I met him in the spring of 1981 while walking on Bald Mountain. In those days the community suffered twice a year economically during what was called slack. It was the time between the winter and the summer tourist seasons. I usually went on unemployment and waited out the long slow days by fishing and hiking Baldy.
My money was gone for the week, and I had found that by walking up the kat tracks after most of the snow had melted I could find coins that had fallen out of the skiers pockets on the road and on the ski runs. I was near the top of lower River Run at a junction of ski lifts called 42nd street, walking with my two keeshond dogs, when I first saw Shenendoah. He was walking down the ski run from above me and looked like a modern day mountain man. He wore an old flannel shirt with a ragged coat, old jeans, old boots, and an old felt hat that fit his attire perfectly. On his face he wore a black ragged beard and a great big smile!
My dogs ran ahead of me, barking and snarling and wagging their tails as they always did when meeting a stranger. Shenendoah dropped to one knee and welcomed them with both arms open. I could tell he loved dogs and my heart warmed to him immediately. In minutes we were friends.
“What are their names?” he asked. “This one is Cyan” I said, pointing to the female. “The other one I call Freeze, they are my hot and cold running dogs.” I then explained how the names were related to cooking, canenne being a pepper spice and freeze, well, that is what happens to water that is below 32 degrees but the name also worked great when calling my dog back from traffic when he was a puppy.
That day Shenendoah, also known as Doah to his friends, was hiking the mountain for the same reason I was, looking for lost coins. He told me that he liked to walk up the mountain directly under the ski lifts to see what he could find–and he found a lot. He found rings, cameras, ski gear of all kinds, film canisters containing not just film, and coins of all denominations. It was at 42nd street I was privileged to receive my first lesson on finding coins in the snow from a real pro.
“Look for the holes in the snow” he said. “At the bottom of each hole you will find a coin” and he was right. The sun heated the coin and melted the quarter, nickel, dime, or penny to the ground. We found several coins that day near the Limelight and Sunnyside lifts. Back then people carried more change with them skiing, unlike today; credit cards having now replaced the need for cash.
Doah was considered by many to be the town bum, but he was far from inactive. He was an entrepreneur. In addition to the winter sports gear he found on Baldy, he could be seen walking along the edges of the golf course in the summer finding abandoned golf balls which he would sell, in due time, to the very same golfers that lost them! One time he sold me an old army tent for $15.00. I didn’t ask him where he got it, and didn’t need to. I felt I was helping him out with the money and it was a nostalgic old tent that served me well while on overnight car camping and fishing trips out of county.
His favorite watering hole was the Flying Squirrel where he could be found most any day nursing a cold beer, and trying to sell whatever found item he had at the moment. It was the last place he would be seen by his friends. After leaving the Squirrel one summer afternoon in 1990 a man from Boise shot Doah in the chest with a hunting rifle. He shot one other person in town that day and missed a third. Doah died in front of Atkinsons Market in the middle of the street.
The man was caught later that day north of town and went to jail. His Blaine county lawyer probably shaved many years off his sentence by claiming insanity. The man thought Doah was an invading Martian. There is no sense in the way some events occur on this planet.
The town folk buried Shenendoah in the Ketchum cemetery. There were several hundred people in attendance to see him off– mostly friends. Some people of town thought a street should be named after him, others did not. I think of him often, especially when I am walking on Bald Mountain, and I remember his smile, and his open arms. He loved my dogs.
