Lewis and Clark were trying to find a water route to the Pacific Ocean. They discovered that the land routes were rugged and dangerous because of all the high mountains peaks and thick forests they had to slog through. One of them had the bright idea to float their canoes down the River of No Return (Salmon River) and eventually make their way to the Pacific. The local Indians warned them that the rough river would be difficult to navigate in their canoes. Their fears were confirmed when they got to what is now called the Pine Creek Rapids and saw the giant waves, deep holes, and numerous rocks. They turned back and decided any land route was better than drowning in the river.
All the Lewis and Clark stories in addition to all the Indian lore that was abundant in Salmon were all part of my social acclimation of my new home town. In fact, Mikey and I took things one step further. As we hiked, camped and explored all the accessible hills, mountains and valleys around Salmon, we made-up our own version of local lore. We envisioned ancient camps of marauding Indians and mountain men. In fact, we were sure we discovered old camp sites and relics in our adventures. Mikey made up the term “squamp-um,” which was a petrified Indian turd. There were a lot of them around Salmon.
There were a number of Indians from the Shoshone Bannock Indian tribe that resided in Salmon. They lived out by Kids Creek just outside of town on the south end. Their Indian Camp, as it was known, was made up of a bunch of old deplorable looking wood shacks. I visited there a few times. One time was to see an old Indian lady who made deer skin clothing. She was a master artisan and her outfits were beautifully laden in beads and other decorations. Jed, my friend David’s dad, was a friend to those Indians.
One of Mikey’s and my favorite summer activities was to walk up to the city dump and explore. There were numerous things thrown into that city dump that fit within dad’s Law of Salvage. Sometimes we found cool things that seemed useful. Bike rims, frames, chains, pipes, worn hand tools, rusty implements, and ball bearings were only a few of the many things we found. Mostly, we just smashed bottles and shot at stuff with our wrist rockets. Dad had purchased those sling-shots that were engineered to fit around our wrist. The bands were made of surgical tubing. You could shoot a rock well over 100 yards with a lot of velocity. No bird or small animal was safe with those around. Most kids I knew had one.
One day, Mikey and I decided to confine our adventures to home. It was raining outside. We got hungry and decided to make some Chocolate Oatmeal No-Bake Cookies. We were excellent cooks as far as any line of junior chefs was concerned. As we laid our creations out on wax paper to cool and set-up, Mike was the first to try one. He immediately spit out is luscious looking morsel.
“This tastes like crap, Jeff! What did you put in these things?” he yelled.
Before I reminded him that he was the head chef and I was only his assistant, I picked one up and took a bite. There was no mistake. We had accidentally used salt instead of sugar! The batch was a total loss!
We packed the whole production of cookie mix outside and flung it in handfuls against the barn wall. Even the birds and insects wouldn’t eat it. It dried into clumps of crud harder than concrete. Over the years, even after we moved from that house out to Perreau Creek, that Oatmeal No-Bake Chocolate Cookie dough was still stuck to the side of the barn.
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