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Please click here for – Part Two
High Lakes in Idaho
Hot, it was hot. The oppressive heat continued throughout the West. It was also a Saturday, and we did not want to drive into our next destination in the middle of a weekend. We’d had more than enough of that in the Copper Basin. We’d drive in on Sunday. The heat had us a bit disoriented because we did two interesting things when we reached Challis around noon. We forgot to drive by the laundromat to see how the new sign turned out and, south of town, we turned into Challis Hot Springs State Park. It was 98°. Taku recommended the hot springs because it sits in shade along the Salmon River.
It was a Saturday. How busy would this place be? Did we even want to stay for the night? We stepped into the quiet office. A woman was vacuuming the store area.
“Can I help with the vacuuming?” the Lady asked with a big grin. “I love to vacuum.”
The woman laughed. “How can I help you two?”
I answered, “This is our first time here. We don’t know much about the place. Should we spend the night here? Do you even have a spot for us on a Saturday night?”
She filled us in as the manager walked in and joined the conversation.
“What kind of a rig do you have?”
I pointed to our small truck parked right outside. “We do not need any hook ups and wouldn’t know how to use them anyway.”
“We can put you in a tent site,” the woman answered. “That’ll work.”
She turned to the manager. “Let’s put them in site xx,” he said and turned to us. “Two nice trees there will give you shade all afternoon.”
“That’s great!” the Lady exclaimed. “Are you sure I can’t help with the vacuum?”
Thoroughly briefed on the lay of the land, we drove the short distance, and backed into our site, a short walk to the pools, restrooms, and showers. We did not know at the time we would be adopted.
The air temperature was 98°. The water temperature in the main pool was 98°.
“Everything around here is body temperature,” I remarked to the Lady.
“No,” she corrected me. “The smaller hot pool is 105°.”
“Want to go for a soak?” I asked.
She just looked at me.
It was much much cooler in the shade of the trees at our campsite and there was a breeze. The main campground was in the trees between us and the river. It was nearly filled with RV rigs of all sorts and sizes with all the sites very close to each other. We walked and found the access to the Salmon River where we spent the afternoon laying face up in the cold water, braced against the current, and let the water flow over us. It was wonderful. For much of the time no one else was at the river.
In the evening – still in the mid nineties – we returned and got out of swimwear and planned dinner. I was outside at our table.
“Hello,” a voice called.
I did not answer. Who would be calling out to us?
“Hello.” It was closer this time.
I turned. A couple was walking toward me. “Hello,” again.
I got up and greeted them.
They introduced themselves and asked, “Would you like some fish tacos for supper?”
“Fish tacos?”
“Yes. We’ve got all our kids here with us, kinda a reunion, and we made way too many fish tacos,” the woman answered. “My husband here was a chef before retiring. He’s a good cook. A friend of ours went deep sea fishing and gave us lots of fish - halibut, cod, salmon. We made too many fish tacos. Want some?”
I leaned toward them and quietly said, “Julie loves fish tacos. Come over with me. This will be fun!”
They walked with me over to the open door of our camper.
“Julie,” I said. “This is Gordon and Diana. They are inviting us over for fish tacos. They said they made too many and need help eating them.”
“We did,” Gordon confirmed as he nodded his head.
“Fish tacos? Really?”
“You bring your plates over now,” Diana admonished. “We got lots of fish tacos. You’ll meet all our children and our grandchildren.”
We grabbed our plates and followed.
We were introduced to everyone, grown children and their spouses, and a whole passel of young children. They all were fruitful and multiplied. They were also very polite and welcoming; very nice people. As I looked over the group I realized, if Julie and I were only a few years older, we could have been their parents, grandparents, and great grandparents. We have no idea why they picked us to share fish tacos with, no other campers had been invited over. We thanked all of them for adopting us.
We returned to the refreshing cold river water and then walked the area in the evening light.
It was 91° at 2100 hrs so we took another long walk until all was dark. We were shocked to see camping neighbors lighting campfires with the oppressive heat.
It cooled overnight to a wonderful 58°. We took a long walk at dawn.
Here’s the hot spring source.
The pools open at 0800. We went in the hot pool for a short time. It was 106° and almost too hot.
We did not need towels. We dried off in the air on our walk back to our camper, except for our suits. I followed the Lady into our camper, quickly pulled off my wet shorts, and tossed them out the open door. That’s when I noticed Diana approaching from the side, almost at the camper. I found a towel that I quickly wrapped around my waist. “Diana’s here,” I told the Lady. “We have been adopted.”
I sat on the seat right inside the camper and greeted Diana, now standing right outside the door. I was naked except for that hastily wrapped towel. She did not mind one bit. She was over for a morning chat. And chat she did.
We left Challis after breakfast and headed for a geology lesson. On October 28, 1983 Idaho was hit by a 6.9 magnitude earthquake – the 1983 Borah Peak Earthquake. It caused extensive damage and two children were killed in Challis while walking to school. A storefront fell on them. The ground ruptured along the front of the Lost River Range for 21 miles. The scarp is still visible.
We started our drive into the Lost River Range and an area that holds two alpine lakes in high cirques, a place that’s been on our exploration list for years. The access road is long and bumpy with rocks, a few steep sections, and a deep-water crossing. At times it feels never ending. We passed, coming out, seven vehicles, reinforcing our decision to not come in on a Saturday. We were set up in a nice campsite at road’s end in the early afternoon, more than enough time to pop up to lake number one. Halfway to the lake we were hit with large raindrops. We stopped in the trees, donned raincoats and put rainflies on our packs. We tried to evaluate the narrow slice of sky we could see above. Thunder rumbled to the south. We decided to turn around. Part way back a “sucker hole” of blue opened up above us. We turned back around and headed up to the lake.
Cruising trout were visible. I assembled the fly rod and we got on with the hunt. First fish on was a skinny Tiger Trout, a man-made cross genus hybrid – a mule of a fish.
The skies darkened as it turned to late afternoon. Thunder rumbled in the distance. We retraced our steps back to camp and took refuge inside the camper as rain rattled on the roof. The squall moved south, and we were able to enjoy a long evening walk before dark.
After breakfast the next morning we started on the hike to lake number two of a little over four miles. This trail has had very little maintenance. There were many downed trees with, as the Lady called it, “Go arounds, climb overs, or duck unders.” The old log bridges were near collapse with decaying logs.
The rain began shortly after our start.
Everything went in our packs and our pack rain flies deployed. We continued upward in the rain. At the lake we used a dry spot under trees to stash our gear. The rain began to abate.
The Lady stayed high and scanned for cruising trout. I worked the shore.
Pleased, but surprised, the clouds began to clear.
The lake sits high in a cirque. The outflow creek drops in a series of steep cascades and falls. This is dramatic terrain.
There were cruising trout. I started with dry flies. The trout would approach, take a close look, and refuse. “Persnickety!” the Lady exclaimed. It was difficult to make out the species, but I ruled out both brook and tiger. They looked more like rainbow or cutthroat.
The rock up here was incredible with the large cracks filled with jet black intrusions.
We moved over to the opposite side of the lake and downclimbed short cliff faces to reach the water. There were a few rises far out in the center of the lake. These trout were behaving more like goldens, but the cruisers I watched closer to shore did not have golden sides. We finally found one trout that stayed to a cruising pattern. It was at least 18” long with a stocky build, quite a nice trout. We worked over this trout for an hour and a half, at least. I patiently tied on fly after fly and observed its reaction. The only thing that caught its attention was my red and white strike indicator.
I’ve had good success with my fly-fishing techniques at high lakes, but not here. This trout haunts me. I need to step up with new techniques. It is time to reread my dog-eared copy of Gary LaFontaine’s Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes. I will not forget this behemoth that cruises lake number two.
The skies cleared in a stunning fashion.
Late in the afternoon we wandered back to our gear stash and got ready to hike back to camp, but not without climbing to a high spot for the view.
What a wonderful day we had up here! The hike out was also a joy.
Wild onion. I got a photo before we ate it.
Storm and rain returned around 1900 hrs. It continued through the evening, with a succession of 4 storms rolling over us. Hard rain and more thunder woke us around midnight from a deep sleep.
The skies were completely clear the following morning.
We returned to lake number one.
We enjoyed a day of fishing. Stealth was required. We worked the treed shoreline that gave us good cover. We’d pick a trout to cast to. They were extremely cautious. With the clear water, they took their time examining my dry fly offerings. They would approach, stop and give it a good look, touch it with their nose, and move on. A gentle twitch did nothing to entice a take. But, often enough, a trout would sip it in. The Lady got a nice workout with her ghost net with small brook and tiger trout.
This was our last day at the high lakes. We headed back down to camp.
Right on schedule, the storm hit around 1800. We took refuge in our camper, made and ate our simple supper inside.
“It will stop raining and clear up enough so we can walk before bed, you’ll see!” the Lady said as she doubted my prediction. She was right. The storm broke just at last light.
We made the long drive out early the next morning. This is beautiful country.
We arrived in Ketchum around noon to resupply. The return to civilization and to such a congested place – road work everywhere, detours, backed up traffic at signal lights, huge cranes making buildings taller, incessant noise, walkways crowded – overwhelmed the Lady. She was not happy. We retreated down to Hailey for groceries and a large, quieter parking lot. We were able to get caught up with weather and fire information, the first time in days. The West was a mess with large fires, heat, and major road closures. No way could we – or should we – move over into Oregon and visit our friends at Fort Sagebrush. We altered our plans to move south into Nevada. With an early start, perhaps we could score a campsite in Lamoille Canyon. But first we needed a quiet place to spend the night and calm frayed nerves.
We made good time and pulled into the Thomas Canyon Campground at 1300 hrs on Thursday, just as the host was putting up the campground full sign. We drove up to the end of the canyon to take in the sights and consult our maps. We were surprised how full the parking area was, based on our past visit here. Our new plan was finding a dispersed campsite off of Harrison Pass Road in the southern part of the Rubies. The massive, and I mean massive, thunderstorm building told us not to continue into the mountains. It was black, it was ugly, it was poised to release its fury at any moment. We pulled into the empty Zunino/Jiggs BLM campground and quickly raised the camper roof in hopes of beating the storm. We succeeded. We were surrounded by thunder and lightning flashes. The storm raged around us, but, surprisingly, we got little rain. We were even able to sit out in our chairs. A bald eagle took a fish out of the reservoir. Sandhill cranes flew over and landed nearby. Waterfowl scooted across the water. Yellow -headed blackbirds darted about. We walked after dinner in the glorious dramatic light of the ending storm.
It rained off and on most of the night. The heat was on again in the morning. If we stayed out another night before returning home, it would have to be high. We drove south and intersected with highway 50. Reaching our proposed campsite by noon, we decided to continue on to home, arriving at 1700 hrs.
All in all, it was a great trip. The fishing was challenging, the high country marvelous, the solitude comforting, the crowds nauseating, our friends an absolute delight. A mixed bag, but isn’t that life?
