(Don't) Climb Every Mountain: City of Rocks Nat'l Reserve 8/12/12

Given my well-earned reputation as the Clark W. Griswold of the National Park set, it seemed wholly out of character for the Cales to have entered the state of Idaho without first checking the news. The weather we knew would be clear and calm, but what of forest fires? Not seeming to allow for the possibility that a historic drought might set the Gem State aflame, we drove along without a care in the world, crossing the border from Utah thinking the crystal blue skies above would hold for the duration of our latest journey. And while that delusion would soon be shattered, we were at least treated to a smoke-free excursion through the City of Rocks National Reserve, even if it would remain little more than a stamp and dash. You see, City of Rocks is a world-class climbing destination, boasting numerous challenges rivaled only by Yosemite. Now that's all well and good, but among our many virtues, the Cales don't climb. Not ladders, not staircases, and certainly not steep rock formations. This would be a detached, eyes-only stop along our tour, and the sooner we could leave behind the athletic and the daring, the better.

City of Rocks National Reserve, differing from a Preserve only in its lack of complete federal protection (the state of Idaho partners with the NPS), is a tight, densely packed "city" of fetching granite displays, but it's more realistic to label it a small town. Perhaps a hamlet. While there is beauty here, it's hardly an endless sea of rock, and it's not out of bounds to suggest that Idaho could take the whole thing over without anyone bothering to notice. We're both unapologetically in favor of protecting land from development wherever and whenever one can, but the NPS label should carry a bit more dignity, and setting aside a playground for risk-takers might be pushing it just a bit. Again, not that these rocks don't flirt with greatness, but we've seen bigger and better elsewhere, all without the pretension the "National Reserve" label implies.

Let's also not forget that, simply put, City of Rocks is one hell of a journey for very little payoff. There are back roads and dirt patches galore, as the whole thing is tucked away from anything resembling a major highway. More than that, the tiny towns on our way to the park were all boarded up and tumbleweed-heavy, not due to the bad economy, mind you, but rather the fact that it was a Sunday, and country folk from Idaho don't do a damn thing when church is in session. So without gas or food or anything resembling life, we chugged along until we hit Almo, the unlikely host for the park's visitor center. Erring on the side of humility, the VC had the necessary stamps and magnets, but also an unmistakable loneliness, as the ranger jumped up from her seat as if interrupted for the first time in weeks. She aimed to please (she all but threatened me to watch the movie), but we had to move. Before walking out the door, however, she warned me not to take the dirt road leading out the west end of the reserve. "Go back the way you came," she said, implying utter destruction if we failed to heed her words. So, the Cales being the Cales, we ignored her advice in order to shave off a large set of repeat miles. Would we pay the ultimate price?

Along we went, driving carefully through the park, trying desperately to justify this first leg of the trip. Would we have come here without the passport stamp? Of course not, but even when we know we're in for a less than stellar installment, we try to make do, giving the surrounding rocks as fair a shake as they deserve. And so we passed the assorted "big name" rocks - Camp, Treasure, Elephant, Bath - as well as the brilliantly named Parking Lot Rock, all with one eye on the clock, and a second on the looming exit via City of Rocks Road. Since we didn't care one whit for the exercise element of COR, we decided to focus on the historical nature of the landscape, which has the added bonus of being pretty damn important. You see, City of Rocks was a landmark for westward travelers as early as 1843, using the California and Salt Lake Alternate Trails to reach the much-promised opportunity in the West. By 1848, the Mormon Battalion opened the trail from Granite Pass via Emigrant Canyon to Salt Lake. As the unigrid informs us, "In 1852 some 52,000 people passed through City of Rocks on the way to the California goldfields." Needless to say, railroad expansion ended the popularity of the route, although settlers made their homes here beginning in the 1890s.

So what of the treacherous exit? For 11+ miles of washboard dirt and chaotic dust, it wasn't half bad, and the road leading to Chaco Canyon was certainly worse. We had to take it slow, but once we reached Oakley, we knew we'd made the right decision. Just then, we noticed that the skies had gotten a bit hazy for our tastes. Finally checking the internet and the region's potential hazards, it was revealed that the whole damn state was ablaze, and we'd be lucky to escape without flirting with asphyxiation. Still, we had no choice but to press on, leaving behind the spot for our first-ever stamp from the Blue/Pacific Northwest region. Sure, we shrugged a bit during our blink-and-it's-gone stay, but they all can't be winners. Obligation is a jealous lover, and it needs to be fed.

FINAL RATING

5/10