Skiing is a Dance and the Mountain Always Leads

Some have credited Jim Bowden with this saying, while others say it’s been around a lot longer than Mr. Bowden. The truth of it remains. Risky and wonderful, skis were not always used strictly for sport.

While researching the modes of travel in Central Idaho’s mountainous country, I’ve read of some unusual snowshoes and skis used in the nineteenth century. In the Boise Basin Museum is a fine display of early wooden shoes and skis, including those made for horses. Dick d’Easum’s fascinating Sawtooth Tales recounts the travails of isolation through the severe winters into the Stanley Basin outposts to mining towns of Sawtooth City and Vienna. Transporting the mail from Ketchum to those boom towns was no small feat, requiring a dedicated and physically fit postman.

Even as late as the early 1900s, traveling by motor vehicle in the summer months over the 8,700-foot Galena Summit required serious planning. Engines and brakes over-heated and the curves were so sharp that passengers often opted for walking, catching up to their motor vehicle when the road straightened. It’s even reported that many chose to back up the worst of the road until reaching the summit. Even today, avalanches frequently block the road for winter travelers.

Last week, this photo appeared in my search for Idaho travel in those early years. It was a jaw-dropping photo for me. In Comes the Winter, Evan Hartmann must make that crossing of the Galena pass. Initially, I placed him on snow shoes, but after further research and actually traveling the route this summer by car, I knew it didn’t make sense. He’d have never made the trip I had written. Seeing this photo confirmed my decision to strap some skis on his boots. It would have been an exhilarating trip to make while listening for the warning crack of an avalanche.

Comes the Winter is scheduled for release on February 10th. I’ll be giving away 10 ARCs in a coming post when I reveal the cover. Watch for that or sign up for the newsletter to learn more.

 

Expect the Best, Prepare for the Worst

 

Established in the first gold rush of 1862, Idaho City boomed to impressive size and influence in Idaho Territory. Far exceeding the population of Boise City, 36 miles to the southwest, Idaho City became a thriving metropolis boasting over 200 businesses, including 36 groceries, 5 pool halls, 41 saloons, at least one church and a Masonic Lodge. What remains are a few energetic souls with a passion for preserving her colorful, but often forgotten history. A major focus of that preservation comes down to maintaining the surviving buildings. Both fun and informative, the Boise Basin Museum makes an excellent stop for those with an interest in the area’s history.

Those buildings and their construction and reconstruction stirs my ruminations today. In light of the devastating brush fires burning in my home state of California, I think of how the residents of Idaho City coped with fires that destroyed their city not once but four times. In 1865, 1867, 1868, and 1871 fire swept into the valley taking away lives and property. Their human quality of resiliency is not unlike that which will bring residents of Sonoma County back in the weeks and months to come building again.

The difference may be in the manner of adaptation to the constant threat of fire in these arid lands. Living in a forested area, the obvious choice for quick construction surrounded them – wood. It didn’t take some forward-thinking businessmen long to reconsider the materials used to rebuild. Brick became the preferred choice for exteriors. However, the nature of the fire usually set roof ablaze and that presented the real threat. Their solution was clever.

Many rebuilt with metal roofing, but beyond that they filled the space between roof and ceiling with dirt. By the time the next fire rolled into the city, those who had employed this method of protection could point to the evidence of their success – a standing building. Others went to the added expense of shipping in heavy metal doors. As you can see in the photo below, those doors would have presented an impressive defense.

My family lived through one evacuation when we made our home in the San Diego foothills. We were fortunate to have a home to return to when the fires were extinguished. Horses survived as well, although there is a story to tell of their evacuation. Another time. Although we made some changes to help us prepare for the next fire (including purchase of a larger horse trailer), we did not go to the extent of filling our attic with dirt. Our adobe walls and tile roof were assets, but not as effective as the measures taken be the residents of Idaho City.

It would be natural to suppose the unfortunate victims of this week’s fires will be taking stock of their lives as well as their property. My heart goes out to them for the losses they’ve suffered. Those other losses can’t be compiled on an insurance ledger. They are deeper, more profound. Security is the first that comes to mind. Such times makes us consider the true definition of home and family. Those who share with their neighbors this sense of loss may find their definition of family expanding. And home? Well, we’ve known for a long time that it isn’t just a building.

What stories and preparations have you made for natural disaster? We’ve certainly seen many in the past few months.

Idaho City (6)

Listen to Many, Speak to a Few

IMG_4664

Shakespeare wrote that with his quill pen a good while ago. It’s not a bad motto for life in general, but I’ve come to believe it is also an exceptional way to approach book research. Thank you, William, for the notion. Traveling through Central Idaho on this recent research trip, I had many occasions to employ the philosophy.

In Idaho City, a once bustling metropolis in the mid-nineteenth century, I found historians in unlikely places. Reduced to a scattering of novelty shops and a few rustic cafes providing a variety of berry pie refreshment for those traveling the scenic route through the Central Idaho mountains, there remain those who are passionate about the region’s history. When one of my questions stumped the volunteer at the excellent Boise Basin Museum, I was directed to the Simply Fun Toy Store on Main Street to speak with the proprietress. She knew kids and she knew her history. More will follow on that visit in another post.

A few days later, our travels took us north along one of Idaho’s most breathtaking highways that links Stanley to the more celebrated, ski resort of Sun Valley. We stopped in at Easley Hot Springs where we met a friendly manager who directed us to another local historian. As we lingered at the desk, perusing their visitor guides to the area, he volunteered a little more interesting local lore. Not far from these commercially developed hot springs there were more secluded and little known spas surrounded by the natural forest, with views to the Boulder Mountains. Glad we listened and followed up on his advice with a visit. Look for another post on that tranquil experience.

However, the greatest example of Mr. Shakespeare’s wisdom came as I was spending a lovely day in the research department of Ketchum’s Public Library. After spending a productive morning pouring through out-of-print books and scanning fragile black and white photos with nervous fingers, I still had not found some of the answers sought. Just as the need for a second cup of coffee suggested it was time to close my laptop and head back to the condo, a distinguished-looking gentleman took a seat at the table behind me. That’s when William’s maxim came into play.

It wasn’t that I was intentionally eavesdropping; it was simply due to the small space we shared and certain key words that I over-heard the discussion between the man and our helpful librarian. They were discussing the late nineteenth century in Sun Valley and the effect of the Oregon Short Line Rail on Ketchum’s economy. My ears tingled. My pencil scratched a few interesting tidbits, but after a few minutes, well, William, I did speak a few words.

A quick introduction on my part, followed by an even quicker explanation for my research and the door was open. I learned from the candid description of the librarian that my fellow researcher was an expert in all things related to the railroad. My pulse quickened. A lawyer by profession with ancestral ties to the area, he was compiling facts for a definitive history of Sun Valley. Why speak? So, I listened, priming this amazing pump with just a few questions. Finding me a receptive audience, he shared his passion for history. In a mere twenty minutes, I gleaned the answers to all my questions and more I had never thought to ask.

He generously offered to become a resource for me. We have corresponded since as questions have arisen. The wisdom of the Bard proved quite true. Listen to many, Speak to Few. As a result, my lovers in Redeeming Lies can meet in Shoshone on the train platform where the inciting incident of Maddie’s father’s death will propel them north to Ketchum on the Oregon Short Line. It’s a gratifying experience when fiction coincides with fact. I confess that I did a little dance when I returned to the condo at the end of the day.

Of course, you may take issue with my interpretation of Shakespeare’s words, but I think they can be applied here without much of a stretch. If you have another perspective or a similar research experience you’d like to share, I’d like to listen to it in the comments below.