The Winds of Idaho
I drove through Bitterroot National Forest in the pitch black of an early November morning, past countless hairpin turns without guardrails. Below were deep coniferous canyons, hibernating beneath a blanket of snow, while the long arms of ridgetop cedars conducted a symphony of howling winds.
As I made my way through western Montana and into eastern Idaho, my only concerns were barreling into a thousand-pound elk and sailing off a cliff. But the sun eventually rose, as it always does, illuminating a landscape that few Americans ever see.
Idaho is as lonesome as it is ruggedly handsome, like the face of an unshaven Clark Gable.
Never has a mountain range been more appropriately named than the Sawtooths. They’re magnificent and imperious but possess almost none of the poetry of their neighboring Tetons. Its spine looks like the back of an iguana: razor-sharp, prehistoric, and unforgiving.
The land is bulbous, oddly seductive in its curves, like a '36 Bugatti. Subtle earth tones resemble the scales of a rattlesnake—from tall blades of blonde grass to khaki-colored mounds, to patches of sagebrush and granite outcrops that change colors with the path of the sun.
Wood utility poles and split-rail fences are all that exist to remind you of civilization. And roads—hundreds of miles of lonesome asphalt. I had it all to myself.
I live for the freedom of the road. No map, no plan, just the idea of a destination. I knew I’d end up in Sun Valley, but I wasn’t sure when I’d get there or where I’d stay. I had a tent and a sleeping bag in the trunk, and that was all I wanted and needed.
I arrived before noon, having crossed the Montana/Idaho line five hours earlier. My first stop was Hemingway’s grave in the Ketchum Cemetery. I don’t know why I visit the homes and graves of my favorite writers, but I do—from Faulkner in Mississippi to Poe and Jefferson in Virginia, to Hunter Thompson in Colorado.
I got lunch at a bar before setting up camp in Sawtooth National Forest. Later in the evening I retired to my tent to read. I would’ve given anything to have my dog in my sleeping bag. I was freezing cold and lonely. I could’ve used his companionship, and we would’ve kept one another warm.
The wind howled all night.
