From high mountain forests and lakes to desert mirages and wheat fields that have no horizon we decided to vicariously sample life in the little known Pacific Northwest by driving through parts of four states: Idaho, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington.

IDAHO

In Idaho, Shoshone Falls drops its 212-foot spray through rocky channels carved over eons.

Having enjoyed geysers and wild animals at Yellowstone National Park, Ted and I headed for the hills of Targhee National Forest on U.S. Highway 20 south. A Statler brothers CD boomed out country music that seemed just right for the start of a lariat loop route on mostly two-lane roads. The crags of the Yellowstone and Grand Tetons on our left kept us company.

In a 16,000-acre wildlife reserve bisected by Henry’s Fork of the Snake River, The Nature Conservancy runs the historic, cattle-producing Flat Ranch for visitors to enjoy wildlife and birdwatching. “Too bad we can’t fish the Fork,” said my fly-fishing husband, who had heard about trout that jumped out and grabbed your hook. Well, maybe that’s a fisherman’s exaggeration. Right now we see signs for the Mesa Falls Scenic Byway, State Highway 47, a short detour. “Let’s do it,” I urge, always being a sucker for waterfalls. Here Henry’s Fork of the Snake River is funneled into a gorge to create Upper and Lower Mesa Falls, 110 feet and 85 feet high, respectively.

Early mountain men and Indians once worked the area around Ashton and held raucous rendezvous in Green Valley to the southeast. Sometimes it was an uneasy p a r t n e r s h i p . Nevertheless, each June the Fort Henry Buckskinners Mountain Men Days celebrate fur trapper history. Between Ashton and Rexburg the St. Anthony Sand Dunes, as high as 200 to 300 feet, are blown by prevailing winds to create 10,600 acres of beautiful sand, only now being discovered by dune buggy enthusiasts.

The plentiful southeast Idaho water was a mixed blessing we learned, at Rexburg’s Teton Flood Museum. On June 5, 1976, incredulous residents fled a 9 to 10 foot wall of water created by the failure of the Teton River Dam. The raging waters sent houses, drowning livestock, and huge logs through town, leaving the streets of Rexburg as mudholes. The 1986 establishment of the International Dance and Music Festival, now an internationally recognized event, is a testament to the community’s resilience.

Surprisingly, the St. Anthony Sand Dunes in eastern Idaho are home to one of the largest herds of wintering elk in the United States.

A little south a grizzly bear threatened to cross our path. “Close the windows and keep moving!” I yelled. But it was okay; we had entered Yellowstone Bear World where grizzly and black bear, elk, moose, and wolves roam free in a wellfenced, drive-through preserve.

Enough of the close encounters. Our stomachs were clamoring for lunch as we rolled into Idaho Falls, marveling at the soaring spires of the seven-tiered Idaho Falls Idaho Temple (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) visible for miles away. Edith Stanger, an old friend and major supporter of the Appaloosa Club, recommended the Highway Café across from the stockyards. For a half-century, said Edith, ranchers met there to get the local gossip and cattle prices. An hour later we waddled out to the van to see the Idaho falls, now tamed by a dam.

Just short of Pocatello on the Fort Hall Reservation only a marker commemorates the actual site of Fort Hall, built by Nathaniel Wyeth in 1834 as a trading post for the North West Company and later Hudson’s Bay Company. Here the California Trail merges with the Oregon Trail. The second weekend of August the Shoshoni- Bannock Indians stage a powwow at Fort Hall Reservation that attracts more than 2,500 colorful dancers.

I needed my afternoon coffee, and a Pocatello local suggested the famous Green Triangle Bar. The coffee and pie hit the spot, and we looked over the bar, open evenings for dinner and fun. Gold Nuggett, the mechanical bull, silently awaited victims. The Wild West ambience and antiques were the result of the collections of three generations of Hillmans. But it was mid-afternoon, and the road beckoned.

On we went past American Falls and Massacre Rocks State Park, where settlers in five wagons and Shoshoni clashed in 1862—not far from Raft River where the California Trail diverged from the Oregon Trail.

The setting sun was in our eyes as we eased into Twin Falls and settled into a Best Western Inn. It had been a very long day. We headed for Jaker’s Grill, a steak and seafood house. I’d heard about their Three Pepper Corn Chowder and was not disappointed.

Twin Falls is in the center of the 635- square-mile Great Rift, the only one outside of Africa, created by volcanic and earthquake action. The deep clefts channel water above and below the land. At Thousand Springs to the west water spurts out of leaky rock formations like sprinkling can heads.

Shoshone Falls at 212 feet is higher than Niagara, and Twin Falls is now one fall after a power-producing dam was built. All this we saw after downing a gigantic Buffalo Chip breakfast at the Buffalo Café—not what you think but a concoction of fried potatoes, bacon, and ham. U.S. Highway 93 carried us south to Nevada.

Twenty miles south of Idaho, Jackpot, Nev., was founded specifically for gambling in the 1950s in a log cabin packed with one-arm bandits—different from today’s posh casino resorts like Cactus Pete’s so popular with vacationing Idahoans. However, the townspeople mentioned prime deer hunting and 4-pound trout pulled from the Salmon River. I restrained Ted from leaving our trip right there. With open windows we shared Kenny Rogers music with the wild critters. Desert flashed by, but it wasn’t particularly hot. Northern Nevada is high and dry above 5,000 feet with intermittent forests, ranch lands, and pleasant summer temperatures.

The Ruby Mountains or “Rubies” take their name from the garnets found there by early explorers.

At the junction of U.S. Highway 93 and Interstate 80, Wells was quite lively with history to boot. In 2001 the California Trail Interpretive Center opened with artifacts and stories, since the wells—water wells—signaled a stopping point for pioneers. Southern Pacific trains still rumble through town, but automobiles really drove Wells’ development. Old Highway 40 is a patch of 1940s neon signs and L-shaped auto courts like the Wagon Wheel Inn, where we stayed that night. Sadly, the picturesque 20- room Old West Inn with 19 gambling machines, the haunt of cowboys and gandy dancers, is closed. Luther’s Saloon and pool hall still operates. The towering peaks of the East Humboldt Range dominated the western sky when we set out for Ruby Valley along U.S. Highway 93. I remembered that, on a prior trip, we hadn’t seen a single car and wandered a bit on the highway. A patrolman stopped us to see if we were drunk—at 11:00 a.m.? No! We blamed the striking scenery.

The Ruby Mountains were named by settlers who thought garnets in the streams were rubies. We found an easy entry into the mountains on the scenic byway, Lamoille Canyon, named in 1865 by Thomas Waterman for his Vermont hometown. Some call the range the “poor man’s Alaska,” for its splendid glaciers send fingers toward the surrounding ranch lands.

We rolled into Elko for a lunch and look-see stop. To me, a member of the Western Writers of America, Elko means cowboy poetry, and the event draws huge crowds. Maybe we can return Jan. 26 to Feb. 2, 2008, for the 24th National Cowboy Poetry Gathering. For now we browsed through CDs at the Western Folklife Center’s gift shop at the Pioneer Hotel. Back in the 1860s sheepherders for miles around were of Basque descent (the Spanish-French Pyrenees area). We sampled the Basque restaurant in the historic Star Hotel to experience a bit of the culture and learned about Elko’s colorful Basque Festival.

Although American Cowboy magazine has already published stories about the mining in a quadrangle—roughly Carlin, Eureka, Austin, and Battle Mountain—we detoured on State Highway 278 to see it for ourselves. Carlin has two open-pit gold mines that are the largest in the world and process 3 million ounces of gold annually.

Another surprising landmark at Carlin is the Fire Science Academy, a 426-acre training center for firefighting personnel. Eureka once had 9,000 people working at mining and support, but today only 650 stay in the living ghost town.

It’s picturesque, without a doubt, with its red brick buildings—especially the Jackson House Hotel with its white arches and wide porch. Up the road a piece Austin was the wild and woolly town of the mining area. It clings to the steep sides of Pony Canyon in the Toiyabe Range at a lofty 8,527 feet elevation. While Pony Express station manager William Talcott searched for a stray horse in 1862, he stumbled onto a rich silver ledge that triggered Austin’s boom. A deteriorating old tower with a sweeping view proved to be the remains of a summer home built by financier Austin Phelps Stokes. It’s three stories high, with one floor for each of his sons.

Winnemucca was a hefty afternoon drive from Austin. After fueling up the van and ourselves, we ran north on lonesome State Highway 305. The desert road was hot, hot, hot, and just short of Battle Mountain we were tempted by its Olympic-sized swimming pool! Later we turned onto I-80 and Winnemucca for overnight at Quality Inn.

The desert town is a major crossroads for California and Oregon from Nevada. In 1900 the infamous Wild Bunch robbed a Winnemucca bank; today “Shooting the West” is a prized photography symposium. “Mining sustains us, but ranching is still important,” said a local named Tracy. She explained that the June Mule Races are a big deal, with on-track betting, and that mules, donkeys, and draft horses compete in show events. Then there’s the Ranch Hands Rodeo in July. We cooled off at Las Margaritas Mexican Restaurant, small but good food and a variety of tequilas.

A long trek ahead of us on U.S. Highway 95 and State Highway 78 to Burns, Ore., through largely unsettled country reminded us to fill our gas tanks and buy water.

Oregon

The southeastern corner of Oregon is interesting geologically but has only a few crossroads along our route through a desert sprinkled with ranches. Volcanic and glacial action has left fossils, thunder eggs, petrified wood, and rocks. At McDermitt, a little town on the border, people say that every so often, unexplained lights come and go. Aliens or too much open space and coffee? After almost two hours, we topped off the gas at Burns Junction, veering northwesterly on State Highway 78 for another 100-mile stretch of wildness. We stopped for a while to watch the hordes of birds at Malheur Lake, a large wildlife preserve with resident trumpeter swans and sandhill cranes. South of Burns on the Steens Mountain Loop you look a breathless mile straight down to the Alvord Desert.

After a late lunch we moved on through Harney County to John Day, checked into a Best Western Inn, and walked a half block to the Grubsteak Mining Company Restaurant. The food was tops especially the dessert menu. From a chat with the waitress we learned that John Day was a member of the 1811 Astor Expedition that came through. Of John Day’s 1871 residents, many are descendants of 1800s Chinese miners from the nearby Canyon City mines. In 1860 Lung On and Ing Hay started a trading post, doubling as social center and apothecary. The history is preserved at the Kam Wah Chung and Co. Museum.

The country changes around John Day with more trees appearing on the stillarid mountains. Most dramatic is the John Day River that runs through the town, boasting Class II and III whitewater rapids beneath largely basalt cliffs. The famed John Day Fossil Beds National Monument is 38 miles west of town.

“We’ve seen enough desert,” I said, “Let’s head for the trees.” We turned east on State Highway 7 to enter the Wallowa Whitman National Forest where a couple hundred people at Sumpter have reinvented their mining town as an artsy tourist center capitalizing on its coolness and history. A huge gold dredge still stands near the Powder River. The Sumpter Valley Railroad hauls tourists instead of logs as the Historic Steam Narrow Gauge Railroad. “Hey, it’s operating today. Let’s take the ride,” urged Ted. All aboard, and we were off along the Powder River in a vintage SVR wooden clerestory car donated by a private owner. Indeed, most of the railroad restoration was by volunteers.

Later we wound down into Baker City, a desert town with snowcapped mountain vistas. Formerly a mining and ranching center, it now has cowboys and tourists as its mainstays. Openmouthed we gaped at the splendid, renovated Geiser Grand Hotel, once the third largest in the United States. We had to see its stained glass ceiling and balconies but not having room reservations, we settled for just eating there— a Pacific Northwest salmon salad for me. Local Kari Whitacre said that Baker City was proud that its Barley Brown’s Brew Pub’s Tumble Off pale ale won three golds and two silvers at the 2007 North American Beer Awards.

The National Historic Oregon Trail Interpretive Center, seven miles from Baker at Montpelier, is a “must experience” for anyone interested in history.

Spring and fall the Wagon Encampments feature live actors (adults and children) in costume, depicting the Oregon Trail experience. At the Center’s theater, professionals and volunteers read from a diary or reenact a situation. Hiking trails, permanent exhibits—well, be sure to go.

Our “Oregon Trail” was Interstate 84 as we continued northwest. Intrigued by news of a Cowboys Then and Now exhibit at the Union County Museum, we detoured on State Highway 237 to enjoy its interactive displays, gear, a chuck wagon, and Zack the Talking Cowboy. The Blue Mountains are some of my personal favorites, rugged and wild. LaGrande is a center of ranching and outdoor recreation, lying between the Blues and the Wallowas (includes the Eagle Cap Wilderness). The interstate climbed steadily out of LaGrande to cross the mountains at 4,193 feet elevation with a sweeping westerly view toward Emigrant Springs State Park and Pendleton. Once we left the mountains we were surrounded by rolling grasslands—real cowboy country.

Pendleton’s Rodeo is familiar to everyone, and the Happy Canyon Pageant includes an Indian powwow and dances. You can watch your saddle being created by Hamley’s Saddlery or shop for a Pendleton wool shirt and wonderfully designed blankets at the Woolen Mills. Nineteenth-century Chinese railroad workers built tunnels under the city for their community, where they could live and preserve their ethnic ways. Annually, more than 75 actors staff the Underground as card players, bordello girls, and decent merchants for a reenactment of daily life. We tried to see everything in Pendleton, but after a late dinner at Crabby’s Underground Steak House, we fell into bed at a Holiday Inn.

Washington

Lakes, peaks, valleys, glaciers, and waterfalls accentuate the features of the North Cascades in Washington.

Heading for Washington State we turned north on Interstate 82 at Hermiston, home of major horse auctions, and crossed the mighty Columbia River at Umatilla, one of the spots where Oregon Trail pioneers abandoned their wagons or put them on rafts to float westward on the river.

The continuous range of the North Cascades Mountains creates two Washingtons—the verdant, maritime areas of the west and the semi-arid plains of the east—warm in summer, snowy in winter, but not a real desert. Plentiful irrigation from the vast Columbia River produces a garden of plenty—extensive grain farms, vineyards, and ranches.

Indian people lived and raised large herds of horses there long before the white settlers came and still constitute a large percentage of the population. Not on our route this trip but a mustsee is the Yakama Nation Cultural Center at Toppenish, for a chance to review their rich history. Sample the fry bread at its restaurant too.

North of the Columbia, grape and fruit orchards greened up the rolling hills to the Tri-Cities: Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland, Wash. Each of the cities has its own past and personality. Pasco always was an agricultural and maritime center for river shipping. A bit southeast, where the Snake enters the Columbia, Lewis and Clark met the Yakama Indians. Kennewick began as a supply point for crews building the Northern Pacific Railroad tracks westward. Richland was a sleepy town rousted into fame in 1943 when the government condemned 193,833 acres for the Hanford Atomic Engineering Project, and Richland became its bedroom community.

At the Columbia River Exhibit of History, Science, and Technology we learned about not only Hanford but also maritime, agricultural, Indian, and pioneer history. North of the Tri-Cities within the shadow of unused nuclear reactors, one a museum, the Columbia flows free of dams for a while and, as a Wild and Scenic River stretch, is a prime spawning ground for salmon.

Sockeye salmon, an endangered species, spawn in Washington's Columbia River.

We zeroed in on Pasco’s Farmer’s Market to buy cherries so ripe and fresh that the juice ran down our chins. Our route to Grand Coulee Dam ran through a fault created by ice age events. Briefly, when the Canadian glaciers melted and filled enormous Lake Missoula (in Montana), its ice dam broke, sending torrents surging past Spokane south through the ancient Columbia River bed. Near Grand Coulee’s site, the waters were blocked by a glacier and raged south toward today’s Tri-Cities. They ripped out the coulee, poured over Dry Falls, forming Sun Lakes and smaller lakes, before pooling and forcing their way to the Pacific Ocean. The catastrophic floods happened several times.

At the southerly end of this fault we drove past shallow waters, Potholes Reservoir, and Moses Lake. The sprawling, mostly waterside town named for Indian Chief Moses is a haven for summer sports. Four miles south of town a Sand Dunes ORV park, the fourth largest in the state, is a welcome outlet for pent-up energy. The roar of jets came from Grant County Airport, a jet training and testing site for Boeing, Japan Airlines, and others—a good industry for the small town.

We decided to stay the night and play golf (the town boasts several courses) at The Links at Moses Pointe, touted by Golf Digest. More cowboys than golfers, we dug only a few minor holes in the lakeside course and finished the day with a memorable steak at the Moses Pointe Steakhouse.

For me, the biggest thrill of this primitive- landscape Washington is simply driving the road. Once more we soaked up the drama of Dry Falls near Coulee City. Here Lake Missoula floods plunged over a three-and-a-half-mile crescent 400 feet high—10 times the size of Niagara Falls. Between Coulee City and Grand Coulee Dam along State Highway 155, a continuous lake about 30 miles long, doubles as a storage basin for the dam. I watched birds tending their nests in the stark cliffs on either side, as high as 800 feet. Before the dam the Grand Coulee was a dry wash where the Steamboat Rock Stock Ranch ran 500 head of cattle.

Worth seeing is the laser light show projected nightly on water released over the dam. But after lunch at Grand Coulee at Pepper Jack’s in a building that once was a brothel, we headed for our Winthrop home, using country roads to the Methow Valley and State Highway 153. Winthrop had a makeover from small town into a classic Western town with boardwalks, false storefronts, and wall murals in response to the 1972 opening of the North Cascades Highway (State Route 20), the nation’s last scenic highway.

From the overlook at Dry Falls the traveler can look down to see Dry Falls Lake, a former plunge pool of the ancient waterfalls—evidence of the ice age floods

In May, 49er Days finds us sitting on the curb admiring slicked-up strings of mules paraded by packers. To watch the local rodeos, we sit on grass benches carved out of a hillside. On a warm evening we might be on the deck at Duck Brand Saloon or in Three- Fingered Jack’s Saloon—both respectable family sites today.

We drive up a dirt road to our cozy home on Stud Horse Mountain with a 270-degree view of perpetually snowcapped mountains, get a drink from the fridge, and settle down on our deck to watch the deer visiting our pond, tiny quail babies running across the yard after their mothers, and a nesting grouse giving raucous cries. We turn off the radio and listen to the silence.