of space. I keep my sundries in the red duffel, and the thermos is just the right size for hot or cold drinks. I'll take a picture of the Girl Scout goodies somewhere up north and send it to you. Thanks, Sharon, and the Camp Arequipa Team! 

Richard Solo iPhone battery: While I haven't used it that much until now, it WILL get used on this trip, because I'm going to have to deal with power management! Karen, we have shared so much over the years since the kids were little, when we two night owls stayed up late working on the school directories. Good times! (Seems like there is a metaphor here for us, as we always seem to be working on reserve power!)

Waterbrush: Mary, I'm really looking forward to using this more on this trip. I could only hope that a tiny bit of your awesome talent might have magically flowed into its bristles! You are an inspiration in many ways, and I'll miss running into you on local walks. May all your waves be good ones... 

Silver oak leaf earrings: These are truly precious, as they remind me of the big oak tree in our yard at 577 Magnolia, of travels and trips shared, and of a mutual love of nature and gardens. Thank you, my sweet daughter. I love you, and you are with me always.

And it is odd — and something of a shock — that as I've written this, the home in Larkspur that we sold in November, 2014, is back on the market. It is… changed. And while on one level I cannot deny that it's disconcerting to see those changes, on another level, it doesn't matter one whit. Because the times that were shared at that remarkable house — kids and their friends swinging from the oak tree, guide dog puppies cavorting on the lawn and cats sleeping in the sun, friends gathering for Oktoberfest and Sharpe dinners and Fourth-of-July waffle breakfasts, plants lovingly added to the garden one-by-one — those memories are what last forever.

And I will take them wherever I go.