IDAHO: A Climbing Guide

Tag: 1940s

FIFTY YEARS OF SAWTOOTH CLIMBING 1934-1984 By Dave Bingham

When Robert and Miriam Underhill first gazed from the top of Galena Summit in Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness, before them stretched a wild mountain panorama never before seen by mountaineers. It was 1934 and in those days the road past the future site of Sun Valley to the summit was little more than a rutted sheep wagon track. Approaching the remote and rugged central Idaho mountains was a long, slow trip, but the Underhills were keenly aware of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity awaiting them in the Sawtooths.

The educated and well-to-do Underhill was hardly a newcomer to mountaineering. He had an impressive resume of ascents in the Alps to his credit, and is generally regarded as one of America’s most influential early climbers. As editor of the outdoor journal “Appalachia”, Underhill spread his enthusiasm and knowledge of technical climbing through the pages of his journal and on his frequent climbing trips to the Rockies and the Canadian mountains.

Underhill became “a driving force” in Wyoming’s Teton Range, establishing the bold North Ridge route on the Grand Teton in 1931, a climb that was considered the most difficult in the country at the time. Having made his mark on the well-trodden Tetons, the insightful Underhill ventured north to the unexplored Sawtooths, lured perhaps by rumors of virgin peaks and soaring rock towers.

After a long journey, Robert and his wife Miriam finally made their way to the glacially- sculpted Sawtooth Valley, where they recruited local homesteader and mountain-lover Dave Williams to serve as outfitter and guide. In a few short weeks, the three adventurers pioneered the first ascents of over twenty of the Sawtooths highest peaks, including Mt. Thompson [10,759 feet] and the formidable Mt. Heyburn [10,229 feet].

Williams turned out to be not only a fine companion but quite an able cragsman who reportedly preferred to climb the more difficult pitches barefoot! Although they usually took the easiest route up the peaks, their pioneering efforts and sheer quantity of first ascents stands out as a fine accomplishment of rare opportunity.

Returning to work as editor of “Appalacia”, Underhill wrote of the Sawtooths: “I think there is quite a lot to engage the interest of the rock climber…“ and “two of the summits we could not master, nor do I believe that they are surmountable except by throwing a rope since they are sheer monoliths.” Underhill also reported “Rock towers of the genuine Chamonix aiguille type, each several hundred feet high which would provide magnificent ascents if they could be climbed at all.”

The situation in the 1930’s was a far cry from today, yet it seems the motives of the early climbers haven’t changed much over the years. When L.G. Darling made a trip to the Sawtooths in 1940 he commented, “we all agreed on two very important points: we all wanted to get to the top of Mt. Heyburn and we all liked to eat.”

The range was mostly quiet for several years following the Underhills visit, and World War II put a stop to what little climbing activity there was. Two notable Teton climbers (Dick and Jack Durrance) did manage a quick visit in 1940, to attempt the higher of the two “aiguilles“ described by Underhill. They reportedly came close to making the summit but were turned back by oncoming darkness.

It wasn’t until 1946 that a group of Iowa Mountaineers, guided by Teton hardman Paul Petzolt, made any significant ascents. On the club outing, they succeeded in a number of climbs including a landmark ascent of one of the Sawtooths most-ominous towers, the spectacular Warbonnet Peak. After some difficulty in finding a feasible route from the west side, the group of six (with Petzolt and Bill Echo in the lead) made the top via an exposed summit ridge [Class 5.6].

The ascent of Warbonnet was an ambitious project for the day. A later climber described the final pitch like this: “The sheer walls on either side of the rooftop overhang menacingly into nothingness below. Holds are a bare minimum and piton cracks zero.” The first ascent party also wrote that Warbonnet “should be classified with the few really difficult summits in this country.“

Warbonnet is located in the rugged heart of the Sawtooths, surrounded by numerous peaks and smaller rock towers beyond the abilities of the Iowa Mountaineers. The group did name several peaks though, including “Fishhook Tower“, “La Fiama”, and a monolithic peak they dubbed “Old Smoothie”. Of the latter they wrote: “One of the most striking rock pinnacles in the country; a smooth spire of granite topped by an obelisk that has an overhang on all four sides”.

In those days, pitons were just beginning to gain wide acceptance, and aid climbing was even considered something of a cheat. Modern aid techniques were unknown, so when Petzolt did a new route on Mount Heyburn using a controversial two-rope tension system, it was heralded as “the latest development in technical climbing.”

Following their 1947 Sawtooth outing, the Iowa Mountaineers devoted several articles on the range in their annual club journal. There were stunning photos of the spires in the Warbonnet area and maps of their approaches. The word on the Sawtooths was out and spreading among the country’s top climbers. It was now only a matter of time before the arrival of Fred Beckey.

In 1949, Beckey descended on the Sawtooths. In typical fashion, Beckey eliminated dozens of aesthetic and difficult routes from his first ascent list. Ruthlessly exploring nearly every corner of the range, Beckey brought with him a level of energy and ability far above the mere mortals who came before.

Unlike many of his conservative predecessors, he used pitons, bolts, and direct aid liberally. On his first ascent of “Old Smoothie“, Beckey surmounted the flawless summit block with a 22-bolt ladder! This marathon drilling session is unequaled in the range and possibly unrepeated due to removed bolts.

A lot has been said about the poor quality of Sawtooth granite. At its best, the stone is as good as any in the world, while much of the rock, especially on the easier routes, is decomposing and gravelly. The “ball bearing“ granite can certainly be discouraging and has been described as having a texture “more like that of a stale donut.” But the abundance of bad rock did little to deter Beckey, who on his ascent of Underhill’s “Grand Aiguille“ reportedly drove his aid pitons directly into the rock!

In the Sawtooths as elsewhere, Beckey preferred not to climb any route that was not a first ascent. The following story, told by one of Fred’s Sawtooth partners, Louis Stur, illustrates: “We were climbing a route on a little tower called Silicon Peak, near Warbonnet. We assumed that the route was a first ascent but as I was leading the last pitch, probably not more than 30 feet from the summit, when I discovered a piton. I had to call down to Fred and Jim Ball and say, Gentlemen, I’m sorry to say but I’ve found a piton! Beckey got absolutely furious! He said “You should have known this peak had been climbed! You guys are locals! So Fred wouldn’t go on to the top, he just announced “We’re going down.”

As it turned out, they had actually made the first ascent of a new route, a route that joined Colorado climber Harvey Carter’s first ascent route just short of the summit. Carter had come to the Sawtooths in 1956 with a returning group of Iowa Mountaineers. The outing that year included such noteworthy climbers as Herb and Jan Conn, who pioneered routes in New Hampshire and in the Needles of South Dakota. Also on the team were Joe and Paul Stettner, the “working class climbers” who made important explorations on Colorado’s East Face of Longs Peak.

Carter and a partner hiked into the pristine Baron Lakes drainage, where they made the ascent on Silicon Peak and several other smaller towers. The rest of the group kept busy doing repeat ascents in the Heyburn and Thompson areas, plus a first ascent of the unusually-shaped Chockstone Peak. Still, the outing was essentially a pleasure trip and did little to advance local standards.

Around the same time, skier-climber types, who worked at the nearby ski resort of Sun Valley, began to establish more difficult routes on the peaks. Louis Stur, a charming native Hungarian and now manager of the Sun Valley lodge, was one of the most active. Unaware of any prior mountaineering activity, Stur and friends re-explored the range and made numerous ascents. In 1958, Stur established a route on Mt. Heyburn that has since become the most popular route on the mountain due to its relatively high-quality rock. Louis also teamed up with Beckey on several occasions until the time when Beckey, according to Stur, “went on to bigger and better things.”

It was the summer of 1963 when Beckey did just that. Together with Steve Marts and Herb Swedlund, Beckey tackled the most formidable wall in the Sawtooths: a unique Yosemite-like face known as the “Elephant’s Perch.” This 1,200-foot wall was climbed with much aid and with ropes fixed over nearly the entire route. It was the first Grade V in the range, and represented a giant leap in scope and technical difficulty over any other Sawtooth peak. So despite the fixed ropes and several bolts, the route stands as a fine achievement, not far from the standards being set in comfortable Yosemite, yet in a remote wilderness setting. A typical Beckey route, it follows a beautiful natural line up the highest part of the face. The grade, also typically Beckey, is Class 5.8/A2, of course.

A couple years later, in 1965, the Iowa Mountaineers returned for a third time. Unlike on their previous visits, the mountaineers placed their base camp at the far end of Redfish Lake, where access to the peaks was much better. Hans Gmoser, an Austrian guide living in Canada, was hired and led a number of new routes out of Redfish Creek. Among these was the Eagle Perch, a classic rock tower that Gmoser likened to the Piz Badile in the Alps.

Teaming up with Bill Echo and others, Gmoser made another first: an airy aid climb up the intimidating pillar of Flatrock Needle. Still, nothing was done that equaled Beckey’s route on the Elephant’s Perch. Interestingly, the group even reported in their journal that they had made the first ascent of the Perch that year, via a scramble up the northwest slopes!

Beckey returned to the Sawtooths several more times over the years, always adding new routes. Louis Stur, with various partners, circled Warbonnet with routes. But with the majority of peaks and spires having been climbed, the scene was stagnating. The time had come for new blood in the Sawtooths and a new concept of what climbing was all about.

It was the late 1960’s, and California’s Yosemite Valley was the breeding ground for a host of new ideas, energy, and equipment. Somehow, a few stray Yosemite climbers found their way to Idaho where their influence took root. No longer interested in peak-bagging, the new arrivals focused their attention on the most Yosemite-like feature in the range: the Elephant’s Perch.

Gordon Webster had moved to Sun Valley and was one of the first of the Yosemite clan to recognize the possibilities in the Sawtooths. In California, Webster had established a number of fine free climbs in the Valley and elsewhere, including the first ascent of the classic “Travelers Buttress” [Class 5.9] at Lovers Leap.

In 1968, Yosemite guidebook author Steve Roper teamed up with Webster for a trip to the Elephant’s Perch. They chose a bold line on the East Face, a clean five hundred foot high dihedral they named “the Sunrise Book” [A3+]. Over the next two summers, Gordon and friends established two more Grade V routes on the main wall and a few shorter lines. One of Websters partners was Rob Kiessel, who went on to partake in the first winter ascent of the Northwest Face of Half Dome, and later became head coach of the U.S. National Nordic Ski Team. Nut protection was just catching on when Jeff Lowe and Dick Dorworth made a “clean” ascent of the Beckey Route, which had required 110 piton on the first ascent.

It should be noted that although the rock type and actual climbing on the Perch was similar to that in Yosemite, the remote wilderness setting made the climbing far more committing and serious. No trails lead to the wall and climbers were forced to traverse the 5-mile Redfish Lake by boat, follow the creek for a few more miles, and finally haul their loads up 1,500 feet of rock slabs and talus slopes. Any effort on the Perch entailed a multi-day effort with no hope of rescue in case of a mishap.

Nonetheless, more and more climbers took up residence in the Sun Valley area and the list of routes on the Perch steadily grew. Other smaller crags were also explored, purely for their free-climbing potential.

It was not until 1976, however, that the first Class 5.10 came to the Sawtooths. That summer, two young climbers (Jeff Hall and Jim Catlin) visited the Perch, establishing two major routes on the main wall. “Myopia” and “Hook and Ladder” both required sophisticated aid techniques as well as hard free climbing. Tragically, Jeff Hall was killed in Yosemite a few years later in a climbing accident.

The following year (1977) marked the arrival of a young thrillseeker from Georgia who was to become the Perch’s most prolific route developer. Reid Dowdle had spent several summers in Yosemite, the Tetons and elsewhere, working the usual odd jobs to support his climbing and skiing habits. When Dowdle discovered the Sawtooths and the great backcountry skiing to be had in the winter months, he was hooked. He decided to make Sun Valley/Ketchum his home.

Since then, Dowdle has repeated all of the Perch’s established routes and added at least seven others. In his characteristic independent manner, Reid would haul loads of food and climbing gear up to a bivouac at the base of the rock, waiting for the outside chance that someone would show up needing a partner. If no one showed, Dowdle would simply rope solo his chosen Grade V. Other local climbers made their mark on the Sawtooths, although often on shorter routes of moderate difficulty. Olympic downhill skier Pete Patterson was active and, with four time “Survival of the Fittest“ contest winner Kevin Swigert, climbed several off-the-beaten-path routes.

Jeff Lowe returned in 1981, enlisting Swigert for a new route on the North Face of Warbonnet Peak. Their “Black Crystal Route” has several Class 5.10 pitches followed by a free version of Beckey’s bolt ladder on the summit block at Class 5.11+. Although the climb was considerably harder than anything done before, it remained an isolated incident. The major new route activity was still firmly dominated by Dowdle and friends. But just when Dowdle’s dominance seemed assured, a pair of talented and aggressive hotshots from the east arrived to stir things up.

Honed and psyched, Jeff Gruenburg and Gene Smith hit the Perch intent on, in their words, “rape and pillage.” Armed with cheap Chablis, strong fingers, and strict Shawangunks ethics, the “gunkies” went directly to Beckey’s original route, set on making it a free climb. They succeeded in their goal except for a ten-foot tension traverse on the first pitch, creating a superbly sustained free climb with six Class 5.10 pitches in a row followed by more Class 5.9 and Class 5.10.

When the team came into the local mountain shop announcing that they had made the first free ascent of the Beckey Route, they were surprised to learn that Dowdle had made the same ascent the week before! A small controversy was stirred up when the New Yorkers expressed doubt whether the locals had done the route in clean style. Questioning if rests were taken on protection, they stated “Where we come from, when we say free, we mean free-free!”

Despite a few hard feelings, who gets credit for the first free ascent of the Beckey Route is of little consequence. What is important is that the New Yorkers had stirred up the local scene and encouraged development of a higher standard of free climbing. Before they left, the gunkies free climbed the Catlin-Hall route “Myopia” at a thinly protected Class 5.11, and added a three pitch Class 5.11+ pitch they dubbed “the Wendy.”

The next year (1983), Gruenburg returned to the Perch, this time with another Shawngunk regular, Jack Milesky. For the easterners, the prospect of clean, multi-pitch first free ascents was almost too good to be true. Describing his winter training program Gruenburg pantomimed doing pullups, saying “ten more…for the Perch!”.

They began by cleaning up the remaining aid on Webster and Roper’s Sunrise Book, freeing the original A3+ dihedral at Class 5.11+, followed by the crux Class 5.12 pitch. The pair also pulled off an as-yet unrepeated new route consisting of thin discontinuous cracks with difficult sections of poorly-protected face. With no bolt kit, hammer, or pitons, they climbed in bold style a route that would likely have seen bolts had it been done by locals.

In the past couple of years still more routes have been added to the Perch and surrounding peaks. February 1984 saw the first winter ascent* of the Perch, a siege of the Beckey Route. Most of the better quality aid routes in the range have been free climbed and the Perch has been free soloed.

Still, there are always new routes to do, although the pioneering days are over. And even though climbers have been to every corner of the range, local climbers like to think of the Sawtooths, and especially the Perch, as a big secret. In a way it is, or at least it feels that way. But this is probably due more to Idaho’s remote location and a difficult approach than any other factor.

For the locals, this is a good thing. We like the peace, solitude, and mosquitos of our backyard mountains. Over the years the climbers come and go, luckily without leaving many signs of their passing. The mountains themselves remain much the same as when Robert and Miriam Underhill first explored the peaks over fifty years ago.

*[Editor’s Note: The winter ascent of the Perch was done by Paul Potters, Steve Morris (from Boulder) and Dave Bingham.]

December 29, 2019
Fred, Pete and Jack’s Big Sawtooth Adventure by Ray Brooks

The Summer of 1949: Fred Beckey, Pete Schoening and Jack Schwabland went into Idaho’s Sawtooth Range to finish “some business” with two peaks that had repulsed their climbing attempts the previous Summer. They also had a shopping list of other unclimbed peaks in the Sawtooths. Their “Idaho adventure” may well be the most exciting epic in Idaho’s climbing history.

Fred Beckey passed away at age 94 in 2017, after becoming a “living legend” in climbing circles as the man who had done the most first ascents and new routes in North America. Pete Schoening is most famous for saving 5 of his team-mates when they fell on K-2 during a 1953 expedition. Pete was also part of the group that made the first ascent of Gasherbrum I in 1958, the only 8,000 meter peak first climbed by Americans. Jack Schwabland was a highly respected climber who took part in many first ascents in the Northwest.

The only write-up I have been able to find of their Sawtooth adventures is an photo-less article by Jack Schwabland in the 1950 American Alpine Journal: “Sixth-Class Climbing in the Sawtooth Range.” To chronicle their “Big Sawtooth Adventure,” I will include extracts from that article along with my own photos and experiences on these peaks.

Their “shopping list” for the trip included: Fishhook Spire (i.e., El Pima) and Big Baron Spire (i.e., Old Smoothy) in the Baron Creek drainage, Red Finger (i.e., North Raker) in the South Fork Payette drainage and The Grand Aiguille in the Redfish Lake drainage.

Fred, Pete, and Jack entered the Sawtooths by boating across Redfish Lake, then hiking 5 steep miles to Alpine Lake, where they left their “base camp” with a reserve cache of food and equipment. Then, with somewhat less-heavy packs, they hiked north over a pass to Baron Lakes and their first objectives. This was the era of heavy war-surplus gear and canned food for climbing trips, so their original packs likely each weighed in the 70 pound range. In 1948, Fred and Jack had been part of a group that failed in attempts on both Fishhook Spire and Big Baron Spire. On this trip, they had bolt equipment and more gear. They planned on achieving first ascents of each.

View north from the Redfish Creek/Baron Creek Divide of some of the many rock towers above Baron Lakes. Fishhook Spire (El Pima) is at top left. Big Baron Spire is on the far right. The 1949 route up Big Baron Spire starts below the V notch with snow, well left of Big Baron Spire. It then traverses horizontally across the light-colored area to the closer notch and up the ridgeline. Ray Brooks Photo

Map of the Sawtooth Adventure area with the routes marked in red.

On the first day at Baron Lakes, they hiked up to Fishhook Spire’s East Face, donned tennis shoes and “wiggled up a series of steep dirt-filled chimneys to a tilted rock pile some hundred feet directly below the great overhang on the summit block.”

The Southeast Face of Fishhook Spire (El Pima) at top center. The Beckey Route follows the line of weakness to a notch at right of hook, then goes behind the spire. Ray Brooks Photo

From there, they climbed a short jam crack and moved around to the North Side.

“Pete gave Fred a shoulder stand from the chockstone. Fred appeared to be stymied for a moment. It was the sort of pitch you almost wanted to try to climb free, but didn’t quite think you’d make. We decide to give the pitch the benefit of the doubt and resort to direct aid. Fred gingerly stepped on top of Pete’s outstretched hands and managed to drive a spoon piton at the limit of his reach. It was only partially in, but seemed solid enough for tension, so Fred went up on it until he could reach another crack. Two more very insecure pitons and he was able to hunch himself around onto a sloping ledge at the right from where the route became easy. Pete and I swung rapidly up on the rope to find Fred reclining on a large slab. A quick shoulder stand put us on the exposed summit.”

I climbed Fishhook Spire in 1971 with Harry Bowron by about the same route, although we knew nothing about the previous ascents. Toward the top, I gave Harry a shoulder stand, and later he made one aid move using a postage stamp sized piton called a RURP (realized ultimate reality piton). Our ascent was only the 3rd one since 1949.

Harry Bowron on top of Fishhook Spire (El Pima) on the 3rd ascent (1971). The lower right side of the photo shows the summit block of Big Baron Spire. Ray Brooks Photo

Fred, Pete and Jack still had lots of time left in the day and decided to reconnoiter a route on Big Baron Spire. “We had no illusions about climbing it that day, but wanted to go as high as possible and find out what to expect.”

The Southeast Side of Big Baron Spire. The Beckey Route traverses to just below the notch from cliffs on the left of the photo, then stays near the ridgeline to the summit block. Ray Brooks Photo

Every approach looked difficult, but they found some surprising lines of weakness that took them to the notch below the final ridge without roping up. Even above the notch, out on the West Face, they were able to scramble still higher before finally wanting ropes for safety. They then had some difficult climbing to the bottom of the 110 feet-high summit monolith.

“We found ourselves perched on the North Shoulder of the peak with smooth walls plunging away beneath us on 3 sides and the summit soaring directly above, some 110 feet away. As we looked up at the great block, we could understand why the Iowa Mountaineers had dubbed it ‘Old Smoothy.’ It was a magnificent piece of rock, resembling nothing so much as a monster egg standing on its end atop the rest of the mountain. It overhung all the way around and, search as we might, we could not find a single crack or hold anywhere. Reluctantly, we hauled out our drills and bolts and prepared to do battle.”

The crackless 110-foot summit block of Big Baron Spire. The 1949 bolt ladder goes up it, near the left skyline. Ray Brooks Photo

“We decided to climb alongside the Northwest Corner, since that offered only 25 feet of overhang, followed by 35 feet of 75-degree slab, to a ridge where we hoped to find a hold or two. Pete mounted our shoulders to drill the first hole—-hurrying, because black clouds were rolling in from the southwest. Taking turns at drilling, we managed to place 7 bolts up the overhang and just get over onto the great slab before the rocks started buzzing with static electricity and an ominous rumbling informed us the storm was at hand.”

“We huddled under an overhang for more than an hour while lighting crackled about us and hail danced off the rocks. By the time the rock had dried enough to let us climb safely again, it was nearly dark. Leaving the hardware and one rope in place, we descended to camp, resolved to start early in the morning.”

Day Two of the climb on Big Baron Spire was long and exciting, and nearly resulted in the deaths of the climbers.

“As soon as it was light enough to see, we were pushing up the lower slopes again. The preliminary Class 3 and Class 4 rock climbing went rapidly and we found ourselves huddled on the shoulder once again while the sun was still near the horizon. Although it was bitterly cold, the weather was beautiful and we had high hopes of standing on the summit before sunset.”

“The drilling took much longer now, as the drills were getting duller and duller with each hole. We took turns at this unpleasant chore. Each man would place 2-3 bolts while the second man belayed and the third sharpened the extra drills. Late in the morning, I placed the 14th bolt just under the crest of the ridge, then dropped on tension to the shoulder. Fred replaced me on the rope and was hauled up to the highest bolt. By working up the sling and using his hands for balance, he succeeded in standing on the bolt and hauling himself astride the steeply-pitched ridge. Fifteen feet away was a tilted depression where, it seemed, a man might stand. This ‘bowl’ was the closest thing to a belay point on the whole summit block. Fred wormed over to it and put in a bolt for an anchor. He peered upward and saw that the arête above steepened again almost to the vertical. There appeared to be an occasional hold, but it still looked like a bolt job all the way.“

With the summit only 40 feet away, Fred had to rappel off the summit block when a new storm appeared.

“We held a council of war and determined to wait and try to finish the climb when the storm blew over. Hours passed by, while hail and freezing rain soaked us to the skin and lightning flashed in the murky sky. Finally we could see that it was getting dark and we decided to make a run for camp while we still could. We skidded around the slabby corner and raced down the ledge toward the wall above the finger traverse.”

“The rock was running with water, and every hold was packed with hail as we climbed down the wall. Pete started across the traverse just as the storm picked up in intensity. Lightning struck within 200 feet of us 3 times in quick succession. Pete reared back, blinded by the flashes, and it was several minutes before he could go on.”

“As the storm increased in fury, we all wondered whether we were to get down alive. The ’V’ crack was a terrible thing with water sluicing down its twisting length and lightning knifing all around. Fred and I took tension from the rope, while Pete half climbed, half fell as best he could. The remaining pitches were easier, but the lightning was still striking terrifyingly close.”

Back in camp, the beat-up climbers watched the storm clear and wondered if they were ever going to climb Big Baron Spire. The next morning, Pete had a wrenched shoulder and Dick a very sore ankle. Of course, they went back up on the mountain. This time both Fred and Pete climbed up to the top of the bolt ladder and Pete started to the top.

The top of the summit block. The bolt route goes up the right skyline. Ray Brooks Photo

After a shoulder stand and four more bolts: “Pete was clinging to a tiny projection only 15 feet from the top. Things were looking up.”

Pete climbed free to the summit and clasped his hands in the victory sign. A total of 20 bolts had been placed. The climbers were so wary of another approaching lightning storm, that Jack didn’t follow Pete and Fred to the summit. However, they had no more storms that day and were able to go back over to their base camp at Alpine Lake.

In the 1970s, I climbed Big Baron Spire 3 times by two different routes that Harry Bowron and I pioneered. When we first arrived at the bottom of the bolt ladder in 1971: what we saw was a long line of rusted and bent ¼” diameter bolts without hangers. The bolts looked horrible, some appeared to be missing, and we did not have the gear to climb the dilapidated bolt ladder. On a 1977 ascent, we brought bolt hangers and bolting gear, but were thwarted by a thunderstorm that forced us back off the mountain.

Since I was last at the summit block in 1977, some Good Samaritan had put hangers on the old ¼” bolts and replace those that were missing when we were there. In 2009, I shared emails with Radek Chalupa, who climbed the bolt ladder in late Summer 2009. From his account, it appears that at least some of the missing or unusable bolts have been replaced, but the classic Fred Beckey drill bit remains.

Fred Beckey’s drill bit/critical aid placement, with a modern wired stopper in place of a bolt hanger. Radek Chalupa Photo

During a rest day back at their Alpine Lake base camp, Fred and Pete made the decision to make the long off-trail hike west into the South Fork Payette drainage to the remote “Red Finger” (i.e., North Raker). Jack would stay at Alpine Lake, and rest his injured leg.

Besides presenting an enticing profile, when viewed from afar, the attraction of North Raker was that climbing legend Robert Underhill had attempted it during the first of his two Summers of exploration and climbing in the Sawtooth Range in 1934-35. Underhill may have been the best male rock climber in North America at the time and his wife Miriam was certainly the best female climber, but they were not able to climb North Raker. No recorded attempts on its remote summit had been made since 1934. [Miriam Underhill, “Give Me The Hills,” 1956]

North Raker (at top center skyline) as viewed from high up in the Baron Creek drainage. Ray Brooks Photo

Fred and Pete worked south from Alpine Lake and traversed off-trail into the Upper Redfish Lakes Basin. They ignored nearby attractive summits and slogged up a 10,074-foot pile of rubble called Reward Peak. The summit of Reward, which sits on the divide between the Redfish Lake Creek drainage and the South Fork Payette drainage, gave them a good view of the approach to North Raker. From Reward Peak, they dropped 3,400 vertical feet to the South Fork Payette, forded it in hip-deep water and explored up Fall Creek on the South Side of The Rakers (there is also a South Raker that the Underhills did climb in 1934).

I hiked with my wife Dorita and 2 fit young friends up the South Fork Payette in late August 2009 and, with some searching, discovered a large log spanning the river just above Elk Lake. Our group found the trail-less terrain leading up Fall Creek to be difficult, wet, loose and brushy. Fred and Pete likely thought it almost pleasant, when compared to their usual cold-jungle bushwhacking in the North Cascade Range.

After camping a couple of miles up Fall Creek, the next morning Fred and Pete followed grassy open hillsides to a lake basin on the East Side of The Rakers. From there, North Raker looked rather difficult to them.

North Raker as viewed from the east with the highest summit at left. Ray Brooks Photo

They hiked up to the saddle to the right/north of North Raker and then discovered that its West Face was more welcoming to climbers. Without roping-up, they were able to scramble to the cairn that marked the high point of Robert Underhill’s 1934 attempt. From this point, it was less than 100 feet to the top of the summit tower, but the route looked hopeless from all sides.

South Raker (left) and North Raker (right). Ray Brooks Photo

The final summit problem on North Raker at top-right. Fred and Pete climbed the overhanging side that faces the camera. Ray Brooks Photo

“A rope-length traverse was made over considerable exposure to the notch on the North Corner of the peak. Fred anchored to a piton and the climb began.” “Pete traversed right about 15 feet and reached an overhanging crack that appeared to lead somewhere.The crack was composed of a crumbling granitic rubble which took several direct-aid pitons in one place at one time to be even reasonably safe.“

“Fifteen feet of this, over a space of an hour, convinced Pete that he wanted a rest. Accordingly, he lowered himself back to the notch and Fred took over. He hammered in a giant angle piton behind a loose chockstone, hoping it would act as a wedge and tighten everything up.

Above this, the crack being absolutely smooth and rather useless for a way, Fred drilled a hole and drove in a solid-sounding bolt. This had a decidedly reassuring effect on his jangled nerves, since the drop was still 500 feet and the quality of the pitons below him was such that any kind of fall would have made them all pop out like buttons from a shirt.”

Pete took over again and managed to place two pitons and a bolt (their drill was so dull, it was nearly useless) before switching with Fred. Fred placed another piton and another bolt and could see the end of the overhanging section just above. After another trade, Pete was able to climb a 3” wide jam-crack to a ledge. Then with the help of a shoulder stand, Fred jam-cracked another 12 feet to the summit.

They enjoyed the tiny summit for a few minutes, Pete claimed a lone-eagle feather and then started down. By nightfall, they were back across the South Fork Payette and had climbed to within only 1,100 vertical feet of the pass into Redfish Lake Creek.

Reward Peak (at top center) as viewed from near North Raker. Fred and Pete went 3,400 vertical feet up and down the appropriately named Drop Creek drainage below Reward Peak. Ray Brooks Photo

The next day, they returned to camp at Alpine Lake after making the 3rd ascent of Packrat Peak 10,240 Feet. They loosely followed the route Robert Underhill used to make the 1st ascent of Packrat with his wife Miriam and local packer Dave Williams in 1934. Fred and Pete had a pleasant Class 3-4 scramble on the complex but forgiving East Face.

Harry Bowron and Dave Thomas just before we climbed Packrat in 1972. The East Face Route is to the left in this photo. We stayed more on the prominent rib at left center. Ray Brooks Photo

When they arrived at Alpine Lake in the late afternoon, they found a note from Jack that he had departed for the social life at Redfish Lake. Fred and Pete packed up the remaining gear and trudged back down the trail to the upper end of Redfish Lake and camped, since they planned to climb the nearby Grand Aiguille the next day. Jack picks the story back up at this point.

“As a gesture of friendship, Fred decided to hike around the lake (5 miles with quite a bit of elevation gain and loss) to the lodge to tell me of their plans in case I could go with them. He arrived just in time to join me at a beach party I was having with a couple of heartening samples of the unattached females who infested the place. I reluctantly informed him that I would not be able to climb in the morning, but that I would be glad to row him back to save him the 5-mile walk. Thus 4:30AM found us sleepily stroking a rowboat up the lake. Unearthly yodels as we rounded the point informed us that Pete was up and had breakfast ready. An hour later, they started off while I hitched a ride back on the ever-present tourist launch.”

The Grand Aiguille is a prominent formation above the South End of Redfish Lake. Its first ascent in 1946 is rated Class 5.4 and apparently the rock tower was of interest to Fred and Pete. It is described in Tom Lopez’s fine book “Idaho: A Climbing Guide,” but that area of the Sawtooth Range has a reputation for “ball-bearing” granite and I had never trudged up to the small cirque it is in until early September 2011.

Early-morning alpenglow on the Grand Aiguille (center). Ray Brooks Photo

It is several miles and about 3,000 vertical feet from Redfish Lake to the top of the Grand Aiguille. Fred and Pete knocked the 2nd ascent off and were back at Redfish Lake Lodge shortly after noon.

“They reported a spectacular Class 4 and Class 5 climb on good rock, the crux of which was a vertical crack jammed with overhanging chockstones.”

After hiking up to the route with Dorita, equipped with a 9mm rope and minimal technical climbing gear, I suffered a reality check when looking for possible easy routes. I can only commend Fred and Pete for their fortitude and speed on the Grand Aiguille. It looked like more of a challenge than I wanted at the time.

The Northeast Side of the Grand Aiguille. The route goes up the snowy gully to the ridge then apparently follows the ridge until it goes out of sight to the right. Ray Brooks Photo

December 5, 2019
An Overview of the Lookouts in the Salmon National Forest by Bing Young (1982)

According to A History of the Salmon National Forest, by 1916 there were two lookouts in the Salmon National Forest, at Blue Nose and Salmon City Peak (later given the name “Baldy“). It was assumed that most of the forest could be seen from these two points. Cathedral Rock, in the Bighorn Crags, was also used at times to see the Middle Fork area, and there was apparently even a telephone line at one time to Cathedral Rock. [Footnote 7: Personal conversation with Mr. Howard Castle who remembers being told about this phone line. The author seriously doubts, however, that the line was ever extended to the top of the mountain, though it may well have existed at the base of Cathedral Rock. Cathedral Rock is an extremely sheer crag-type mountain not to be climbed except by professionals, which no doubt affords a great view of the Middle Fork area and which would have been left blind by just the use of Baldy and Blue Nose.]

But the effect of the Weeks Act was to change that situation. The 1918 Forest map lists Taylor Mountain, Lake Mountain, Haystack Mountain, Blackbird, Sagebrush Mountain , and Ulysses as lookouts. Apparently Blue Nose was also still used.

The Blue Nose Lookout is unlocked and is in need of some serious repair work.

At this point, there were few lookout buildings as we know them today. As late as 1924, lookout structures had been built only on Long Tom, Baldy, Taylor, Stein, and Blackbird Mountain. Most of the lookout “houses” built at that time were extremely small—most 9‘ x 9’—and in 1924, only Blackbird Mountain had the more typical 14′ x 14′ structure of today’s lookouts.

Rather than live in lookout buildings, most lookouts were camped near mountain peaks during the critical fire period. Many of those lookouts were also “smokechasers,” that is after finding a fire, the lookouts would take off to put it out. This was particularly the use before telephone lines were installed. Lookouts were thus placed in many locations in the forest, often varying from year to year. Since no visibility maps (those indicating the area seen from a lookout) were then available, lookout stationing was not planned in a very organized manner.

It was decided about this time that some lookouts should be considered “primary” and manned for the entire fire season at all times; “secondary”, which would be manned only for a month in the worst part of the fire season ; and “tertiary” or third line lookouts, manned only in bad fire years. In 1923, the Salmon National Forest’s primary lookouts were Taylor Mountain, Blackbird, Blue Nose, and Long Tom. Secondary lookouts were Middle Fork Peak, Two Point, and Granite Peak. Additional smokechasers were stationed at various paces in the forest, including Lake Mountain, Sagebrush, Haystack, and Sheepeater Point. Lookout selection was not made with a lot of information and choices varied from year to year.

In 1926, the first visibility maps were made of many peaks of the forest. Henry Shank, in an effort to better select the primary and secondary lookouts, tried to plot the area visible from each lookout station. The 1926 map indicates Lake Mountain, Stein, Haystack, Sheepeater, Two Point Peak, and Sagebrush as primary lookouts. I assume that Taylor Mountain and Blue Nose were also still in use, as they appear on later maps.

By 1929, 19 points in the forest had either a lookout or a dual/smokechaser. The year 1929 was one of the worst fire years in the recorded history of the Salmon National Forest, particularly with the Wilson Creek Fire. In order to avoid large conflagrations of the size of the Wilson Creek Fire, the early detection system needed additional improvement. This determination to improve detection, coupled with the surfeit of workers made available by the Great Depression, enabled the Forest to initiate a massive lookout construction program. By 1932, 23 lookout points were in operation in the Salmon National Forest, with selection and construction contemplated for 7 more. Smokechasers were also stationed at the Indianola, Hughes Creek, and Yellowjacket Guard Stations.

1935 appears to have marked the time when lookouts reached their peak. Thirty-four lookouts then stood as sentinels over the forest. Buildings had been set up on nearly all of the sites, even though many weren’t primary lookouts. All seemed to be hooked up to telephones.

Just when the lookouts began their decline is not clear, but it is known that by the early 1940s some were being abandoned—particularly early ones like Duck Creek Point and Taylor Mountain. Perhaps this was partly due to the war—there weren’t enough men around to staff all of the lookouts. This is when women began to serve as lookouts. Money was short and it was recognized that there was much visibility duplication in the lookouts.

The remains of the Taylor Mountain Lookout.

Even without the war, the decline of the lookout system was inevitable. As early as the 1920s, Region I (Missoula, Montana) had been experimenting with the airplane as a fire detection tool. If anything, the war probably delayed the demise of the lookout system, as airplanes, pilots, and the like were needed more in the war that they were in experimenting with forest fire detection.

After World War II and the Korean conflict, aerial detection began to change the scene. Smokechasers became smokejumpers—at least in the more remote areas—and airplane “watchdogs” replaced many lookouts. Most lookouts faded out gradually one or two at a time until in 1982 there were only 6 of the original number remaining: Long Tom, Stormy Peak, Sagebrush, Stein Mountain, Middle Fork Peak and Sheephorn. Butts Point was not manned in the 1982 season, but the North Fork Ranger District has not given it up, as it is still considered to be of primary importance. Fire management personnel have indicated that it is unlikely that any of the others will be used again.

Middle Fork Peak as viewed from Peak 9101.

An interesting trend in the site selection of lookouts was the preference to use the highest peaks in the Forest. Pre-1930 lookouts included Taylor Mountain, Blackbird, Lake Mountain, Cottonwood Butte, Duck Creek Point, Two Point Peak and Middle Fork Peak—all over 9,000 feet. Post-1930 lookouts included Granite Mountain, Jureano, Sheephorn, Hot Springs and Butts Point. Nearly all of the post-1930 lookouts are under 8,500 feet and most are less than 8,000 feet.

This change in trend was probably because the high lookouts may cover great distances, yet they are often too high for visibility of the high-hazard country of lower elevations right under them. Indeed, most of the high lookouts have no view of large or important drainage bottoms. The Forest is hampered by the problem of its extreme verticality. Canyons are generally narrow, steep and very deep. This has made it difficult to use the “highest peaks” as lookouts as is done by many other Forests.

In the early 1930s, forests were required to have 80 percent lookout coverage of the Forest’s high fire-hazard acreage. The only way to see much in the rugged Salmon River country was to “come down” in elevation. Thus, later lookouts like Granite Mountain and Sheephorn don’t have the horizontal viewing distance that some of the older lookouts do, like Blue Nose and Taylor Mountain. They do, though, afford excellent views of specialized high-hazard drainages.

Other problems encountered by the high peaks were: the great distances to water which lookouts had to hike to daily; great distances to “climb down” to a fire; the problem that high lookouts were often “fogged in” in the morning (one of the best times to find fires); and rugged and costly to packers supplying the high lookouts.

Today’s lookouts have been selected by the Forest Service through a long process of elimination. They have excellent views of high-hazard drainages and nearly all report fires every year.

June 7, 2019
A 1949 Climb Up Borah

This article was published in the Aberdeen Times on August 18, 1949.Since 1940, only 62 people have climbed Mount Borah, Idaho’s tallest mountain. Among these are 4 amateur mountain climbers from Aberdeen who scaled the 12,655-foot peak last Monday morning. Stanley and Horace Nealey, Howard Morton and Norman Brown put on a good pair of shoes last Saturday afternoon and drove to the base of Mount Borah where they started the climb the next morning.

“We stopped at a farmhouse at Dickey and got all the information we could get,” Horace Neeley said, “but we found out that there are no regular trails up the mountain and that climbing it would be up to us.”

“We camped that night at the base of the mountain. We had driven as far as possible in our pickup truck, but found that we had about 7,000 more feet to climb on foot the next morning,” Neeley said. He also said that although the mountain is plenty steep, spiked shoes and ropes were not necessary for the climb. ‘‘All you need for Mount Borah is a good sturdy pair of shoes,” he said. “The climb is nearly all rock and it’s easy to wear out a pair of ordinary shoes.”

“On the way up, the air kept getting thinner,” Horace said, “and near the top, we had to rest quite frequently.”

“The top of the mountain is quite a ways above the timberline. We saw some huge snow drifts and ran into a snowstorm. The snowstorm wasn’t like a regular blizzard because it was caused by a Summer thunderstorm that turned to snow at that high altitude. We had coats with us but it got mighty cold anyway. After about 20 minutes on the summit, we turned back down the mountain. We had left our camp at 7:35 in the morning and got to the top at 12:20PM, approximately five hours of climbing. Although we covered about two miles, it was about a mile from base to summit in a straight line.”

“From the top of the mountain, we could see a lake below us with a small iceberg floating around in it. We saw few animals . . . only one herd of about a dozen antelopes. We found a box at the top that had been placed there by the Mazamas Club in 1940. The Mazamas Club is a mountain climbers organization. Only people who have climbed to the top of the mountain where there is perpetual snow qualify for the club. We signed our names to the list. Only 62 people have climbed Mount Borah since 1940. Apparently, the trip back was considerably easier, but it still took the group three hours to go the two miles down.”

The boys advise potential mountain climbers to wear a good strong pair of shoes and to take a lunch along on the climb. And, climbers should take a canteen of water, although there will probably be enough snow at the top to take care of thirst. A good truck is needed to get over the rough roads to the base of the mountain because a car won’t clear some of the obstacles.

Horace Neeley has been climbing mountains for quite some time and has scaled several in Idaho. He’s climbed Bannock Peak, Mount Sedgwick beyond Lava, and Mount Hyndman near Sun Valley. The latter is 12,078 feet high. The next mountain on the list to be climbed is Mount Leatherman near Mount Borah. “It’s not quite as high as Borah,” Horace said, “but they say the climb is a lot tougher.” “I like mountain climbing, but I haven’t reached my ambition yet. Someday, I’m going to climb the Grand Teton, north of the Jackson Hole country.” Want to keep cool this summer? Go find a nice, tall mountain and sit on top of it.

October 11, 2018
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
Where Do Mountain Names Come From?

The history, evolution and process of naming mountains is discussed on Pages 32-33 of the book. However, the specific origin of official (and unofficial) mountain names is often not documented. The public can submit proposed names for peaks via the U.S. Geological Survey’s U.S. Board on Geographic Names website. But often, and especially before the Internet, names that were not officially designated through the Board tended to come and go with time. Now unofficial peak names are showing up on Google Maps and other websites, giving unofficial names some semblance of approval and permanence.

This page contains historical information (in alphabetical order) on the origins of Idaho peak names. Do you have an article or another document about the naming of an Idaho mountain? Share it with us through our update form and we will feature it here!

Appendicitis Hill (Pioneer Mountains)

See this link: Appendicitis Hill

Fenn Mountain (Selway Crags)

Fenn Mountain is one of the most impressive summits in the Clearwater Mountains and is one the peaks identified as the Selway Crags.

January 13, 1928. I believe this article is from the Idaho Statesman.

Frank Fenn was the first supervisor of the Clearwater National Forest headquartered in Kooskia that included all of the Lochsa-Selway country. Fenn had an illustrious career before taking up public forest management in 1901: he was a student at the first public school in Idaho, at Florence; was a cadet at the U.S. Naval Academy; was a participant in the Nez Perce Indian War of 1877; was Speaker of the House in the first Idaho Legislature; and was a major in the U.S. Army during the Spanish-American War. He retired from the Forest Service Regional Office in 1920 and moved back to Kooskia, where he died in 1927.

Major Frank Fenn with his wife Florence and son Lloyd. Date unknown. Penny Bennett Casey Collection, Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forests archives

Gospel Peak (Gospel Hump Wilderness)

As explained in this 1949 press release Billie Knox is responsible for the use of the name “Gospel” for north Idaho two peaks, Gospel Peak and Gospel Hill as well as the Gospel Hump Wilderness.

Mount Heyburn (Sawtooth Range)

–Idaho Daily Statesman, April 10, 1916

Kinport Peak (Bannock Range)

The dispute referenced in the caption found below was eventually resolved in Gideon’s favor.

An article from the Idaho State Journal. Date unknown.

Langer Peak (Salmon River Mountains)

Langer Peak and Lake.

This memorial at the Langer Lake trailhead provides the history behind the Langer name.

Saviers Peak (Smoky Mountains)

This is the register left by Mr. and Mrs. George Saviers who climbed the peak while on their honeymoon in 1947. Later climbers adopted the Saviers name for the peak.

The summit register found in 1987 and left by Mr. and Mrs. George Saviers who climbed the peak on their honeymoon.

Shafer Butte (Boise Mountains)

This excerpt is from an Idaho Statesman Column by Dick d’Easum entitled “The Hills of Home.” The article shows an interesting side of the peak’s namesake.

May 4, 2014