In Search of the Wrecked WWII Bomber

Story and Photos by Makena Klinge

We used to play pretend in a built-from-scratch tree house in the forest behind the cabin in McCall where I grew up. My sisters and I would spend hours making up characters and storylines about how we were stranded on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, searching for treasure, foraging for ourselves, living off the land.

Our game was interrupted only by snacks from our grandmother, which in our imagination became food gathered by hand from our deserted island. And then our parents would call us for what must’ve been the third time to come eat dinner.

My grandfather told elaborate stories as we sat around a blazing campfire, roasting our marshmallows and hanging on his every word. These stories were about him and his brothers as young kids, going on expeditions in Egypt to find ancient mummies hidden within the depths of towering pyramids, or paddling through the Amazon River in attempts to escape cannibals.

Only years later did we start to question the reliability of his tales. As a kid it’s easy to believe that the world is full of awe and wonder and that mystery and adventure await you around every corner.

While the rose-colored glasses we wear as children lose their tint as we age, I still do everything I can to prove to my eight-year-old self that wonder exists outside pretend, whether I’m in lands across the seas or in the mountains surrounding my hometown. One adventure that came close to the imaginings of my youth took place near McCall not long ago.

Loon Lake lies in the wilderness of Payette National Forest. The only access is by foot, mountain bike, or horseback. I’ve made that twelve-mile roundtrip hike only twice in my life, because twelve miles tend to tire you out and just getting to the trailhead is no picnic.