Fly the Idaho Backcountry the Right Way

There’s a place where rivers wind, mountains stand tall, and pilots are put to the ultimate test. It is here in the Idaho backcountry where a pilot’s skill set, decision making, and level of preparedness can forge a unique make-or-break relationship.

One wrong control input, action, or lackluster flight plan could prove deadly.

“It’s not a new concept, but I call it the Big Three,” said backcountry flight instructor and corporate pilot Art Dykstra. “It’s the pilot, the aircraft, and the weather. I look for the weakest link and most of the time, it’s the pilot.”

For fliers that work to overcome Dykstra’s theory through proper time and training, high stakes turn into high rewards and a chance to leave the worries of the modern world behind.

To fully understand the unique culture and challenges of the Idaho backcountry, it’s important to first understand its heritage. 

In 1926, Idaho’s first airmail route began with a stopover in Boise on a flight from Washington state to Nevada. What started as a simple stop for fuel and mail services later grew into a system of backcountry airmail routes along the rugged Middle Fork of the Salmon River in the 1950s. The purpose was to provide services to remote outfitters, ranches, mining operations, and United States Forest Service (USFS) stations. What would have taken teams of dogs, mules, or horses days or weeks to access, due to nearly impassable terrain, was now readily accessible thanks to pioneering pilots. 

“To this day central Idaho has relatively few roads,” wrote backcountry pilot Crista Worthy in her book Idaho Aviation, published in 2021. “Idaho’s major cities lie around the state’s perimeter. But an airplane can transport people or freight over the mountains instead of going around.” 

The growing realization that the backcountry was becoming more accessible, thanks to general aviation, led to the creation of more public and private airstrips throughout Idaho’s protected wilderness.

“Mining companies were clearing space for grass and gravel airstrips…,” Worthy wrote. “…The USFS also built airstrips outside the Primitive Area for fire control.”

But it wasn’t just mining operations and the USFS building strips. Homesteaders, farmers, and guest ranches constructed airstrips of their own as well. 

“Bush pilots could deliver everything from mail to groceries to dining tables, and literally the kitchen sink,” wrote Worthy. 

Although 75 years have passed since the original backcountry boom, much has stayed the same. For the Thoreson family, their high-flying, backcountry adventures represent a living testament to the old days at the Lower Loon Creek (C53) airstrip. 

“There’s no such thing as an empty plane in the backcountry,” said Gus Thoreson. “Whether it’s grain, salt, food, or propane, everything has to get to the hangar, and then we can get it into Lower Loon. But if it’s not at the hangar, and not in the airplane, it’s not getting out there.” 

Courtney Thoreson, said there are times that boats are required for transport.

“If it’s too big to fly in, we have to coordinate with river companies to get it in on sweep boats,” said Courtney. “But that takes special permits, so if we can get it in the [Cessna] 206, it’s going in the 206.” 

The Thoresons’ full-time operation, Heart X Outfitters, is a hunting establishment specializing in big-game deer, bear, wolf, sheep, and goat hunts based out of Lower Loon Creek. 

“We also offer summer stays where we can keep it simple and just feed and house you, or we can do a pack trip to a mountain lake or a guided fishing trip,” said Gus. “This is world-class fly-fishing, so we take a lot of pride in that. I just can’t imagine life without horses, mules, and airplanes.” 

Gus, who learned to fly in a 1961 Cessna 182, had his certificate for six days before his first pilot-in-command (PIC) flight into the backcountry.

“In my defense, I had been in and out of Loon multiple times a week for well over 10 years, making grocery runs with some of the best guys in the business,” he said. “So I knew my points.” 

The “points” Gus references are the unique geographical cues associated with descending into most backcountry strips. Rather than a standard pattern, each strip sports unique geographical markers and challenges that pilots must be familiar with well before attempting to land. 

“It’s not uncommon to be 10 or 15 feet away from a tree off your right wingtip trying to come in on a base to final,” said Andrew George, president of the Idaho Aviation Association. “And that can be visually challenging for anybody, and I say this, you know, not as derogatory…but for flatlanders.”

Whether it’s tall trees on mountainsides standing in between a pilot and an airstrip or a blind base to final turn 200 feet above the mighty Salmon River, every approach is different.

“You have to respect the backcountry,” said Dykstra. “The ultimate safe way to approach it would be to fly with an instructor that has familiarity with that strip and is able to explain the nuances. Is it required? Absolutely not. It’s a free country. God bless. Godspeed. Do whatever you want to do. But there’s no argument that it’s much safer to fly with somebody with local knowledge of the area.”

On paper, Lower Loon, a 1,200-foot-by-25-foot dirt and gravel runway might seem like an easy feat for a powerful, backcountry aircraft. But it is far from a breeze. 

“Lower Loon is a dynamic strip,” said Dykstra. “It is on the upper end of the tiered level of difficulty for the backcountry.” 

The no-go-around, upsloping strip is situated in between ragged 10,500-foot-tall mountain peaks on the edge of the Salmon River. With a unique canyon approach, swirling winds, hard-to-spot runway boundaries, and the potential for livestock and/or vehicles on the runway at any moment, there is little time for decision making—and absolutely no room for error. 

“The airplane doesn’t know that going around isn’t an option,” said Dykstra. “You have to put the airplane where it needs to be. The key is practicing every time you land at a 9,000-foot strip somewhere.” 

For pilots who take the challenges of Lower Loon seriously, a peaceful world awaits. From camping in sleeping bags under a million stars to enjoying a constant 112-degree hot spring a mile south of the runway, C53 is a throwback to a simpler time. 

Although pilots might feel refreshed and rejuvenated after a warm soak, it is important to avoid complacency.

“You can’t enjoy Lower Loon to its fullest extent by just flying in for the morning for some fishing and a soak in the hot springs without pushing the limits with the winds,” said Gus. “The winds are bad every day in the summer because of the geographical features.”

The popular backcountry pilot adage “home by 11” emphasizes Gus’ point of proper backcountry flight planning.

“Pilots need to respect density altitude,” he said. “We’re in the mountains starting off at 5,000 feet DA. It’s not an afternoon-friendly strip. Just bring your tie-downs and camping gear. Don’t push it.” 

For pilots that heed Gus’ advice with a sleeping bag or ranch stay at Lower Loon, the opportunity for more backcountry fun awaits. 

Twenty-nine miles northwest of Lower Loon—across the stunning, yet unforgiving Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness—lies another remote hideaway. Big Creek (U60) is a 3,550-by-110 runway owned by the USFS and operated by the Idaho Division of Aeronautics. Adjacent to the runway sits the Big Creek Lodge. Operated by the Idaho Aviation Foundation (IAF), the cabin serves as a hotel, restaurant, and gathering spot for the backcountry community. 

“Normal businesses thrive on growth, but we’re not trying to do that,” said Jim Davies, IAF president. “We just want to provide a place where people can go that’s affordable, but with a little bit of luxury, and be on the very edge of the wilderness.” 

With overnight stays booked up to a year in advance, the Big Creek Lodge is one of the Idaho backcountry’s most popular fly-in destinations.

“We’re often seeing 60 percent occupancy rates in the lodge, and cooking up anywhere from 20 to 40 breakfasts on any given day,” said Davies. 

When open in the spring, summer, and early fall months, pilots are welcome to fly in for breakfast on a last-minute whim, but dinner reservations must be made in advance.

“All of our food is flown in, so we have to be able to plan,” said Davies. “There’s no menu for dinner. You’re getting what they’re making, but typically the meals are pretty gourmet-ish.” 

Although Big Creek is considered one of the more popular, beginner friendly strips by backcountry pilots and in the widely acknowledged backcountry pilot bible Fly Idaho! by Galen Hanselman, flying into Big Creek should also not be attempted without proper training. 

“Most backcountry training is specific to each airstrip, and that goes for Big Creek too,” said Davies. “ The Fly Idaho!  book is the Bible for all of these places. That’s really the best thing there is.”

Like Lower Loon Creek, Big Creek’s canyon turn approach is one that takes proper planning, communication, and discipline. 

“Big Creek has plenty of considerations,” said Dykstra. “There’s a big sloping mountain right next to it. If you choose to go downstream, you have to make a tight canyon turn and then come back in.” 

With its blind canyon approach, Davies notes how things can sadly take a turn for the worst, if proper approach procedures and communication are not adhered to.   

“When you’re on the approach up the canyon, on your way back in you’re staring straight at a hogback [mountain],” said Davies. “You can’t see anything. It’s almost inevitable that there’s going to be a midair between a straight-in and someone doing it the right way. We strongly discourage straight-in arrivals.” 

No matter the backcountry strip, or difficulty level, proper planning, training, and decision making are paramount to ensuring a safe and fun time for all. However, these practices alone are not enough to ensure the future of general aviation in the wilderness. 

“Idaho is a very unique destination and a gem to behold,” said George. “But in the same breath, we have to manage how we utilize a very special place. Etiquette’s a huge thing when it comes to how aviation is perceived.”

River rafters, kayakers, fishermen, and hikers are just a few of many groups that also utilize the Idaho backcountry. 

“Our behaviors are constantly under a microscope because we are a small minority in the partnerships that create a good stewardship for the land,” said George. “The [Idaho Aviation] Association is in the business of protecting, preserving, and promoting aviation within the state of Idaho and specifically spearheading our advocacy work in backcountry and wilderness access.”

In order to help secure GA wilderness access for generations to come, there are a few simple tasks each pilot visiting the backcountry can perform. 

For starters, plan ample time to explore the wilderness and its accompanying strips, rather than simply doing touch-and-goes to cross airports off a bucket list.

“Land, get out, and enjoy the strip, even if you just walk around for 10 minutes,” said Dykstra. “There have been big pushes to shut down the Big Four in Idaho and classify them as emergency strips because of people just landing and taking right back off again. If we don’t treat these areas with respect, they will go away.”

While exploring all Idaho has to offer (at an appropriate altitude), make sure to leave areas as they were found. By all means, bring cooking and camping supplies, and set up at a backcountry camping area for a night or two. But leave no trace.

“People will grab rocks and use them to chock the backside of their tires,” said Gus. “But when they leave, they just leave them there. They don’t put the rocks off to the side. And when you’re coming [down] in a fully loaded 206 with 1,000 pounds of gear and supplies, it’s hard to even taxi around in those areas. Just clean up after yourself.” 

The frequency of the backcountry (122.9) is where all intentions are declared. It is essential to avoid radio chatter, use a complete call sign, and know the geography before making a call.

“Never assume that you’re alone,” said Gus. “I’ve about had a midair at the mouth of Camas Creek. [A pilot] was saying he was coming down Lower Loon, but he was actudown Camas. This is the main route into the backcountry. You should know what drainage you’re flying into.” 

Beyond the radio transmissions and cockpit discipline that keeps pilots safe in the backcountry is an overarching theme of responsibility, not to be taken lightly. 

Where the rewards—and risks—are as immense as the granite peaks themselves, it’s a place that demands respect for the landscape, the legacy, and the critical “Big Three.” 

The price of admission? A simple commitment of stewardship and a promise to fly safely, precisely, and profoundly. 

For those who fly in with humility and care, the Idaho wilderness gives back emphatically, offering a peaceful escape, freeing adventures, and the satisfaction of mastering a flight into the wild. 

The future of Idaho’s last frontier rests within the hands of pilots who yearn to keep it wild, safe, and free. 

“Be mindful of the land and your fellow pilot,” said Dykstra. “Let’s enjoy this for a long time to come.”

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This article first appeared in the January/February 2026 issue of Plane + Pilot magazine.