Backcountry Driving

Central Idaho’s Best Shortcut

By Gina Knudson, 8-05-11

	The 47-mile Trail Creek Road connects the base of the Lost River Range near Mackay to the resort community of Sun Valley. Photo courtesy of Gina Knudson.

Central Idaho is a maze of roadless areas, which is terrific, until it’s time to travel. So it’s understandable that I get excited when the Trail Creek Road is open for a few months during summer.

The road, which connects the base of Idaho’s tallest peak, Mt Borah (elevation 12,662 feet), to the tony resort town of Sun Valley, shaves a cool 40 miles off the journey from my little mountain town of Salmon. I like to pretend the route is faster.

To be sure, more than half of Trail Creek Road is dirt mixed with tire-eating, pyramid-shaped rocks. Near the summit, the road narrows to one lane and is steep and harrowing. In other words, irresistible.

Tempting side trips slow me down more than road conditions. On my most recent trip, my sister-in-law was graciously meeting me halfway from southern Idaho to return my vacationing 14-year-old daughter.

I avoided the first distraction, the Copper Basin. Panoramic views of the Pioneer and White Knob Mountains, hikes to glacial lakes, and scads of wildlife—deer, antelope, bighorn sheep—were not on the itinerary.

The projection of the Devil’s Bedstead, an 11,051-foot spire, beckoned me to turn south on Kane Creek Road, a rough-but-passable-in-my-SUV road that leads to the trailhead of the pristine alpine Kane Lake. I missed my daughter, so I wistfully passed.

Nearing the summit before the Trail Creek Road drops into the Wood River Valley’s open hillsides and aspen-laced meadows, I checked the time. I was running uncharacteristically ahead of schedule and had two hours to spare.

I veered into the parking area of the Summit Creek trailhead that I had regretfully passed dozens of time before.

The trail immediately crosses Summit Creek, a clear alpine stream with downed trees and steep terrain contributing to a healthy series of cascades and small pools. The well-used trail then sidewinds along an open hillside—open if you don’t include the mat of magnificent wildflowers.

From the windshield, I hadn’t seen a single sego lily, yet here, yards from the road, were fields of the delicate lily. The trail then dropped into a meadow with signs of recent snowmelt and full-to-the-brim beaver ponds.

I marched along the spongy, loamy path toward the Pioneer Mountains. Wandering through the pines, I reveled in the cheap buzz of high mountain oxygen mixed with the sounds and smells of a wild place.

Even though I was little more than a stone’s throw from the relative civility of Sun Valley, I encountered only one other couple on my two-hour hike up and back, which I came to regret upon returning to the trailhead and discovering that my car battery was lifeless.

At least that gave me the opportunity to enjoy several more miles of the Trail Creek Road at the slow pace of a hiker. I resisted the urge to put my thumb out, because my husband disapproves of my hitchhiking.

My attempts to look non-solicitous yet pathetic were useless as I hiked towards Sun Valley. The huffing and puffing, on foot and bike, of the resort community’s exercise fanatics made my distress uninteresting.

Fortunately, I’d snagged extra snacks and water from my car’s Adventure Box, so I wasn’t too bad off when I made my rendezvous with my daughter and sister-in-law just outside Sun Valley. The extra miles made me tired, for sure, but the side trip up Summit Creek buoyed my spirit for days.

Gina Knudson is a freelance writer based in Salmon, Idaho.

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