IDAHO: A Climbing Guide

Category: Climbing Clubs

The Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club By Ray Brooks

I guess we were the Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club (DFC&FC) before anyone, including us, knew. The little guy in the back of my mind liked the way the words fit together. Until the name popped into my head we were simply a group of like-minded climbers who lacked an identifying name. However, on a fateful morning in the mountains of Idaho, adversity transformed us from a nameless, ragged band of climbers into an organization that would accomplish endless deeds of climbing derring-do.

The fateful day was a hot one in late July 1970. We were hiking into Mount Regan above Sawtooth Lake. Our packs were heavy, each with 60-70 pounds of climbing and camping gear. In addition to the heat, it was a humid and windless morning. We were sweating hard and were being chased mercilessly by a full-strength squadron of horseflies.

Flies dive-bombed us incessantly, trying to break through the curtain of insect repellent we had drenched ourselves with. They grew in numbers, until it was difficult to see the sun through the voracious fly swarm above our heads. Frenzied buzzing horseflies became noisily trapped in our long hair and select kamikaze flies would creep between our sweaty fingers to inflict amazingly painful bites.

It was starting to look like we might become the first known case of climbers eaten by flies when suddenly all the horseflies dipped their wings, did a double roll and turned tail. They flew off down-canyon–a roaring cloud of instant misery. The reason for their retreat stood by the trail snarling evilly, shovel in hand. Even horseflies don’t mess with SMOKEY THE BEAR!! Of course, a sudden breeze might have helped too.

We had arrived at the Wilderness Boundary! There beside the plywood Smokey was an 8-foot tall, solid redwood sign proclaiming:

ENTERING SAWTOOTH WILDERNESS AREA
CHALLIS NATIONAL FOREST
PLEASE REGISTER FOR YOUR OWN
PROTECTION!

We had some fun filling out the overly-detailed registration form, but then none of us wanted to put our name on it as group leader. In a moment of inspiration, I exclaimed “Let’s call ourselves the Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club” and, since I thought of it, I get to be manager.

We had elections on the spot and Gordon chose to be Social Chairman, Harry Bowron, Treasurer, and Joe Fox, Member at Large. The next day we climbed Mount Regan (which was somewhat challenging) and had a great time. Our mountain fun was just starting. We never had scheduled meetings or dues but, in order to become a member, you had to go climbing with another member. Of course Gordon took his duties as Social Chairman seriously. He was soon adding females to our club. I must admit to being jealous of Gordon’s social skills in the 1970s and 1980s. His girlfriends were always attractive, assertive and intelligent. Gordon was a “babe-magnet” of the first magnitude. Thus, he was the perfect Social Chairman.

The rest is history, and we did climb Mount Regan the next day.

Gordon Williams on a Tyrolean Traverse near the summit of Mount Regan. Note the vintage Goldline rope.

After our spur of the moment start in July 1970, we never had regularly scheduled meetings, but we enjoyed a 4th of July group outing in the Pioneer Range and another outing in 1971, with about 20 friends attending. For the most part, DFC&FC members climbed together in small groups.

A Gordon Williams photo of most of the 1970 party group. I’m at the left in the front row.

In the early 1970s, Idaho mountaineering was a different world than now. It was a world without good USGS maps, climbing guidebooks, cell phones, GPS devices, an internet to access for climbing information and satellite rescue beacons. Thus, we suffered considerable obstacles to safe and sane mountaineering, but let me assure you, rock climbing and mountaineering in Idaho was a helluva lot more adventurous and a lot more fun then than it is now. Amazingly, although some of our climbing students suffered long scary slides on steep snow slopes, there are no serious climbing injuries or deaths in the history of the DFC&FC.

In keeping with the local ethics of Sawtooth climbing which sought to keep the Sawtooth Range unpublicized, club members did not (for the most part) publish their climbing exploits. Still, members made some impressive ascents and all of us were actively invested in exploring the nearby mountains.

In the early 1970s, Gordon Williams was instrumental in leading groups which pushed the limits of Winter climbing in the Sawtooth Range. There were some setbacks, but under Gordon’s leadership, there were successes. The two most notable Winter first ascents were the Finger of Fate and Mount Heyburn.

Harry Bowron and I completed several notable new routes in 1971 and 1972 in the Sawtooth Mountains, including two new routes to the summit block of Big Baron Spire and a new route on the South Side of Warbonnet. Contrary to local ethics, I did publish an account of a new route I achieved with Mike Paine and Jennifer Jones on Elephant’s Perch in 1967. My ethical breach insured that no other climbers would climb the same route and claim the glory of a first ascent on the biggest wall in the Sawtooths.

Here’s a group of us at our 4th of July 1971 gathering. Gordon is at left in the back row. Others pictured include William Michael Bird, Gordon K. Williams, Ray Brooks, Danny Bell, Vicki Smith and Randy Felts.

The only tangible achievement of the DFC&FC was to restore Pioneer Cabin, which sits on a high ridge east of Sun Valley adjacent to the high peaks of the Pioneer Range, in 1972 and 1973. I was in Moscow, Idaho at the time and had nothing to do with the project. Credit for the rehabilitation goes to Gordon Williams, Robert Ketchum, Chris Puchner and others who donated materials, helicopter time and labor.

Gordon Williams was insistent on painting our club slogan: “The higher you get, the higher you get” on the roof. Somehow, that painted slogan survives on the roof of Pioneer Cabin to this day. Here’s a link to an Idaho Public TV article on it: Pioneer Cabin

Long-term club member John Platt recalls another club slogan he heard while skiing potential avalanche terrain into the Finger of Fate in 1972. “Stay High & Spaced Out.” A high-end outdoor magazine, Adventure Journal, published an article on Pioneer Cabin and the DFC&FC link in their second issue in 2018.

After a high-point with the Pioneer Cabin restoration, the DFC&FC never managed to hold more scheduled events. Nevertheless, members continued to use the name on wilderness registration forms and an informal competition to achieve the most yearly “back-offs” from major rock climbing routes or mountain peaks, persisted into this century. We of the DFC&FC enjoyed fiascos. In the era before decent USGS maps, climbing guidebooks, cell phones, GPS devices, an internet to access for climbing information and satellite rescue beacons, success on routes was not assured and failures were cherished.

In 2001, Gordon Williams hosted a 30th Anniversary party for a surprising number of DFC&FC members. I recall around 20 attendees, including one who flew in from Alaska for the occasion.

In 2012 Matt Leidecker interviewed Gordon Williams, Jacques Bordeleau and me for historical information on notable climbs DFC&FC members had achieved in the Sawtooth Mountains. Leidecker included several paragraphs recounting the club’s history in his fine hiking guide “Exploring The Sawtooths.”

Matt summed up the DFC&FC club achievements in the Sawtooths with a Gordon Williams quote: “I got to thinking what was the shining achievement of our time in the Sawtooths and I came to the conclusion that it was simply to have a good adventure. Once you learn how to do that, you can keep doing it forever.”

DFC&FC members Chris Puchner, Gordon Williams and Mark Sheehan retreating from their first Winter attempt to climb Mount Heyburn. Jacques Bordeleau Photo

August 18, 2019
1948 Idaho Statesman Article: Here’s a Club for You to Join But It’s A Rough Organization

[Editor’s Note: This September 13, 1948 article was referenced on Page 18 of the book in the Mountaineering History Section. The name “Thatuna Hills” appears in the article. This name, which was not adopted by later map makers, refers to a western extension of the Bitterroot Mountains that now is considered the Northern Clearwater Mountains.]

THE LION OF IDAHO, Mount Borah (the highest mountain in the state), is a favorite of Gem state mountain climbers. Rising 12,655 feet, the granite crag is often cloud-draped. Mount Borah is part of the Pahsimeroi Mountains and is in Custer County in the Lemhi National Forest. The photograph was taken from the Statesman’s airplane, Early Bird Number Four. Inset left shows a pole on the summit of Borah on August 18th with a 3-inch layer of rime deposited by cool, moisture-bearing wind. The temperature in mid-Summer rises but little above freezing. Right inset: looking down the other side of Mount Borah discloses a desolate, rugged, rocky and lifeless mass of granite. The dotted arrow shows the route used by several groups of mountain climbers in reaching the summit of Idaho’s highest peak.

By Jack Anderson

Wanna join a club? There’s an exclusive organization which will almost guarantee less than 100 members by 1960. All you have to do to join is climb to the top of a little heap of granite in the middle of Idaho’s rugged area and sign the register atop Castle Peak. There won’t be many names, probably less than 10, on the register. Why climb a mountain? This question is asked to only a handful of Idaho residents, who each Summer go stomping up and down rocky peaks in the Gem state, much to the bewilderment of the majority of inhabitants.

As an old saw goes, “You don’t have to be crazy, but . . .” Mountain climbers can probably advance a multitude of reasons for their breath-taking hobby. Adventure, danger, artistic ideals, exercise, attainment of skill–all could be bona fide reasons for notching one’s way up and down steep rocky hills. In no state of the union does such a minority group have as vast a field to pursue their reckless hobby. Idaho from the play slopes of its Panhandle to the craggy juts of the Southeast is a series of mountain ranges interspersed with valleys and streams.

In the north, the Cabinet Mountains form a purple backdrop for play and fishing on mountain lakes. The Coeur d’Alenes, the Beaverhead Mountains and the Bitterroot Mountains form the eastern boundaries. The Bear River Range, the Blackfoot Range, the Little Lost River Range, the Pahsimeroi Mountains, the Salmon River Range, the Seven Devils, the Thatuna Hills and the Sawtooths round out the mountain fastness.

The Sawtooths are known as the “American Alps” and aside from evoking “oohs” and “ahs” from tourists, provide the mountain climber with considerable territory. Many of the Sawtooths have never seen the shoe of man atop their snow-locked peaks. In the heart of the Sawtooths, the country is upended. From the summit of Mount Hyndman, a portion of weird country known as the “Devil’s Bedstead” may be seen. Jagged quartz obelisks, jumbled, crumbled, interlaced, present a foreboding warning to travelers. It looks as if Nature took the remnants of orderly creation and threw them in a heap.

Who climbs mountains? Many perhaps seriously believe that only escapees from mental institutions would consider climbing to the top of a granite spire and then turning right around and inching back to terra firma level.

Strangely enough, almost anyone can do it and all occupations have contributed to the ranks of intrepid mountain conquerors in Idaho. A well-known priest has climbed some of Idaho’s roughest pinnacles and several bold damsels have journeyed up lesser peaks.

Mountaineering, as seen in the movies, consists of dangling out over space, supported by a thin strand of nylon, vainly swiping at a nearby rock with a pick axe. Actually, much fine climbing can be done with little more than a pair of tennis shoes, stout wind, and a determination to get to the top.

The lion of Idaho, Mount Borah (12,688 feet up to the topmost point), is a stern-looking, starkly impressive crag of grey granite. It rises in insular majesty from the sage-dotted plains of the Little Lost River Valley. Yet it can be climbed in a day with no more equipment than good tennis shoes, warm clothes and a camera for proof. The azure-scraping rocky peak is often cloud-draped and subject to squallish Summer storms and lashing lightning. On a clear day, Borah is a full day’s work but climbable.

In the early days, Mount Hyndman (near Hailey) was considered by settlers to be the highest hill in the state. Recent topographical measurements give Borah the edge by about 150 feet. Hyndman is another boot hill or even a tennis shoe Teton for the average man. However, it is a rough 10-mile walk from car to summit, and vice versa, so most leisurely hill toppers take it as an overnighter. Boulder Mountain, Silver Peak, and Mount McCaleb are all climbs for the amateur with no fancy equipment.

Farther into the canyons (where somber shadows live) rise mountains which have given some of the yodeling Swiss a few bad moments, and caused many to go home empty-sighted of mountain-top views. The Finger of Fate, a needle-like point of non-imposing altitude, baffled a Boston, Massachusetts mountain climbing couple for an entire Summer. They finally gave up and went home to write a book about Idaho mountains. Many of the Alp-type mountains (termed “horn” mountains) have precipitous sides which can be traversed only by “graveling.” Using ropes, spiked shoes and pitons is required on many Idaho mountains.

What’s up there? At the top pf some mountains will be found a pole and a stout iron box. Inside the water-proof container will be a register which the successful sign for posterity and relate the travails of their upward journey. An occasional hawk screams at the violation of his solitude. Trees show the battle with the elements and often have the bark shorn off the windward side from the battering of hailstones and buffeting gales. Lightning scars, snow slides and other examples of nature’s violence in the eons of chipping down the mountains are to be seen.

Caution is the watchword in mountain climbing and the violator seldom gets another chance. An experienced woman climber fell from the cliff-edge of Mount Leatherman nearly 1,000 feet to her death and several other lives have been lost. Although there is no official Idaho mountain climbing club, a group of Oregon mountaineers have formed the Mazamas Club and make mass jaunts up northwest peaks, placing the register boxes for one of the most exclusive clubs in the world.

August 26, 2018
Robert Fulton

Robert Fulton was an active Idaho climber in the 1930s. Robert was was fascinated with Mount Borah and wrote several articles chronicling the peak’s early climbing history. His 1935 article in the Idaho Statesman covering his second ascent of the peak (discussed on Page 17 of the book) is set out below.

A TRIP TO THE TOP OF IDAHO

By Robert Fulton

The opening paragraph of a recent biography of a great man or our day states: “During every session of Congress since 1907, a certain magnificent and mysterious man has dominated the Senate chamber even as a certain high, rugged mountain dominates the jagged skyline back home in Idaho.”

The man referred to, of course, is Senator Borah, and the high mountain mentioned is Borah Peak. Today there are being organized “Borah for President” clubs. To complete the author’s metaphor of the first paragraph, I want to tell you of another club: The “Borah Mountain” Club. The membership fee includes $2 or $3 worth of good shoe leather and a generous helping of ambition and energy. This writer claims right of “potential candidate for president” of the Club by virtue of having twice paid the fees mentioned.

In August 1930, Mr. Ray Odle (then of Fort Collins, Colorado) and I deposited the first register in the rock cairn at the summit of Borah Peak. Before 1930, even before recognized as Idaho’s highest, several men had ascended the mountain. Among these are Clyde Jenkins of Twin Falls, Idaho; Norman Wilson from some place in Califonia; and Will Bascom, well-known taxidermist from Mackay, Idaho.

Twenty Climb Peak

Since we established the register in 1930, 20 individuals have accepted the rocky challenge of Borah Peak and have conquered her. During the Summer of 1934, a new government register was placed under the cairn. This was done by the United States Geological Survey group. This last Summer I was working on the German H. Ranch a few miles from Borah Peak. Three of us from the German H. (David Fulton, Fred Strasser of Texas and I) and Francis Smith, representing the Al West Ranch at Dickey, decided to climb the mountain. We selected Sunday, August 25th as the day for the trial.

After an early breakfast at the ranch, we drove to the foothills in an auto. We arrived at timberline soon after 10 o’clock. We found quantities of scattered dead wood just above the timber and, as the Wind was blowing up the mountainside, we decided to build a small signal fire for those at the ranch to see. We rested for several minutes until the fire died before renewing the battle. A few hundred feet above timberline, we reached the top of a long horseshoe-shaped ridge, inclining ever upward and eventually leading to the summit.

Those who have viewed the western face of Borah peak will probably remember this ridge as one of the distinguishing features of the mountain. Many will remember this, as the state highway between Mackay and Challis presents many interesting and inspiring views of this side. This ridge starts far below timberline (heading south) and, after ascending a thousand feet or more above timber, it doubles completely back to the north forming the South Slope of the peak. Within this horseshoe curve is a mighty mountain canyon varying in depth from hundreds of feet on the West Rim to more than 2,000 feet on the east or mountain side of the ridge. This ridge presents a less precipitous trail to follow than if one endeavored to climb directly up the mountain from the North Slope.

We arrived at the top of the ridge rather abruptly and, just as abruptly, the entire bulk of Borah Peak was thrown into bold relief against the morning sky. However, it still seemed far above.

From the top of the ridge, the climbing is often more difficult. There are frequent, almost perpendicular, cliffs to overcome. It is necessary to climb with hands as well as with feet. For this reason, the prospective climber should wear leather gloves.

See Mountain Sheep

Far down the ridge to the right of us, we saw white dots. Mountain sheep? I aimed a revolver high over them and fired. They moved. Convinced that here was real wild game, we planned to get close enough for a shot at them with a camera. We proceeded quietly and soon, when going over the top of a small ridge, we saw (close-up) several head of the same creatures. No, not mountain sheep, just domestic sheep. We figured that they must be lost members of some band and decided to take them home with us on the return.

After more weary minutes that stretched into an hour and then another half, we had rounded the bend of our horseshoe ridge and there opened up (to the right of us) another valley. It was higher, narrower and more mountainous than the one we had left early in the morning. It was dotted here and there with small glacial lakes and high spots of snow. It was the Little Lost River Valley. It is to the east of Borah Peak.

1000 Feet to Go

We had reached the base of the peak itself with only a thousand feet or so of climbing left. Far below us nestled close against the overhanging cliffs was an emerald lake and straight above us towered the elusive summit. We reached the top four hours and 20 minutes after leaving the car. Francis and David were ahead of Fred and me. Fred and I had stopped once too often to rest than had the other two.

It was with a feeling of relief that we saw them contentedly sunning on the windless side of the peak. We joined them in a moment and sprawled immediately to rest. Fred saw a rather large bulky package in David’s hand. “What’s in it?” he asked. “My lunch” said David. “No, I carried yours and mine.” Fred assured him, showing both lunches. Francis glanced at the package and burst into laughter.

Lunch in the Skies

We all questioned him but he could not talk. Instead he tore a hole in the package exhibiting a shirt, a pair of gloves and a pair of socks which he had bought the to the top, not aware of what it contained. We ate lunch on top–2 sandwiches each. As we finished the last crumbs, I believe we must all have been thinking the same thing: “Just wait till supper.”

We read through both registers. The following people have stood on top of Idaho since August 31, 1930:

Roy J. Davis, Pocatello, Idaho. This presents rather an interesting coincidence. I met Davis back in April 1931, at a YMCA gathering at Gooding College. Doctor Davis accompanied the U. of I. southern branch delegation and he was my room guest during that time. Finding his name on top of Borah Peak was the first I had seen it since 1931. R.C. Thoma, C. J. Henecheid, C. V. Hockaday (all of Rupert) were registered, Miriam E. Underhill and Robert M. Underhill of Boston, Massachusetts.

These latter two gentlemen (sic) are famous mountain climbers and they hold the time record for climbing Borah Peak in four hours under adverse conditions. The following men were members of the U. S. Geological Survey party who were engaged in mapping the Borah quadrangle in the Summer of 1934: Lester C. Walker, Twin Falls; Spotty Bruce, Challis; Lyman Marden, Boise; Lee Morrisson, Sacramento; Fred Hayford, Boise; William Eskeldson, Boise; James Wilson, no address given; E. J. Hughes, Portland; and A. H. Marshall, Vancouver, Washington.

“A Stiff Workout”

I talked with these men after they had descended the mountain. They have been to the top of many high mountains in the western states, including our once “highest” Hyndman Peak. They stated that Borah offers a stiffer workout than does the average mountain. Ray Odle (Fort Collins, Colorado) had previously been to the summit of the famous Long’s Peak of his home state. His reaction was that for primitive mountain grandeur, Borah peak outclasses the scenic Colorado attraction.

Two members at least of our party can boast second-best time by having reached the summit in 4 hours and 20 minutes. They are Francis Smith of Darlington and David Fulton of Eden. Fred Strasser of El Paso, Texas and I brought up the rear guard some 15 minutes later. This completes the Borah Mountain Club’s roll call.

Standing on top or the rock cairn, Fred waved his arm over the vast expanse of mountains and valleys and said, “It’s all mine.” We beat him out of most of it, however, before night. It is difficult to say exactly how far one can see from the top. There are two fairly distinct ranges of mountains running north and south far to the east. The second range is the Continental Divide, which marks the boundary of Montana. To the south, the big Blackfoot Butte and the Albion Mountains can easily be distinguished. To the north and west, the Salmon River Mountains and the Sawtooth peaks of Stanley Basin are scattered far below. The scenic grandeur stretching out in every direction cannot be described. It can only be witnessed.

Sheep Left Behind

We left the top after an hour and a half. On the way down, Francis Smith asked us what we intended to do about our sheep. We were all rather tired and did not feel spry enough to chase these woolies down the mountainside, but Fred was the first one to think of a credible way to back out. He stated that he had about decided to leave his until next year when there would be twice as many. This suggestion seemed very reasonable and we all subscribed to it.

We reached the car eight hours and five minutes after leaving and, with razor-sharp appetites, we returned to the ranches. The next day I asked Fred what he thought of Borah Peak. In his easy Texas droll he responded, “Sometime I may even ‘discuss’ climbing it again.” The satisfaction it gives one to conquer this huge pile of granite is worth many times the investment of time and energy required and, whether he ever wishes to return or not, I am sure that no one will regret having once made the climb.

August 23, 2018
Iowa Mountaineers

The Iowa Mountaineers climbing club was a major player in the in early Sawtooth Range exploration. The club was founded by John and Ede Ebert in 1940, as the University of Iowa Mountaineering Club. The club later incorporated as a not-for-profit Iowa corporation and became a major force in sponsoring climber education and expeditions throughout the world.

Schwartz Pinnacle, Harriets Pinnacle, Mount Bruce, Mount Ebert, the Elephants Perch and, of course, Mount Iowa all owe their names to the Iowa Mountaineers. You can read about the Club’s Sawtooth explorations and first ascents on Page 19 of the book as well as in numerous entries in the Sawtooth Range chapter. A 2018 article in the University of Iowa Alumni magazine provides a good history of the Club: Mountain Roots by Josh O’Leary.

Photo courtesy of the University of Iowa Alumni Magazine and the Ebert Family.

This is the front page from a 1987 brochure advertising the club’s upcoming climbing school in the Sawtooth Range.

Other Resources

Iowa Mountaineers, Inc. website.

theIowaMountaineers.blogspot

March 14, 2018
EE DA HOW Mountaineers

The EE DA HOW Mountaineers was a both a climbing group from Eastern Idaho formed by Lyman Dye, Art Barnes and Wayne Boyer and Lyman’s guide service. They were responsible for first ascents and putting up numerous first ascents in the Lost River Range from the late 1950s into the 1970s. Lyman and Wayne were still climbing in their 80s when they scaled Mount Borah. Their exploits are documented in the book where you will find their first ascents listed. Also, see Bob Boyles’ article covering the group’s first ascent of the East Face of Borah.

EE DA HOW Mountaineers Wayne Boyer and Lyman Dye with the col and Northeast Ridge of Mount Borah in the background. Lyman Dye Photo

Art Barnes on the East Face of Mount Borah. Lyman Dye Photo

January 16, 2016
Lost River Climbers

Back in the 1970s when I started to climb, it seemed as though every climber was associated with some sort of climbing club. Some of these clubs were organized with large memberships and others were amorphous amalgamations of small groups of climbers who came up with a club name when they signed a register, but after a climb or several climbing seasons never proceeded to create a formal entity. The Lost River Climbers was derived from this tradition. This club had no legal formation, no dues and no officers. To join the club all a person had to do was to climb Hawley Mountain in the Hawley Mountains under a Full Moon in June, July or August.

In 1980, I was running Young Adult Conservation Corps and my crew spent two years from March to November building fences and other conservation projects. We had our camp along Wet Creek on the North Side of Hawley Mountain, a few miles west of Clyde, Idaho (a town that has since disappeared). Every day, we looked at that mountain. Although we worked hard, the crew kept asking if we could climb the peak. So one night in June, the crew and I climbed the peak under a Full Moon and the Lost River Climbers Club was born.

The next year, I had a different crew and that crew also found the lure of Hawley Mountain irresistible and we once again climbed the peak under another Full Moon.

The Lost River Climbers T-shirt. Accept no such substitutes.

In 1980, there wasn’t much in Clyde, Idaho other than a one-room schoolhouse that was still in use. For me, Clyde was the center of the Lost River Country and so it became the home of the Lost River Climbers.

There was a one-room schoolhouse holding classes in Clyde until the mid-80s.

January 24, 2015