In a state studded with natural jewels, Upper Priest Lake is still one of Idaho's best. Reached only by trail or a three-mile water thoroughfare from its big sister to the south, Priest Lake, its sandy-bottomed clear water is surrounded by undeveloped shoreline boasting trees and plants of uncommon diversity. Osprey fish from above as moose munch grass at water's edge and bears are tempted by early huckleberries to visit from visible nearby mountains.
But this heirloom is not being cared for as well as many of the state's other treasures. That's a shame because once it's spoiled, it will not be as easy to resuscitate as, say, the state's mighty rivers.
A four-day visit a week ago gave me some idea of how the lake is being treated, and what is needed to save it.
First, despite the upper lake's small size compared to its more developed sister and its special natural appeal, it has been permitted to become another playground for powerboats.
Powerboats are fine, and have plenty of space to unleash their horsepower and leave their wakes in larger, more developed lakes not far away. Priest Lake itself is only one. Not far away is Pend Oreille, home to Sandpoint, Hope and Bayview. Not far from that are Coeur d'Alene and Hayden. And several others also lie in the region.
But letting power boats into Upper Priest is a mistake for at least two reasons.
One is that their noise is usually the only disturbance a visitor will encounter after hiking or paddling into the lake. It's hard to understand how great a disturbance that is until you experience the lake in evening or early morning hours. At those times, the breeze is usually as absent as the boats, which have returned to the bigger lake, and the silence is astounding.
It's the kind of silence you rarely experience anymore, even if you backpack into truly out-of-the-way places. Few city workers sleep on the ground more days of the year than I do, but I found myself almost unnerved by an absence of ambient noise that made fir needles falling on the tent sound like major events.
Most powerboaters visiting the lake are courteous enough, including following the no-wake rule in force in the thoroughfare. And fortunately, three miles of enforced slowness deters most of the bothersome Jetskis and their brethren from venturing north to the smaller lake. But it takes only one discourteous boater to screw things up.
One evening I was there, all powerboats had left and we were settling in for the peace to which we were becoming accustomed when we heard the low rumble that signaled a late arrival. Upon leaving the thoroughfare, the driver sped to the south center of the lake, cut the engine and cranked up a built-in stereo. It wouldn't have mattered if I liked the rock music whose distorted vibrations hit my ears. It still would have sounded like hell.
Fortunately, this boat's occupants had short attention spans, and they soon resumed their plane heading farther up lake.
The second reason powerboats should be turned back at the thoroughfare was visible only on leaving last Sunday morning. As we entered the shallow water of the thoroughfare itself, I looked down and saw a grove of what appeared to be water milfoil reaching upward. That is the non-native plant that is already threatening to choke other lakes like Pend Oreille, and is carried from one water body to another primarily by powerboats. If it has its way with Upper Priest, kiss that beautiful sandy bottom goodbye.
Boats aren't the only problem, either. Around the lake are a few developed campgrounds, complete with outhouses and bear-proof storage containers, and several dispersed campsites whose use is unregulated to the point of foulness. There are the usual rock fire rings becoming altars as they fill with ash and garbage, examples of foolish carpentry nailed into trees and piles of toilet paper and human waste behind nearby bushes.
The best way to stop this desecration is to manage the lake the way the U.S. Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management already manage Idaho's floating rivers, like the Salmon. Require everyone planning to camp along the lake to carry a firepan and a toilet, remove the fire rings and other trash that is already there, and lecture everyone entering the lake about no-trace camping.
These two steps would go a long way toward restoring the luster to Upper Priest Lake, and would make visiting it even more memorable compared to other lakes.
When we returned at trip end to the lower lake campground from which we had launched, we found a partly used bottle of shampoo and container of bar soap lying next to a sudsy shoreline. If they were yours, give me a call. I'd like to offer you something in addition to your purloined toiletries.