Potholes & scablands
July 25, 2017

What?!  Who could possibly be excited about going to a place that boasts potholes and scablands?  The answer is that one of us wanted to do that (hint: it wasn't me).

So Chris channeled his inner geologist by regaling me with tales of the Grand Coulee, icy glacial fingers melting, the Missoula flood, the former channel of the Columbia River and so on.  There was much more, believe me; however, the facts did not velcro themselves to my brain as they passed through.  Fairly sure it's called "in one ear and out the other".

To be certain, some destinations of this trip were of my choosing, so it seemed only right that I agree to visiting potholes and scablands, even without the slightest understanding of what that might entail.  Even the señor was unsure of what the area might be like.

In the end, we were both totally fascinated with what we found and agreed as we left after three nights of exploring that we must return for a more extended stay,

Pancakes and angels . . .

Our move from Cascade Locks began uneventfully enough.  It being a weekend, the RV park was serving all-you-can-eat $2 pancake breakfasts.  We love to take advantage of such on moving days because it makes tear-down that much simpler by not having to fix breakfast and wash dishes.

Our pancakes were served up with smiley faces to start us off right.

Our angel came in the form of a gentleman in a pickup truck on the interstate highway.  There we were speeding along on the first leg of the day's journey when said angel pulled up next to us and agitatedly pointed upward toward our truck.

Chris glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that one of the boats had become unfastened and was in direly imminent danger of flying off the truck.  He immediately pulled off onto the shoulder and the day was saved.  The thought of the boats flying backward, crashing into the trailer and then into oncoming highway traffic makes me mighty grateful for that angel!

The gorge transforms . . .

As we traveled upriver along the Columbia, we were astounded at how quickly the countryside morphed from lush forests into grasslands.  One minute we were in the trees and the next minute we were not.  The vistas there were beautiful in their own way and the river no less diminished in its grandeur.

Scablands . . .

Approaching our destination on Moses Lake, doubts about staying in the area for three whole days began to creep in.  We are not ones to turn up our noses at whatever is before us; however, the very tall dry grass punctuated profusely with sagebrush was less than exciting.

Turns out that potholes in eastern Washington are totally intriguing and the whole scablands is mind-boggling in scope.  It seems that as the last Ice Age receded, floods of unfathomable proportions were released across the countryside that is now Washington and along the Columbia River gorge.

As simplistically as I can put it: Water that was captured behind glacial dams created huge lakes that were released cataclysmically when the pressure could no longer be sustained.  Unbelievably, at least one of the resulting floods is estimated to have carried more water at once than ten times the volume of all the current rivers in the world! 

Five hundred cubic miles of water, 2,000 feet deep where it broke free was released to rip across the landscape at 70 miles per hour, scouring away everything in its path until it reached the ocean.  By the time it reached where Portland is now - approximately 400 miles away, it was still 400 feet deep!

Of course all wildlife would have been wiped out, while as much as 5.3 trillion gallons of water per second raced across the country.

What I expected to see was barren scoured rocky landscape.  The actuality is much different.  Potholes (not your usual gouges in the pavement surface type) of varying gargantuan proportions have been drilled out by the water's force, and seemingly thousands of them are water-filled with connecting channels that have become reedy marshy areas.

Some (or possibly all, I'm unsure) of the potholes were formed by kolks, a previously unknown word in my world.   It constitutes an underwater vortex when rapidly rushing water begins spinning because of an obstacle, rotating violently like a tornado which drills out a hole in the rocky ground surface.

As you drive around, the countryside appears to be dry grassy sagey landscape until you realize that all of the lower areas are wetlands and/or open water.

The resort where we parked near the town of Moses Lake is backed up by O'Sullivan dam; it is a prized fishing destination.

Wildlife . . .

We were very surprised and pleased to find many wildlife refuge areas in our vicinity.  We spent a good bit of our exploration time driving and walking through those places.  Very few other folks were out there - understandably in the near 100-degree temperatures.

One morning we went out early to the Potholes Wildlife Refuge, one of our favorites, and savored our breakfast out there.  We did meet up with one person in that wetlands - a Grant County employee who was picking up mosquito traps.

Surprisingly, we were bothered very little by the pests, but her trap was plenty filled.  The contraption has a dry ice container that exudes carbon dioxide to attract the critters.  She euphemistically told us they "put them to sleep" (perhaps she thought we might be offended to discover they kill the pestilants) and sort them.  My immediate thought was to be incredibly grateful I never had the job of sorting mosquitoes.  Of course I had to wonder what they were sorting them for: turns out there are thousands of varieties of mosquitoes!  Who knew - I thought a mosquito was a mosquito.  The things you learn along the way . . .

In our explores, we encountered every ilk of surface moisture and it seemed that most if not every one was connected by channels winding serpentine-like throughout the rugged jagged black lava rock.  Open water that appeared to be very deep in places nestled below black cliffs, pockets of marshy moisture filled with reeds, streams that wound through solid rock to open into another pond -  the only potholes that weren't water-filled were higher up on the slopes.

As we drove along a berm on the Potholes Refuge, we were amazed at the recent flood damage on one side contrasted with pristine placid ponds on the other side.

In that quiet peaceful place, we saw deer making their way across narrow spits of land and wading through the shallows . . .

. . . white pelicans bobbing along in a line . . .

. . . a coyote cooling his belly in a pond and a black-crowned night heron and what I think was a mink (not just because it rhymes, either - the sign said they are out there) bobbing across the berm in the funny rocking manner of swimming animals when on land and then back in his element gliding away, all of which were too quick for my camera . . .

. . . but most exciting of all were the eagles.  We saw what we thought was a golden eagle perched in a tree and then walking around on the ground below.  When an adult bald eagle swooped in to land next to it, we realized it was a juvenile bald.  They were soon joined by another juvenile, but it appeared that mommy or daddy was merely checking up on the kids because there was no breakfast forthcoming.  

Amusingly, after the adult and one baby left, the lone eagle was joined by a great blue heron, so the youngster opted to seek sustenance from it.  As it approached, the heron gave it a look the like of which I have seen on people who are thinking something along the lines of "Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind?!".  Baby was unfazed at the ludicrousness of asking to be fed by a heron, so its hoped-for benefactor quickly departed, presumably for saner sites.

Other than the mosquito lady, the only other person we saw on the refuge was a young man who was bow fishing.  I had never seen that done before; it was fun to watch as he peered intently into the water watching for his chance . . . and then letting fly.  In the short time I watched, he shot twice but reeled in nothing.  It would have been interesting to talk to him about the whats, hows and whys; however, we were across the slough, so didn't have the opportunity.

Handy steps in . . . 

As I was zeroing in on a yellow-headed blackbird that was flocking with the red-winged variety, my binoculars ceased operating: the focus wheel turned freely and accomplished nothing.  Geez luize, I felt bereft without that particular appurtenance!  These are lifetime warranteed glasses, so it's not like we would toss them and run off to buy a replacement and it's not like we would send them off for repair while we are in the middle of a trip - so it was handyman C to the rescue.

In all truth, I didn't believe he could fix them; the keeper washer had come off and was undoubtedly lying in the ample dust at our feet.  Now how was he to replace that when we are in the middle of a wildlife refuge???  He was confident, however, and sure enough, after a short spell of rummaging in his tool box, he emerged from the truck with a manufactured keeper gizmo and the binocs work just fine, that is, except for the groaty lenses.  With apologies to Barb W., I vow to clean them immediately.

We located a nice little dock at one lake to sit and enjoy our picnic lunch and watch the few birds there.  While we were lounging, I spotted a bird approaching very low from behind Chris; it flew directly over and past us, so I got a very good look at it, which I mention because it was a life bird but a bit out of its range: a pelagic cormorant, but I was sure of my identification.

Other birds we picked up on that leg of the journey include sage thrasher, lark sparrow, great egret, spotted sandpiper, lesser yellowlegs, wood duck, and another life bird: sage sparrow.

Growing stuff . . .

In those parts, there is no transition from scablands/potholes/wetlands terrain to agricultural plantings: they are interspersed as the lay of the land allows.  As always, we are as fascinated with the agriculture in various regions as anything else we find along the way.  It's a matter of being open to what is to be found in order to get a feel for what life is like in other regions.

In the Moses Lake case, there was lots of farming, none of which we had expected to find.  We were unable to identify all the crops grown thereabouts; however, we spotted corn (waxing ecstatic over the first sweet corn of the season - the best ever! but C maintains I say that every year) . . .

. . . beans (not sure what kind),

 grapes, apples cultivated in various arcane ways - some with acres of nets overhead . . .

 . . . potatoes . . .

 . . . garlic . . .

 . . .  lots and lots of wheat, which the geese are fond of, as undoubtedly are the sandhill cranes that rest there during their migration . . .

  . . . and perhaps most surprising of all because we had never seen it grown as a large-scale field crop: mint.

Working on the farm . . .

American agriculture is becoming predominantly mechanized and dominated by technology, far removed from the methods employed by the Para family, early 20th century homesteaders who developed their prime farmland; however, manual labor remains a very important component of getting food to table, even for some larger enterprises.

A contraption . . .

This conveyance was a new one to us; we stopped to learn something about it, but truthfully, came away having learned very little, primarily because none of the field workers spoke English.  Its construction: it is a wooden framework on four wheels, about three feet high.  Across the center is a platform on which is placed a large cushion.

The people we saw using them would stoop to enter and then rest their chest on the center platform.  That stance allowed them to reach down low without stooping, but darned if we could discern exactly what they were doing.  

They were working in a newly planted orchard; they may have been snipping off side shoots.  Each tree was left with a white strip around its base.  Anyway, even though I couldn't figure out exactly what the procedure was, it was fascinating to watch the workers use their conveyance by pushing themselves  along with their feet.

71 & waterfalls
July 23, 2017

As the day marking my 71st birthday transpired, we continued to enjoy the awesomeness of the Columbia River gorge region.  As crazed as it sounds to me, I have actually attained an age that at one time seemed positively ancient, yet when my eyes look at the world around me, my mind does not register any difference from my youth.

This birthday registers 24 years more than my mother had.  I am sad not to have had the pleasure of her company for longer, but I am grateful that I am still able to savor the delicious flavor of this life.

Because the anniversary of my birth found us amidst what is said to be the largest concentration of waterfalls in North America, it made infinite sense to view a few at the very least; besides, who doesn't love a waterfall.  The señor explained a bit about the hows and whys of the gorge and falls (really, people: it can be very educational traveling with him!).

So . . . far in the past, a huge volcano existed where now the Columbia flows.  The river has carved its passage through the lava beds deposited by that unnamed mountain.  Because of where the river’s course cuts, the stratigraphy of the gorge’s north Washington side is more gentle and tilted toward the river.  Conversely, the south Oregon side is made up of upward tilted rock layers which create cliff edges from which rivers drop abruptly, creating 40 or so magnificent waterfalls in the process.

This shot across the river to the Washington shore shows a section of where the mountain was sheared away when the landslide let loose.

However they came to be, the waterfalls are a great attraction.  Each of the ones we viewed was entirely different from all the others.  Some, like Multnomah, are close by the highway and thus visited by hordes of people.

Others require treks to reach, some short and easy walks, some long and strenuous hikes.  For a portion of my birthday and the following day, we went to seven of the falls.  I preferred the ones that required a hike to reach, partly because there were fewer people and partly because of the beauty of the forested canyons, mossy and lichen-covered.

I love how the atmosphere changed entirely as we walked deeper into the canyon: temperature dropped, sounds muffled and as we neared the falls, the soft spray was carried to us on the breeze, caressing us with its moisture.

A number of the sites had been donated to the state by private individuals and families to insure that they would remain open to the public.  Latourel is one of those.  It drops straight down 249 feet from a basaltic overhang that is brilliantly colored with yellow lichen.

 
Bridal Veil falls flows beneath the historic gorge highway with the bridge right over the top of it.  There the water cascades down one section before dropping a slightly different direction for the second part of its fall.

With a drop of 176 feet, Horsetail falls is spectacular as it plunges into a sizable pool.  It is easily accessible.  Its namesake, Upper Horsetail - also called Ponytail - requires a hike along a scenic trail.

Horsetail and Ponytail were two of the falls suggested to us by my great niece Bri, so we made it a point to get to them even though time limitations did not allow us to visit all her recommendations.

Ponytail was very fun to be at: the trail leads right in behind the cascade that shoots outward from the top of an overhanging cliff.  In the photo below, a person is barely visible on the trail behind the fall, which gives a good idea of its massiveness.  Without something to provide perspective, the impressive size of the waterfalls become impossible to appreciate in the photographs.

The following picture was taken from inside the overhang behind the waterfall as we watched and felt it shoot out from above us.

The trail continues on from there to a third waterfall, but we did not proceed further at that point.

Shepperds Dell was perhaps my favorite among the waterfalls we viewed although not as spectacular as some.  It is in two segments that the canyon topography precludes photographing together.

That spot where Youngs Creek drops downward is truly a small secluded dell, greened with the close leafy embrace of trees.  The place exuded an invitation to sit in the serenity.

George Shepperd donated the land surrounding the waterfall in honor of his wife, Mattie.

Elowah falls, one of several on McCord Creek drops an awesome misty 213 feet.  The box canyon causes the free-falling water to be blown first one way and then another.  It was fascinating to watch the changing patterns of the water, and I loved how it frosted the bouldery bottom.

That route was the most challenging hike of the waterfalls we saw.  Long and precipitous, sometimes wet and muddy, it was steep with rough footing often hairpinning around on itself.

I have to admit to a bit of pride in myself: I declined an offered hand for stability and soloed on the narrow steep path even with the dropoffs, proof that I am actually getting past the fear that has dogged me since the ankle mishap last September.

These huge boulders that had dropped into McCord Creek from the cliffs above gave me pause about hanging around down in that canyon.

Commerce, birds . . .

 As we climbed into the canyon toward our goal, we could see out to the Columbia and caught sight of a raft of barges heading upstream.

 River and railroad traffic is heavy in the gorge.  We became especially acquainted with the frequent long trains that roared past our RV park throughout the night and day.  It will be some time before I sleep without remembering the signal for that stretch: two longs, one short, one long.

And speaking of whistles: the only birds added to the trip list at that stop were calliope hummingbird, purple martin and purple finch.

Crown  Point . . .

We could scarcely believe the Crown Point Vista House and museum on the historic Columbia River highway.  Built atop and in the middle of a highway switchback, it was a marvel of optimism on the part of its planners.

Designed by Edgar Lazarus, it was intended to be a resting house to those long-ago intrepid travelers who ventured out during a more genteel era.

Below are shots of it then (it was completed in 1918) and now.

I cannot fault the rhetoric that touted lofty thoughts and apple-pie-up-in-the-sky hopes for those who would come after.  Unfortunately, I do not think that our society has upheld such goals.

A far cry from any modern rest stop, the Vista House is awash in stained glass, marble floors and plaster busts of notables.

Bonneville again. . .

Our fascination with the lock system of transporting river traffic past numerous dams took us to the visitor center at Bonneville once more, this time to the Oregon side of the structure.  We were able to look into the lock and learn a few things about the process, one of which is that they would not be amenable to filling and emptying it for us in our non-motorized kayaks - darn!

The Bonneville lock fills and empties in about 25 minutes.  There is no charge to either commercial traffic or for those on the river for pleasure to utilize it.  The boater either radios ahead to signal their arrival or uses a riverside phone, allowing the lock keeper to raise or lower the water level depending on the direction the ship is going.

Early explorers . . .

It would be hard to find anyone in the country who does not know about the Lewis & Clark expedition through that territory; however, it turns out that company was not the first non-indigenous people to be there.  Their exploration of 1806 was predated by a goodly span.  There is speculation that Asian sailors were in the region very early, and evidence that Spanish castaways were there in 1679, possibly the first Europeans to see the Columbia.

Other early explorers either did not locate the Columbia at its mouth or did not penetrate past the bar where it empties into the Pacific.  As an aside, we have heard much from our nephew Jim about crossing the bar, a difficult and sometimes harrowing ordeal.  When Chris went out on the boat with Jim recently, he said it was the calmest crossing he has ever had.

Back in time: In April of 1792, George Vancouver, a British commander, sailed past the Columbia's mouth on a northward passage.  In May of that year, American captain Robert Gray traded with the natives up to 13 miles upstream and named the river after his ship.  In October, 1792, Vancouver dispatched Lt. William Broughton to explore up the river.  His journey ventured 100 miles on the Columbia up to the Sandy River.  They camped at that juncture on the island pictured below.

An amusing dinner, Ross . . .

Undecided about marking my birthday with a dinner out, we finally opted to try Clark & Lewie's (named of course after the renowned expedition) in Stephenson on the Washington side of the water.  Crossings are toll bridges: Bridge of the Gods requires a $2 fee; further upstream is a mere one buck).

At any rate, the place had been recommended by new friends Scott & Cindi, and I liked the idea of dining outside overlooking the river.  We secured a table perfect for viewing the placid sights before us and all seemed well.

Our very nice waiter by the name of Eric greeted us and took my order for a glass of wine, and all seemed well.

There we were on the river, so a logical choice for dinner would be fish & chips, which I ordered, and all seemed well.

Uh-oh, there came Eric with the news that they were out of fish, and all began to seem less than well.  I contemplated for a few moments that perhaps that was my signal to abandon the glass of wine sitting untouched before me to dine elsewhere.

Then I remembered that Cindi had liked Clark & Lewie's crab cakes; however, their "surf" came with "turf" and I did not want to spend $34 for that dinner, so I asked about getting just the "surf" part.  Again, the situation went downhill.  They declined to serve me a dinner of crab cakes, so it was back to the drawing board or menu, as the case was.  No fish and no crab . . . hmmm.  All did not seem well at all.

Ah, brainstorm - the two of us would order and split one dinner of crab cakes and fillet!  Eric again took our order and all seemed well.

That's about the time the music started, and all was not overly well.  The tiny patio was much too small for such large music that, ahem - we did not think was overly impressive.  As the musical duo explained to us, very loudly, it was not a paying gig, so all donations would be appreciated.  We quickly understood why it was not a paying gig, especially when they treated us to their original song, "In the land of the Subaru".

And, oh no, there came Eric again (by that time, I was cringing when he appeared) to inform us that not only were they out of fish and wouldn't serve us crab without fillet, but they were also out of mashed potatoes to go with our shared surf & turf.

Actually, about the time the music started in, we had begun laughing at the ludicrousness of it all.  Might as well at that point, so all seemed well again.  Eric brought us a very nice large salad to assuage our disappointment at the lack of potatoes.

Eventually, we grew accustomed to music so loud you couldn't hear yourself think, so we sang along just like all the other folks in attendance, especially when a fellow diner stepped in to treat us to her fine rendition of "Bobby McGee".

Between songs, I heard someone from a group of diners mention Arizona, so I talked to them afterward and learned they were from the Valley and often caroused at Whiskey Row in Prescott.

So . . . the surf & turf was tasty, even sans potatoes, and we enjoyed watching a local Indian placing his gill nets that he would pick up the next morning, hopefully filled with salmon.  Natives are the only ones allowed to fish for salmon there.

Throughout the entire time when our waiter had to continually give us bad news about our dinner, his smile never faltered.  From the start, he reminded me of someone I had watched on the telly, but I couldn't think who.  Chris finally came up with it: he acted and sounded exactly like the character, Ross, on Friends!  He said he had heard it many other times, so it wasn't my imagination run wild.

Larch Mountain, volcanoes . . .

The Cascade range is punctuated with dormant (okay, some not so much) volcanic peaks that are topped by permanent snow and glaciers.  When we learned about a vantage point that afforded a view of five major snowy peaks, we opted to check it out.

We hiked upward to the lookout spot, a fairly hefty climb, and attempted to photograph the mountains.  At nearly 100 miles distant, Mt. Ranier was close to impossible to capture in its haziness.  Chris came to my rescue on that one, I couldn't see well enough to get it in the viewfinder.  He wasn't even sure he had managed it until he saw the picture.

As you can see, St. Helen's has blown her top right off.

In the course of things . . .

Isn't it a shame that our federal tax dollars do not stretch far enough to cover proofreaders for signage.