My Mountains and Me

Unlike airplanes which temporarily go up and, thankfully, come down, mountains tend to go up and come down permanently. Yes, this assessment is a bit fanciful, however, it’s an existential reality from the porch of our little cabin in North Idaho. The cabin, three rooms with a view, is perched on the side of a relatively small eminence, called Howe Mountain, which is a burp compared to the belches that surround it. To the east, the valley spreads out below us but before long the land soars up into a double-humped beast called Goat Mountain. Behind Goat rises Scotchman, not Scotsman, a peak that dominates the landscape with its craggy height. Beyond that are Scotchman II and a host of other peaks that we’ve never bothered to learn their names. After all, at that point, the mountain range marches its way into the foreign reaches of Montana. They’re in a whole different time zone where they see the sun an hour after we do even though they are east of us.

To the north is a mountainous mass we call Huckleberry. However, Huckleberry is not actually a mountain peak in itself. Rather, it’s a steep ridge that obscures our view of the true peak it leads to, which is called Bee Top. Bee Top gets its name from its peculiar shape that reminds one of an old-fashioned bee hive. But to see it you’ll have to ascend about fifteen hundred feet up Huckleberry ridge. That’s not something I do casually . . . all right, I never do it. However, I have seen Bee Top from other vantage points so I’m completely satisfied with my imagination.

To the south, we see a small group of mountains whose duty is to keep company with Howe in its lowliness. Chief among these is a rise called Antelope mountain. Even though Antelope is taller than Howe, it is humble in comparison to the Cabinet mountain range that surrounds it. However, what Antelope and Howe share besides diminutive height is a majestic view of the Clark Fork River delta and Lake Pend Oreille.

To see this incredible view on top of Howe mountain you have to go directly up the mountain to the west of our cabin and bushwhack your way through the brush to find an elusive peak. When I was much younger my father took me on this adventure a number of times. Climbing Howe mountain to see the lake was a thing. However, in my maturity, I’ve noticed that in even the most heroic forms of bushwhacking, it’s the bushes that do most of the whacking. So my trips up this junior-sized mountain have fallen off pretty much to zero lately. Add to this the fact that my brother built a road up to the top of the mountain a few years back, and you have a splendid recipe for Howe mountaineering lethargy. Granted, the new road is gated, and I don’t have the key. But it’s the principle of the thing. Why would I hike to the top of something I could drive to?

This is another aspect where Howe mountain and Antelope are similar. Antelope mountain also has a road up it. Although the term “road” is used loosely when referring to the drive up Antelope. Anything with a clearance of less than, say, a couple of feet is likely to leave an oil pan scraped off on the rocks and ruts that form Antelope’s roadway. Full disclosure forces me to admit that Antelope’s road does not actually take you to the top of the mountain. Rather, the road ends at a pristinely beautiful mountain lake, creatively named Antelope Lake. It is well worth the trip, however, if you plan to drive your vehicle again, you might want to hike. The best thing about the road up Antelope is that it is routinely traversed by Idaho state fish hatchery stocking trucks. This, of course, can only make Antelope Lake more beautiful yet, especially since I am not the least bit prejudiced against non-native fish. All I ask is the courtesy to get firmly hooked on whatever I’m casting in their direction. Antelope is a great place and fits my idea of getting up in the mountains. And a short hike from Antelope Lake, even by my standards, takes you to a bluff with an incredible view of the river and lake that I mentioned earlier, further lowering my incentive to bushwhack up Howe mountain.

Assuming your vehicle has not been totaled by a foolish trip up Antelope mountain, the drive along the western side of Howe puts you on the mountainous shore of the 148 square miles of Lake Pend Oreille. On that side, Howe mountain slumps down into what locals refer to as the Peninsula. This is a hammerhead-shaped extension of Howe mountain out into the lake. It forms two inlets, Ellisport Bay to the northwest and the Denton Slough to the southeast, both are vital to the piscatorial topography of the region.

Early traders to the region used the Peninsula as a key landmark for establishing a thriving trading post called the Kullyspel house. Kullyspel house is no longer open for business so you’ll have to figure out something else to do with those spare beaver pelts. However, its ruins were successfully located with the help of a nearly blind Native American in 1923, which speaks volumes about the necessity of location, location, location for small business property. David Thompson, the intrepid explorer, established the enterprise on behalf of the North West Company of Montreal, Canada in 1809. He probably should have spent a little more time with his grammar lessons since the moniker, Kullyspel, was his attempt to name the trading post after the Kalispel tribe. Driving Highway 200 between Clark Fork and Hope will bring you to an informational sign telling you all about this fascinating bit of local history.

Also, the drive along Highway 200 between Clark Fork and Hope gives you a mesmerizing view of some of the area’s most majestic mountains. Across the water from the highway, a more than 2,000-foot sheer mountain face called the Green Monarchs rises directly out of the Lake. It is over 2,400 feet from the lake shore to Schaffer Peak which is the highest point along the gigantic mountainous wall which borders much of Pend Oreille’s western shore. Even more impressive is the fact that the 2000-foot natural parapet plunges another 1000 feet down into the lake. Along this impressive rock face are the places where Lake Pend Oreille exceeds a depth of 1000 feet. Locals sometimes try to claim that the lake is bottomless or that it actually connects in an underwater passage to Lake Coeur d’Alene more than fifty miles to the south. This, of course, is ridiculous, or the US Navy would never have put an experimental sonar station in the shadow of the Green Monarchs, would they?

Well, back at the cabin, I can pass many pleasant hours staring out at the wonderful mountains that stretch heavenward all around us. They make the view what it is and work to provide an ever-changing panorama of clouds and snowlines that amaze and inspire. They sometimes do more than provide eye candy. To the east, Goat Mountain serves to hold back the direct rays of the sunrise until shortly after 6:00 AM this time of year. Without the big guy there, old Sol would be stabbing his way into our cabin before 5:00 AM. Howe mountain is a bit of a trickster. He likes to withhold a view to the west that would give us more than a 5-minute warning about rain showers that seem to appear out of nowhere above the cabin. It’s like living amongst giants. But what a joy to watch as each mountain displays its own personality in the varied garb of the passing seasons. I can’t get enough.