My Memories Of Priest Lake
| By Shanelle Bailey |
From the time I was first walking, we were at the lake every weekend in the summer. Our families didn’t go to the resorts, we camped out under the stars. We were not out of towner’s, but locals from Priest River coming to our second home. It holds so many memories, that I don’t even know where to begin. Camping was a way of life. It could be just my mom, dad, and sisters, or extended family and friends… Some times up to 30 or more of us at a time. We camped at places like Mosquito Bay, Beaver Creek, The Upper Priest Lake, Lion Head, and our favorite Huckleberry Bay. We even had our own spot that many people knew about, just off to the east side of the camp ground. It’s where we learned to swim, to fish, water ski, jet ski, and row a boat. Were we learned to make a camp fire, chop down a tree, fire a gun, make our first smores, and drank our first beer. We would play in the creeks, make a fort in the woods, and hike the trails till we knew just when to come back for dinner. It was picking huckleberries till our fingers were stained purple or murals till our backs ached. It was always up at the crack of dawn and staying up late by the camp fire. There was always good homemade food like huckleberry pancakes, venison steak, and anything that was cooked over the fire. There were card games, water fights, late night ghost stories, and lots of picture taking. Most of my best memories from growing up involve a time when we were at Priest Lake. Along with the good memories there comes the bad…. The mosquitoes, the packing up and going home, the tourist, the crazy college kids with their loud music (which as a kid I always wanted to be one of, but am so glad I never was), and the building of the big houses that just didn’t belong on the lake. The saddest memory that I have of Priest Lake is the day that we found out that Huckelberry Bay camp ground was sold. We read the paper stating that the campground would soon be closed and houses would soon be built. They made it so that the locals that had used it all their life couldn’t even think about buying a piece of their history. You had to build a house on it within a certain amount of time and it had to be worth a certain amount of money. It was a heart break I had never felt before. The rich people were taking over and there was nothing we could do about it. The last time I went up I traveled the lake by boat and sat in disbelief that this once pristine place had become a place of so called “summer cabins”. Which were nothing more then million dollar houses that sit were there once was a camp ground or a lush green forest. I don’t live far from home now and return quit often. I still call the area“home” but rarely get to the Lake any more because I know my heart would be broken all over.