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The Tetons overlooking
Warm River Gorge near Island Park |
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Lower Mesa Falls
on Henry's Fork |
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My brother rolled in. He and his wife were just
completing an 11,000 mile road trip in five weeks. They live
in Fairbanks, Alaska, and had flown into Boise, Idaho where
they had rented a car-with unlimited mileage, of course. They
had driven across the Southwest, through Florida, down to
Key West, and then back and up the Appalachian Trail. Now
they were headed back to Boise and had stopped off to see
us in eastern Idaho.
Being insatiable, he said, "Show us what
you've got. Let's do a day trip and a picnic."
We counted heads: Robert and Roberta--our intrepid
guests from Alaska-Merri Ann, my wife, those of my kids who
wanted to go, and a couple little granddaughters. It was going
to take two vehicles.
"Not to worry," said Robert. "We'll
take the rental."
His rental agreement included unlimited mileage
but in the fine print, it specified, "No dirt roads."
That's a serious limitation in eastern Idaho where graveled
roads stretch everywhere. We pored over a map, not used to
being limited to the pavement, and chose Island Park in the
eastern corner of Idaho and just outside West Yellowstone.
We assembled our picnic lunch and headed out.
Ashton, Idaho, is the last stop before Island
Park. It's not much more than a spot in the road, a pretty
little town with history. It used to be on the stage route
and then early rail route going into Yellowstone Park. In
the 1800s, tourists passed through on their way to see the
brand new national park. You can still see the old railroad
bed with rails and ties removed lining along the Henry's Fork
of the Snake River. In the higher country, the old rail bed
is now a hiking and bike trail, cutting spectacularly across
canyon walls and drilling through long dark tunnels in the
mountains. Maybe more importantly, Ashton has the last real
grocery store-about half the size you're used to-and gas at
flatlander prices.
Just past the grocery store there is a sign that
says, "Mesa Falls Scenic Byway". We turned right
up the old main street. It's not much different than most
main streets in small towns across America, except this one
boasts dog sled races in the winter. Out of town, the landscape
turned to rolling fields of potato and grain, verdantly green
with spring. The Teton Mountains, seen from this -- the west
side -- instead of the more familiar Jackson Hole view, formed
a magnificent white and steely blue backdrop. We wondered
how many people would be climbing these peaks on such a beautiful
spring day. We thought of the search and rescue operations
that seemed to occur regularly and the occasion death that
made the local papers.
[Continued
on Page
2]
