Late August, 2009 - We drove north from Ketchum/Sun Valley to Stanley Idaho along the
Sawtooth Scenic Highway. As with Indiana's Amish Heritage Trail that we had recently driven,
we discovered the tourism folks of central Idaho have created a series of CDs to accompany
the beautiful scenic drives through their state. Complete with mile marker indicators, music
and driving instructions, the recording was expertly made and we enjoyed having a tour guide
right there in the truck with us. We learned tidbits about the mining history, Indian history and
geology of the area, and the CD recommended some excellent stops at scenic viewpoint
along the way.
Stanley is a tiny hamlet with just 40
year-round residents, although the
population soars to 300 each
summer. It is frequently the
coldest place in the continental US
in the wintertime, but in summer
the days are hot. We rode our
bikes to Stanley Lake and found
crystal clear water sleepily lapping
the shores of towering mountains.
We returned with the kayak and spent a blissful morning drifting across
the mirrored reflections of the rugged peaks. As we floated into the cool
shade under the thick pines on the far side of the lake, we felt intoxicated
by their heady, pungent scent. We laid back and lazily watched the
rainbow trout jumping for moths. Each foolish bug would flirt with the
water's surface until his wings got wet, and then he'd start a spinning
death spiral that ended with the gulp of a fish.
There is a campground
and several hiking trails
around Stanley Lake as
well. We made a few
trips to the lake over the
next week, each time
enjoying that burst of
"ahhh" as the trees
parted and the lake
came into view.
It seemed like a perfect spot to
bring the family for a week of
camping. The sites are
perched right on the water's
edge and there are endless
activities to keep kids amused
along the shore.
The early mornings were cold and quiet, but as each day wore
on and the sun flooded the shore, the sounds of kids voices
carried across the water.
The Sawtooth Mountains line the horizon like the cutting edge of
a saw blade, and everywhere we turned their snowcapped tops
formed a backdrop. Stanley sits at the intersection of three of
Idaho's official "scenic highways," and there are viewpoint
pullouts and photo-op spots all over town.
One afternoon we got a pizza at Sawtooth Luce's. This little log cabin
eaterie has been in the same family for several generations, and our
waiter proudly announced that three weeks earlier the owners had just
given Stanley its first locally born baby in 30 years.
We took the kayak to Redfish Lake, another expanse
of clear, turquoise water set against a wide mural of
the Rockies. The water was cool, but so inviting, with
every rock and fallen log clearly visible many feet
below the surface.
There were several beaches, some accessible by car and others,
we later learned, accessible only by boat. The sand on every beach
was wonderfully white.
We cast about for a while to find a good launching spot and settled
on the beach by Redfish Lodge. This is a fun and busy place.
There are cabins, a lodge, a camp store, boat rentals, a
marina with slips and moorings for powerboats and
sailboats alike, and a white sand beach loaded with
families. It is an ideal swimming area, as the water is
shallow for a long distance, keeping it somewhat warm.
We quickly inflated the kayak and cast off.
It didn't take long for the playful voices from the beach to fade into
the distance as we pedaled our way along one shore. There was
a point in the distance that lured us, tantalizing us with images of
what might lie beyond. The crests of a few jagged peaks poked
above the nearby trees, promising a dramatic view once we
rounded the point. It seemed like we would never get there, but
suddenly the point swung wide, like a door opening to another
land, and we found ourselves in an emerald green pool of
shallows at the feet of two majestic mountains.
Many evergreen trees along the shore were red. They were going
through their death throes as beetles invaded the tender flesh under
their bark. This made for interesting colors among the trees, but
was disconcerting in a forest that should be solid deep green. From
a distance much of the forest high up on the ridge was grey, as
many trees had already succumbed to the armies of invading pests.
In places it seemed just one in ten trees was wearing its intended
green hue.
We found a perfect spot to land for a shore-side snack. It was actually a
boat-in campsite, complete with a fire ring, a wood pile left by a previous
camper, and a table. A tiny beach stretched along the shore, and a large
rock sat out a ways in the lake. Mark was tempted to go swimming, but
he didn't want to be soggy wet and cold for the return trip. So he settled
for wading out towards the big rock, carefully hiking his shorts up higher
and higher as he went. He stepped gingerly from one submerged rock to
another, leap-frogging towards the big boulder. Just as it looked like he'd made it to the rock island, his foot slipped on some algae
and he doused himself thoroughly. Oh well, so much for staying dry.
After kayaking a little further we turned around, leaving the dramatic
rocky horizon behind us. Before long, the sounds of kids playing in the
water at Redfish Lodge pierced our little oasis of silence, and we
paddled our way back into the hustle and bustle of a hot summer day
at the beach. Kids licking ice cream cones, parents sipping cold beer,
and sunbathing teens changing from white to pink greeted us as we
deflated the kayak and folded it back into its bag.
That weekend the town of Stanley hosted the Salmon Festival, a fair
celebrating the local salmon. We knew nothing about salmon when
we got there, other than how to grill it, but by the end of the day we
had learned many amazing things about the life cycle of these
intrepid fish. We were astonished to learn that when 3-year-old
salmon make their way from Stanley down the Salmon River to the
Snake River to the Columbia River to the ocean some 900 miles
away, they make a mental note of the smells along the way so they
can sniff their way back home a year or two later, never making a
wrong turn up a wrong tributary. Once home, they flirt with each other and the females choose their mates. The males quiver
alongside their females, waiting impatiently for them to lay their eggs so they can be fertilized. Once the seeds for the next
generation have been sown, the parents die.
We had known that salmon fishing had deteriorated badly in recent years, but
were shocked to learn that in the decade of the 1990's only 10 local salmon
made it back to Stanley to spawn, putting them on the endangered species list.
This year 750 or so are expected to return, a recovery attributed to the
removal of many dams along the rivers and meticulous breeding in hatcheries.
We had known that river dams impeded salmon migration, but were stunned
to find out the trouble is during their trip down to the ocean, not during their
return up river to spawn years later. Young salmon approaching a dam as
they swim towards the ocean are guided out of the river to be loaded onto
trucks and barges so they can be taken around the dam and then returned to
the river on the other side where they continue their swim to the ocean. For
Stanley area salmon this happens at four dams on the Snake River and four
on the Columbia. That's a lot of corralling, loading and unloading for a six inch
fish that is designed just to swim with the current to the ocean. Most don't
make it. The young are tagged with microchips before they leave the hatchery so they can be identified upon their return from the
ocean, at which point they have grown to recognizable salmon size. The microchip tags aid in isolating a few fish for hatchery
breeding when they return, keeping the hatchery DNA pool as wide as possible.
This was a lot to take in and gave us a far greater appreciation for the
wild caught filets we buy at the supermarket. Mulling it all over, we
wandered about the town of Stanley, taking several bike rides along the
scenic highways. The views everywhere were breathtaking.
We went to a lecture at the Stanley Museum given by a man who had kayaked the same route that the salmon take: the Salmon
River to the Snake River to the Columbia River to the ocean. He covered the distance in 52 days in 2001, experiencing some of
the same hassles the fish do at the dams as he took his kayak through the lock systems.
Stanley also has a mining history, but we didn't stay long
enough to delve into it too deeply. There are some
intriguing mining relics and ghost towns in the area that we
decided to save for a return trip another year.
We took one last
hike out to the far
end of Stanley
Lake and
breathed in the
moist pine scent.
On our final day in the
area the sun cast an
orange glow on the rocky
peaks for a few moments
as it rose in the sky.
Then we started a two-day trip down the road along the Salmon
River, thinking of the salmon and of the kayaker as we drove.
The river was our constant companion as we descended
northwards towards Stevensville, Montana.