SIHA AND THE FOREST SERVICE ARE
ALWAYS LOOKING FOR VOLUNTEERS!

We need help with many projects throughout the year.

Preserving and helping visitors at the Stanley Museum

• Maintaining and repairing facilities
• Cataloging artifacts
• Organizing photographs, and maintaining the yard
• Working the museum desk, to sell maps and books and answer visitors questions

Operating the Redfish Center & Gallery and conducting interpretive and educational programs

• Cleaning and maintaining the facility
• Working the visitor desk, to sell maps and books and answer visitors questions
• Leading Interpretive activities for kids and grown-ups, such as nature walks, junior rangers, discovery stations, and campfire programs

Assisting with the Sawtooth Forum and Lecture Series

• Helping to set up and take down the tent and chairs at the museum
• Providing housing for speakers

Writing reviews of books that SIHA sells, serving ice cream at our social and the Mtn Mamas craft fair, and a number of other fun things!

If you are interested in volunteering, please call us at 208-774-3517 (summer only)
or fill out the form below.

Click here for more volunteer opportunities through the Forest Service

Staff

[huge_it_portfolio id=”3″]

Brian Jackson July 7 “How to Prepare for the 2017 Solar Eclipse”
Brian Jackson is currently an assistant professor at Boise State University teaching astronomy in the Physics Department. Before coming to Boise State, he was a postdoctoral fellow at the Carnegie Institution of Washington’s Department of Terrestrial Magnetism in Washington, D.C. Prior to that, he was at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. Brian earned his Bachelors of Science in physics from Georgia Tech in Atlanta, Georgia. Following that, he earned his PhD in Planetary Science from the University of Arizona’s Lunar and Planetary Laboratory in Tuscan, Arizona. His current research is focused primarily on orbital dynamics and transit observations of planets outside our solar system. He has also completed planetary science field work notably on Death Valley’s Racetrack Playa and on terrestrial and Martian dust devils.

Dr. Jack Connelly July 14 “Sage-Grouse Conservation: Facts, Alternate Facts, and Voodoo Science”
Jack Connelly received his BS degree from the University of Idaho and his MS and PhD degrees from Washington State University. He is a certified wildlife biologist and works on grouse conservation issues at national and international scales. Jack has been involved with research on sage-grouse populations and habitats for the last 40 years. He has served on the Western Sage and Columbian sharp-tailed Grouse Technical Committee and as U.S. representative to the IUCN Grouse Specialist Group. Jack has published well over 100 scientific papers on sage-grouse and other wildlife species. Notably, he is the senior author of the 2000 paper “Guidelines to manage sage grouse populations and their habitats” and the 2004 Conservation Assessment of greater sage-grouse. Jack has received numerous awards recognizing his contributions to grouse conservation and management, including The Wildlife Society’s Einarson Award and the Western Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies’ Outstanding Contributor Award. Jack is also the recipient of the prestigious Hamerstrom and Patterson awards for his work on grouse research and conservation. He recently retired after spending over 30 years with the Idaho Department of Fish and Game and lives in Blackfoot with his wife, Cheryl, and an unruly mob of bird dogs.

Jim and Holy Akenson “7003 Days: 21 Years in the Frank Church River of No Return” July 21
Deep in the Idaho wilderness the last vestiges of Old Idaho linger.  An eager young couple seeking adventure and challenge, Jim and Holly Akenson moved to their log cabin in the wilderness to manage Taylor Ranch, University of Idaho’s wilderness research station.  They spent their careers merging two worlds, embracing the simple living conditions and backcountry culture, while meeting the demands of university research and education.  In 7003 Day, Jim describes the unique backcountry culture and its characters and the many adventures and encounters with wildlife and nature, as Jim and Holly track wolves and cougars, use mules for transportation and ranch work, and connect university students with nature.

Bill Doering and Rita Dixon “Bats of Idaho” July 28
Bill Doering is a wildlife and bat biologist conducting ecological research and supporting wildlife management and conservation programs at the Idaho National Laboratory in southeastern Idaho. His adventures in bat research began in 1989 with investigating seasonal variation in the climate of lava tube caves and aspects of thermal ecology of hibernating Townsend’s big-eared bats. Over his career, his professional interests have included resource requirements of mammals, emerging threats to bats, thermal biology, habitat fragmentation, and searching for the rare spotted bat. His current research focus includes investigating winter flight behavior of hibernating cave bats, tracking long term trends in bat populations in eastern Idaho, and describing seasonal movements and stopover habitats used by migrating forest bats as they cross the sagebrush desert. Bill provides on-going technical support to state and federal resource agencies for bat issues and helped found an eastern Idaho bat monitoring collaborative (also known as “the Fellowship of the Wing.”) He believes one of the greatest conservation benefits to bats may be obtained through countering negative attitudes about bats by educating the public about the unique biology and ecological benefits of these fascinating and valuable mammals. Bill lives in Star, Idaho with his herpetologist wife and three boys.

Rita Dixon completed her PhD in Natural Resources and her MS in Wildlife Resources at the University of Idaho, and her BS in Biology at the University of California, Riverside. Rita is currently the State Wildlife Action Plan Coordinator for the Idaho Department of Fish and Game, where she oversees the ongoing development and implementation of Idaho’s State Wildlife Action Plan. Although her formal training and graduate work were in ornithology, Rita has spent over 17 years working with bats, including the rehabilitation of sick and injured bats. She serves on the steering committee for the North American Bat Conservation Alliance, cochairs the Idaho Bat Working Group, is Past President of the Western Bat Working Group, and serves on various national white-nose syndrome working groups. Rita also serves as colead for Idaho’s statewide white-nose syndrome response effort and was awarded a Research Partnership Award by the USDA Forest Service, International Programs, for her efforts to pilot the North American Bat Monitoring Program in Idaho. In addition to bat ecology, Rita’s other primary interests include landscape-scale conservation planning, prioritizing conservation, and wildlife disease.

Ray Vizgirdas August 4 “Getting Intimate With the Sawtooth’s Butterflies and Other Insect Pollinators”
Ray Vizgirdas has lived in Idaho for more than 25 years and has explored almost every nook and cranny of Idaho’s south-central mountains as a wildlife biologist and botanist. In a previous life he worked with the US Fish and Wildlife Service in California and Idaho. Currently, he teaches courses in ethnobotany, ecology, and environmental studies at Boise State and Northwest Nazarene Universities. He is the author of 10 books and field guides on butterflies, plants, ecology, and wilderness survival. His peer reviewed and award winning works include Wild Plants of the Sierra Nevada, A Guide to Plants of Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, and Wild Edible and Useful Plants of Idaho. As a forest service botanist, Ray developed and taught a Pollinator Ecology course, instructing forest ecologists and botanists in the identification of native bees and butterflies, and how to incorporate native bee and butterfly conservation needs into forest planning efforts including grazing, timber harvest, and restoration efforts.

Steve Pauley “Small potatoes.  How we fit in the Cosmos” August 11
Steve Pauley was born in Los Angeles. He received a BA degree from Pomona College in 1962, majoring in biology. After an MD degree in 1966 from Columbia University of Physicians and Surgeons, he interned in surgery at UCLA Harbor General Hospital. After a year of surgery residency at UC San Diego Hospital, he entered the US Navy as a submarine medical officer. Astronomy interest: “In 1979, we made a sailing trip with my wife Marylyn and our two sons. The trip from Newport Beach to Honolulu took 17 days. It sparked my interest in astronomy.” In 1991, after private practice in Irvine, CA, Steve and Marylyn moved from Laguna Beach to the Wood River Valley.  Steve wrote a monthly astronomy column for the Mountain Express. He was overwhelmed by the beauty of the night sky, and saw the need to protect it for future generations.  He helped establish dark sky ordinances in Ketchum, Sun Valley, Hailey, Blaine County, and Ada County.  He gave winter astronomy talks at Galena Lodge where the stars impress all who look up.  “I’ve always had a need to understand how we humans fit into the whole of things, and my science and amateur astronomy background have helped me to see that.  I hope to share with you my journey linking evolution on earth to the evolution of the universe, our Milky Way, and our home planet.”

Eric Edelman August 18 “Starlight and Darkness: Idaho’s 21st Century Total Solar Eclipse”
Slooh Astronomer, Eric Edelman, used Hubble data to obtain measurements for the stellar wind strengths of solar like stars while obtaining his Master’s degree in Astronomy from Weslyan University.  Shortly after graduation, Eric joined Slooh as a show producer and quickly moved to show presenter combining his passion for astronomy and storytelling to create compelling, unimposing, and digestible content for a general audience.  In addition to his involvement with Slooh, Eric is also a show presenter at Morrison Planetarium at the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco, CA.  Eric is excited to be a part of a movement to provide access to the night sky in all its brilliant and myriad forms to anyone with the passion and interest to seek it out.

Dave Cannamela “Native Fishes of Idaho” August 25
Dave received his BA in Biology/Chemistry from the University of Connecticut, and continued his education at Idaho State University, graduating from Murray State University, with a MS in Fisheries. Dave spent 28 years with the Idaho Department of Fish and Game, first as a temporary in fisheries, then as a fisheries biologist and most recently as the superintendent of the MK Nature Center. He retired in May of 2016. Dave had the ideal childhood. He grew up in Southeastern Connecticut where he spent most of his time with his brothers and cousins playing ball, riding bikes and running around in the woods and the neighborhood: Seven boys can always find something to do. He began fishing at an early age with his father’s side of family.  At the age of 16 Dave’s eldest brother discovered fly fishing and soon turned them both into fly fishing nuts. Dave spends his time enjoying family and friends, fishing, hunting, watching baseball, riding and messing with bicycles, gardening, cooking and advocating for salmon and native plants among other things.

The Inspiration of the Sawtooths

Walking through the trails in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area gives me such an amazing feeling. It is like I am floating in the clouds, but I am on a rugged, partially maintained, narrow trail. I have dirt under my nails, fresh mountain water in my Nalgene, and a mind that is finally at rest. My only thoughts are, “How far can I push myself today?” The bright blue skies matched with the clear blue waters inspires me to go to places I have never been before. However, this inspiration is not only for me, but it is for all of us who travel far and wide, just to have a piece of the Sawtooths.

Inspiration is not a resource that is lacking around here. Everywhere you go, something new and exciting is happening. Another trail is cleared after a rough winter, a new band shows up in town to play at the Street Dance, or for those of us here in the winter, another restaurant finally opens for the season. There are people who have lived in this valley for generations. Go ahead, go ask them if they are ever bored here, or if they ever get tired of looking at the same mountains day in and day out. I can guarantee you that we will all answer the same way. “The mountains are always changing, who would get bored of this?”

Musicians, poets, artists… people from all different backgrounds find their way into this jagged landscape. There are countless songs about this area, poems that resonate through our valleys, and paintings that show the tranquility in the creeks. These are not the only people who are here, though. Here, with the Sawtooth Interpretive and Historical Association, we have a team of naturalists and museum staff who came here for many different reasons. We come here for something new, a fresh start, to learn a different trait. We leave feeling a new connection not only to our coworkers, but to the area itself.

The Sawtooths have been my inspiration for the past 3 years, and now for many more to come. I moved here when I was 20, still in college, terrified that I was not in the right field, and far away from friends and family. Living here has inspired me to push forward with new endeavors. I now trust myself to be able to reach for the stars, but shoot further than that. The backcountry has offered me the tranquility to be able to listen to my mind again, and the front country has offered me a new set of friends and family.

The Sawtooth National Recreation Area inspires me every day. What does it do for you?

-Sarah Cawley

Executive Director

Coming to the Sawtooth National Recreation Area for the first time was a life changing moment for me.  I can remember leaving Walla Walla early in the morning, clear blue skies, beautiful sunshine, and green flowing wheat fields that I knew would be harvested by the time I returned.  I remember thinking in the car as we were driving out of town, “Why am I doing this?”  I asked myself this question, everything that I was familiar and comfortable with was in the town I was leaving.  I loved watching the green wheat fields turn golden brown just before being harvested.  I loved the rolling hills, sunsets that came along with summers in Walla Walla, and the people who I was leaving behind.  I had many responsibilities there that I was leaving behind. As all of these thoughts passed through my mind, i couldn’t help but think, “Am I making the right decision?”  After pondering this thought for a mile or two, a sense of peace came over me.  It was in that moment that I no longer thought about if i were making the right decision, I knew I was.

This sense of peace guided me down the highway with every new turn came a new incredible sight.  I had never been to Stanley and didn’t know what it looked like but somehow I knew it was going to be incredible.  The moment I rounded the corner and saw the Sawtooth Mountains for the first time is a moment I will never forget.  Once I laid my eyes on those mountains I couldn’t help but feel free.  Looking at those mountains reminded me how incredibly lucky I am to be able to get to call this place home for the summer.  Those mountains stand over our little town of Stanley like guardians.  They are there not only to offer great adventure and phenomenal sights, but also to remind us that even though the journey may sometimes be hard, the view from the top is always worth it.
There are moments in your life you just know are life changing moments.  Those mountains and the town of Stanley was a life changing moment for me.  Every day brings a new adventure with it, a new lake to hike to, a new person to meet,  and a new sunrise and sunset over this amazing valley I’ve fallen so much in love with.  I hope that every time i return here, I have the same feeling of freedom as that first day.  Stanley is my freedom, the mountains are my reminder to keep persevering…what’s yours?

Ashley Ramsey, Naturalist

Our van whined in the December twilight as it struggled to carry eight riders and a month’s worth of supplies on the road that wound its way up Galena Summit. It was a moment full of anticipation: I was anxious to see the Sawtooth Valley hidden on the other side. My father called it “the beating heart of Idaho,” and the long climb to it was finally going to come to an end. I had heard endless stories of the land’s unmatched beauty and striking features and a mix of pictures and my imagination had created a sublime image of our destination. As we rose over the top, I got my first short glimpse.

I didn’t expect to be met by the landscape of gray we found in front of us. We faced a pine-studded expanse of snow without any other distinguishable features. A low layer of clouds covered the mountains that were supposed to be on either side. I didn’t see any rivers or streams cutting through the land. Rather than being impressed by the valley, I was struck more by winter’s power to hide it.

We began our descent into the valley while the remaining light faded. Plows had pushed up mountains of snow on either side of the road and they rose uncomfortably high over our van. The rare gap between piles gave snapshots of a progressively darkening valley floor. We fought to keep catching glimpses of something, anything that could show us the real Sawtooth Valley. By the time that we coasted away from Galena we were driving into a world of black with little to take from it.

There were some features that became more obvious at the bottom. Rivers and creeks were signaled by the arrival of the bridges that spanned them and the slight depression that they made in the snow as they wound through the flats. Fence posts poked their heads through the drifts that had blown up around them. Old snowmobile tracks were left scribbled on short slopes. As we traveled through, there was evidence of an energy to the valley that winter had frozen still.

It was noticeably colder. While sitting in the van, we were comfortably wearing all of our snow gear, and the windows that our eyes had been glued to quickly fogged over. We did our best to keep the glass clear, and we did for a time—but the cloudy edges of the windows gradually began to crystallize and spread. Soon our hands became too cold and numb to continually rub off the ice that was forming. The last thing that I saw before I gave up battling the ice and shoved my frozen hands into my armpits was the silhouette of a cabin close to the highway. A single light shining over the driveway did more to emphasize the surrounding black than to shine through it. I had never seen a place be so hungrily dark. I sat back to watch the white creep closer and closer to the center of the window, turning them into portholes, then pinholes, then nothing. Only the windshield was spared thanks to the help of the defroster and the efforts of the ice scraper in the hands of the passenger seat rider.

We drove on in our new cocoon, those of us not sitting in the front effectively cut off from the rest of the world. Seeing nothing outside had me conjuring up fantastic images of cartoonish peaks looming over the van, massive beasts loping alongside us, and endless wastelands of ice surrounding us. It all disappeared when we turned into the driveway of our lodge, stopped, and opened the van’s door. Hopping out brought us into the same empty, hidden world. We didn’t take much time to scan the bit of landscape visible around our new home. It was late, and the biting cold drove us to quickly unload our gear, light the stove, have a quick dinner, and dive under flannel sheets and covers.

We came to the valley to learn about it and connect with it—seven students, two professors, their child, and his stuffed sheep. We didn’t seem to make much progress in making a connection by our first morning. Daylight had us rise to a world of white. A massive wall of fog had built up while we slept. Our lodge sat near the edge of the Salmon River which, it turns out, was still running because of the hot springs that fed into it. Clouds covered the skies and obscured the horizon where our professors claimed the Sawtooths, covered in the same snow that blanketed every inch of the valley, lay hidden. Our goal for the next month was to learn about the local history, geology, ecology, geography—all of it. While learning about the valley in the classroom, we also planned to become intimately familiar with the land by backcountry skiing on its slopes. We would feel the land underneath our feet; we would go out into the cold and let it fill our lungs and sink into our boots.

Sometimes lessons and practice would work in tandem. Our first real introduction to the Sawtooth Valley came later that first day. After breakfast and class at the lodge’s table, we strapped on our snow gear and stepped outside to be trained in avalanche safety. Part of connecting with the Sawtooth Valley came with recognizing the dangers implicit to its identity. With the right slopes, enough snow, and Sawtooth weather came the chance for avalanches. We learned how to recognize the warning signs. We learned that when we took a moment to slow down and pay attention to the land around us it spoke to us. The snow spoke to us when we dug a pit into it, pulled out a section, gave it a pat, and watched the weak layers of snowpack collapse in our hands, saying “Avalanche here!” It spoke to us with an echoing whumph when the weak layers collapsed on slopes too shallow to slide on. It hissed at us as our skis carved their way through the powder.

We quickly came to terms with the idea that the valley in winter is not a place that one can travel through as they please. There were days when all three highways out of the valley were closed to traffic because of avalanches. If we didn’t pay attention to the signs while on the slopes, we could face the consequences of ignored snow. Racing across the snow without skis, post-holing, to make it the last few yards to the buried beacon carried to the bottom of a slope showed the snow’s lack of concern for your urgency. It helped us understand the struggle of survival that deer and elk faced each winter with their narrow legs. It helped us appreciate the millennia of selection that allowed the snowshoe hare tracks we often saw to be so shallow in the powder.

As we finished learning to speak the language of the land, we made our way back to the lodge. The fog that had settled in the morning had burned off by midday. We were finally able to lay our eyes on the hills that surrounded our home. The clouds fought longer against the sun but they, too, were eventually pushed back. By that afternoon, the peaks of the Sawtooths had started to peek through. In the many days that followed, they seemed much more willing to show themselves as they became familiar with us.

A month in the Sawtooth Valley was more than enough time to develop a connection to it. I fell in love with this place not simply because of its striking beauty but also because I immersed myself in it and came to understand it. I developed an appreciation for this land more strongly than I had for any other. If you find yourself somewhere like the Sawtooth Valley (or anywhere—even the area around your hometown), do all that you can to enjoy it. If you want to truly fall in love with that place, do all that you can to understand it.

Henry Vaughan, Naturalist

Mist crossing Redfish Lake, grebe and merganser skating across the water, bird’s chorus, and the glass reflection of a calm lake.  This is what greets you at dawn at Redfish and inspires not only my love of birds, but of photography.  No two days are the same; each brings another way to capture the beauty around me.

The Sawtooths veiled in the morning fog and the sailboats perching on the mist ready for adventure.

Little Redfish Lake  is a hidden gem most people pass on their way to the more popular Redfish Lake, but for those who take the time to stop it will  inspire  you too to take in the calm and quiet beauty.

Calm and quiet beauty can be enjoyed either on the water or along its shores.  So take a leisurely trip across the lake by kayak, canoe, or paddleboard.  Or take a horseback ride from Redfish Corrals and follow the shoreline along the lake, behind the trees, and immerse yourself in the landscape.

By Naturalist Pam Williams

Its 4:45 pm and I find myself half walking, half running through the crowds of people at Redfish Lodge in an effort to catch the 5 o’clock shuttle across the lake. I make it just in time to hop on the boat with a few other hikers. We exchange a few words about our plans for the evening; they plan to camp where the boat drops us off. I plan to venture about 6 miles into the wilderness and set up camp for the night at Alpine Lake.  I say goodbye to the boat driver and put on my hiking boots, already thinking about the relief of removing them at the end of my hike. As I feel the weight of my pack sink into my shoulders I feel the burden of my everyday stresses being lifted. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for days, eager to be alone and enjoy the solitude that the Sawtooth’s have to offer. This trip is my first solo overnight trip in the Sawtooth’s and I’m excited to be able to venture further into the wilderness than my day hikes have allowed. After a couple hours I make it to my destination for the night, slightly disappointed by the amount of people also camping at the lake. I make my dinner and settle in for the night, hoping that in the morning the crowds of people will dwindle as I hike further into the backcountry.

I wake in the morning to the sounds of people picking up their camps and heading back down the trail from which they came. I gather my things into my day-pack, happy to be rid of my larger pack for at least a few hours and begin heading further into the wilderness towards Baron Lakes. To reach the lake I need to hike over the Baron Divide. I was told it was beautiful but nothing prepared me for the indescribable view I experienced at the top. I was greeted by snow capped mountains, rugged granite features, and the bluest alpine lakes. I thought to myself, I could stay here forever and never tire of this view. By the time I reached my destination I realized I was the only person there, it felt as if I was the only person in the entire world. I dive into the icy blue waters of Baron Lake, and swim out feeling like my soul had been restored. As I sit on the banks of the lake I contemplate how I can feel so alone yet so complete at the same time.

This summer I’ve begun to truly fall in love with being alone in nature. When i’m alone on the trail i feel a deep connectedness to my surroundings that lacks in my everyday life. Hiking alone is my version of meditating, with every step I feel my thoughts vanishing and my mind becoming clear. My everyday worries fade as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. When I reach my destination a sense of ecstasy and an almost indescribable feeling overcomes me. I think that feeling relates back to the origins of human nature, that primal feeling of needing to explore what’s in front of us, a modern day manifest destiny. I believe that these mountains hold a special power, the power to make us feel insignificant. These mountains loom over us as a reminder that this world is much bigger than we are and that we should be humbled to be a part of this life. I’m thankful for every moment I get to spend in these mountains and the lessons that they teach me. The solitude I’ve found here has been an important teacher. Constantly pushing me out of my comfort zone and forcing me to truly take a look at myself. I challenge everyone to spend a night out in the wilderness alone, you might just learn something about yourself you never knew.

Claire Mann, Naturalist

“I never knew anyone who felt self-important in the morning after spending the night in the open on an Idaho mountainside under a star-studded summer night”

– US Senator Frank Church

The wild, glaciated, granite wonderland of the Sawtooth batholith soars above Stanley. Waking up each morning and going to bed each night under a sky soaked in oranges, pinks, and purples, the mountains have become my constant companions and my favorite playground.

I’ve delighted in the bone chilling bliss of alpine lakes and the instantly relaxing hot springs. I’ve marveled at waterfalls and have toiled away trekking up steep snow. I am grateful for the geological processes which have left me with cracks and couloirs to climb and summits to stand on. Of course, I am nowhere near the first or the only person to do this. The Sawtooth Range has been inspiring the vertically intrepid to climb upward since their discovery. Features like the Finger of Fate, the Elephant’s Perch, and Mt. Heyburn look like they are asking to be climbed, but their steep Class V walls ward off anything but the most serious attempts. Climbing here is undeniably dangerous, especially within the wilderness boundaries where rescues are laborious, but a few expert alpinists have explored the limits of climbing here and have opened the Sawtooth’s to amateurs through guiding services.

As a climber and a historian, I was immediately drawn to studying Sawtooth climbing pioneers like Louis Stur, Fred Beckey, Jerry Fuller, Dave Williams, Bob and Miriam Underhill, and the Iowa Mountaineers. To my frustration, information about climbing and mountaineering history in the area was hard to come by. This was intentional. I contacted Kirk Bachman, the founder of Sawtooth Mountain Guides and a local alpine legend, and he told me that culture here has been and continues to be one of “quiet pioneering”. The humble explorers of the Sawtooth Mountains didn’t go vertical for fame, but for pure love of adventure.

Dave Williams and Bob Underhill with Miriam Underhill. SIHA Archives.

Kirk Bachman moved here in 1984 and started a guiding business, though he fell in love with the place when he was nine years old after he caught his first fish in Redfish Lake. He told me stories about people and places, but mostly we talked about the ethos of climbing in the Sawtooths. Alpine pursuits here follow natural lines instead of bolt ladders and there is very little ego involved when it comes to climbing. This ethos is rooted in the history of this place, and can also be traced to the general values of the Stanley community. In my desire to understand the distinct climbing culture here, I began to look back.

Miriam Underhill on North Raker. SIHA Archives.

In 1934 Bob and Miriam Underhill hired Dave Williams, a homesteader with property under what is now William’s Peak, to help guide them around the rugged Idaho terrain.

Bob and Miriam spent their summers climbing out West and after a season spent putting up difficult lines in the Tetons, they discovered the Sawtooths.  The Underhills, with the help of Dave, managed to achieve twenty first ascents in the Sawtooths during their 1934 and 1935 visits. The Underhills spent a little over 4 weeks time in the area, but they were able to achieve amazing new heights and set a precedent for Sawtooth alpinism.

In 1947, Paul Petzoldt, a famous Idahoan climber and founder of the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), made the first ascent of Warbonnet Peak, which sits proudly above the Baron Lakes with the Iowa Mountaineers. The Iowans came to Stanley for their summer outing which was “one of the most thoroughly enjoyable trips in the club’s history”. The Iowa Mountaineers of the University of Iowa was one of the most prolific and active mountaineering clubs in the country and they spent their summer based out of Redfish Lake with a high camp in an alpine meadow at the foot of Thompson Peak. They bagged a lot of peaks and named a few after Iowans (few of the names stuck). This kicked off a period of high climbing activity in the region.

Stur and Beckey: First Ascent of Rotten Monolith. SIHA Archives.

Fred Beckey, a climbing legend from Washington with more first ascents than any other American mountaineer, came to the Sawtooths in 1949 and brought with him an infectious energy which led to a boom in climbing in the area. Any climber who comes to the Sawtooths looks up at the Beckey route on the Elephant’s Perch with awe and wonder. The route, which goes at 5.11, requires some serious strength and skill and was first done by Fred Beckey, Steve Marts, and Herb Swedlund in 1963 without the advantage of modern climbing shoes, ropes, and protection. Beckey made impressive assents throughout the Sawtooth’s and along with Lois Stur, brought about a new era of hard technical alpine ascents.

Louis Stur was a Hungarian immigrant who moved to Ketchum in 1951 and began working at Sun Valley. He was known as an exceedingly kind and gentle. He spent his days happily moving about the mountains and established the famous “Stur Chimney” on Mt. Heyburn in 1952 and pioneered new routes in the Monte Verita area. He tragically died in a climbing accident on Mt. Ebert in 1989, but not before leaving an indelible and positive mark on the Sawtooth alpine community. Stur and Beckey, who sometimes climbed together, were joined by other “quiet pioneers” like Jerry Fuller, Reid Dowdle,  Joe Leonard, and many more.

Many climbers visiting the area remark on the lack of a guidebook. Tom Lopez covers the Sawtooth’s in his excellent book, Idaho: A Climbing Guide, but the overview is not all encompassing or terribly specific. Ask any local climber and they will tell you that they want to keep it that way. The point of climbing is to discover the world, the rock, and the route for yourself. If you need help to do that safely, there are plenty of guides willing to help.

Similarly, the point of climbing history in the area is not to put any one person on a pedestal. The climbing pioneers who made first ascents here had no desire for lasting fame. Most of them wanted to get away from the noise of the world and immerse themselves in the mountains. Without posting a picture online or yelling their achievements loudly at the Redfish Lodge, these early climbers quietly and deliberately pushed limits in the mountains.

Louis Stur on Mt. Heyburn. SIHA Archives.

That is what makes the Sawtooths different from the Tetons, the Wasatch range, and other big name climbing areas in the region. It isn’t that the climbing is worse (many would argue it is far better), but it is not boastful. Climbing here requires you to put your head down and put in hard work. The reward for this is clear and can be found in the stunning view down Redfish Canyon or in the pure and satisfying physical exhaustion of a day in the mountains.

There is so much value in spending time in the mountains and inspiration to be gleaned from their cathedral like spires. We all have different reasons for exploring this beautiful place, but if you had to boil it down I think you’d have to label it love. The same things that brought the Underhills here brought Louis Stur and Kirk Bachman and it has brought me too. Whether or not you’re a climber, I’m guessing it’s the same thing that brought you to the Sawtooths too.

Working here as the Historic Specialist, I’ve had the opportunity to have some amazing conversations with locals like the one I had with Kirk. History often becomes mired in dates, names, and numbers, and soul can get lost along the way. That doesn’t happen in Stanley. The facts are wrapped up in heart and soul, and the resulting ethos is lived out every day. I still have a lot more to learn, so if you’re in the neighborhood and have a story please come share it with me, and this post is far from inclusive, so if you have any questions about a specific ascent or climber, drop me a line and I can do some sleuthing. Otherwise, you can catch me out in the mountains. In my opinion, there’s no better place to learn.

-Caroline Wickes, Stanley Museum Historic Specialist

Sources:

Meier, M. F. (1947). Sawtooth Mountaineering. Iowa Climber.

Stur, L. S. (1952). The Sawtooth Range of Idaho. Iowa Climber.

Bachman, B. (February 1975). Sawtooth Prolog. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Interview with Stur. L. S. (February 1975). Sawtooth Pioneering. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Bachman, B., Smutek, R. (February 1975). Sawtooth Mountaineering. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Wren, C. (October 9, 1999). Paul Petzoldt is Dead at 91; Innovator in Climbing. The New York Times.

Person, D. (October 7, 2016). Fred Beckey is Climbing’s Living Encyclopedia. Outside Magazine.

Interview with Bachman, K. (July 2017)

It has been quite  the experience living in Stanley, Idaho this summer.  Stanley’s Sawtooth National Park is a beautiful and hidden gem inside the Gem State!  The park has three separate entrances.  One from Highway 21 and the two other entrances are on Highway 75.  When visitors arrive to the park, they are treated with spectacular views of the Sawtooth Range and greeted with the rustic aura of Stanley and the Sawtooth Valley.  Idaho is very proud of its one and only national park.

Hang on… the Sawtooths are not a national park.  In fact, they have never been a national park.  It is actually known as the Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA).  It is not administered by the U.S. Department of the Interior, but by the U.S. Forest Service under the U.S. Department of Agriculture.  It seems like a national park, doesn’t it?  The Sawtooth Valley has all the “ingredients” for a national park.  Then why isn’t it on the United States’ list of natural wonders, like Yosemite and Yellowstone?

Since moving up to Stanley this summer, this question and other related questions are frequently on my mind.  Local residents and other Idahoans seem mostly happy with the Sawtooths’ current designation.  They cite Stanley’s laid back feel and the area’s (relatively) low-use opportunities for recreation.  The consensus is that, if it were a park, it would be too crowded and would lose its wilderness appeal.  National parks are infamous for large crowds and for a lack of true backcountry recreation.

Now all national parks are different: Wrangell-St. Elias National Park has the largest designated wilderness area in the entire United States.  But Alaska is also the exception due to its vastness and isolation from the rest of the country.

I grew up on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska.  Growing up, I did not think about public and private land management.  Number one, because I was a kid.  But also because the topic did not seem to present itself in conversation.  Alaska is so big and unpopulated that there might just be enough room for everyone!

Not so in the continental United States.  Private and public lands co-exist for better or for worse.  Idaho and the Sawtooth Valley are a great example of this struggle.  The establishment of a national park means preservation.  Park land is untouched and must stay that way.  Ranchers, hunters, and some recreationists want access to the land for its resources.  A park shuts off a majority of that access.  A national park also brings in hordes of tourists who want to view the specially designated area.  This might push out those who call the area ‘home’ as land prices around the park go up.

A national recreation area designation under the U.S. Forest Service is all about conservation.  It gives the land many uses and Idahoans love that freedom.  The three wilderness areas within the SNRA also delight those Idahoans who want untrammeled lands that go even beyond the national park’s strategies of preservation.  Wilderness areas are road free, machinery free, and mostly structure free.  Humans are welcome to visit but not welcome to stay.

With all that being said, national parks do bring with them an elevated level of mystique and reverence.  Outdoor recreationists look to certain states as destinations specifically for their national parks.  Arizona has the Grand Canyon, California has Yosemite, and so on.  Idaho is not revered for its outdoor opportunities.  It is simply known as the ‘Potato State’.  Idaho is mainly famous for its irrigated agriculture.

Since moving here for college, I notice that Idahoans are passionate about their beautiful state and its large forests and wilderness.  But many of those same people also seem to resent the fact that Idaho is overlooked and an unknown.  There are shirts with phrases like, “Idaho not Ohio” or an Idaho state shape sticker with “Iowa” written inside.  People want to be proud of their home.  They want to show others WHY they choose Idaho and not California or Oregon.

Idaho’s national misrepresentation is not a blessing or a curse.  It’s just an added wrinkle in what makes Idaho so unique.

This discussion of national park versus national recreation area leads me to my main question: What if Stanley, Idaho had a national park known as Sawtooth National Park?  How would it affect the area and would it be for better or for worse?  A national park might have truly altered the course of Idaho’s environmental history.  Think about it!  Talk about it!  Wonderful discussions can happen at one of the Sawtooths’ beautiful alpine lakes or one of its towering peaks.

-Kenny Werth, Stanley Museum Docent

On a calm morning, near the edge of a high alpine lake in the Sawtooth wilderness, I have found a sense of freedom and awe at the happenings around me. It is inspiring to watch the many plants and animals gathering their breakfast and starting their day, as am I. I can’t help but feel nothing but gratitude for the processes that are happening around me and always. All of the necessary tasks that make our wilderness so special and unique and also that keep it thriving. Flowers blooming and pollinators pollinating, making this landscape beautiful as well as productive.

During the early months of summer as the lupin starts to bloom, and as the little song birds like the western tanager come out, it is an expression of rejoicing and new beginning as the world opens up from the snow. Here in the sawtooths especially this year the snow fall was impeccable. It is unfathomable that at time that there such beauty it has come out of a such a harsh condition. Though for some the winter brings with it a favorable habitat. Like the wolverine who thrives in cold temperatures and high snow fall, or some of our native plant seeds that need stratification to prosper. Stratification being the process where a seed has to undergo a severe cold temperature for it to germinate and sprout in the spring. Then once the snow has melted and plants start to emerge, so do the animals and insects. This process repeats its self every year yet every year I am in awe that it in fact does happen. Here in the sawtooths we have a very interesting growing season that being it is very short. Things start to bloom and grown in the valley then as the snow melts, the growth travels up to higher elevation, as do that animals, traveling with their food source. Even with the short season we still have a wide variety of plants and animals. From deer, elk, and black bear, to wolf, wolverine, and mountain goat. From lupine, lodge pole pine, and currant, to douglas fir, fire weed. Not to mention all the other little species we often forget about, like the monarch butterfly, bumble bees, and the macro and micro invertebrates that fill out lakes and streams. This impossible grandeur that I so much enjoy requires much more than what is visible to the eye in a glance, or even an entire morning spent watching nature work. One of my favorite past times is watching the animals, and insects and creatures alike working away to enrich their lives, and mine. One might think that this process would always look the same no matter where you are viewing it from, however that is not the case. The Sawtooths have provided such a different experience than I’ve ever seen, as any new place does. There are different species of animals, plants, and different geological make-up of the landscape before me. Each new place offers its own performance of excellence for an environment that is so diverse and each species so independent and yet completely dependent on each other and the things they provide for the other. Sitting here watching all that is happening just to sustain life, brings me to find myself so grateful to get to be an audience member of such a beautiful performance and can’t help but feel so full and appreciative of all the necessary for me to enjoy my solitude and amazing views, and process I am also dependent upon. Though as the fire weed starts to bloom I am reminded that summer is drawing to and end and with that a new beginning of winter arrives and I must go. Though I will always remember my time spent in the sawtooths and always come back!

So I challenge you the next time you’re in our beautiful mountain range, think about all the things going on around you, or maybe to think about the things you’re enjoying, the view, the terrain, or the wild, and to take in as much of it as you can. I hope it fuels a deep passion inside of you to help protect such majesty, and become, as I have, grateful in the sawtooths!

~ Grateful in the Sawtooth’s

Redneck Fourth of July. I am sure you have heard of the term before. To me, this means driving into the Frank Church River of NoReturn Wilderness from highway 21 on the forest service road 579 and into what was my favorite campground at the time. Dagger Falls  Campground on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River provided these “fireworks”. The fireworks were Chinook Salmon that were traveling back to their spawning grounds from the Pacific Ocean and used their last bit of energy to jump up Dagger Falls itself. Year after year my family would travel to spend the 4th of July at the falls and the “fireworks” jumped up repeatedly until they could make it to the pool of water above the three tiers in the falls. My father taught me at a young age that these anadromous fish fought the current of the river to spawn and during that time of the year, we would find dead carcasses in Bear Valley Creek where my   parents loved to fish.

In my adult life I have had the opportunity to study and advocate for the Salmon species in the Salmon River Country in multiple capacities. I educated the public about the Sockeye, Chinook and Kokanee species that live and reproduce in the many lakes, creeks and major river in the valley through my internship with the Sawtooth Interpretive and Historical Association in 2015. I then went on to rear (or raise) Snake River Sockeye Salmon at the Springfield Hatchery which are released during smolt stage in Redfish Lake Creek, usually in April of each year. Since then, I have returned to the Redfish Visitor Center and worked closely with Idaho Fish and Game,Ride for Redd and Idaho Rivers United to farther educate the public about the issue, encourage people to start talking about it around the nation and the drastically low returns in 2017 specifically.

The Sawtooth Association gave me the training and education that lead me to understand the era of Lonesome Larry and how we have worked toward patching the tragedy at hand in 1992. I learned an in depth version of the amazing cycle of their lives and why they  are so important to this place we here in Stanley call home. The most impactful thing to me and what made me so incredibly passionate about this species is the adrenaline rush they provide for the Salmon River Country and back into the Sawtooth and White-Cloud Wilderness.  According to the Wild Salmon Center, “Salmon are the biological foundation of river ecosystems”.

Here in the Stanley Basin, there are many ecosystems that thrive from the boost of oceanic minerals when the salmon travel upstream from the ocean back through the Columbia, Snake and Salmon Rivers. Once they spawn the next generation of fish, they die and either become part of the soil, water or an animal sustenance. This region is stale with beautiful granite which does not provide a stable ground for vegetation growth. In addition, our growing and decomposing season is very short, most of the time a mere two or three weeks. With those factors along, the adrenaline the plants and animals get from oceanic minerals is a huge success for this area. Without the return of the salmon, the Salmon River Basin will not be the same chemically and eventually esthetically.

In order to help recover the native population of the  species, the hatchery system has implemented a salmon recovery program. Here, I learned the life cycle and stages in greater detail. In theory, the hatcheries rear Sockeye and Chinook Salmon and imprint them to the stream or river they will return to spawn in. For a four month stint, I worked at the Springfield Hatchery where rearing Sockeye Salmon is a science. They are relieved as eye-eggs or fertilized eggs. We distribute them into incubation trays and the rate of development depends on the temperature of the water. Eventually, these tiny 
red eggs hatch and  become fry. At the fry stage, we monitor their yolk sacs and their transformation to swimming up to the surface for their first gulp of air. At that time, they get transported into a vat or a long above-ground single directional flow “tank”. At that time they are able to eat and are fed very small rations that increase every few days. I was lucky enough to work with two different broodstocks, or cycles of fish. The pre-smolt and smolt aged fish live in the outdoor vats which are built into the ground and also have directional flow. We spend time cleaning the vats and feeding the fish. Every spring, they are released at pre-smolt/smolt stage. We are able to release the fish in the stream or river they are released in because they are imprinted to a specific location.This means they begin to collect sights and smells on their way down the river and into the ocean. They use their imprinted memory to return to the same stream or river two to five years later. Upon their return, they spawn to regenerate the salmon population. Once they have completed their life cycle, they die and pass their oceanic nutrients to the valley.

I am back at the Redfish Visitor Center, educating the visiting public, my staff and the locals in the area. This year in particular has been disastrous and it has been my biggest goal  to reach out to anyone to spread the word of the endangered species that are unable to complete their journey back to the place they were imprinted. On the day the center opened, we were lucky enough to work with Ride for Redd and celebrate the end of their journey. Three woman traveled on horseback from Astoria, Oregon all the way to Redfish Lake, Idaho. Along the way, they spent their time opening the door for conversations about the salmon who travel 900 miles each way to the ocean and back. They also spent time interviewing people who work for dams that cause a barrier for the salmon. They told us about the ways we transport the sensitive species around the dams. This opened my eyes and encouraged me to talk to people on all sides of the spectrum in hopes that one day we will come to a conclusion

about how to increase the rate of return here to the Salmon River Country. The Sawtooth Association also works very closely with Idaho Rivers United on a yearly basis. They are strong advocates for Idaho rivers and work towards removing four dams on the Lower Snake River. In conjunction with them, we celebrate the history and culture of salmon in this area. On August 26th, 2017 we are putting on our annual Salmon Festival. We will have music, family friendly games and will be talking about the issues at hand with the public.At the end of the day, we offer a delicious salmon dinner catered by The Redd, a local restaurant in the area. You can purchase your dinner tickets at the Redfish Visitor Center, The Stanley Museum and https://www.idahorivers.org/new-events/2017/8/25/sawtooth-salmon-festival. Please join us in our efforts to continue to educate and spread the word!

While growing up in Western New York there was no such thing as “fire season” and wildfires were far from anyone’s minds. After moving to the west I quickly learned that fire season is a very real thing and wildfires will always be a part of life here. While living here in Idaho it’s been easy to develop an interest in fire ecology and wildfire management. In the past couple of months fire has been a very popular topic at the visitor center and I have found myself answering a lot of questions on the subject. It has been interesting talking to people and hearing the various opinions on fire ecology and management practices. The more I’ve talked to visitors the more I’ve become interested fire ecology and I wanted to use this as an opportunity to share some of the things I have learned this summer.

Fire Ecology is defined as the study of wildland fire, its origins, and its relationship to the environment that surrounds it. Fire Ecology is a fairly recent branch of study, first making an appearance in the early 1900s when a group of researchers in the Southern United States challenged the idea that all wildland fire is bad. They argued that fire was not only beneficial to the forest but that it was essential to the trees, herbaceous plants and wildlife.  This early research revolutionized the way we understand and manage wildland fires.

Research has shown that smaller fires can remove underbrush, clear the forest floor of debris, open it up to sunlight, and nourish the soil. This reduces competition in the forest which in turn allows trees to grow stronger and healthier. This also allows for new species to grow in areas where they couldn’t before and can help make our forest more diverse. Historically forests had fewer trees but the trees that were there were stronger and healthier which allowed them to grow larger. Currently our forests often have more trees than we’ve seen in the past, but those trees are often stressed or diseased. Allowing smaller fires to burn can help create more dynamic forests with stronger healthier trees.

The SNRA is an example of a forest that has been hugely effected by disease. The effects of the Mountain Pine Beetle are obvious, dead trees can be seen scattered all over the forest floor. Looking around one can’t help but think about how quickly over forests could burn with the increased fuel load as a result of all those dead trees. Although a fire would be undoubtedly destructive in our area, fire can be beneficial in protecting forests from disease. Fires help clear out stressed and diseased trees as well as kill off the insects that prey on trees. This in turn will make the forest healthier for future generations.

Aside from having direct benefits for the trees in the forest fire also can have positive effects on wildlife. When fire burns heavy undergrowth it allows for new grasses, herbs, and shrubs to regenerate and provides food and habitat for many wildlife species. When heavy undergrowth is removed there is more water readily available because less plants are there to absorb it. This can cause streams to be fuller benefiting other plants and animals.

Although fire is an unquestionably destructive force it is also an incredibly important part of maintaining a healthy forest. Forest landscapes are dynamic and can change in response to disturbances, often creating healthier landscapes as a result. We want to avoid fires that burn vast areas of our forest, as these larger fires will typically be more destructive and make it harder for the forest to recover. Allowing smaller natural fires to burn, or using prescribed burns in areas to reduce fuel load can help prevent those larger fires in the future and allow for the benefits of fire to occur.

Prior to the mid-1900s the main management practice was to completely suppress all wildfire. After decades of suppressing fires, fuels, such as dead trees, leaf litter and shrubs built up to an unnatural level in our forests. All this suppression led to bigger fires because of the increased fuel load and in turn the bigger fires became harder to fight and caused more destruction to the land. With increased research and understanding of forest ecology our management practices have drastically changed and improved.

When managing a wildland fire there are many things to consider, first off firefighters take into account how the fire was started and what kind of things are located nearby. Typically if a fire is started naturally (ex. Lightning strikes) it will be allowed to burn unless it is in an area close to buildings, homes, people or valuable natural resources.  Allowing natural fires to burn will help reduce fuel loads in the forest and hopefully help make future fires less intense. It will also allow for those benefits of fire to occur.  If a fire is caused by human actions it will typically be fought early and quickly if possible. With any fire a main concern is the safety of the crew fighting the fire. If the fire is too large or too dangerous to fight it will be closely monitored until actions can be made to continue fighting it.  A huge part of fighting fire is also understanding fire behavior, including ways that the fire spreads and how weather effects fire. Management practices are constantly changing with our increased knowledge of how fire effects the forest and wildlife.

This post is meant to be a general overview of forest ecology and wildfire management and by no means covers everything. If you’re interested in learning more about the subject, especially in national forests check out the US Forest Service Website https://www.fs.fed.us/fire/management/. Their website has a ton of information and is a wonderful resource to learn more about wildland fire.

– Claire Mann, Naturalist

The Inspiration of the Sawtooths

Walking through the trails in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area gives me such an amazing feeling. It is like I am floating in the clouds, but I am on a rugged, partially maintained, narrow trail. I have dirt under my nails, fresh mountain water in my Nalgene, and a mind that is finally at rest. My only thoughts are, “How far can I push myself today?” The bright blue skies matched with the clear blue waters inspires me to go to places I have never been before. However, this inspiration is not only for me, but it is for all of us who travel far and wide, just to have a piece of the Sawtooths.

Inspiration is not a resource that is lacking around here. Everywhere you go, something new and exciting is happening. Another trail is cleared after a rough winter, a new band shows up in town to play at the Street Dance, or for those of us here in the winter, another restaurant finally opens for the season. There are people who have lived in this valley for generations. Go ahead, go ask them if they are ever bored here, or if they ever get tired of looking at the same mountains day in and day out. I can guarantee you that we will all answer the same way. “The mountains are always changing, who would get bored of this?”

Musicians, poets, artists… people from all different backgrounds find their way into this jagged landscape. There are countless songs about this area, poems that resonate through our valleys, and paintings that show the tranquility in the creeks. These are not the only people who are here, though. Here, with the Sawtooth Interpretive and Historical Association, we have a team of naturalists and museum staff who came here for many different reasons. We come here for something new, a fresh start, to learn a different trait. We leave feeling a new connection not only to our coworkers, but to the area itself.

The Sawtooths have been my inspiration for the past 3 years, and now for many more to come. I moved here when I was 20, still in college, terrified that I was not in the right field, and far away from friends and family. Living here has inspired me to push forward with new endeavors. I now trust myself to be able to reach for the stars, but shoot further than that. The backcountry has offered me the tranquility to be able to listen to my mind again, and the front country has offered me a new set of friends and family.

The Sawtooth National Recreation Area inspires me every day. What does it do for you?

-Sarah Cawley

Executive Director

Coming to the Sawtooth National Recreation Area for the first time was a life changing moment for me.  I can remember leaving Walla Walla early in the morning, clear blue skies, beautiful sunshine, and green flowing wheat fields that I knew would be harvested by the time I returned.  I remember thinking in the car as we were driving out of town, “Why am I doing this?”  I asked myself this question, everything that I was familiar and comfortable with was in the town I was leaving.  I loved watching the green wheat fields turn golden brown just before being harvested.  I loved the rolling hills, sunsets that came along with summers in Walla Walla, and the people who I was leaving behind.  I had many responsibilities there that I was leaving behind. As all of these thoughts passed through my mind, I couldn’t help but think, “Am I making the right decision?”.  After pondering this thought for a mile or two, a sense of peace came over me.  It was in that moment that I no longer thought about if i were making the right decision, I knew I was.

This sense of peace guided me down the highway with every new turn came a new incredible sight.  I had never been to Stanley and didn’t know what it looked like but somehow I knew it was going to be incredible.  The moment I rounded the corner and saw the Sawtooth Mountain Range for the first time is a moment I will never forget.  Once I laid my eyes on those mountains I couldn’t help but feel free.  Looking at those mountains reminded me how incredibly lucky I am to be able to get to call this place home for the summer.  Those mountains stand over our little town of Stanley like guardians.  They are there not only to offer great adventure and phenomenal sights, but also to remind us that even though the journey may sometimes be hard, the view from the top is always worth it.
There are moments in your life you just know are life changing moments.  Those mountains and the town of Stanley was a life changing moment for me.  Every day brings a new adventure with it, a new lake to hike to, a new person to meet,  and a new sunrise and sunset over this amazing valley I’ve fallen so much in love with.  I hope that every time I return here, I have the same feeling of freedom as that first day.  Stanley is my freedom, the mountains are my reminder to keep persevering…what’s yours?

Ashley Ramsey, Naturalist

Our van whined in the December twilight as it struggled to carry eight riders and a month’s worth of supplies on the road that wound its way up Galena Summit. It was a moment full of anticipation: I was anxious to see the Sawtooth Valley hidden on the other side. My father called it “the beating heart of Idaho,” and the long climb to it was finally going to come to an end. I had heard endless stories of the land’s unmatched beauty and striking features and a mix of pictures and my imagination had created a sublime image of our destination. As we rose over the top, I got my first short glimpse.

I didn’t expect to be met by the landscape of gray we found in front of us. We faced a pine-studded expanse of snow without any other distinguishable features. A low layer of clouds covered the mountains that were supposed to be on either side. I didn’t see any rivers or streams cutting through the land. Rather than being impressed by the valley, I was struck more by winter’s power to hide it.

We began our descent into the valley while the remaining light faded. Plows had pushed up mountains of snow on either side of the road and they rose uncomfortably high over our van. The rare gap between piles gave snapshots of a progressively darkening valley floor. We fought to keep catching glimpses of something, anything that could show us the real Sawtooth Valley. By the time that we coasted away from Galena we were driving into a world of black with little to take from it.

There were some features that became more obvious at the bottom. Rivers and creeks were signaled by the arrival of the bridges that spanned them and the slight depression that they made in the snow as they wound through the flats. Fence posts poked their heads through the drifts that had blown up around them. Old snowmobile tracks were left scribbled on short slopes. As we traveled through, there was evidence of an energy to the valley that winter had frozen still.

It was noticeably colder. While sitting in the van, we were comfortably wearing all of our snow gear, and the windows that our eyes had been glued to quickly fogged over. We did our best to keep the glass clear, and we did for a time—but the cloudy edges of the windows gradually began to crystallize and spread. Soon our hands became too cold and numb to continually rub off the ice that was forming. The last thing that I saw before I gave up battling the ice and shoved my frozen hands into my armpits was the silhouette of a cabin close to the highway. A single light shining over the driveway did more to emphasize the surrounding black than to shine through it. I had never seen a place be so hungrily dark. I sat back to watch the white creep closer and closer to the center of the window, turning them into portholes, then pinholes, then nothing. Only the windshield was spared thanks to the help of the defroster and the efforts of the ice scraper in the hands of the passenger seat rider.

We drove on in our new cocoon, those of us not sitting in the front effectively cut off from the rest of the world. Seeing nothing outside had me conjuring up fantastic images of cartoonish peaks looming over the van, massive beasts loping alongside us, and endless wastelands of ice surrounding us. It all disappeared when we turned into the driveway of our lodge, stopped, and opened the van’s door. Hopping out brought us into the same empty, hidden world. We didn’t take much time to scan the bit of landscape visible around our new home. It was late, and the biting cold drove us to quickly unload our gear, light the stove, have a quick dinner, and dive under flannel sheets and covers.

We came to the valley to learn about it and connect with it—seven students, two professors, their child, and his stuffed sheep. We didn’t seem to make much progress in making a connection by our first morning. Daylight had us rise to a world of white. A massive wall of fog had built up while we slept. Our lodge sat near the edge of the Salmon River which, it turns out, was still running because of the hot springs that fed into it. Clouds covered the skies and obscured the horizon where our professors claimed the Sawtooths, covered in the same snow that blanketed every inch of the valley, lay hidden. Our goal for the next month was to learn about the local history, geology, ecology, geography—all of it. While learning about the valley in the classroom, we also planned to become intimately familiar with the land by backcountry skiing on its slopes. We would feel the land underneath our feet; we would go out into the cold and let it fill our lungs and sink into our boots.

Sometimes lessons and practice would work in tandem. Our first real introduction to the Sawtooth Valley came later that first day. After breakfast and class at the lodge’s table, we strapped on our snow gear and stepped outside to be trained in avalanche safety. Part of connecting with the Sawtooth Valley came with recognizing the dangers implicit to its identity. With the right slopes, enough snow, and Sawtooth weather came the chance for avalanches. We learned how to recognize the warning signs. We learned that when we took a moment to slow down and pay attention to the land around us it spoke to us. The snow spoke to us when we dug a pit into it, pulled out a section, gave it a pat, and watched the weak layers of snowpack collapse in our hands, saying “Avalanche here!” It spoke to us with an echoing whumph when the weak layers collapsed on slopes too shallow to slide on. It hissed at us as our skis carved their way through the powder.

We quickly came to terms with the idea that the valley in winter is not a place that one can travel through as they please. There were days when all three highways out of the valley were closed to traffic because of avalanches. If we didn’t pay attention to the signs while on the slopes, we could face the consequences of ignored snow. Racing across the snow without skis, post-holing, to make it the last few yards to the buried beacon carried to the bottom of a slope showed the snow’s lack of concern for your urgency. It helped us understand the struggle of survival that deer and elk faced each winter with their narrow legs. It helped us appreciate the millennia of selection that allowed the snowshoe hare tracks we often saw to be so shallow in the powder.

As we finished learning to speak the language of the land, we made our way back to the lodge. The fog that had settled in the morning had burned off by midday. We were finally able to lay our eyes on the hills that surrounded our home. The clouds fought longer against the sun but they, too, were eventually pushed back. By that afternoon, the peaks of the Sawtooths had started to peek through. In the many days that followed, they seemed much more willing to show themselves as they became familiar with us.

A month in the Sawtooth Valley was more than enough time to develop a connection to it. I fell in love with this place not simply because of its striking beauty but also because I immersed myself in it and came to understand it. I developed an appreciation for this land more strongly than I had for any other. If you find yourself somewhere like the Sawtooth Valley (or anywhere—even the area around your hometown), do all that you can to enjoy it. If you want to truly fall in love with that place, do all that you can to understand it.

Henry Vaughan, Naturalist

Mist crossing Redfish Lake, grebe and merganser skating across the water, bird’s chorus, and the glass reflection of a calm lake.  This is what greets you at dawn at Redfish and inspires not only my love of birds, but of photography.  No two days are the same; each brings another way to capture the beauty around me.

The Sawtooths veiled in the morning fog and the sailboats perching on the mist ready for adventure.

Little Redfish Lake  is a hidden gem most people pass on their way to the more popular Redfish Lake, but for those who take the time to stop it will  inspire  you too to take in the calm and quiet beauty.

Calm and quiet beauty can be enjoyed either on the water or along its shores.  So take a leisurely trip across the lake by kayak, canoe, or paddleboard.  Or take a horseback ride from Redfish Corrals and follow the shoreline along the lake, behind the trees, and immerse yourself in the landscape.

By Naturalist Pam Williams

Its 4:45 pm and I find myself half walking, half running through the crowds of people at Redfish Lodge in an effort to catch the 5 o’clock shuttle across the lake. I make it just in time to hop on the boat with a few other hikers. We exchange a few words about our plans for the evening; they plan to camp where the boat drops us off. I plan to venture about 6 miles into the wilderness and set up camp for the night at Alpine Lake.  I say goodbye to the boat driver and put on my hiking boots, already thinking about the relief of removing them at the end of my hike. As I feel the weight of my pack sink into my shoulders I feel the burden of my everyday stresses being lifted. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for days, eager to be alone and enjoy the solitude that the Sawtooth’s have to offer. This trip is my first solo overnight trip in the Sawtooth’s and I’m excited to be able to venture further into the wilderness than my day hikes have allowed. After a couple hours I make it to my destination for the night, slightly disappointed by the amount of people also camping at the lake. I make my dinner and settle in for the night, hoping that in the morning the crowds of people will dwindle as I hike further into the backcountry.

I wake in the morning to the sounds of people picking up their camps and heading back down the trail from which they came. I gather my things into my day-pack, happy to be rid of my larger pack for at least a few hours and begin heading further into the wilderness towards Baron Lakes. To reach the lake I need to hike over the Baron Divide. I was told it was beautiful but nothing prepared me for the indescribable view I experienced at the top. I was greeted by snow capped mountains, rugged granite features, and the bluest alpine lakes. I thought to myself, I could stay here forever and never tire of this view. By the time I reached my destination I realized I was the only person there, it felt as if I was the only person in the entire world. I dive into the icy blue waters of Baron Lake, and swim out feeling like my soul had been restored. As I sit on the banks of the lake I contemplate how I can feel so alone yet so complete at the same time.

This summer I’ve begun to truly fall in love with being alone in nature. When i’m alone on the trail i feel a deep connectedness to my surroundings that lacks in my everyday life. Hiking alone is my version of meditating, with every step I feel my thoughts vanishing and my mind becoming clear. My everyday worries fade as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. When I reach my destination a sense of ecstasy and an almost indescribable feeling overcomes me. I think that feeling relates back to the origins of human nature, that primal feeling of needing to explore what’s in front of us, a modern day manifest destiny. I believe that these mountains hold a special power, the power to make us feel insignificant. These mountains loom over us as a reminder that this world is much bigger than we are and that we should be humbled to be a part of this life. I’m thankful for every moment I get to spend in these mountains and the lessons that they teach me. The solitude I’ve found here has been an important teacher. Constantly pushing me out of my comfort zone and forcing me to truly take a look at myself. I challenge everyone to spend a night out in the wilderness alone, you might just learn something about yourself you never knew.

Claire Mann, Naturalist

“I never knew anyone who felt self-important in the morning after spending the night in the open on an Idaho mountainside under a star-studded summer night”

– US Senator Frank Church

The wild, glaciated, granite wonderland of the Sawtooth batholith soars above Stanley. Waking up each morning and going to bed each night under a sky soaked in oranges, pinks, and purples, the mountains have become my constant companions and my favorite playground.

I’ve delighted in the bone chilling bliss of alpine lakes and the instantly relaxing hot springs. I’ve marveled at waterfalls and have toiled away trekking up steep snow. I am grateful for the geological processes which have left me with cracks and couloirs to climb and summits to stand on. Of course, I am nowhere near the first or the only person to do this. The Sawtooth Range has been inspiring the vertically intrepid to climb upward since their discovery. Features like the Finger of Fate, the Elephant’s Perch, and Mt. Heyburn look like they are asking to be climbed, but their steep Class V walls ward off anything but the most serious attempts. Climbing here is undeniably dangerous, especially within the wilderness boundaries where rescues are laborious, but a few expert alpinists have explored the limits of climbing here and have opened the Sawtooth’s to amateurs through guiding services.

As a climber and a historian, I was immediately drawn to studying Sawtooth climbing pioneers like Louis Stur, Fred Beckey, Jerry Fuller, Dave Williams, Bob and Miriam Underhill, and the Iowa Mountaineers. To my frustration, information about climbing and mountaineering history in the area was hard to come by. This was intentional. I contacted Kirk Bachman, the founder of Sawtooth Mountain Guides and a local alpine legend, and he told me that culture here has been and continues to be one of “quiet pioneering”. The humble explorers of the Sawtooth Mountains didn’t go vertical for fame, but for pure love of adventure.

Dave Williams and Bob Underhill with Miriam Underhill. SIHA Archives.

Kirk Bachman moved here in 1984 and started a guiding business, though he fell in love with the place when he was nine years old after he caught his first fish in Redfish Lake. He told me stories about people and places, but mostly we talked about the ethos of climbing in the Sawtooths. Alpine pursuits here follow natural lines instead of bolt ladders and there is very little ego involved when it comes to climbing. This ethos is rooted in the history of this place, and can also be traced to the general values of the Stanley community. In my desire to understand the distinct climbing culture here, I began to look back.

Miriam Underhill on North Raker. SIHA Archives.

In 1934 Bob and Miriam Underhill hired Dave Williams, a homesteader with property under what is now William’s Peak, to help guide them around the rugged Idaho terrain.

Bob and Miriam spent their summers climbing out West and after a season spent putting up difficult lines in the Tetons, they discovered the Sawtooths.  The Underhills, with the help of Dave, managed to achieve twenty first ascents in the Sawtooths during their 1934 and 1935 visits. The Underhills spent a little over 4 weeks time in the area, but they were able to achieve amazing new heights and set a precedent for Sawtooth alpinism.

In 1947, Paul Petzoldt, a famous Idahoan climber and founder of the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), made the first ascent of Warbonnet Peak, which sits proudly above the Baron Lakes with the Iowa Mountaineers. The Iowans came to Stanley for their summer outing which was “one of the most thoroughly enjoyable trips in the club’s history”. The Iowa Mountaineers of the University of Iowa was one of the most prolific and active mountaineering clubs in the country and they spent their summer based out of Redfish Lake with a high camp in an alpine meadow at the foot of Thompson Peak. They bagged a lot of peaks and named a few after Iowans (few of the names stuck). This kicked off a period of high climbing activity in the region.

Stur and Beckey: First Ascent of Rotten Monolith. SIHA Archives.

Fred Beckey, a climbing legend from Washington with more first ascents than any other American mountaineer, came to the Sawtooths in 1949 and brought with him an infectious energy which led to a boom in climbing in the area. Any climber who comes to the Sawtooths looks up at the Beckey route on the Elephant’s Perch with awe and wonder. The route, which goes at 5.11, requires some serious strength and skill and was first done by Fred Beckey, Steve Marts, and Herb Swedlund in 1963 without the advantage of modern climbing shoes, ropes, and protection. Beckey made impressive assents throughout the Sawtooth’s and along with Lois Stur, brought about a new era of hard technical alpine ascents.

Louis Stur was a Hungarian immigrant who moved to Ketchum in 1951 and began working at Sun Valley. He was known as an exceedingly kind and gentle. He spent his days happily moving about the mountains and established the famous “Stur Chimney” on Mt. Heyburn in 1952 and pioneered new routes in the Monte Verita area. He tragically died in a climbing accident on Mt. Ebert in 1989, but not before leaving an indelible and positive mark on the Sawtooth alpine community. Stur and Beckey, who sometimes climbed together, were joined by other “quiet pioneers” like Jerry Fuller, Reid Dowdle,  Joe Leonard, and many more.

Many climbers visiting the area remark on the lack of a guidebook. Tom Lopez covers the Sawtooth’s in his excellent book, Idaho: A Climbing Guide, but the overview is not all encompassing or terribly specific. Ask any local climber and they will tell you that they want to keep it that way. The point of climbing is to discover the world, the rock, and the route for yourself. If you need help to do that safely, there are plenty of guides willing to help.

Similarly, the point of climbing history in the area is not to put any one person on a pedestal. The climbing pioneers who made first ascents here had no desire for lasting fame. Most of them wanted to get away from the noise of the world and immerse themselves in the mountains. Without posting a picture online or yelling their achievements loudly at the Redfish Lodge, these early climbers quietly and deliberately pushed limits in the mountains.

Louis Stur on Mt. Heyburn. SIHA Archives.

That is what makes the Sawtooths different from the Tetons, the Wasatch range, and other big name climbing areas in the region. It isn’t that the climbing is worse (many would argue it is far better), but it is not boastful. Climbing here requires you to put your head down and put in hard work. The reward for this is clear and can be found in the stunning view down Redfish Canyon or in the pure and satisfying physical exhaustion of a day in the mountains.

There is so much value in spending time in the mountains and inspiration to be gleaned from their cathedral like spires. We all have different reasons for exploring this beautiful place, but if you had to boil it down I think you’d have to label it love. The same things that brought the Underhills here brought Louis Stur and Kirk Bachman and it has brought me too. Whether or not you’re a climber, I’m guessing it’s the same thing that brought you to the Sawtooths too.

Working here as the Historic Specialist, I’ve had the opportunity to have some amazing conversations with locals like the one I had with Kirk. History often becomes mired in dates, names, and numbers, and soul can get lost along the way. That doesn’t happen in Stanley. The facts are wrapped up in heart and soul, and the resulting ethos is lived out every day. I still have a lot more to learn, so if you’re in the neighborhood and have a story please come share it with me, and this post is far from inclusive, so if you have any questions about a specific ascent or climber, drop me a line and I can do some sleuthing. Otherwise, you can catch me out in the mountains. In my opinion, there’s no better place to learn.

-Caroline Wickes, Stanley Museum Historic Specialist

Sources:

Meier, M. F. (1947). Sawtooth Mountaineering. Iowa Climber.

Stur, L. S. (1952). The Sawtooth Range of Idaho. Iowa Climber.

Bachman, B. (February 1975). Sawtooth Prolog. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Interview with Stur. L. S. (February 1975). Sawtooth Pioneering. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Bachman, B., Smutek, R. (February 1975). Sawtooth Mountaineering. Off Belay. Issue no. 19.

Wren, C. (October 9, 1999). Paul Petzoldt is Dead at 91; Innovator in Climbing. The New York Times.

Person, D. (October 7, 2016). Fred Beckey is Climbing’s Living Encyclopedia. Outside Magazine.

Interview with Bachman, K. (July 2017)

It has been quite  the experience living in Stanley, Idaho this summer.  Stanley’s Sawtooth National Park is a beautiful and hidden gem inside the Gem State!  The park has three separate entrances.  One from Highway 21 and the two other entrances are on Highway 75.  When visitors arrive to the park, they are treated with spectacular views of the Sawtooth Range and greeted with the rustic aura of Stanley and the Sawtooth Valley.  Idaho is very proud of its one and only national park.

Hang on… the Sawtooths are not a national park.  In fact, they have never been a national park.  It is actually known as the Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA).  It is not administered by the U.S. Department of the Interior, but by the U.S. Forest Service under the U.S. Department of Agriculture.  It seems like a national park, doesn’t it?  The Sawtooth Valley has all the “ingredients” for a national park.  Then why isn’t it on the United States’ list of natural wonders, like Yosemite and Yellowstone?

Since moving up to Stanley this summer, this question and other related questions are frequently on my mind.  Local residents and other Idahoans seem mostly happy with the Sawtooths’ current designation.  They cite Stanley’s laid back feel and the area’s (relatively) low-use opportunities for recreation.  The consensus is that, if it were a park, it would be too crowded and would lose its wilderness appeal.  National parks are infamous for large crowds and for a lack of true backcountry recreation.

Now all national parks are different: Wrangell-St. Elias National Park has the largest designated wilderness area in the entire United States.  But Alaska is also the exception due to its vastness and isolation from the rest of the country.

I grew up on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska.  Growing up, I did not think about public and private land management.  Number one, because I was a kid.  But also because the topic did not seem to present itself in conversation.  Alaska is so big and unpopulated that there might just be enough room for everyone!

Not so in the continental United States.  Private and public lands co-exist for better or for worse.  Idaho and the Sawtooth Valley are a great example of this struggle.  The establishment of a national park means preservation.  Park land is untouched and must stay that way.  Ranchers, hunters, and some recreationists want access to the land for its resources.  A park shuts off a majority of that access.  A national park also brings in hordes of tourists who want to view the specially designated area.  This might push out those who call the area ‘home’ as land prices around the park go up.

A national recreation area designation under the U.S. Forest Service is all about conservation.  It gives the land many uses and Idahoans love that freedom.  The three wilderness areas within the SNRA also delight those Idahoans who want untrammeled lands that go even beyond the national park’s strategies of preservation.  Wilderness areas are road free, machinery free, and mostly structure free.  Humans are welcome to visit but not welcome to stay.

With all that being said, national parks do bring with them an elevated level of mystique and reverence.  Outdoor recreationists look to certain states as destinations specifically for their national parks.  Arizona has the Grand Canyon, California has Yosemite, and so on.  Idaho is not revered for its outdoor opportunities.  It is simply known as the ‘Potato State’.  Idaho is mainly famous for its irrigated agriculture.

Since moving here for college, I notice that Idahoans are passionate about their beautiful state and its large forests and wilderness.  But many of those same people also seem to resent the fact that Idaho is overlooked and an unknown.  There are shirts with phrases like, “Idaho not Ohio” or an Idaho state shape sticker with “Iowa” written inside.  People want to be proud of their home.  They want to show others WHY they choose Idaho and not California or Oregon.

Idaho’s national misrepresentation is not a blessing or a curse.  It’s just an added wrinkle in what makes Idaho so unique.

This discussion of national park versus national recreation area leads me to my main question: What if Stanley, Idaho had a national park known as Sawtooth National Park?  How would it affect the area and would it be for better or for worse?  A national park might have truly altered the course of Idaho’s environmental history.  Think about it!  Talk about it!  Wonderful discussions can happen at one of the Sawtooths’ beautiful alpine lakes or one of its towering peaks.

-Kenny Werth, Stanley Museum Docent