A small sample of Seasons of the 208, Idaho outdoors magazine, issue 3, Winter 2025-26.
Seasons
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208 of the
BACKCOUNTRY SPLITBOARDING
INTERVIEW: SEARCH AND RESCUE
PRIEST LAKE STATE PARK
W I N T E R Issue 03 | December 2025 - February 2026
content Seasons of the 208 | Issue 03 | December 2025 - February 2026 in this issue
see story on page 1 Photo by Chris Celentano
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idaho gems: culture “Surviving the Elements” by Carrie Coen idaho gems: geology “Winter’s Gateway” by Jackson Frishman more than potatoes “Drink Your Spuds” by Ken Levy epic idaho by Leland Howard hiking idaho “Discovering Geology and History Along the Snake River” by Scott Marchant poetry of place “Be Still and Truly See” by Leland Howard inspired by nature Artist Spotlights by Carly Agnew opinion “These Used to be Our Woods” by Patrick Kaufmann new to the sport “Snowshoe Those Winter Blues Away” by Chris Celentano winter companions “A Photo Essay” by Gail Craig and Idaho Photographers adventures ahead “Palouse South” by Linda Lantzy from nature’s journal “Wisdom from a Future Forest King” by Shane Davila season’s bounty “The Magic of Snowflakes” by Joanie Christian
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outdoors in idaho “Seeking Freedom in the Hills” by Chris Celentano one incredible idahoan: moj broadie “In a Winter World” by Lyn Miller moments in time “Through the Years” by Ken Levy
idaho gems: archaeology “Stone Hooves” by Carrie Coen idaho gems: history “Echoes at Bear River” by Carrie Coen
see story on page 83 Photo by Ralph Kerr
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destination: long valley “A Snow Lover’s Paradise” by Susan Lewis mind games “A-Mazing Idaho” by Linda Lantzy calendar of events in business, in idaho by Sharon Fisher our state parks “Priest Lake State Park” by Carly Agnew wild in idaho “Bald Eagle Celebration” by Tim Christie
promotion runs through Feb. 28
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professional perspective “Search and Rescue” by Ken Levy winter wanders A Collection of Stories by Linda Lantzy, Carrie Coen, Kara Akgulian, and Shari Hart bygone era “Shelter” by Gail Craig my idahome “Hot Springs and Snowshoes” by Miranda Marquit ode to idaho “Winter’s Grip” by Evan Nelson
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Seasons
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208 of the
208 of the ADVENTURES OF A HUNTING CAMP COOK
208 of the
RAILS TO TRAILS ADVENTURE CYCLING
BATTERED BY THE STORM
WHEELING IN IDAHO’S WILDS
KAYAKING BENEATH WATERFALLS: THOUSAND SPRINGS STATE PARK
ON THE HUNT FOR ELUSIVE FIRE LOOKOUTS
FROM THE ASHES
TRAIL OF THE COEUR D’ALENES
LAND OF THE YANKEE FORK
A U T U M N Issue 02 | September - December 2025
S U M M E R Issue 01 | June 2025
Issue 04 | March - May 2026 S P R I N G
Photo by Chris Celentano
MORE SNOW MORE TRAILS MORE SMILES
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Smithsonian Institution Archives, Acc. 12-492 [SIA2012-2783].
tioners used teams of horses to scrape the soil and haul it away. In a twist of irony, the modern-day horses worked at the site to uncover what remains to this day, the single largest find of ancient Pliocene horses, Equus simplicidens. These were the predecessor to contemporary horses. What came to be known as the Hagerman Horse Quarry included 20 complete skele- tons of these ancient horses in all stages of life, providing researchers with a comprehen- sive and rare look at this population. While the discovery of the Hagerman Hors- es was certainly a highlight of the expedition finds, in 1929 alone there were three tons of fossils removed and shipped to the Smithso- nian for further scientific research. The expe- dition focused on the larger mammals and, in addition to horses, they found ground sloths, saber-toothed cats, mastodons, a recent- ly identified otter ( Lontra weiri ), an extinct genus of camel known as Camelops, large ground sloths, a Hemphillian bear, the earliest example of a coyote ( Canis lepophagus ) and an intriguing creature known as “Bone Crush- er”, which was classified as Borophagus hilli, which resembles a wolf/hyena cross adapted to crush and eat bone.
The significance of the Hagerman Fossil Beds is highlighted in the preservation of the or- igins of the Hagerman Horse, which is the earliest true horse and direct ancestor of all modern horses, the diverse ecosystem which contained over 200 species of plants and an- imals and has provided a location for paleon- tologists to study ecosystems and evolution- ary lineages from over 3 million years ago. The paleontological evidence at this site is contained in a continuous undisturbed strati- graphic record that spans at least 500,000 years, and the presence of volcanic ash lay- ers allows for precise fossil dating. The Hag- erman Fossil Beds are world renowned and identified as one of the richest Pliocene fossil sites ever discovered, producing tens of thou- sands of fossils to date. In 1988 Congress established the Hagerman Fossil Beds National Monument and set aside over 4,000 acres for ongoing paleontological research. A modern research lab was com- pleted in 2021. which created a new home for the local fossil collection and has helped to fa- cilitate research at the site, promising further revelations to the untold secrets that are still buried in the depths of the Hagerman Valley.
Idaho Gems • Archaeology stone hooves: hagerman fossil beds an idaho treasure
by CARRIE COEN
Deep inside the steep banks of the Snake Riv- er near Hagerman, a treasure trove of ancient remains laid buried and secret for 3-4 million years. It wasn’t until 1928 when those secrets began to be revealed. Elmer Cook, a local rancher, discovered something mysterious eroding from the rocks along the river. Elmer suspected these objects were fossils but contacted Dr. H.T. Stearns at the U.S. Geo- logical Survey for a professional opinion. Dr. Stearns in turn contacted Dr. J.W. Gidley of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. Slowly, what had been hidden for millen- nia, came to light. These objects were, in fact, fossils that had formed during the Pliocene Epoch, the spe- cific geological period of time that lasted from 5.33 to 2.58 million years ago. During that time frame in North America, the glob- al climate was cooling and drying. It was ac- companied by the appearance of land animals such as the modern horse and was marked by a surge in populations of mastodons and carnivores such as wolves, bears and weasels.
At the Hagerman site, there were lush wet- lands, forests and grasslands that provided an ecologically diverse home for a variety of flora and fauna. For four consecutive years, 1929-1934, the Smithsonian sent Gidley and a team to lead fossil expeditions in the Hagerman Valley. What they unearthed in Idaho was unprece- dented in terms of volume and significance in comparison to any expedition that had taken place in North America at the time.
Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU000095 [MNH-34095].
Moving tons of earth while digging up to 60-foot-deep exploration pits, the expedi-
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Smithsonian Institution Archives, Acc. 12-492 [SIA2012-2784].
door you have to pull down with a rope, and a window crisscrossed with dusty cobwebs. Between the woods and Jason’s garage, we’ve got the real estate for a proper war. Jason taunts Sean about bringing a slingshot to a gun fight. Sean taunts Jason about his temper. On this, I’m with Sean. Jason once took a shot in the ass and wouldn’t calm down until he peppered us with half a dozen pellets each. I’m still grinning over that shot. Right in his ass. I wade into their skirmish with all the confi- dence of a thirteen-year-old with acne and middling aim.
my escape, forcing me to double back. I earn a few welts—Jason’s a half-decent shot with his air rifle—and scramble inside his garage. I pull the door shut and search for a hiding spot. Jason and Sean must have heard the racket I made getting in here. They’ll be opening the door any second. Sure enough, the garage door starts to rise. In a panic, I wipe away the cobwebs and push open the window. Somehow the timing works for me to squeeze through before I’m spotted. “Where’d he go?” Sean’s question lingers as I creep away. My laughter explodes as I run into the woods. Shouted protests follow me, but it’s past time I get home. Fading daylight tells me I better hurry if I want to beat my parents. It’s dark when we sit down to for Stouffer’s lasa- gna, but I can still see the woods. Black, spindly masts rising against a backdrop of bluish gray. Night shrouds them from me. As years pass, they’ll fade into memory. Those woods are gone now. Paved over for trucks to load whatever it is they make inside those build- ings. Look on Google, and all you’ll see is a giant paved circle. Almost resembles a tear drop. I feel the loss of those spaces and the games we played within. Guns. Cops and robbers. Swords and sorcerers. Homemade thrills in high definition. The memories are worth a smile, or a wish—one that’s never truly granted—for another walk in those woods. An aching desire, followed by self-admon- ishment. Time to put childish things away. But only away. I won’t forget our woods. They’re safe in the hearth of memory, where all good things remain. Kept because they matter. There will always be woods, and games to play within. The trick is to keep playing. Pull childish things out once in a while. Examine them, and remember a joy once felt, if only for a moment.
these used to be our woods story by PATRICK KAUFMANN O inion Photo by Sirisak Boakaew
“You brought a gun, too?” Sean whines. “Hell am I supposed to do?”
I tell him not to get shot in the ass. Earns me a dirty look and a laugh. Jason promises a 10-count, and just like that we’re racing for cover in the woods. Jason’s count goes quicker than you’d think. I hide behind some fallen trees. The space be- tween their boles would make a half decent fort, if there wasn’t already something furry and prickly hiding inside. I’m confident in my hiding spot, until the thwack of a BB suggests otherwise. A rock hisses by—they’ve got me in a crossfire!
I always remember it being sunny. Brick build- ings baking under warm, golden light. Bugs flit- ting between blades of muted green. Our mobile home sits three lots down the wrong side of the tracks, orange and white with brown trim and an old station wagon rusting in the driveway. I spend my after-school hours watching the USA network’s syndicated action-adventures. After- noons kick off with MacGyver and his glorious mullet adventuring through applied mathemat- ics and creative problem-solving. There’s some moral center I’m supposed to absorb, but pre- teen boys are interested in causing explosions with Drano and cold pills and not much else. Some days, my friend Jason calls, and I’ll dig out a small air-powered BB gun from under my pil- low. Best place for it, no matter what Mom says. You think Martin Riggs or John McClain keep their guns on the shelf? Gun in hand, I’ll hurry down the railroad tracks. This time of day, they’re my quickest route to The Woods. Waste of time checking for trains. They only roll past when I’m trying to sleep, or
watching HBO through the squiggly lines of a 13-inch black and white television.
The Woods. Fancy name for the narrow half- acre of trees separating my street and an old industrial building. Rumor is they make candy inside. I’ve never bothered looking. I’m only in- terested in this tiny bit of wilderness, with its fallen trees and thick leaves. The birds and the squirrels and the occasional stray cat. In winter it’s a snow-covered forest that could’ve led to Narnia. In spring it’s a fog-soaked bog. Summer dries the place out. By autumn, it’s the perfect site for any scenario the thirteen-year-old mind can conjure. Plus, it opens right onto Jason’s back yard. Jason is the only child of divorced parents, and he is raking in those guilt gifts. Pump-it-up Reeboks. Turbografx-16. A really sweet air rifle painted jet black– with a scope! Jason’s got ev- erything, with tagalongs Sean and I to help him play with it all.
I try low-crawling, like on TV, over crackling leaves and noisy, wet mud. The building blocks
34
Photo by Linda Lantzy
Most days we’re haunting the woods behind his detached garage. It’s the kind with a creaky
Within this silence, whispers spoken by the rhythms of nature carry personal meaning, re- vealing wisdom hidden from me by the connect- ed world I’ve temporarily escaped. My thought- less gaze settles on a solitary sapling growing from a crevice in the lakeshore rock. Within this little tree, I witness the sanctity of life. I feel a sense of sorrow for its imprisonment, wedged within solid rock. The opportunities for it to grow into a forest giant seem unlikely. Like many of us, this little tree is not just facing a life of challenges but is also firmly embedded within them. I begin to see within the tree’s di- lemma the wisdom in words written nearly two thousand years ago by the Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius: “What stands in the way be- comes the way.” Put simply, the obstacle be- comes the way. The whispering of nature’s peace has helped me to understand the simple truths of these power- ful words. Would it not be better to grow from the foundation of solid rock than from within the softness of sand? Roots embedded within the certainty of rock can withstand the violence of storms. Through its struggles, this little tree will develop callused roots strong enough to split rock. The trials it endures on its voyage to the lake’s wa- ter will leave scars of loneliness that will become the beauty of wisdom. Struggle within the rock will develop resilience that will one day trans- form this lakeside sapling into a lake basin king.
Rather than impeding progress, the challenges, setbacks, and difficulties of life create opportu- nities for growth. Marcus believed that obsta- cles were not nuisances but rather a necessary struggle that would transform our mindset and help us grow stronger and more resilient. Struggle is not punishment, but an opportunity to grow into someone better than we are, into a forest giant from within solid rock. It is the ob- stacles, the challenges of life, not the comfort found in the sands of the shore, that give us cal- luses and scars, revealing individual truths that guide us to our authentic selves. That little tree will never be moved by the words of emperors, but instead lives the lessons writ- ten by mortal men. Long after my own life flick- ers for the last time and I dissolve back into the mist of the world, this little tree will rise to be- come king, not because of a gentle existence, but because its crown was forged in the fires of hardship. Each evening as the sun fades behind the moun- tain, this king will bathe in the echoing glow of fallen empires. Shane Davila is a landscape photographer and nature writer living in Boise. By com- bining photography and writing he pro- motes the renewing qualities of nature while promoting her well-being.
From Nature’s Journal wisdom from a future forest king
story and photo by SHANE DAVILA
Sitting in quiet solitude, I watch the tops of pine trees glisten as the sun’s fading light caresses them once more before disappearing behind mountain peaks. The gentle lapping of water against the shoreline fades into stillness. A gen- tle breeze dancing within grasses dissolves into quietude. Each instrument of silence is significant in these final orchestrated moments as the cur- tain of twilight settles over this lake basin stage. In these tranquil moments, I contemplate the brevity of life. My mind loosens its grip on wor- ry as I’m filled with the calming simplicity of presence. In our modern lives, balancing the de-
mands of career and family—while also trying to fit in and understand shifting societal norms— often manifests into stress, anxiety, depression, and the darkness of loneliness. Challenges arise that disrupt our peace, leaving us surrounded by harsh realities that can easily slip into despair. Yet, here, at the edge of a lake in the Seven Dev- ils Wilderness of West Central Idaho, my dog Shadow and I find peaceful reassurance in this stillness as we watch nature’s evening perfor- mance unfold.
what stands in the way becomes the way.” - marcus aurelius, roman emperor
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the lake shore. Groups of hearty folks point excitedly with binoculars and cameras at birds soaring against azure skies or perched on tree branches with “eagle eyes” intently scanning lake water, watching for the flash of a kokanee on the surface. Launching, the eagle drops its wings, stretches its talons and grabs the un- suspecting fish, taking the sushi morsel to a branch for lunch. All this is free for those enthusiastic souls wanting to see the United States’ national bird; a species that teetered on the brink of extinc- tion more than 60 years ago. In 1962, only 417 nesting pairs were found in most of the low- er 48 states—distressing news about the bird adorning the Great Seal and widely con- sidered the national symbol since 1782. The pesticide DDT was largely respon- sible for wholesale extermination of the birds. In 1972, they were listed on the En- dangered Species list. Twenty-three years of extensive work proved successful enough for them to be removed in 1995. The U.S Fish and Wildlife Service esti- mated that in 2020, there were 71,467 nesting pairs in the lower 48. Ten nesting pairs were found in Idaho in 1970, grow- ing to more than 200 in the 2000s.
It was reported that Benjamin Franklin hu- morously proposed that the wild turkey be designated as the national bird because of its unique North American origin. Ultimate- ly, the bald eagle won as the design for the Great Seal in 1776. Thankfully, the bald eagle has been saved from extinction and bestowed national prominence, being officially declared the U.S. national bird in December 2024. Wild turkeys are beautiful birds, but it seems impossible to believe that thousands of peo- ple would annually face the teeth of winter to watch or photograph them like they do bald eagles in 208 country. Truly, it’s a special treat worth savoring.
Wild in Idaho bald eagle celebration
story and photos by TIM CHRISTIE
The cold wind paints cheeks rosy pink, and you’d best have a warm coat, hat and gloves. It’s bald eagle season, drawing thousands of people annually for the spectacle on North Idaho’s Lake Coeur d’Alene in November and December. It’s the “gotta see them again this year” event for locals, and a motel-filling happening for visitors who’ve read and watched travel sto- ries about the hundreds of eagles gathered to feed on spawning freshwater kokanee salmon. Of course, you can find bald eagles year- round throughout 208 country. Rivers like the Snake, Salmon and St. Joe, lakes like Pend Oreille, and smaller waters attract eagles to
hunt and nest. There, you are lucky to see one or more perched on a tree or soaring on ther- mals. All true, but nothing compares to the eagles gathering for the winter smorgasbord of salmon on Lake Coeur d’Alene. A record 409 eagles were counted by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) in 2023; 2024 showed a decline to a mere 284 birds. Weather and food availability influences the number of birds each year. Outside of Alaska, you’re hard pressed to find another place with such concentrations of eagles.
Weekends find vehicles with license plates from as far away as the Midwest parked along
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excitement at fish creek meadows
Now the argument began. Take the gun to protect us from whatever wild creatures might be lurking in the tree line and in the process, render one of Chuck’s legs fairly useless to propel himself through the snow, or leave it in the pickup and throw ourselves at the mercy of the untamed ski course. Despite Chuck’s loud objections at leaving it behind, he was so hampered by it strapped to his leg, he couldn’t get out of the parking lot. So, it got locked in and off we went. The conditions were incredible! The light from the moon was so bright we didn’t need head lamps, and the snow was perfect. After com- pleting a 3-mile loop, we decided to repeat it as we didn’t want the magic to end. I was in the lead and about 1.5 miles into the second round I noticed footprints on the track that we had just skied a little less than an hour earlier, large footprints that turned out to be cougar tracks. If you have ever been in a scenario like that and have the dawning realization that a large predator could at that very moment, be be-
acute increase in sight and hearing, and ex- pletives I will not repeat here.
with snow conditions that weren’t too crusty and icy or too soft and slushy.
Chuck was using expletives of his own, but those were revolving around the fact that I had talked him out of bringing the pistol. Our only form of defense was our flimsy ski poles and my terrible singing voice. The s pectacle we made of ourselves for the next 1.5 miles is embarrassing to recall. We turned our headlamps on, I sang at the top of my lungs, and we flailed our way back to the parking lot. The tracks stayed with us the remainder of the way and we made it back to the parking lot without a cougar encounter. Once safely ensconced in the pickup we de- cided that, since we had lived to tell, we would just check moonlight cross-country skiing off our bucket list!
We had survived Y2K, so finally in February everything lined up and we headed up the mountain with our gear, snacks and hot choc- olate. It didn’t occur to us that the risks of Y2K would pale in comparison to what might be- fall us on the ski hill that night. When we arrived in the parking lot we noticed how differently things looked with the moon- light casting shadows on the mounds of snow and how the ice crystals threw the moonlight around in a disco ball effect as we walked around the pickup getting our gear together. Being from Idaho and intersecting with the great outdoors, we always had a firearm at hand. We discussed the prudence of bringing the pistol along on this outing, and initially I had agreed. Imagine my surprise when we were all geared up and ready to go when I saw the firearm of choice for Chuck that night was the .44 Colt Revolver with the 8-inch barrel. Chuck was not a tall man and after securing it to his waist to accommodate his clothing, the barrel hung so low that it crossed his knee joint, effective- ly acting as a leg splint.
by CARRIE COEN
As misadventure stories go, this isn’t as much a misadventure, as it is a potential misadven- ture, but one that caused a fair amount of excitement. It has been told many times over the years. In the fall of 1999, my husband Chuck and I had endeavored to get back into shape, so we began regularly working out on the Nor- dicTrack in preparation for getting out every weekend to cross country ski once the course was open. Living in Grangeville at the time, Fish Creek Meadows Nordic ski area was eas- ily accessible and affordable. It was a 15-min- ute drive from our home and was designed in a series of concentric loops that were 1, 3, 5 and 7 miles in length. As that winter season progressed and we were feeling more confident about our abili- ties and more comfortable with the layout of the course, we began looking for the align- ment of conditions that would be perfect for going on a moonlight ski date. It would need to be a full moon, clear night, not too cold
hind you waiting to pounce, you know the symptoms: dry mouth, goosebumps, shortness of breath,
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Morning Stroll Photo by Connie McClaran
Winter Companions photo essay, see page 39
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