Albion, what some call nothing but a burgh, adorns Magic Valley with a handful of picturesque historical buildings spreading to the south. But this pales in comparison to the northern reach of town, which is graced with the long-abandoned halls of a college campus. They stand like fabled mansions, rising from the greenery of lawns and shrubs still manicured to this day. This is the once highly acclaimed “Albion State Normal School,” which trained teachers for schools all over the west and was closed in 1951.
I came here to obtain information on this school for a magazine article I was assigned to write. Now, with that task largely accomplished, I am free to roam.
I drive back and forth through town, each time finding something I missed before. This town, like so many frontier towns of the day, has a legend.
Diamondfield Jack, a presumed murderer, was jailed here for some years and nearly hung in 1897. But he was saved by a stay of execution and later saved again when his sentence was annulled after the real killer was captured. He went on to begin a mining town in Nevada.
I turn south again and this time stay the course, right out of town.
Log house at Elba
I crawl down the center of Cassia County, a swath of valleys and hills occupying the central portion of the southern end of Idaho bordering Utah. After some miles I come to a “T” in the road. A sign tells me if I turn left I’ll go to a place called Malta. If I turn right I’ll head for Elba and Almo. Decisions. Malta sounds a bit boring and so I turn right for the two cousins some miles further south.
Elba
Cruising at 70mph I pass through Elba, but I don’t know it. What I do know is I passed a dilapidated log house, and I flip a “U” to go get a photo or two. It is only now, while standing alongside this lonely road, that I see a church across the road with a white sign on its ancient brick façade below the bell tower reading “Elba Relief Society 1901.”
I made it to Elba.
Looking around I can almost fuse together a semi semblance of a tiny town. Not far from the old church is a much newer Mormon Church. Besides the log cabin ruins there are a few other houses in various states of depreciation and/or remodel. I take a side road to find a couple of beautiful stone homes and even a business, “Rick and Ginny’s Dusty Antiques.” It does not appear to be open. I notice a few other ruins, mostly foundations or collapsed structures, as I get back on state route 77.
Again, a beautiful drive. What many people would call “nothing” I call beauty, teaming with wildlife and open skies. I see only two other cars since leaving Albion. I’ll take nothing to something any day.
Hotel remains at Almo
Then, quite suddenly, there is a tractor, a house, a side road. I am entering something, probably Almo. I take a gander at the hollowed out stone walls of what may have been a large store 130 years ago. There is a tall tree that has long occupied the center of it, a testament to its lengthy abandonment.
I decide to take a few laps through, like Albion, though Almo makes Albion look like the big town. The one thing that stands out is an old business called “Tracy General Store” There is a huge ancient barn behind it, and I have already decided I will stop for a photo on the first return drive through. I don’t know it yet, but that will be an hour later.
At the far end of town, the road turns to dirt as it turns and enters “The City of Rocks.” Suddenly I see motorcycles, RV’s, toy haulers, families, and what looks like a spacious visitor’s center on the left. I thought I had made it to nowhere, but I am most definitely somewhere!
The City of Rocks National Reserve is one of Idaho’s official playgrounds. When the westward bound settlers first stumbled upon this spectacle they called it “The silent city,” and “A city of tall spires.” The emigrants used this as a landmark along the California Trail. It is still used today, but for different reasons. Rock climbers, hunters, campers, geologists, and adventure seekers of all types, flock to this natural wonder to get away.
A portion of The City of Rocks
I drive past a sparsely filled RV campground and into this 2.5-billion-year-old city. Like any city there is old town and the new parts. Old town is composed of granite outcroppings of the Green Greek Complex, which is some of the oldest rock on the continent! The modern addition, a mere 28 million years in the making, is composed of Almo Pluton. And now I know how the town below got that funny name.
Continuing up into the hills, midst shadows of huge pinnacles stabbing skyward, I take a narrow steep road to an outlook. It’s not a bad little path unless I were to meet a vehicle coming the other way, which I don’t. At the top I find an open turn around, complete with an outhouse and an abandoned car. The view is breathtaking. Here, the major peaks of the place are up close and personal. There are walking trails for even closer observation. But I believe I’ve seen the best of it, and besides, I still have to do another pass through Almo!
Coming back down I’m following a motorcycle moving slow through the loose gravel. He motions me around and soon eats my dust as I get back down to the pavement and head back to town.
Old barn at Almo
I am set on getting a good photo of that big barn. I park and trespass behind the store. The cement stairs are crumbling and the boards that make up the façade are thinking seriously about buckling. My kind of place. I continue my encroachment past the back of the store for a better photo, then walk around the far side to a door on the corner.
I am quick to find this is not simply a store, but doubles as a makeshift museum and houses a post office within as well. I am looking for a bottle of water. There is none. I look to the ancient wooden counter where an older woman stands. “I’ll have to go back and get more waters,” she explains. She vanishes into the back and reemerges moments later with a half case of warm waters. She hands me one. I feel as if I may have found someone to talk to.
Her name is Janice, and it turns out her kinfolk was one of the first families in these parts in the 1880’s. It also happens to be that this is not only the oldest continuously operating general store in Almo, but in all of Idaho as well. It has served travelers as a major hub with all the basic travel needs for 132 years and even offers home-made ice cream!
Some antiques at The Tracy General Store
I tell Janice I like to write things for magazines and my blog. She lurches into action, describing photos on the wall and several antiques in glass cases. She pulls out a 125-year-old typewriter and a cream jar, both of which had belonged to her Grandmother. She tells me how Almo and near distant Oakley were settled by Mormons seeking to expand out of the cities in Utah. Then she adds that Albion was established by pioneers who “fell off” the California trail and stayed. She even tells me about the stone walls I passed coming into town. Before it was a home to that big tree, it hosted a restaurant, a hotel and a House of Ill Repute, all in one! Of course, Almo was a bigger town then. I have long learned that most tiny western towns were once much larger.
It turns out that Janice is a walking museum in her own right and indeed carries the title of “local historian.” I knew there was a reason I wanted to talk to her! She even has a site online you can visit to find stories, photos, and the people who have made up the history of this important area. Check this out! https://www.discoverheritagehub.com/mini-cassia-area/will get you access to a plethora of information regarding Almo and Cassia County, which is a vital link to American history in general.
Beyond Almo and the turn off to “The City of Rocks,” a dirt road continues for a couple of miles or so to the Utah border. I backtrack. I drive all the way back through Elba and on to the aforementioned junction. This time I head for Malta, the other road from Albion. Besides an age-old goliath wooden barn with a dainty cupola high atop, the ranching community provides little reason to stop, and I drive on through. Somewhere along this road, right before the Utah border, are remnants of a ghost town I wanted to check out. But these remains must now be nearly reclaimed by the earth and, search as I may, I find nothing but the “Welcome to Utah” sign.
I drive what is perhaps the most desolate road ever, and I have been on some desolate treks. State route 30 cuts through the northwest corner of Utah for about 135 miles, punctuated by a couple of town names that are really nothing but old ranches. Other than that, the terrain is largely indistinguishable. Could be scrub. Could be desert. Could be a form of grassland. Could be rocky. Could be open range. But it is certainly long and hot.
But alas, the heavens open up and I enter northeast Nevada, and soon after a shred of civilization called “The Cowboy Bar” in Montello. I get out, walk around in the heat, eat an apple, get back in and head out on the long road for home.
For some Idaho ghost town fun check out another blog post of mine at https://outerrealmz.com/the-amazing-ghost-towns-of-central-idaho/
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