Goldbug Hot Springs, Idaho

 

Sunday, February 19,2017

Northgate Motel, Challis, ID

We woke up to grey skies, but temperatures already above freezing yesterday, determined to try the hike and see what happened. The Sacajawea Inn proved to have yet another amazing feature: a hot breakfast for $3.00. Mind you, this was no chain-motel hot breakfast, this was the real thing! When we arrived in the breakfast room beside the office the manager and the cook were already there, just then taking the orders of another group of customers. She told us to help ourselves to coffee, tea and cereals and assured us she’d be right over to take our orders. Three dollars – what could we expect? We had paid $5.25 the day before for toast, eggs and hash browns in Dutton. What we could expect here were eggs, a choice of ham, bacon or sausages, toast – white, whole wheat, rye or sourdough – and ‘country potatoes’, a generous helping that would surely fortify us for the hike, ‘at times strenuous’, ahead. ‘Just leave your three dollars in the jar on the counter when you’re done’, we were told when the manager brought us our breakfasts, freshly cooked to order for each of us. Now – how to find another gem like this one? I don’t think we’ve ever stayed at a family-run motel that provided such service. 

Johann had found the destination for the day's hike when he looked for 'natural hot springs in Idaho' on the internet, but there was little information about it, and no 'official description'. When Johann asked the manager if she knew where we had to turn off the highway to get to the trailhead, a family at a nearby table was able to help out. They told him that they had been there the day before, and the trail hadn’t been muddy, but in a few spots was icy, and crampons and poles were a good idea. That was encouraging to hear and proved to be very valuable information later.

We followed highway 93 south for 22 miles, the road winding, like the Nemhi River beside us. It was nice to see it in the daylight this time, because it’s a beautiful valley, with the chain of snow-covered hills further back in the east. Lots of geese and ducks have already found their way here, some swimming on the river, some walking around in the fields. Shortly after milepost 282 we saw the small ‘For Sale’ sign the other guests had told us we needed to look for to find the entrance to the trail head – nothing else. No sign advertising Goldbug hot springs, no sign to even indicate that this was a trail head of any kind. We followed the narrow road for maybe 300m, private houses to our left, and arrived at a very small parking area, almost filled with the four or five cars parked there. Still we couldn’t have been sure that we were at the right spot: the entrance to a place right by the parking lot bore a sign ‘Private. Keep Out’, but a narrow path led off to the side, and here we found the composting toilet mentioned in a write-up on the internet beside a wooden bridge at the foot of a steep hill. The reason that this is not advertised more is that the first quarter mile leads hikers through private land – the owner(s) gracefully allowing people to hike through – before one enters public lands under the direction of the BLM (Bureau of Land Management). 

Keeping in mind what we had found out we put on our crampons – bought for the Grand Canyon the first year we visited, but not ever unpacked so far since we never needed them – and took out our snowshoe poles which we had also not yet used ourselves. Three women were also getting ready to leave for the hike, and one of them had been here before. ‘Just follow the switch backs up that hill’, she answered our question where to start. This was easier said than done: there was no well defined path, and the hillside was very steep, the snow deep, and even with the crampons it was slippery. I was scared when I felt the snow give way on my careful search for the next foothold, and for the first five or ten minutes I contemplated turning around: if it was this difficult to get up here (and the first part of the path along the hillside once we were up), how much more difficult would it be to get down? I never like steep, narrow paths, feeling insecure and out of control. ‘Just keep going’, Johann encouraged me, ‘nobody ever stayed up. You’ll be so proud of yourself.’ Well, maybe, but I also worried about injuring myself. Yet I persevered, my legs a bit shaky, carefully putting my feet where others had made tracks before. It didn’t look like a well-travelled path at all. After a while we reached an open gate with a small sign telling us that we were now entering public lands. The path hugging the hillside became just a bit more defined, and soon it widened a little bit and walking became easier. How thankful I was for the advice of the fellow guests at the motel! I don’t think I would have made it without the poles and crampons, even though, not used to hiking with poles, it felt a bit awkward at times. 

The trail led down to a creek after a while, with big cottonwoods, willows and other moisture loving trees and brushes growing along its banks. It felt a bit like spring when we stood on the wooden bridge, even though the snow was still high where we walked and up on the hills. The flanks of the hills to our left, exposed more to the sun, were bare, red scree showing the erosion going on at all times in this arid climate. 

We followed the trail through the valley, mostly flat now, for quite a while. The description had mentioned cacti, but they must have been hidden under the snow. The small bushes we knew from our hiking in desert further south, however, were present everywhere. It was strange to see them sticking out of the deep snow. 

Here, hiking was very easy, the snow firm on the trail. We knew that the last half mile or so of this two mile hike would be the steepest, and indeed: soon conditions changed again. Rocks showed here and there under the snow, sometimes roots, too, from douglas firs and junipers, and we switchbacked up this last steep part. Rock steps and two sets of boxed wood steps indicated that we were nearing our destination, and really: there were the first small waterfalls we knew we could expect. 

Mosses and the small bright green leaves of water plants were prevalent, and, curious, I dipped my hand into the water. It wasn’t hot yet, but noticeably warmer than the air, and the steam rising up from the water was not spray as it would have been in bigger, cold waterfalls, but proof that these small waterfalls contained warm water. Just a little bit higher, and we could hear voices and laughter. We had arrived. 

To our left were several pools of clear warm water, some bigger, some so small that they would only have room for two people. Other hikers were soaking already in some of them, but it was not crowded at all. There was also no indication that this was a ‘clothing optional’ hot springs as mentioned in the description; everybody was wearing bathing suits. We soon joined them, testing the water temperature to find which pool was the most suitable. The first one, empty right now, was definitely too hot, and I was glad when I found a foothold on a big rock to get out again. The next one was too cool to sit in, but then we found the perfect one, where we would stay for an hour and a half. It was like sitting in a bathtub where the water never lost its perfect temperature. It was fed by a waterfall that felt like a hot shower with very strong water flow when I stood under it for a while, revelling in the luxury after the strenuous hike. 

From where we sat, we could see the snow covered hills on the other side of the valley, the bare hillside to our right and the trees to our left, nothing else. 

We talked to a few other people, mostly college kids from Rexburg, a university three hours away, a young couple from Missoula: they all had found out through word of mouth. We were by far the oldest, could have been the parents of most of the other visitors. The kids, like everywhere we’ve been on our travels, included us in their conversations and talked about their lives freely. Early in the afternoon more and more hikers arrived, and, seeing that it would soon be crowded and much less enjoyable, we got dressed and found a tree trunk along the path to have some lunch.

Group after group of young people made its way up the trail on our way home, and we were glad we had been there relatively early. The sun came out for a few minutes, and the snow on the trail was much mushier than it had been in the morning. This boded well for the last part of the hike, I thought, less worried now, and really: it was no comparison to the way up. 

When I crossed the wooden bridge to the parking area I really did feel a sense of accomplishment, and I was so very glad that I hadn’t given up before I really started. 

Cars were parked now almost all the way back to the highway, and with a shudder I imagined what it must be like in the pools now, people sitting shoulder to shoulder, having to step over so many legs to get in and out, the coveted place under the hot waterfall almost impossible to reach. This might be wonderful for college kids out for a weekend of partying, but not for us. We were happy to once again drive along the river, watch for deer and geese, enjoy the scenery. We had decided to stop in the next town with a motel, a small town called Challis, only about 55 km from the hot springs, so we were in no hurry. It was only a quarter past four, so we were sure to arrive before nightfall. The river, open at first, was partly covered in ice after a while, big floes piling up against each other. I’m sure the flat river valley is flooded at times. This is cattle country, most of the herds Black Angus, and many small calves are running around already.

This was a very special treat: a group of wild turkeys by the side of the road. Unfortunately I didn't get my camera out quick enough, because they had been much closer, calmly looking at us, before another car drove by

We reached Challis shortly after six and had no trouble getting a room at the Northgate Motel. This is the cheapest motel so far, $49 (+tax); the others were $59 and $65. Once again the room is comfortable and clean, and it was quiet tonight, still is quiet. Highway 93 is a much more pleasant route to travel than the interstates if one isn’t in a hurry to get somewhere.

We will find a place to have breakfast here in town soon and then check out and be on our way to our next destination. Depending on what we find on the way we might be in Wells, Nevada tonight; if not, we’ll likely spend the night in Twin Falls, Idaho. It’s frosty this morning, with ice on the windshield: we have not escaped winter yet. So far, however, that is just fine. The landscape is interesting, and I’m sure it’s much nicer now to drive here than in the summer when the quiet valley is congested with tourist traffic.