Day 16 — to Coeur d’Alane, Idaho

Dear Natalie,

In a decade of planning these Long family road trips, I’ve found a balance between following a carefully crafted itinerary and allowing for flexibility and serendipity. Today is one of those days I’m glad we could be flexible.

Without our passports (Yes, okay? I forgot our passports. Jeez.) we had to scrap our plans to drive up into Canada today. Instead, we’re heading east, to Coeur d’Alane, Idaho. As I was rearranging our itinerary yesterday, I looked for a town that would 1.) position us within a day’s drive to Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada, but also 2.) border on actual civilization so that FedEx can reach us with our passports in the morning. It wouldn’t do any good to drive all the way to Backwoods, Montana, no matter how close we’d be to Canada, if an express delivery service had to traverse dirt roads, climb mountains, paddle a canoe and take three extra days just to find us. Coeur d’Alane, right on Interstate 90, 30 minutes east of Spokane, Washington, fit the bill. 

That meant that we only had about a 4-hour drive today. So we weren’t in a super-rush to leave town We spent the morning dawdling in Winthrop, which is just 13 miles down the road from the Rolling Huts. The first permanent white settlers arrived in Winthrop in 1883, and the town was rebuilt in 1893, after a devastating fire. And in 1972, when the new State Highway 20 forged a route over the North Cascades, and town elders sought a way to attract travelers, the town was once again reconstructed in the guise we see today. Every corner of the town — every storefront, every coffee shop, every real estate office and every insurance office — has been restored to resemble a Wild West establishment. The entire town is a kitschy tourist attraction. It looks like Main Street Disney threw up on Gatlinburg. Every other store is a gift shop, proffering wolf t-shirts, fudge and frappuccinos.

When we got overwhelmed with Old Timey Town, we drove down the road to the North Cascades Smokejumper Base. Smokejumpers are firefighters that parachute into the wilderness to combat wildfires. There are nine smokejumper bases in the U.S. — all of them in the west — that employ 400 smokejumpers. But this was the first one; it was here, in 1939, that the first experimental jumps were made.

The base advertises that it's open for tours — but it’s an active base, and the tours are given on kind of an informal, on-demand basis by actual on-duty smokejumpers. When we arrived, we were approached by Smokejumper Matt, who introduced himself as our guide. He showed us around the hangar, where a couple of guys were repacking parachutes, and he pointed out the uniforms they wear and the gear they carry. He also took us onto the airplane and showed us the warehouse where they store all their supplies.

Parachutes waiting to be repaired

Packed parachutes

Some interesting facts, according to Matt, who got his start as a Hot Shot wilderness fire fighter in New Mexico, and who was very friendly and knowledgable: 

— A season is June to October. So far this season the North Cascades Smokejumper Base has responded to eight fires.

— Right now there are 28 smokejumpers working out of the North Cascades base. The ideal number is 30.

—Matt lives in town, and works eight-hour shifts at the base. The smokejumpers aren’t on any kind of 24-hour call, since they can’t jump at night.  

— It can be anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of weeks between fires. 

— The smokejumpers jump from a plane at about 1,500-feet altitude. It takes them 60 seconds to hit the ground.

— They are on the ground fighting fires anywhere from a few hours to two weeks. The maximum amount of time they can spend on the ground is three weeks. 

— Their suits have huge pockets for some of their personal gear — food, sleeping bag, fire shelter. Fire-fighting equipment and extra supplies are dropped in boxes from the airplane.

— Their suits are made of Kevlar (so they don’t get punctured by branches) and since they are such a specific and uncommon design, the smokejumpers sew their suits themselves.

— When the fire is out, they pack everything up and hike miles to the nearest road, where they are picked up. Their gear packs weigh 100 pounds. 

— The scariest thing, to Matt, is getting stuck in a 50-foot tree. He has no problem jumping from a plane, but the trees scare the crap out of him. Matt says a lot of the other smokejumpers also freak out in trees.

— Eight percent of smokejumpers are women.

— The mandated retirement age for smokejumpers is 57.

The smokejumpers make their own suits.

Charlie was completely into it and is now planning a career with the U.S. Forest Service and the BLM. The job is perfect for him, since it could combine his love of adventure with his curiosity about skydiving and his interest in sewing.

We spent the rest of the afternoon driving east across Washington. After Twisp, we drove past apple and peach orchards. I had always imagined that the Washington apples I buy at the store are grown in lush valleys; I was surprised today at how arid the surrounding landscape seems. On one side of the highway, acres and acres of fruit orchards soak up the sun, and literally on the other side of the road, brown dusty hills stagger for miles in the other direction.

Further east, the hills flattened out into great plains and fields of golden wheat stretching to the horizon. With purple mountain majesties, a fruited plain and amber waves of grain, Washington is “America, the Beautiful,” all rolled up in one state.

Amber waves of grain

We passed through Spokane, on the eastern edge of the state, then rolled into Idaho and arrived in Coeur d’Alene in the late afternoon. It’s lovely here.  The air smells like pine trees and sunshine.

We had a little bit of an emergency when I discovered that the plug for my laptop got disconnected from the charging cord and was accidentally abandoned in our Rolling Hut. The same thing happened last year, in Providence. Luckily, we found a computer repair store just around the corner from our hotel, and the manager was able to sell us a replacement plug. 

When were were touring the smokejumper base, one of the guys who had been studiously repacking a parachute looked up as we were leaving and asked where we’re from. We told him, and added that we’re in the middle of a three-week road trip. When he found out that we were headed to Coeur d’Alane, he said, “Oh man, if you like Thai food, you should check out Thai Bamboo.” With no other dinner plans, we were happy to oblige. Just off the next interstate exit from our hotel, Thai Bamboo is like Asian restaurant meets roller skating rink, with a Galaxy Lounge featuring Vegas-style lighting that uses fiber optics to mimic a starry night. Because, why not? So we stuffed ourselves with curry until we couldn’t eat any more.

Dad has an app that pinpoints the location of the FedEx package containing our passports. Right now it’s at the Indy airport. It’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning by 10:30. So, fingers crossed!

We love you and miss you! 

Love, Mom

xoxoxoxoxo