RETIREMENT TRIP #7

Fire and Water: The End of the Trail

                                                           When we left the motel this morning, the mountain peaks were clear, except for a small layer of clouds behind them.

The morning sun casts shadows on the mountains as
the old wagons of Stanley, Idaho, sit at rest.

According to the motel clerk, “if you can see a peak here, we call it ‘clear’.”

From the Dead End street in Stanley,
we watch the sun
come up to light the mountains.

With pines in the darkened shadows
of early morning, the peaks
around Stanley stand out in the sun.

Andy pulled into the Dead End street with the old wagon in Stanley, then stopped along the main road just outside of town, then pulled over by a ranch where cows grazed and finally picked an open field where the mountains showed through the pine trees.

Farther down the road from Stanley, views are magnificent.

Each time I hopped out with one camera, took pictures, grabbed the other camera, took more pictures and jumped back in the car to warm up.   It was 31 degrees.

“I’m putting on my fleece jacket next stop,” I told him.  The sweater alone wasn’t cutting it!  Worst off were my fingers!

Unaware of the scenery, cows graze
peacefully near the main road.

Andy sat in the car with the motor running, but he checked the shots each time.

Peaks near Stanley are snow-coated
by early October. Winter has come here.

“I’m looking for a sign to Stanley Lakes,” he said, when we had resumed the drive.

With each stop the clouds had increased, and there was less and less sun on the peaks.

Outside of Stanley, peaks rise in
silence in the cold October air.

Most of the Stanley Lake campgrounds were gated, but people cooked breakfast at the one that was open.  We watched from the overview lookout.

The sun still highlights the peaks as we head away from Stanley. 

Andy read the signs, as I snapped away, trying to capture reflections on the water before we lost the sun completely.

Clouds hug the shore of Stanley Lake at the base of McGown
Peak, already draped in snow.

McGown Peak, 9.860 feet and already snow-covered on October 7, was named for the McGown brothers who were cattle ranchers in the area.  They drove their herds past the mountain.

From the campground, McGown
Peak, with glaciers showing,
towers high over the landscape.

Beautiful Stanley Lake, at the foot of the McGown Peak, was named for Prospector Captain John Stanley who explored the lake in 1863.  The peak, a granite intrusion, was uplifted and carved by glaciers, so the shoreline of the lake is glacial moraine.

In the cold morning air, a cloud hangs low at McGown Peak.



Stanley Lake reflects McGown Peak in the early morning sun.

We walked around the lookout along the lake, noticing a couple anglers in boats on the water in the early morning, hearing a young boy call to his father at a camp site, feeling the frost on the railing.

Clouds had blanketed almost the whole sky.  The sun on the peaks was gone.  We had lost the reflection of the mountains on the water.  It was time to move on.

An hour later and a few thousand feet lower in elevation, the sun peaked through again.

We were coming out of the mountains.  “They make their own weather,” said Andy.  Cold weather, that is.  The prediction for Boise was 74.

Kirkham Hot Springs at Boise National Forest Campground entertained a number of camping trailers.  But there were no signs of life.  Families were all dabbling and wading and soaking in the Hot Springs.  Steam rose in waves and water streamed from the gravel banks into greenish pools before tumbling to the South Fork of the Payette River.

Steam rises from the bankside of the Payette River.

“No dogs, no dishes, no nudity” read the campground signs.  That was in reference to Hot Springs bathing.

Adjoining hills and the mountainsides for some miles before the Hot Springs showed severe fire damage.  We looked at the signs; the fire occurred in 1989.  Even though there is some low growth, the area has not recovered.  It’s a sad sight to see burned out hills and avalanche-prone slopes in this ruggedly beautiful country.  That fire got so hot it actually created a funnel cloud in the narrow valley.

On the way back up the slope out of the Boise National Forest, we drove past a new burn.  “This just occurred this year, I’d guess,” said Andy, “and it was an unusually low fire year.”

The Pioneer Fire destroys thousands
of acres of forest in 2016.

We could still smell the char with the windows closed, and the devastation extended for miles.  We read later that it was the Pioneer Fire of 2016.  It had burned more than 1,300 acres at first report. More than 300 firefighters battled the blaze that started on July 21^st.  Hot and dry conditions contributed to the spread.

The front of the old Wells Fargo
office reflects the atmosphere of the
old mining town of Idaho City.

The fire continued to burn.  And this year as of September 12, it had consumed 185,895 acres in two months and was only 56% contained.  Cooler temperatures and northwest winds were expected to slow the advance and aid containment efforts.

“I heard the federal government has been spending 1.8 billion dollars a year to fight fires in the West,” said Andy, “and that’s not what state governments contribute.”

In Idaho City, Sue poses
with a local outside
the local saloon.

Most of the burned trees here weren’t ready to be harvested by lumber companies.  So most of the burn is total loss.

Mores Creek Summit, at 6,118 feet, was the dividing line.  The Boise side wasn’t burned at all.  No charcoal, no smell and suddenly patches of blue sky.  Some of the curves and bends were 25 m.p.h. speed limit with elevation changes of 4,000 feet twice.  And Route #21 is the main highway. No wonder the advertising said Stanley was remote and removed!

We stopped at the Sarsaparilla Ice Cream store in Idaho City, population 458, for coffee.  “This was an old mining town,” said Andy.  Diamond Lil’s Restaurant and Saloon was closed, for sale by owner, appointment only.  But the City Courthouse and the Hall of Records are still in use. Planning and Zoning is in a log cabin next door.  The town bought the Court House building for $1,000 in 1903.  Many of the other buildings on Main Street date back to the 1860’s. 

Little is left after the dry season in Lucky Peak Reservoir.

The town was founded in 1862, and originally called Bannock.  At its peak in the mid-1860’s, there were more than 200 businesses in town, including three dozen saloons and two dozen law offices.  Its 1864 population of 7,000 made it the largest city in the Northwest.  Most departed the mountains once mining declined.  By 1920, there were only 120 permanent residents.

Lucky Peak Reservoir was empty, but we could see where the water comes when it fills in the spring.  “It’s a reservoir,” said Andy.  “It could be used for agricultural purposes.”

Just a dribble of water is left flowing into the lake at
Lucky Peak Reservoir.

We weren’t far out of Boise, but this certainly wasn’t the city water supply.  It was totally empty.

We turned into Corps of Engineers Lucky Peak Lake.  It was just immense—and empty.

“Maybe Idaho doesn’t have as much water as it seemed,” said Andy, “or the runoff from the mountains is beyond belief.”  The water level was way lower than the lowest extension on the floating boat ramps.  We followed the road downhill for six miles toward what we thought was the dam.  The road turned to gravel, and water in the stream way below us was going the other way.  This wasn’t the dam. 

A beautiful facility for boating and picnicking, Lucky Peak
Reservoir offers summer fun for visitors and residents.

In places black lava rock had eroded from the graded sides and tumbled down the embankment.  We headed back up toward the entrance.

“The dam must be up the other way,” said Andy.  “But it’s amazing.  I’ve never seen any reservoir that low.  It must be beautiful when it’s full.”

Arrowrock Dam over Mores Creek created Lucky Lake.  The land on the opposite side of the bridge wasn’t so lucky.  Multiple hills, 3,782 feet and below, were totally blackened.  Here all the sage, grass and cottonwood trees were solid charcoal.  Only patches of green around four or five houses and a liquor store—all blocks apart—remained alive.  The houses had been saved, but what they had to look at was devastated.

Cormorants rest in the outflow river near Arrowrock Dam
by the Sandy Point powerhouse.

Boats were still being launched from Turner Gulch.  We watched a couple of crafts being hauled in and out of the water.  Two little girls greeted a family of mallards at the water’s edge.  A youngish man put his aluminum boat into the water, got his black lab, and set off across the lake with dog and gun.  I wondered what he was allowed to shoot from the water.

Steadily we climbed on foot back up to the car.  We didn’t have four-wheel drive, and all the vehicles at the boat launch were four-wheel drive. The cars were all blocked from rolling backwards with rocks behind the back tires.  It was a long climb back up but an interesting lesson in boat management.

At Sandy Point the powerhouse was closed, but a beautiful walkway along the outflow led to a state park and extended swimming beach.  Cormorants and Canada geese lined the waterfront and sunned themselves on rocks by the little island.  We walked the waterfront path. It was lined with rabbitbrush and wild rose.
“That’s Russian Olive,” said Andy, pointing to the invasive.

“Why would they plant an invasive?” I asked.

“It’s good for birds,” he said.  “It probably doesn’t require too much water, and it’s low growing.

And that was it.  Our next stop was Boise, the end of the line for this trip.

Tomorrow, we’d be home.