My wife and I recently took a week-long trip to northern Idaho, a magical land of lakes and mountains just below Canada in the panhandle between Washington and Montana.
We had originally planned a much-delayed anniversary Western trip to either Colorado or the Canadian Rockies but decided to branch out to someplace new. And less woke.
In Canada’s case, our reluctance was partly due to the sheer expense of everything up there. But it was also Canada’s increasing intolerance. I experienced it once while attending a conservative conference in Banff. Even the rental car guy gave me the third degree about viewpoints the conference espoused. It felt very Iron Curtain-ish.
Anyway, it was on to Idaho, and we’re very glad we went.
The scenery was spectacular, the food was over-the-top good wherever we went, it was less crowded, and the people were friendly and patriotic.
We flew into Spokane, which is just under an hour’s drive from Coeur d’Alene and its famous lake. Culturally, Idaho seems light years from Washington State, where marijuana shops and New Age sensibilities are on a roll. We saw the same thing earlier this year in Maine and previously in Colorado.
Idahoans, who tend to be more conservative, so far have resisted legalization. It might not last, given the national trend, but for now, the Gem State is officially pot-free.
We drove around Lake Pend Oreille, which is surrounded by mountains. At more than 1,100 feet deep, it is one of the deepest lakes in the country, and it’s where the U.S. Navy tested submarines and still tests submarine technology.
Looming above the lake is Schweitzer, the largest ski resort in Idaho, which offers a chairlift ride to its 6,400-foot summit. It has a 2,400 vertical drop for ski runs and breathtaking views that include mountains in Canada, Montana and Washington State.
We spent our last couple of days in Harrison, a former timber town named after President Benjamin Harrison. It’s where the Coeur D’Alene River flows into Lake Coeur D’Alene, about 40 miles from the lake’s namesake city. A hub for trail bikers, the town of just over 200 citizens had just celebrated its annual Old Time Picnic.
A special edition of the 125-year-old town paper, The Harrison Searchlight, recounted local history, including how the annual lumber drive sent thousands of huge logs down the river to mills before trucks took over.
The logs were tended by “river drivers” who risked their lives freeing up log jams with hooked poles or even dynamite.
Looking out over the placid lake, stirred by an occasional speedboat, it was hard to imagine something so dangerous.
As for getting to and from Idaho, it was a bit of a stretch, since we hadn’t flown in a few years.
It wasn’t long ago that airline passengers might actually have a conversation with a fellow passenger. Depending on how talkative you felt, it could be great or pose a dreaded threat to your downtime with a nap or a good book.
But those days are gone. People might say “hi,” but that’s about it. We found this out on the two-segment flight from Washington Dulles to Spokane.
As soon as we sat, we could plug in ear buds and tune into dozens of movies, games, sports events, music, or TV shows before the takeoff. I watched part of a Savannah Bananas baseball game on ESPN before taking in one of the aptly-titled Mission Impossible films.
Looking around, I didn’t see any conversations taking place, only parents trying to quiet their children, made easier by ubiquitous screens.
You never know whom you’ll meet on a plane. On a flight from Denver to Orange County, California, years ago, we sat next to Demond Wilson, who had played Lamont, the dutiful and serious son to Redd Foxx’s rascally father Fred in the NBC series “Sanford and Son.”
Although he looked quite tired and obviously needed a break, he sighed and began talking with us. Mr. Wilson had lived big and then soured on the wild Hollywood life. He had gotten saved and was now a pastor.
Noticing our infant son on my wife’s lap, he told us his story of salvation and why we needed to protect our boy from the kind of evils he had encountered during his TV fame. He prayed for us and then took a brief nap before we landed.
One last thing about our trip. We didn’t have a single meal in Idaho in which the potato portion was less than amazing. Even fries and hash browns were off the charts. It makes perfect sense, since Idaho is famous for its potatoes.
I could also go on, as celebrity chef Rachel Ray once did, about the “green eggs and ham” breakfast dish at the Hoot Owl restaurant in Ponderay, Idaho, near Sandpoint. It had sauteed spinach, pesto, an omelet, and avocado slices atop a generous carving of honey ham.
Plus, a wisecracking, hilarious waitress named Deanna. But I won’t.
I don’t want to make the wait for a table any longer the next time we visit. In fact, forget everything you just heard about Idaho.
Colorado and Canada are quite beautiful.
This column was first published at the Washington Times.