Idaho isn't for everyone

I don’t remember her name, but her face - or rather its expression - has stuck with me. The encounter happened in late 2002. I had just learned that after a year-and-a-half stint in Washington, D.C., I would be transferring to a field office out west, in Boise. For me, this was great news and something I had lobbied for. I met the woman at a work-related meeting. My office provided legal counsel to the federal agency where she was a senior manager. When my colleague told her that I would soon be moving to Boise, she said: “Ewww. I’m sorry!” She grimaced as if she had caught a whiff of something unpleasant. As my Aunt Jean would have put it, she acted as if she might be holding a turd on her upper lip.

To be fair, this reaction was the exception. Some colleagues, clients, and acquaintances were envious when they learned about my transfer to Boise, a land of powder skiing and world class white water, affordable housing and short commutes. Others were plainly not envious but politely wished me the best. I suspect they imagined me committing career suicide while wandering a lonely potato-strewn landscape without a Trader Joes or Volvo repair shop in sight. (Don’t tell anyone, but a Whole Foods opens next month and Volvos are as common as locust, at least in the North End. We even have a store downtown that sells nothing but Birkenstocks!). And a few, like the woman with the turd on her lip, were palpably appalled by the whole notion.

I recalled my encounter with turd lady a couple of weekends ago over cocktails with a few  friends. The five of us had spent a good part of the day backpacking into Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. We bushwacked our way to a lake that appears on topographical maps as “8733,” which happens to be its elevation above sea level. There is no formal trail to the lake, located within the Sawtooth Wilderness Area and sitting two thousand feet beneath Mount Cramer, the second highest peak in the Sawtooth Range. At times we scrambled up vertical walls of granite boulders shouldering  fifty-pound packs. The packs would have weighed less without the cocktails - gin and tonics, vodka and pomegranate juice, Irish whiskey -  but there is no way to enjoy Happy Hour at your own private Idaho without bringing it with you. On our second day, Adrian, Brian, and I climbed to the summit of Mount Cramer and earned that top-of-the-world experience attainable only by climbing to the top of the world.  Paul and Bob O. opted to spend the afternoon at the lake reeling in golden and cutthroat trout, landing smack in the middle one of those fishing days their grandchildren will someday have to hear about. Then it was time for appetizers (smoked gouda, smoked almonds, dark chocolate) and more cocktails ahead of our freeze-dried dinners and an evening round of fishing.

A few days before my backpacking trip with the guys, I took some time off work to spend time with my two daughters in Paul’s cabin along the South Fork of the Payette, one of Idaho's premier white water rivers. Carissa, my wife, was traveling for her work, so this trip was a chance for me and the girls to escape the valley heat for a few days before the start of school. On the first day we drove to a nearby undeveloped natural hot spring for an afternoon of splashing and soaking. On the way back to the cabin, we watched a black bear slowly amble up a slope before disappearing over a ridge. Back at the cabin, my four-year-old played in the sand along the river bank while her eleven-year-old sister curled up in a rocking chair on the porch reading a book. After marshmallows were roasted and sleeping bags snuggled into, the South Fork serenaded us to sleep.

The weekend after backpacking into the Sawtooths, Carissa, the girls, and I headed for a condo near the shores of Lake Payette in McCall. “Carissa camping,” we call it, complete with sushi for dinner our first night.  We joined friends Bob F. and Denise, and baby Stinson. The baby fascinated the girls the entire weekend. Sydney auditioned for a babysitting job and Kendley auditioned for a big sister position. On Saturday, Carissa and Denise hit the road for a 40-mile bike ride along a pristine lake surrounded by ponderosa pines while Bob and I watched kids. On Sunday, Bob and I hiked to a mountain lake for a bit of cutthroat fishing while the girls watched the kids. Afternoons were spent at the beach. Evenings were spent eating too much and enjoying adult drinks packed all the way from the driveway to the fridge. 

August has now slipped into September and school has once again started. The days are getting shorter and cooler. Last night we enjoyed an evening performance at the outdoor Idaho Shakespeare Festival with friends Luci and Mike while the kids stayed at Grandma's. This weekend's big decisions are whether to run trails in the foothills or the greenbelt path along the Boise River and what time we should check out the the Boise Art Museum's annual Art in the Park. 

Back in 2002, I didn’t have a prepared response when turd lady expressed  horror at the idea of someone moving from Washington, D.C., to Boise, Idaho. I was taken aback and mumbled something lame about looking forward to the opportunity. But a couple of weeks ago, up at Lake 8733, enjoying a cocktail-enhanced Rocky Mountain High, I imagined flashing my smuggest smile and replying sweetly: “Yes, Idaho. . . It’s not really for everyone."