Going to town from the Diamond A in Northern Nevada is usually an all-day affair. If it doesn’t take all day, it takes 15/16ths of a day, so it might as well take all day. The two-hour drive to Twin Falls, Idaho, the closest hub of civilization with a grocery store, is peaceful and beautiful. The baby sleeps the whole way, my makeup is fresh, my coffee cup is full, and I’m as rested as a mother can be.
Here’s the scenic route, which is actually the only route in and out of this place.
I start here, at – need I say it – the Diamond A.
Then I follow Buck Creek, the source of our electricity and summertime fishing adventures, about four miles to our mailbox.
At the yellow bridge, I hang a left. If I hang a right, I will end up in Jarbidge, population 15 people, 2 bars, after about nine miles. That 13-mile trip takes 45 minutes one way. That’s what happens when the road follows a winding river and your average speed is 7 mph.
Even though the way to Jarbidge is clearly marked with not one, not two, but THREE red arrows spray painted onto a large rock, we still have lost tourists regularly knock on our door asking how to get to Jarbidge. It’s like they’re not used to looking for handmade road signs on rocks or something.
After turning left at the yellow bridge, I follow the Jarbidge River for several miles. Doesn’t the sunrise look pretty on the rimrock?
This picture wasn’t crooked; the tree is leaning into the river.
Because I was totally thinking about reaching up for third gear. Not.
I pass the tiny village of Murphy’s Hot Springs at the bottom of the steep hill, where motorists are cautioned to watch for stock, not campers or druggies, the more commonly seen life forms.
Going up this steep hill isn’t too bad on dry ground, but the washboards will nearly skitter a person off into the canyon. I try not to look down.
But when I stop on the shoulder, I see beautiful sights like this. That’s Jarbidge Mountain on the skyline.
Ah, pavement! Hello, overdrive.
Now it’s only about 45 miles of this to the interstate.
On the right, we have some more scenic mountains and sagebrush. Lots of sagebrush. More sagebrush than you could shake a stick at, if you could find a stick on this desert.
As I drive by the Three Creek ranch, I like to say hello. Hi Brent, hi Kristy! Hi unborn baby Lily Ann! Does anyone else say hello to their neighbor’s fetus on the way to town? No? Yeah, that is kind of weird. Bye, unborn baby Lily Ann! See you March 17-ish!
Their road is named after the ranch’s iron. I like to point out the obvious.
It doesn’t hurt to have plenty of help when feeding cows, like this cowboy at Devil’s Creek Ranch. Also, driving on the right side of the road is optional out here, like seatbelts and registering your horse trailer.*
You definitely want to be going nice and slow when approaching the dam, as the sign says one lane only and it ain’t joking.
White wooden crosses by the side of the road are a somber reminder of how fortunate we are each time we have a safe journey, and how suddenly things can go so terribly wrong.
I wanted to take a picture of the whole dam, then realized I was in the picture, and it just seemed rude to not smile.
That is a long-a$$ way down to the bottom of that canyon. Yikes!
A nice, fairly straight stretch of pavement takes me past the Jack Ranch, home of Clair and Christine and their four rugrats, and Matt and Anna and their three munchkins. Who says there’s nothing to do way out here?
The non-town of Rogerson, unincorporated. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s on their sign. Rogerson is 65 miles from the Diamond A, a drive that normally takes 1 1/2 hours, 2 in the snow, and about an hour and forty-five minutes when you stop to take a picture every seven miles.
The interstate! You better watch your bum bum on Highway 93, because people drive like nutcases on this stretch of pavement, and there is hardly any shoulder to pull over onto in most places. Only 18 miles of this madness, though, and I’ll be in Twin.
I made it to the big city of Twin Falls, Idaho, population 44,000. Now I can’t wait to do my shopping and hurry home to my husband and little white house on the edge of the wilderness.
*We have NEVER let the tags expire on our horse trailer.
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Jolyn Young 
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