My Page: Gina Knudson

Backcountry Driving

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. 

Rafting

The Middle Fork of the Salmon is a legendary river. From put-in at Boundary Creek near Stanley, Idaho, to the confluence of the Main and Middle Fork near North Fork, the river flows for about 100 miles through the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness.

I hadn’t been back to the Middle Fork since my husband and I first floated it in 1995. More than anything else, I recalled how midway through our eight-day trip, time ceased to exist. When we drew one of the limited permits this year, I was thrilled at the prospect of introducing our 12- and 14-year-old children to this place where time stops.

Our launch date of July 7 should have been ideal, but this year’s runoff proved to be formidable. Just weeks before our put-in date, a private boater died shortly after the Boundary Creek put-in with the river gauge measuring flows at about 6.5 feet—about the same level we were facing. But by July 7, the river had dropped to about 5 feet—guaranteeing fast, fun rapids without subjecting our family to jaw-locking terror.

Hiking

I come from a family of blatant waterfall oglers. No hike is too difficult, overgrown, or ridiculous if a waterfall has even been rumored to be in the area.

So when we found ourselves in eastern Idaho for a baseball tournament recently, we couldn’t pass up a detour to Mesa Falls. The Mesa Falls Scenic Byway is a 28-mile drive through the Caribou-Targhee National Forest and serene barley, potato and wheat fields between Island Park and Ashton.

In the middle of the drive, the famed Henry’s Fork of the Snake River stretches to 200-feet wide and then tumbles 114-feet over Upper Mesa Falls, then 85-feet over Lower Mesa Falls, about a mile downstream.

Mountain Biking

On a recent Saturday, I rode in the Lemhi Valley Century Bike Ride for the second year in a row. Salmon resident Ken Thacker revived the ride that had been dormant for more than a decade last year and about 40 riders joined him. This year the number of riders doubled.

This is one of the rare occasions when I’ve clung to the metric system, choosing to ride 100 kilometers versus miles. The 100K ride starts at Gilmore Summit (elevation 7,186 feet or 2,190 meters) while the 100-miler starts in the middle of the Idaho National Lab Reservation and requires climbing the aforementioned summit.

I do my best to make the shorter course challenging by a) neglecting to do any sort of training, and b) riding my fat-tired mountain bike. But the ride has no reward for early finishers – we all get the same T-shirt and post-ride cheeseburgers – so my riding buddies Kristin and Robin and I opted for a leisurely pace and plenty of stops.

Gina's Adventure Box

Every year, I vow to build the Adventure Box: a road-tripping mom’s head start on an impulse to get out and play. One year I sort of made it and had a chance to test it when a Forest Service road I was traveling on (with four children in tow) fell victim to a rather massive mudslide. I wasn’t in a desperate situation – any more so than any woman is when she is confined in a car during an impressive thunderstorm with four young children. There were nearby residences and other trapped travelers on the road, and we knew the road crews would have the mess cleaned up in a matter of hours or, at the worst, a day or two.

I popped the trunk and got into my emergency cache. Distributing granola bars, Gatorade and fruit roll-ups to the elementary-aged children, I felt like an ultra-cool version of the American Red Cross. The children consumed my emergency provisions in about seven minutes. I returned to the trunk. Remaining supplies included a tire jack and a Bic disposable razor.

Fortunately, the road crews and their heavy equipment made a path through the debris in a matter of hours BEFORE I needed to shave my legs, because I clearly hadn’t stowed away any shaving cream. But the hours spent in a sedan trying to put four children at ease did more than lead me to my new life’s motto: “Flasko perpetua,” loosely translated as “all occasions deserve a hip flask.” That day reminded me that I live in a rugged, isolated land and taking a few precautions might not be such a bad idea. 

Gina's Adventure Box

Again with the clouds? This morning they are dark gray and droopy, pregnant with the rain that they will no doubt bear upon the already soggy ground.

I spent May being grateful for the rain. Rain is good, rain is life-giving… I know. But so is sunshine and I’m ready for it. I grew up in the high desert of Idaho’s Snake River Plains and a lot of my formative years were drought-plagued. As a result, I cancel nearly anything on account of rain.

But I’m trying to shape up. I hate the idea of what’s her name—La Nina—boot-kicking me into a sniveling heap.

I assess my summer list.

New West Feature

Because Salmon is so remote—about 150 miles from the nearest competitors in Idaho Falls and Missoula—tournament weekends often involve a two-night stay in the town’s hotels.

Kerrie Burley, a manager for the Stagecoach Inn, doesn’t mind the floor hockey that’s going on down the hallway with a group of rambunctious “PeeWees” or 11- and 12-year-old skaters. “Hockey is a blessing to us in the winter,” she commented calmly. A good hockey weekend can book up to 70 rooms per night.

Nick Bertram, owner and brewer of the eponymous Bertram’s Brewery, pitches in for Salmon Hockey whenever he gets the chance. He donates vats of soup to the concession stand up at the rink on big tournament weekends, and he spent years campaigning for a Local Option tax that could support activities like hockey. The tax passed in November 2009, adding 4 percent to lodging bills in the city of Salmon. Salmon Hockey has been a recipient of some of the generated funds, which have were pumped into rink improvements like lighting and electrical upgrades.

He brushes off his efforts as somewhat selfishly inspired. “Mid-winter, all we have is hockey and the locals. Construction isn’t going on, and sales reps aren’t making many trips through here. A good hockey weekend for us actually doubles our weekend business,” he reported.

“It’s wonderful. We love it,” Bertram said. 

Resort Profile

Ski resort owners are a lot like farmers – hopelessly dependent upon the weather to make a living. And Lost Trail Powder Mountain owner Bill Grasser, in his insulated overalls, looks like he’d be happier to ride a John Deere tractor than a Burton snowboard.

But this season, Grasser’s snow crop has been bumper. Lost Trail, which straddles the Idaho/Montana border about 90 miles south of Missoula, still boasts more than 110 inches at the base. To put that into perspective, the mountain’s media director Will Moss points out that this year Lost Trail’s base depth has put it among the top five ski areas on the continent.

“We’ve been in there with places like Mammoth and Whistler,” he said. Moss said the pre-season buzz about La Nina weather patterns “has come to fruition.”

And Lost Trail is well-positioned to make the most of it. In the early part of the decade, Grasser got the go-ahead from the Bitterroot National Forest to develop the Montana side of the ski area, bringing the mountain’s assets up to more than 50 trails and a respectable 1,800 vertical drop.

On Ice

Hockey is a roadtrip-intensive sport. By this time of year, the kids have racked up the stats—assists, goals, penalties, wins, losses—and the parents have logged mountain passes, miles of open road and hours upon hours in the car.

Aside from a little lumbar compression, roadtripping with the family can be a good thing. For starters, we get to know each other’s music. At least I consider that to be a good thing. The children and their carpooling teammates are not always as enthusiastic about this cultural exchange.

Nordic Skiing

I grew up in southern Idaho, and whether groomed trails or untouched high prairie, nordic skiing terrain was relatively gentle. Even though I’ve lived in Salmon for nearly 10 years, I’ve never properly come to grips with the fact that the reason I can see creatures like bighorn sheep and mountain goats near my home is I am surrounded by steep. Unless I’m touring the municipal golf course, my skinny, long, waxless Treks are as nonsensical in Salmon as a cocktail dress and stiletto heels.

Nonetheless, my friend Kristin and I headed to the Williams Creek area of the Salmon-Challis National Forest. Each time the trail signs offered choices, Kristin and I scoffed at the routes that indicated “easier.” This was cross-country skiing, for Pete’s sake.