In the Dead of Night By Janice Pollard Photos courtesy of Janice Pollard Winter days in the Wood River Valley are dazzling, crisp, and sunshiny, with nights that can become freezing cold, although when the moon shines brightly,
When Skiing Was Shoeing Story and Photos by Ray Brooks In the fall of 1962, my nineteen-year-old brother returned from a deer hunt with a pair of eight-foot-long, weathered and warped, handmade wooden skis he had discovered in
By John W. Lundin Photos courtesy Center for Regional History, the Community Library, unless otherwise noted I first skied in the Wood River Valley in 1960, after a twenty-four-hour train ride from Seattle, when a week-long ski pass
North of Ketchum in the foothills of the Boulder Mountains, a short way from a sheep trail in a box canyon fronted by a stream, is one huge aspen tree. Continue reading
My love for Idaho is long and varied. I had so many wonderful experiences growing up on my family’s ranch south of Bellevue that I can hardly imagine growing up any other way. My parents got a divorce when I was in third grade, but my dad moved just down the road, to the other side of our hundred acres. It was great, because I could either hop on my horse bareback and ride down to the other house, or hop on my four-wheeler. I suspect there are not many other places you can do that.
I used to go on really long four-wheeling rides to this place we called “Up Top.” It was our other piece of land, a little more than 250 acres. All over Up Top were natural springs, where I would swim during the summer. Up Top was my getaway. Continue reading
In 1955, when I was fifteen, I had my first encounter with Ernest Hemingway. I never met the man and saw him only twice, but both times left me with an impression that has lasted all these years.
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