What the Hell’s a Jarbidge?

If you read David’s Tripsus Interruptus blog, you’ll know that due to several complications, we needed to return to Nevada to renew Blue’s registration with the Nevada DMV. Being the abiding citizens we are, we began the long trip back to Reno to get the job done. We weren’t particularly happy about it, but it is what it is.

The beaverhead campground was great once the wind died down.

We stopped for the night at the Beaverhead Campground at Clark Canyon Reservoir, just south of Dillon, Montana on I-15. It’s a BLM-administered site and free. We found a great spot with a covered table near the water’s edge. Our only complaint was the wind. It ‘blew like snot’ (to use a sailor’s expression) constantly for the rest of the day and evening with gusts in excess of 50mph. Blue shook and shuddered, dust swirled and the reservoir waters were roiling with white caps. The wind finally subsided just after dark and calmed enough for a peaceful night’s sleep.

Idaho falls does indeed have falls. That’s a beautiful mormon church in the background.

We made it to Idaho Falls the next night and were quite pleased to note that Idaho Falls does indeed have falls... right in the middle of the city. We drove on to Reno the morning after. We are not fast travelers. By the way, it may sound like we’re spending an inordinate number of nights in hotels, but we’re pretty savvy travelers actually. We belong to Choice Rewards, among other loyalty programs. I’d saved up oodles of points during the past year anticipating using them for free nights in Europe. Since we didn’t go, we figured we’d use them now, so most hotel nights are either free or under $50. Averaging hotel nights out with free or $6-7 campsites, we’re doing fine and have the bonus of getting hot showers and internet once or twice a week. Anyway, we did our Reno thing, got Blue all legal, did some errands (like restocking the wine cellar) and headed back on I-80 to continue our travels.

Our son, Brennan, is our own personal Atlas Obscura and major purveyor of arcane geographical information and out of the way places to visit. He’s traveled to Borneo and Berlin, Gabon, Lesotho and Boise and he offers some of the most interesting options for travel destinations... like Jarbidge, Nevada, for instance. It’s the most remote mining town in Nevada... some say in the lower 48 states.

Based on reports of a gold strike, prospectors flocked to this area of northeastern Nevada on the Idaho border in 1909. This was, in fact, one of the last gold rushes of the American West. By 1911, the population had exploded to ~1500 and an official settlement was established complete with a saloon, a general store and a ‘house of ill repute’ among other establishments.

The Shoshone people knew about the area that is now referred to as the Jarbidge Wilderness long before prospectors arrived. They believed that these hills were haunted by a vicious, man-eating giant by the name of Tsawhawbitts (Tuh-saw-haw-bits) who would capture unsuspecting intruders in a large basket, take them back to his camp and devour them. The name Tsawhawbitts became distorted to Jababich and finally Jarbidge. 

The stretch on NV-225 is paved. Once we left it, that was it for pavement for awhile.

Getting to Jarbidge is no easy task. It’s definitely not an accidental destination nor a casual Sunday ride out to the country. No paved roads exist within 20 miles of the town and you have to work hard to get there. With a full tank of diesel, a full fridge and a full wood bin, we headed onto Nevada SR225. The road twisted and turned and snaked its way slowly upwards midst rolling hills covered in sagebrush. In the distance, we could see snow on the mountaintops.

After about 52 miles, we came to the turn-off for Charleston/Jarbidge. Based on what we’d learned, we wouldn’t expect to see pavement again for a long time. We’re told this gravel road is snow-covered from October thru June and sometimes into mid-July depending on the winter’s snowfall. Our timing was good. Though some areas were rutted and rough, the road was fine for the most part, but the going was necessarily slow on a gravel road. We averaged about 30 mph.

The road was lined with white and purple locoweed. Does that say something about the travelers on it?

The road was lined with white and purple locoweed (Does that say something about the travelers on it?) and feathery grasses that looked too elegant and dainty for such a rugged environment. David negotiated blind hill crests and blind curves with caution as we ascended higher and higher. We drove over cattle guards every few miles. This is open range land and it was not unusual to see cattle in the middle of the road when we least expected it. A buck in velvet crossed our path, darting out from the brush. A herd of sheep grazed not far from the road. At Mile 26, we came to a fork in the road (CR747) and, guided by a crude sign, continued to the right in our quest to find Jarbidge. We knew it was out there somewhere in those mountains.

A crude, hand-lettered sign pointed us in the right direction.

The road deteriorated in sections as the ascent became seriously more pronounced. From the high desert terrain, we progressed into a mountain terrain... rocky and rough, but trees replaced scrub and sage. We passed through a stunning tunnel of mature aspens and goshawks, looking for lunch, eyed us warily as we passed.

A tunnel of aspens

Goshawks eyed us warily. We were interrupting their hunting session.

At Mile 38, thick pine and spruce had replaced the aspen stand and a couple of miles later at Mile 40, we reached the Bear Creek Summit Pass at 8,429’. The air was cool. A few raindrops sprinkled on us and the views were spectacular. Now it was all down. A sign warned of 15%+ grades. Three miles later, we’d descended 1200’ and another mile beyond, we were at 6,466’. Hairpin turns and switchbacks helped, but for the most part, it was down, down, perilously down. 

Bear Creek Summit Pass

The views as we descended from the pass were stupendous.

At last, a sign that directed us to the Pine Creek Campground only 3/4 mile or to Jarbidge, three miles in the opposite direction. Finding a campground was our first concern, but we really shouldn’t have been worried. Several dispersed sites were available along the Jarbidge River, but we continued on to the campground. We toured the campground. There were about five campsites and we found the perfect one. Far away from our neighbors, level parking for Blue, right on the river, a short walk to the vault toilet (yet not too close) and spacious enough to spread out. We claimed it as our own and set up camp. There were a couple of negatives to the campground: no fresh water and no trash pick-up (pack in/pack out). Managing the negatives was easy enough. It was late afternoon by now and a four mile, gravel road trip into Jarbidge and a return, seemed like too much effort. We held in our anticipation for the morning.

The Pine Creek Campground along the banks of the jarbidge river was just perfect for us.

Chillin’ the chuck!

We chilled the wine in the river, relaxed by the campfire, prepared a leisurely dinner and just took it all in. Join us next time when we finally venture into Jarbidge and do some exploring. You’re gonna love it... we certainly did.