Into the Gem State (part 2)

We left off in Part One with me driving east into Montana in hopes of finding a campsite for the night. I was starting the second half of my trip now, and Rick’s place in Sun Valley was the next objective. But that was still four hundred miles away. A lot can happen in four hundred miles. Like, say, autumn storms. Or finding a place to camp before dark—in the rain. Or taking a “shortcut.” You gotta love shortcuts.

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Along the Divide

When I departed Wallace, I was figuring it would take me two days to reach Sun Valley. It took three. Initially, a robust storm had slowed progress (windshield wipers were running all of Day 9 of the trip). But there were also frequent stops to take photos, or to stretch my legs and do a little exploring. And speaking of exploring, much of the highway I traveled was also the route that Meriwether Lewis and William Clark had taken (without the road) on their famous quest to the Pacific Coast. My course would take me to Missoula, then south on Highway 93, along the Continental Divide in places, and up the Bitterroot River Valley; over Lost Trail Pass; down to the Salmon River and the hamlets of Salmon and Challis. Eventually the rain would stop—and at the end of the rainbow was Sun Valley.  

A light rain was falling on the morning of Day 9 of the trip. I lucked out and found this secluded spot on the Clark’s Fork River just as it was getting dark. It rained on and off through the night.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

The Bitterroot River Valley south of Missoula. This was a rare moment when blue sky peeked through the gloom. But it didn’t last. It rained harder as the day went on, getting colder by the hour. Not wanting to risk getting caught in a snow flurry up on Lost Trail Pass—in the dark—I holed up in Hamilton for the night, where the entire town lost power for a while due to the storm.    

Lost Trail Pass (7,014 ft) at the Montana/Idaho border on the morning of Day 10. A light snow had fallen the night before. The Lewis & Clark Expedition passed through here in September of 1805 on their way to the Pacific Coast. Getting through the rugged Bitterroot Range would be the most challenging, onerous segment of their journey.

Heading down the south side of Lost Trail Pass towards the Salmon River.

A statue of Sacajawea in Salmon, Idaho. Born near here in 1788, she was the Lemhi Shoshone wife of a shady French-Canadian fur trapper named Toussaint Charbonneau, who had been hired by Lewis and Clark to assist in guiding them over the Rocky Mountains. According to Meriwether Lewis, Charbonneau was “a man of no peculiar merit.” The fur trapper's wife, on the other hand, could speak the Shoshone language and would prove invaluable to the expedition. Sacajawea was 16 years old and pregnant when she and Charbonneau joined the party (note that the statue depicts Sacajawea holding her infant son). To say that she had grit is an understatement. It is questionable if Lewis and Clark would’ve succeeded without her help in purchasing horses and supplies from her Shoshone kin (the expedition was hopelessly on foot when they crossed the Continental Divide at Lemhi Pass).    

The Salmon River, a few miles upstream from the town of Salmon.

The Salmon River, which was still very remote in the early 20th century, was known for its river hermits. They would take up permanent residence along its banks, building crude log shelters, or dugout cabins into the canyon walls. One was Hank the Hermit. Another, Buckskin Bill, built a tumbledown shack in 1928 and lived there for fifty years. The last of the hermits was Dugout Dick, who built a homestead at Elk Bend (photo) in 1948. No plumbing. No electricity. No telephone. He was quite a character, a local celebrity of sorts—even got his story and photo in National Geographic. He lived here until his death at the age of 94. 

Richard “Dugout Dick” Zimmerman, 1916-2010. 

Instead of turning west onto Hwy 75 and following the Salmon River to Stanley, I stayed on Hwy 93 south to take advantage—according to my Google Maps directions—of a “shortcut” to Sun Valley. You gotta love Google Maps. 

Mount Borah (12,662 ft) still shows a dusting from yesterday’s storm. This shot was taken 14 miles before I ran out of pavement. 

Only 30 miles now to Sun Valley—on a remote gravel road that, all too often, was so wash-boarded that I had to keep it at 15 mph so the bumpers and doors wouldn’t fall off from all the violent rattling. Or as Rick would comment after I told him I went this way: “Wow, that’s mighty back-roady of you. People have died back there in the winter.”

Heading down the final steep incline into Sun Valley and the town of Ketchum. I made it!

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Welcome to Ketchum

My first visit to Sun Valley and the town of Ketchum was in 1993. My dear amigo, Rick, had moved there to start a business and I stayed at his place for a few days. He showed me around. I was hooked. What’s not to like about a small town in an alpine valley with a cornucopia of outdoor pursuits? World-class skiing; mountaineering; hiking; camping; fishing; mountain-biking… Yes, I was looking forward to a few days in the Valley of the Sun.  

Downtown Ketchum. In the 1880s, it was a mining boomtown. In the 1920s, it was the largest sheep-shipping hub in the West. Then in 1936, the Union Pacific Railroad built a line to Ketchum and developed the Sun Valley Ski Resort. The brainchild of Averell Harriman, it was the first ski resort in the nation. Forever popular with celebrities (Arnold Schwarzenegger and Clint Eastwood have homes here), Ketchum still retains its small-town charm.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Ernest Hemmingway at work, circa 1940. The prolific novelist and outdoorsman would make Ketchum his part-time home. He is buried here.

Rick’s chalet compound. A one-minute drive from here gets you to the Bald Mountain lifts. Location, location, location.

              The Big Wood River flows through town. 

Geared up and ready to ride. Rick and I have had some fine trips together over the years: ascents of Humphreys and Russell in the Sierra Nevada; climbing the giant Finger of Fate in Idaho’s Sawtooth Range. Yes sir, good times in the glory days—to which we reminisced in the evenings back at Rick’s place over Irish whiskey.  

“Pick up your bike and let’s go already!” said the impatient poodle.

Rick is a master mountain-biker. He’s the Man. Due to my wrecked knee, we had to refrain from the harder trails. 

It takes Toby a while to warm up to strangers. But as you can see, he and Rick are now BFF.

Big Wood River

Playing fetch in Hyndman Creek.

Heading back down North Fork of Hyndman Creek.

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Homeward Bound

I left Sun Valley on the morning of Day 14, southbound on Hwy 93 to Twin Falls; Ely; Crystal Springs; and Vegas, baby. It was 870 miles to home, much of it across the Great Basin: wide-open country of ghost mines, wild mustangs, and flying saucers. I took my time and did a little exploring. Here are some parting shots…

The beautiful and desolate Great Basin in central Nevada, where the population density is less than one person per square mile.

The old train depot in Ely, Nevada. Ely got its start in the 1860s as a way station for stagecoaches and the Pony Express. The discovery of copper in 1906 transformed it to a mining boomtown. 

A 140-mile spur line was built out to Ely to serve the copper mines. The train station and auxiliary buildings were originally built in 1907. Long abandoned, the state of Nevada purchased the depot and has restored it to a functioning “heritage railroad” and museum.

The No. 40 is coming into the station.  

You can sign up for the “Be the Engineer” ride and get some hands-on experience in running the train up Robinson Canyon to the old Ruth Mine. Space is very limited. But you can book your ride online (I was told that weekends sell out months in advance).

The No. 40 is a 1910 Baldwin coal-fired steam locomotive, built in Philadelphia, and purchased new by the Nevada Northern Railway for $13,000. It was taken apart and completely rebuilt in 2005. Runs like new.  

The last Happy Hour of the trip. (Toby finished the bottle, not me.)

The Alien Research Center on the Extraterrestrial Highway. Area 51 is just down the road. Once you get away from the Vegas and Reno areas, Nevada is a trippy place, man. 

It could happen.

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