Spirit Lake exceeds expectations
Third in a series: Last time, The Lake Lady visited the Lower St. Joe River. This week she heads a little farther north into the Idaho Panhandle as she continues her powerboater’s view of Inland Northwest waters.
Legend has it that Hya-Pam (Fearless Running Water) the beautiful daughter of Hyas-Tyee-Skookum-Tum-Tum (Good Chieftains) of the Kootenai Tribe loved Hasht-Eel-Ame-Hoom (Shining Eagle) a Kootenai Brave.
In the east there lived a hostile tribe whose chief Pu-Pu-Mox-Mox (Yellow Serpent) threatened to wage war against the Kootenai tribe if Hya-Pam was not given to him in marriage. Hya-Pam’s father consented. Heartbroken, the Indian maiden and her brave vowed never to be apart, then tied themselves together with the “marriage chain of rushes” and leaped to their death in the lake, then called Clear Water.
The two were never found and their spirits are said be seen and heard on the lake to this day. Hence the name was changed from Clear Water to Lake of Spirits, or Spirit Lake.
We put our 18-foot boat in the water at the public launch at the North Idaho lake, which is less mystical nowadays but still enchanting. The launch is made of cement planks, has a nice gradual slope and docks on either side, so getting on the water is easy.
While I wait on the dock for my boating partner to return, I notice a boy fishing on the other side of the dock. “Caught anything?” I ask him.
“Not yet,” he says, ” but I just got here.”
A few minutes later, he proudly pulls a sunfish out of the shallow water. Out in the deeper parts of the lake, a fisherman might hook a trout, kokanee, bass, catfish or one of the other many cold- or warm-water fish that live in the lake.
The boy is pleased with his sunfish and I congratulate him on the catch. There are families picnicking and swimming at the public beach adjacent to the launch. The sand is course and colorful.
To the right of the launch is a bridge that spans the spillway into Mill Pond. Built in 1907 by the Panhandle Lumber Company, Mill Pond was used to hold logs until they were ready to go to the mill. From the 1900s to 1939, when a fire destroyed the forests in the surrounding mountains, lumber was the mainstay of the local community.
Spirit Lake is reported to be one of the few lakes in the world to have a sealed bottom. The lake’s seal has formed over thousands of years as layers of silt, clay and other sediment washed in and collected on the bottom. The seal keeps the water from seeping into deeper layers of the earth. When the pilings were driven into the lake bottom to build the bridge some locals say the seal was compromised and the lake has a leak. I think about this as we slowly travel out of the no wake zone to boat around a peninsula. Our lakes are fragile.
The view from the public launch is deceiving and makes the lake seem much smaller than it is. As we travel around the finger of land and rock, the view opens to encompass the towering, heavily wooded Selkirk Mountains and more than 4 miles of lake stretching in front of us. Once again I am thoroughly impressed at the beauty we have in our backyard.
The smell of the air changes from the fish and vegetation of the cove to the open fragrance of evergreens and fresh water. It is still early in the weekday afternoon, so there are only a few other boats on the lake. The temperature is climbing into the 80s, another perfect day for boating.
There are several coves and interesting rock formations, but most of the 12 miles of shoreline is privately owned and supports a range of homes from small rustic cabins to large two- and three-story year-round homes. Where there are no homes the shore is covered in a thick growth of shrubs and evergreen trees.
We stop the boat and drift a while in one of the coves. Two red-necked loons eat the vegetation that grows near the shore. A distance away a fish jumps, and then another. I slip my sandals off and put my feet into the water at the back of the boat. Burr!
We start again and continue up the lake toward a small private island. The homes become more elaborate with trams to the water and interesting rockwork that holds back the wall of earth and gives the residents beachfront.
Nestled back in the dense woods on the island we get a glimpse of a log cabin with unusual roofline and window angles. It blends nicely into the natural setting. We continue out into the larger body of the lake. The after-dinner wake borders, jet skiers and cruisers like us are coming out.
We pass a boat with five young men and two wake boards that I can see. They appear to be wagering to see who will jump in the cold water first. I understand the stakes.
In the distance the sporadic roaster tails of water draw white streaks in the air as the jet skiers make sharp turns and double back to jump their own wake.
Our time is nearly up so we motor on to another small cove for one last stop to watch and listen to the sounds of the lake. I can hear the squawk of a gull overhead, the gentle lapping of the water against the bow of the boat and the call of the loons or is that Hya-Pam and Hasht-Eel-Ame-Hoom?