The Dynamic Duo

This weekend, UltraDad and I did a little exploring. We had long been hearing about the town of “Jarbridge” and its natural beauties. Several of my weightwatcher members regularly go camping there and always come back several pounds heavier, blaming it on campfire food and drink. So, Saturday morning found us planning our expedition. We would take the pickup, because the roads were reputedly not all paved. This, we would come to discover, was a master understatement. Besides it would give UDad a chance to try out his 4-wheel drive. This part was true enough.
The ‘boys’ barked and jumped about excitedly as I loaded their take-along bag with treats, leashes and water bowl. They did not often get to go along. Soon we were headed out. Elko was on the way, so here we would stop and procure the fixings for a picnic lunch. As we drove along, I wondered out loud about Jarbridge. How big a town was it? How long would it take us to get there? Would the leaves be changing color?
“Jarbidge,” said UltraDad. “It’s pronounced ‘Jarbidge.”
I had been expecting, among other things, to see a scenic ‘bridge,’ but UltraDad was adamant. “I was corrected yesterday,” he informed me. He showed me the map, and sure enough, there it was. There is no ‘bridge’ in Jarbidge.
After loading up the cooler with fried chicken, chips, grapes and drinks, we took Mountain City highway out of town. An hour or two later, we took the turnoff to Jarbidge, expecting, per the sign, a 47 mile further drive to reach the town. The road was not paved, but was wide and well marked. After a while, we came to a fork. One way took off to the right. The straight ahead way went through a farmyard, and up to a gate. The only sign in the vicinity, right next to the gate read “Public access to Bruneau River. Leave all gates as you find them.” We went through the gate, and then another. “If this isn’t the right way,” said UtraDad, “I’m sure the two roads will meet up somewhere down the line.”
As in the Princess Bride where the bad guy keeps saying “Inconceivable!”, Ultradad would repeat this assertion many more times. I’m not sure he knew what it meant.
Finally about 1:00 P.M. we came to a clearing near a stream. Picnic time. We sat on the tailgate and enjoyed our repast, as Murphy and Rowdy ran about exploring. At least UDad sat on the tailgate. It was so cold, I could not stay sitting for long, but walked around in search of a patch of sunshine. At least this area was somewhat protected from the wind. Naturally, this was the coldest day, up to now, of the year. In fact, the higher we got, the more snow we ran into. The branches of the fir trees were heavy with the cold, white stuff and it covered the road in strategic places, mainly in the scary, narrow, mountain- hugging, sheer drop-off-on-the-other-side parts. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Everywhere also was evidence of the recent wildfire that had consumed countless acres of this wilderness. From our clearing, we could see burnt out landscape just a few yards away from the grove of trees near our stream. UDad said he wished he had brought his camera. “I have mine,” I said smugly, taking exactly one picture before my batteries died. The 4 extra ones in the bag were all dead too, of course. UltraDad examined a large, aged tree near us. “Look at this,” he said. “Someone drove a nail into this tree.” He worked at the nail to remove it, when he noticed several others. Closer examination showed about 10 nails of varying sizes, as well as several screws. Several of the branches had also been sawed off. We decided this tree must be much used by campers to secure gear or lines of some type, but it seemed a shame to deface it so.
Meanwhile, the ‘boys’ had been exploring around the stream, and their paws were caked with mud. I used damp paper towels to take off the worst, and they shook the rest of it off in UDad’s pickup as they dried. This was one of the 20-30 times I was glad we had not brought my car!
We doggedly pursued our ‘road’ through stream fordings, washout-rutted paths and the aforementioned mountain-hugging, adrenaline inducing trails. At last, faced with a major washout and near vertical navigation of the next hill, UDad was forced to turn around. Our little detour cost us about 3 hours.
Finally back at the fork of indecision, we took the road on the right, and soon were rewarded with a mileage signpost reading “Jarbidge 27 miles”. We had been telling ourselves, that at least our detour had netted us interesting and varied views of topography and wildlife, but the scenery on this road was actually much prettier. Here was the pristine winter forest scape usually depicted on Christmas cards. Twice we startled a pair of deer near the road and watched them bound effortlessly away from us as we marveled at their grace and beauty. We actually saw quite a few deer, or I should say, UltraDad did. “Look,” he would say, “Do you see the deer?” Except in the cases where the deer were practically under my nose, the answer was always “No.” After much pointing and describing, I would usually manage to see them just as they were leaping up the hillside out of view. I don’t know what my problem is.
Near 6 P.M. we finally pulled into the town of Jarbidge, and were surprised by the size of it. Most of the homes and structures lined the main street through town. I had the thought of “Brigadoon”; a full town dropped in the middle of nowhere, bristling with activity. There was a fire station or two and lots of wooden boxes labeled “Fire Hose.” All around the clearing that was the town were fir trees. We had dinner at ‘The Outdoor Inn’, we both had an unremarkable French Dip sandwich, but enjoyed the atmosphere of locals coming in for their ‘reserved’ Saturday prime rib and the bar next door was doing a good business. Taking the dogs for a ‘constitutional’ while UDad paid for dinner, I found a little park. A large sign told of Jarbidge’s history as a booming gold-mining town. Private property had been allowed here in the middle of public forest. Jardidge’s name? A Shoshone Indian word meaning “evil spirit.” That would explain how we managed to take the wrong road earlier. Darn evil spirits.
A large rock titled “Liberty Rock” was on display in front of the park. Also, I noticed several places around town displayed shovels, with the town’s name written across their several backs.
Researching just now, I learn that in the 1995 flood, many of Jarbidges access roads were washed out. Elko County and the Forest Service shared maintenance duties, and when the Forest Service had not repaired the road two years later, the county made plans to do so. Now the USFS argued that the bull trout would be disturbed if the road were repaired after so much time had passed. They piled tons of rock and debris for a 900 foot stretch of road so the county could not repair the road. A Nevada judge ruled that the county had the right to remove the debris and repair “their” county road however, the legal debate continued and county workers were even threatened with arrest when they tried to repair the road.
“Shovels” became the symbol of this controversy, and Elko county received over 11,000 shovels from all over the United States. Volunteers came on July 4th, 2000 and the Jarbidge Shovel Brigade removed the debris, including the 6 ton rock, now known as Liberty Rock. (http://www.ufwda.org/news_view.php?id=15) Interesting…
We decided to go home by another route. ‘Only 15 miles to paved road’ we were told, but those 15 miles were slow and windy. We finally came to the highway barely into Idaho, and drove back to Carlin by way of Jackpot, Wells and Elko, arriving home about 11:00 P.M.
We will definitely make the drive again some day, though probably not til next spring when the snow has gone. This time we’ll remember. Take the road on the right…or is it the left? Darn evil spirits….