I was debating whether to use plane or train to go visit my son Steen this autumn. The one-way train fare from Klamath Falls, Oregon, to Whitefish, Montana (where he lives), sounded great as air fares had risen dramatically. I had taken the train many times and love riding the Coast Starlight to Portland, then transferring to the Empire Builder from Portland to Whitefish. At the last moment, just before booking the train though, I thought about my favorite season of the year (autumn) and how wonderful it might be to take a solo auto (in my case, a pickup) trip, taking backroads to Montana. I knew the cost for gas would be much more than the train ticket, but I also knew the experience would be much richer...and I could take my time and travel with the heart and soul rhythm of autumn’s song. I called my son and told him of my change of plans.

WHICH VEHICLE TO TAKE?

I have two GMC pickups (older models); one has a full-size camper. Though only two years apart in age, one is fully automatic and the other fully manual - 5-speed transmission with manual roll-up windows. I did a HighOnAdventure story (November 2015) on a 40-plus day road trip with the camper several years ago. But I had never done such with the automatic GMC. Even with crazy gas pump prices, I elected to go with it as this truck gets considerably more miles per gallon. Since it has a camper shell, I packed so that I could bivouac inside, and use my thick fold- up sleeping pad and sleeping bag rated to minus 25 degrees.

Though not as comfortable as my full-sized camper, it would become my traveling motel. My tailgate was my cooking table, but I also packed a nice foldout table which also would be used for cooking, water container placement and other accessories. I took a nice foldout chair, a pop-up screened canopy and my mountaineering backpack tent. However, I never had to use the canopy and tent.

In the camper shell and in my pickup backseat, I packed my camping gear, fly fishing gear, food and drink, warm clothes, a small library of books and some other accessories, and off I went into the autumn blue highways of life.

SANDHILL CRANES, THE OLD CAMP AND DISAPPOINTMENT

My plans were to first go to our old family camp on the Chewaucan River near Paisley, Oregon.
Upon departure from home, my first stop was Lower Klamath to photograph the largest gathering of sandhill cranes that my brother-in-law Rob had ever seen. He had called the day before to tell me about their location in the farmlands just north of Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge. I was not disappointed. There must have been 300 or more! After photographing them, I headed to the old camp and then experienced disappointment.

I had not been to the camp in three years, but I got word from family and friends that it had burned up in a fire two years ago. I dreaded seeing this, but I had to go. The 2021 Bootleg Fire, one of the nation’s largest, had burned through the Gearhart Country that I hold dear to my heart. The backroads to my old camp through Gearhart Country were closed once the fire began and I was expecting them to still be closed. But upon entering Bly, I called the Forest Service office where rangers told me that the roads had recently been reopened. These backroads save 50 miles of driving, so I jumped at the chance to take them as I wanted to see the fire damage for myself.

Just out of Bly, I took Forest Service Road 34, and it wasn’t long before I drove through the disaster area. The fire had charred both sides of the road. Firefighters were able to save Mitchell Monument, the site of the only US homeland causalities when a Japanese balloon bomb had exploded, killing five children and a pregnant adult on a Sunday School outing on May 5, 1945 during WWII. I was surprised to see that some of the country that I had expected to be burned was not, including my favorite place to gather fresh drinking water from a small brook. The devastation soon became evident upon seeing the fire damage to my beloved river and camp. The destruction was so vast that I realized never again will I camp here in my mortal life. Tears welled in my eyes as memories flooded my reminisces of this magical location that had brought such joy over a lifetime.

That first evening I spent camped at Marster Springs Campground, a few miles above my beloved camp. Fire crews had saved it from meltdown.

The Forest Service policy of “Let it Burn” galled me to the core upon seeing this destruction as the Bootleg Fire could have been put out in the first few days after it ignited...as many fires can be if treated as a terrorist attack and pounced on immediately.

BACKROADS OF OREGON TO IDAHO

On the second day of my autumn sojourn, I camped at a favorite private-property fishing pond in Lake County, Oregon. Fly fishing was so-so—I caught and released a few trout just under 20 inches. At the crack of dawn on the third day, I got up and made road tracks to Idaho, following highways 31, 395, and 20, where I crossed the Snake River into Idaho. Upon entering Highway 395, I came across another large flock of sandhill cranes, feasting in a farm field of River’s End Ranch. It felt great to be in the open country of the Oregon Desert as I drove along the edge of the surreal Abert Lake. Soon, I passed some sand dunes reminiscent of ones that I’ve seen in Death Valley National Park, but on a smaller scale. In Burns, I stopped for food and drink supplies. I followed the lovely Malheur River Canyon through Columbia River Basalt Country—its geologic abbreviation, CORIBA.

DOWN MEMORY LANE IN IDAHO

Before crossing the border into Idaho, I stopped in Ontario to purchase a new two-burner Coleman camp stove. Mine was giving me fits. (I did keep it though, and repaired it later at my son’s place in Montana.) I was feeling a little nostalgic (autumn does that), so I went down memory lane with a little side trip to Payette, Idaho, and River Street where my late wife JJ and I had our first home. Of all things, after driving by the house, a rainbow appeared in the sky. I followed it out of town, took country roads to Emmett and eventually the Payette River. I pulled over in the dark by the river and spent the night close to banks where my wife and I often went to river raft and camp.

A gentle rain fell that night, but I was all cozy and warm inside the camper shell. Coffee from my stainless steel French press coffee maker perked me up quickly the following morning. I sat beside the river enjoying a breakfast of eggs, venison steak and fruit. As I was departing, the overcast skies gave way to sunshine. I turned onto Highway 21 at Banks and followed the enchanting South Fork of the Payette River to Garden Valley, Lowman, and eventually turned off pavement onto six miles of gravel road to Grandjean on the edge of the Sawtooth Wilderness. I spent the night in a lovely primitive campground on the banks of the Payette where I built my first campfire of the journey.

Years ago before our son was born, in our first married years, JJ and I often went to Grandjean and Sacajawea Hot Springs. Several times we hiked into the Sawtooth Wilderness, spending upwards of a week backpacking and exploring. I have memories of us being pushed out of the wilderness by snow and rain when we would seek warmth and comfort in the hot springs. The springs are unique in that they are right beside the river where you can lie down with your whole body in hot water and drift one hand in the frigid Payette.

The following morning, I drove to the Sawtooth Lodge (www.sawtoothlodge.com), just a couple of miles from where I camped. The rustic lodge is a far cry from modern day fancy-pantsy lodges that cater to the more affluent. There are charming rustic cabins to rent, camping and rv spots, a horse stable for back-country rides and a small, delightful swimming pool. It closes the last weekend of September and reopens the following June, but always keep it on your summer/fall list of places to visit. Coincidentally, I was there September 30, their closing weekend and also my late mom’s birthday.

ROAD TO STANLEY AND SALMON, IDAHO

After leaving Grandjean, I made my way back to the pavement, crossed the Banner Summit (which is closed for winter travel because of deep snow and avalanche danger), and made my way to Stanley. Back in the 70s and 80s, Stanley was a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere. “Nowhere” has now been found and is bustling with second and third homes for the well-heeled.

The famous Salmon River runs along the town’s edge. It has become a mecca for fly fishing and other outdoor activities. Friends Judy and Jerry Story had just visited there and suggested that I take a little excursion to Little Redfish Lake where they had had great kayaking. I did just that, and was treated to the first big splash of autumn color...flanks of the Sawtooth Range resplendent in large stands of yellow and gold glowing aspens. I made my way to the larger Redfish Lake, but didn’t stay long as it was swamped with tourists like me.

I turned north and made my way to Salmon on Highway 93, following the glorious Salmon River. I had planned to stay at Williams Lake where my dad and I went in my 1965 baby-blue Ford Mustang to fish in the late 60s. An active forest fire was taking place there, so I kept heading north to Montana, and camped beside the river just outside of Salmon. I woke up October 1, cooked a hearty breakfast, fly fished a bit, then drove back to Salmon to check out the town, including the Sacajawea Interpretive, Cultural & Educational Center.

WISDOM, MONTANA AND MY SON IN WHITEFISH

I had planned to take highway 93 all the way to Whitefish, Montana, where my son Steen lives. At the last moment, I called photography friend Cynthia Baldauf, as I knew that she and her husband Andy live part of the year in Wisdom, Montana. The Indiana natives had fallen in love with the American west and the western way of life. She and I do work for Range Magazine. In fact, the image on the 2022 fall cover of Range was taken by her. She was tickled to hear my voice and invited me to spend the evening with them. En route to their place, I stopped at Big Hole National Battlefield where Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce and his people were attacked by the US Calvary in 1877. Ninety tribal members were killed as they peacefully passed through the Bitterroot Valley.

The Baldauf’s had a gathering of friends that evening, so I met a lot of the locals. It was a great evening of conversation, food and drink. The Baldaufs live in the big open spaces of the Big Hole Valley, right next to the famous Big Hole River, a noted fishery, although this year low water has led to closures on sections of the river. The next morning after a nice breakfast and conversation, I departed, following a route on Montana Highway 569 that gets little traffic. What an epic autumn drive it was, through stunning mountainous country filled with autumn’s rich palette!

Outside of Anaconda, I hit my first freeway of the trip, Interstate 90, and followed it to Drummond, where I exited to sparsely-traveled Highway 271, Highway 200 and 83, and eventually to the front door of my son’s country home between Kalispell and Whitefish.

Seeing his face and giving him a hug was my best autumn gift, and I had already been gifted many times over on my one week trek to his place!

Note: Part Two of this adventure will appear in an upcoming HighOnAdventure issue.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Larry Turner is a productive, respected regional, national and international photographer/writer. His work has appeared in countless magazines and books, including Browntrout and Avalanche Publishers' calendars and books, American Heritage, National Geographic Traveler, Travel and Leisure, Sunset and many others. He is the co-author of the book Mount Shasta Reflections, and his photographs have appeared on covers of many books and magazines.  He is an active skier, gardener, fly fisherman,  and adventurer. His greatest love is spending time with his son Steen, Chef de Cuisine of the Cafe Kandahar in Whitefish, Montana.