Report from Idaho

Ann and I had to get away from soggy Seattle; I was beginning to sprout moss on my north side.  Since Dec 1st, we had suffered through over 18 inches of rain and a nine-inch snowfall and couldn’t remember the name of that hazy light that appears in the southeastern sky. A long weekend of X-country skate skiing in January, in the Methow, confirmed that our creaky legs still worked, though I discovered that while the legs worked, I had only one ski boot -- what the hell!?  I searched high and low, compulsively looking in the same places time after time (expecting a different outcome, the definition of delusional?) I must have left a boot car-side when packing up in Ketchum, February of last year: had to rent.

Anyway, the rugged beauty of Ketchum called us again.  Tough year to find a condo, with everyone who normally flies off to ski Europe or Canada staying Stateside. We left Feb 22^nd in rain, not your typical Seattle sprinkle but true rain.  All the passes through the surrounding Cascades were closed for avalanche control, meaning we had to drive south on the coastal plain to Portland, then southeast through Oregon to southern Idaho. How it rained! The Columbia Gorge was moodily beautiful with waterfalls cascading down all along the river; the Blue Mountains wreathed in fog. The next day, after a night at the restoration money-pit of the Geiser Grand in Oregon Trail-Baker City, we broke into sunshine. So welcome.

The weird Elkhorn condo worked.  Over-stuffed with hand-me-down furnishings from the ‘30’s and 40’s, It felt more like a Grandmother’s home in Rye than a western, outdoor-oriented vacation refuge. We made it work by banishing to the utility room extraneous, hand-me-down tables, hassocks, embroidered cushions and the like; hiding away a horrid, life-sized, fuzzy dog; and re-arranging furniture, swapping out lights from unused guest room and so on. We made it work for reading or backgammon battles and listening to Spotify in front of a great fireplace and for super dinners Ann prepared in the fully equipped kitchen and served in the spacious dining room.  A dining room! Whoever heard of a real dining room in a holiday condo?  What made it all the more weird were incongruous, expensive, 21stC surrealist paintings on the walls overlooking the tacky furnishings, and 19thC table-top Western-themed bronzes, also expensive, scattered about.

Ketchum felt safe: near everyone was masked.  We didn’t gallery hop as we normally do, nor dine out except for apres-ski lunches at Galena, nor prowl the consignment shops where hedge fund wives drop this season’s ruck to make room for new next season. Afterwards, Ann usually took her 4 ½ mile walks around Elkhorn, luxuriating in the ever-changing light and views. We simply like being there.

Ketchum and Sun Valley Village

Ski conditions were ideal: fresh snow sprinkles on the trails, daily grooming, no wind, cloudless skies, trails uncrowded. A couple of days, when my a-fib acted up, Ann skied alone while I retreated to the car.  We snowshoed two days at Billy’s bridge – stunningly beautiful at 7,000’ along glacial moraines beneath the craggy Boulder Mtns.

At Billy's Bridge, going north to Prairie Creek

After eight days, headed north toward home and into a very different Idaho.  Ketchum is a liberal island in a sea of maskless COVID-scoffers, their beautiful countryside dotted with Trump signs. Over 8,700’ Galena Pass one enters the Salmon Valley set aside by Frank Church, Idaho’s last liberal Senator, as the River of No Return Wilderness area. We had gone this way last September and wanted to see the Sawtooths again in winter. Breathtaking beauty in both seasons. From Stanley, headed into the basalt breaks country of deep canyons, rushing streams, lava dikes, columnar basalt cliffs, and huge glacial erratics. 25mph limits in towns, population 317. Blackened slopes from last fall’s wildfires scarred the land. Saw lots of deer and elk west of Lowman along the Payette. Ann had studied up on the upthrust and eroded lava lakes through which we were passing by watching Nick on the Rocks, a delightfully entertaining lecture linked here.

Sawtooths west of Stanley
Blackened trees from last fall's fires 

North of White Bird, we climbed out of the Salmon drainage complex that separates southern from northern Idaho and up onto the deep loess farmlands of the plateau.  Here were golden stubble fields, contoured to follow the rolling land, bisected with bright bands of green winter wheat sprouts.  Stunning.  Ann with her new painterly eye was awed by the colors and shapes. All dotted with tiny towns bedecked with churches, American flags, Trump signs and empty centers.

Up along the Lewis and Clark Trail to the twin cities of Lewiston, ID/Clarkston, WA where the Clearwater meets the Snake.  We stayed overnight in the larger Lewiston. Dinner out for the first time since early last year. First choice: Zany’s, a mid-range place reputed for a wide variety of good chow.  OMG! A masked young greeter took us to a table amidst diners packed shoulder to shoulder with nary a mask in sight.  All clamoring away to be heard over the TVs; if one could have seen the aerosols carrying their little viri, it would have looked as thick as the steam pouring forth from the smelly paper and pulp mills down riverside. We fled.  

Next stop: Ernie’s Steakhouse.  Good red meat and wine, but here a capacity unmasked crowd (the waiter admitted he wore a mask everywhere else but here because the clientele would find it off-putting) were at least seated with space between booths and tables.  Emboldened by our 2^nd Moderna, we acceded and enjoyed a good meal. Our lively conversation, settling arguments about whether this was central or northern Idaho by showing each other Google maps, drinking wine and mentally replicating the NYT mini-crossword attracted another table’s attention; as she left, the young woman stopped to interrupt us and pronounce “you two are adorable!” How about that for a night-cap?

Gregarious, outdoorsy, gun-toting, welcoming, over-churched, white-supremacist, stunning, well-militiaed, clear-skied, COVID-scoffing, flag-waving, Trumpian Idaho: 

what’s not to love and to deplore all at once?

 

 

PS: as we crossed the Cascades from eastern Washington, it clouded over; as we drove onto our island, it started to rain.  Welcome home.