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.