Tag Archives: Atlanta Idaho

Car Canping #6: 1952 & ’53

My dad worked full time for Idaho Power Company. He and Mom also operated a rental business out of our home. Or should I say they made a home in the machine shop of the rental business? Half the building was home and half shop. 

The business rented a selection of trailers and two Ford tractors including a variety of implements to fit the tractors.

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Dad observed that if he didn’t have trailers he’d have to drive a pickup truck so he could haul things. Our camping gear being an example. 

It was the 1950s and light weight camping supplies were not an option. We’d be in the Idaho back country for a week and went well supplied for five people and a dog or two. Many of those trips we took off with pack horses to spend time in the wilderness and sometimes we’d just spend the time in a Forest Service campground. But even when we were in the wilderness we’d have a base camp that stayed behind, fully set up. 

The first photos I have of our camps is from 1952, when my Dad bought a good camera and light meter. We’d wait for him to set all the adjustments and later look at the slides on the screen he unrolled like an upside down window shade. I remember the smell of that screen as it was pulled from its metal canister. 

The next few Car Camping blogs will show how we roughed it through those hot days and cold nights in the outback. 

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3 camp overnew.jpg

4 camp interior.jpg

5 Mom in river.jpg

6 close up mom.jpg

7 1953  Baumgartner.jpg

 

Sawtooth Kidhood 1960: Greylock Mountain

My dad Merrill, my sister Vicky and I went hiking to the top of Greylock Mountain, which dominates the entire vista north of Atlanta, Idaho. It was summer, 1960. Dad was 56, Vicky was 17, and I was 15. 

Atlanta 1952 INT

We had often camped in Atlanta, where Dad had spent his kid-hood, and he had mentioned having been to the top of Greylock Mountain. He said there is a stack of rocks on the top of Greylock Mountain with a jar in it. The jar contains scraps of paper with people’s names and comments. 

We could always tell Dad wanted to get up there again. By 1960 he decided it was time.

We started from Riverside Campground to the north and east of Atlanta, crossed Boise River on a wooden bridge, and headed to one of the creeks that ran down the face of Greylock. I’m sure Dad knew which creek but I have no idea. I do remember when we got to the creek there was only the creek bed, there was no trail to follow.

We had left the campground with empty canteens, planning on filling them with water from the creek. Dad pointed out there is no need to carry water further than necessary (which I thought was genius). But when we got to the creek and left the road there was no water in the creek! I figured we’d turn back and fill the canteens, but Dad said not to worry, there would be running water in the creek higher up the hill (I thought he was nuts). For some time we walked up that dry creek, the sun getting higher and hotter and me getting more convinced we’d be retracing our steps for water. But low and behold, as the hill got steeper the creek bed got damp and then wet and then running with water! (He lucked out.)

We continued up the creek until the water started to peter out, where we filled the canteens while the water was still running freely. (I found out water is heavy!)

1 up top of the gully.jpg

We followed the gully of that creek until it ended at the ridge running west from Greylock Peak. We turned right and headed up the ridge until, at 9,363 feet, there was no more up. We had gained over 4,000 feet.

2 top filp Dean Vicky w jugs.jpg

Sure enough, the stack of rocks was there, along with two jars of comments left by past climbers. Dad added a slip of paper he had prepared with the comment, “My second and last time.” When we found his previous slip of paper it had his and a woman’s name on it. I asked about that and Dad said she was his first wife — the very first time any of we kids knew that bit of history!

Dad had his good Kodak camera for slides and his trusty light meter and he composed some photographs. I had my Kodak Brownie Hawkeye and snapped off some shots.

We started down Greylock by meandering, losing altitude as we cut across the face of the mountain, headed generally west until we found the gully we had hiked up. We were back in camp by dinner.

3 top Atlanta from top

4 top dad's two lakes

5 down V&I decending

6 down Dad and I

7 down outcrop

8 down outcrop closeup

9 brownie scrapbook

10 brownie top V&Dad lunch

11 brownie resting

12 brownie looking north

13 brownie looking west

 

Atlanta to Alturas Lake #10: Shocked

We made it back to Atlanta after a week of dusty horse camping in the Sawtooths. Other than at Alturas Lake we had not seen a soul.

We walked through town to the camp were we had left our car, unpacked the horses, and Dad returned them to the folks who had rented them to us. We spent the night in the Atlanta campground listening to the rushing Boise River. I’m sure Mom and Dad spent the night in sweet dreams, knowing they did not have to pack and unpack horses the next day.

But we did pack the camping trailer, a two-wheeled, fairly light-weight trailer with high sides that fit around the large canvas tent, cotton mattresses, blankets, pots, pans, Coleman stove, supplies of gas and boxes of food that it took for us to be outdoorsmen.

I was expecting a seventy mile trip down the Boise River to home but instead, just outside of Atlanta, we turned left and began a long climb up James Creek and over Bald Mountain. We explored the little survival cabin where Peg Leg Annie had her frozen legs cut off. We explored Rocky Bar and I watched the crusted food in the corners of Charlie Sprintle’s mouth while he chatted with Dad. We checked out Featherville as we drove by, and the wide backwaters of Anderson Ranch Reservoir. Then we finally hit paved road and the miles flew by smoothly and dust free!

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sprintles-int

It didn’t seem long before we slowed down and Dad turned left onto another dirt road. The sign said, “Alturas Lake.”

And sure enough, some ten minutes later we passed the lodge where Dad had rented the steel boat that could not sink. And we were unpacking at the very camp site where a few days before we had packed up horses.

I was shocked! Sure, I had seen the cars and trucks at Alturas Lake. But, really? We could have just driven from Boise in three hours????!!!!!

Well. What kids haven’t wondered about the sanity of their parents?

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