Winter travel in Idaho

It was a cool night here in Pocatello in southern Idaho, cool enough that I needed another blanket. When we arrived yesterday evening after a much shorter and much less strenuous drive than the day before the temperature was right around the freezing mark, the warmest it had been all day.

We left Butte late in the morning, once again marveling at the amount of casinos in this ‘mile high’ mining town. At first, not realizing how many there were, I had started to count, but soon realized that there was no hope I’d even come close to detect them all. We drove by the huge mining site – impressive, though not from the landscape point of view – and headed south on I-15 towards Dillon and the Montana/Idaho border. 

A light snowfall during the night had dusted the hillsides, but the roads were clear, and we could concentrate on the beautiful landscape, hills that seem to continue forever to the left and right, one chain giving way to the next. In the valley – now a bit wider – big herds of cows, mostly Black Angus, were grazing in winter pastures supplementing the hay. Imitating the undulating hills in the distance, the long arches of irrigation pivots were lined up against fences, waiting patiently for their season. Ahead, the gleaming white flanks of higher mountains beckoned. 

We stopped at the last rest area in Montana, in Lima. These rest areas are truly amazing: all the ones we saw were spotlessly clean and a place to warm up, with maps of the immediate and general area on the walls. This one even had maps and travel brochures for visitors to take along. Outside, several small covered picnic areas provide shelter from sun and rain, though right now the benches were still covered with snow, of course. Hats off, Montana – you know how to make visitors feel welcome!

The road climbed higher, and we moved more and more back into real winter. Snow drifts had half buried fence posts, snow was piled up along the side of the highway, and the car thermometer dropped from -3 to -6. We had crossed into Idaho now. 

 The immaculate snow on the slopes to the right and left, dotted with little groups of pine and spruce, invited to ski – but the skis had stayed at home. Snowshoe, then? It seemed not really feasible to dig them out under the bags and boxes for just an hour’s walk to loosen our limbs along the way. 

Not a worry at the moment

Just then we came to a turnoff: ‘Historic Site’ – a possible opportunity to take a walk! The ‘Beaver Creek Staging Area’, it turned out, had been established when gold miners streamed into Montana in the 1860s. Now, all that was left was a wooden information sign, and we couldn’t get close enough to even read all of that: the snow was too deep. This was an area designated for snowmobiles, however, and their packed tracks offered a perfect opportunity to walk. One or two of them had ventured up a steep hill, even, something certainly not permitted, and with good reason: little shrubs had been torn up, twigs broken – I can't imagine that any of these snowmobile drivers come back here to assess the damage they did once the snow has melted. On the other hand, these tracks made it easy to climb up and take a survey of the surrounding area. 

When we crossed Beaver Creek on our way back to the car we heard something move in the willows along the creek: sure enough, a moose had woken up from its nap and was now browsing. It was only maybe 30m away, but, feeling safe where it was, it must have decided to not let our presence bother it, and we could only make out its dark shape, catch a glimpse of a long leg, a big round ear. 

 

We’ll be on our way south again in an hour or so, hoping to spend the next night on the other side of Salt Lake City.