Floating Ruby-Horsethief

 In October, Shane and I drove to Colorado for his cousin's wedding outside of Boulder, and we were able to squeeze in two flatwater float trips on the way there and back. The second trip was floating the Ruby-Horsethief section of the Colorado River. Old friends Janyne and Andrew had applied for a last minute permit so they could get their cataraft out on a river before the warm season came to a close.

We met up at a huge BLM campground north of Fruita well after sunset. Janyne and Andrew were joined by two friends from their hometown of Susanville, one of whom had a 4 lb toy poodle in tow because they were in the middle of moving to southern Colorado. So we had a "dog" along for the float. We all caught up or made introductions over a couple beers then crashed in our tents for the night.

The next morning we drove to the Loma Boat Launch, the put-in for our 35-mile, 5-day float. From the put in, the river meanders through sandstone canyons, with the Black Ridge Canyon to the south and I-80 cutting a broad arc a mile or so north of the river on the plateau. 

Map of the Ruby-Horsethief section of the Colorado River.

This section of the Colorado is a very accessible float in terms of technical difficulty and remoteness, and thus very popular as far as these types of trips go. I think every other group that was launching the same day as us was already at the boat ramp when we got there, and with our rigs and gear there too, the ramp was pretty much full. We rigged our array of watercrafts - the cataraft, two inflatable kayaks, and a canoe - and shuttled the vehicle to the takeout, then we launched in the mid-afternoon sun.

The scene at the Loma Boat Launch.

This was my first trip where we had reserved, designated campsites where we would be stopping each night. Each site had limits on the number of people (including dogs) that could stay there, and every site we stayed at was nice, often including some large cottonwoods or at least large native shrubs as visual screens between each of our tents and our neighbors.

Our tent spot on day two in the Mee Canyon campsite section.

On our third day, our next campsite was less than a quarter mile downstream on the same large floodplain bar that we had stayed on the previous night, so all we had to do was lug our gear down a well-used trail and float our boats for less than five minutes. This gave us lots of time for an exploratory hike up Mee Canyon. High cirrus clouds signaled a change in weather, and that evening brought blustery winds and heavy rain, but we weathered the storm in the good spirits under Andrew's Walmart tarp shelter.

The classic hoodoo-forming Wingate sandstone of Mee Canyon.

The fourth day brought us to the only class 2 rapid of the trip, as we entered the Black Rock section where the Precambrian metamorphic basement rocks outcropped in the river and created slightly more exciting channel features for us to navigate around. But it was a small wave train a few miles before that section where our situation got interesting. The canoe starting rocking, and then swamping, in the waves and Amy, Vickie, and the tiny poodle ended up going for a swim. We managed to get them and all the gear in the canoe to shore with no injuries or losses, and fortunately the weather was sunny and breezy with temperatures in the low 70s.

Unloading gear among the Precambrian gneiss at our Black Rock campsite.

The last day canyon walls dropped lower and receded back from the river channel, lowering the drama and preparing us to return to civilization. Shane and I scurried off once we made in to the takeout at Westgate, making tracks back to Wallowa County so I could show up for work in the shop in Joseph on Sunday.

Canyon walls aglow at sunset.

Out and Back on the Wagon Road from Salt Creek Summit

Jasper and I closed out the year with a beautiful and busy ski along the Wagon Road from Salt Creek Summit. Despite spending many, many hours skiing around the snow park area, it was a route I was unaware of until Garik mentioned taking it a month or so ago. Like many paths in this country, it did not disappoint. 

Looking towards the Seven Devils, but unable to see them through the clouds.

Jasper found his last carcass of the year - a spike bull elk.

A few inches of fresh snow fell the day before and blanketed the landscape and clung heavily to the needles and boughs of the lodgepole pines. I was delighted to find a cleanly packed ski track veering south from the junction with the Wing Ridge Trail, and quickly overtook an older couple adjusting their layers. Fortunately another group of four had set the track before them. They had turned around near the end of the trail, where it switch-backed down to canal and Big Sheep Creek near the Tenderfoot Trailhead. There, the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds, and I plopped down at their turnaround to enjoy lunch and a new view while Jasper scrumped out a large patch in the snow. The slope was steep and the snow was thin enough that I decided to simply head back the way we came and do the full loop back along the canal road another time.

Overlooking Big Sheep Creek and the Wallowa Valley Improvement Canal.

Returning to Salt Creek Summit.

It may be the end of the year 2020, but the winter of water year 2021 has just begun! I am immensely grateful for my mobility, my access, my time, and the place I call home.

EFG: Eating, Finding, and Growing

Last night I made a stir fry out of the things I encountered during the course of my day: turnip greens from our CSA harvest, garlic scapes from the backyard garden, and a shaggy parasol mushroom that popped up near the fire pit in my own backyard. It's brethren were harvested by some other animal residents, but I felt lucky to try this guy for the first time. Very meaty flavor!

The star of the show: a very meaty shaggy parasol mushroom. I plucked this guy before the parasol opened so that I could enjoy him instead of the deer in the backyard.

Supporting characters: turnip greens harvested and ready for sharing.

Hard-neck garlic developing it's scape. This is the start of the flowering head and needs to be removed if the bulb is to develop the way we like for cooking and eating. The scape also has a nice garlicky flavor and stir fries up nicely!

We're hitting our stride on the farm. Tomatoes were planted in Big Bob (the large greenhouse) and the hoophouses last week, and today our first flowers and summer squashes were planted out in the field. We harvested and shared our second CSA shares yesterday and Saturday will be our fourth market. The little greenhouse on my property is emptying out of BYG plants as they are either sold to lucky new parents or planted at the farm. Shane and I are excited to reclaim the space and put in tomatoes, eggplants, peppers, and other miscellaneous ground plantlings for personal consumption.

Big Bob on the second week of June. Tomatoes are staked out in the center, carrots have the little puddles of drip irrigation under them in the center right, radishes and turnips hide from aphids under the row cover on the left, and peas grow up both walls.

The little greenhouse looking sparse with the remaining peppers, basil, and eggplants for market and planting. Big changes to come soon as the "permanent residents" move in next week!

Con-census

The motto of the Wallowa Land Trust is "Keep it rural," and this phrase perfectly encapsulates the sentiments of Joseph residents that I've encountered towards the place they live. While everyone I've met is warm and welcoming, there is common pride and value for the beautiful place we share, and with it, a fear that a population boom is lurking just beyond the horizon. Soon, Joseph will be "discovered" and the influx of urbanites and their contrasting sensibilities will transform the town and county in execrable ways. I've been wanting to put some numbers on this fear, and the census data is striking: in the last 120 years, the population of the state of Oregon has grown more than an order of magnitude, with the urban center of Portland recently keeping a similar trend.* In contrast, Joseph experienced tremendous growth early in the 20th century associated with the logging industry, and then that went bust and there has been slow but steady growth since the 1930s.**

Change in population through time normalized to the population in 1890. I.e., a multiplier of 2 means that the population is double that of 1890. All data courtesy census.gov as made easy to find on Wikipedia.

Will the surge in growth that current residents fear happen? If so, what changes will it bring? Can there be smart growth that shares and maintains the unique cultural and ecological values of this region? Only time will tell.

*I would hypothesize that before the boom in Portland, most of the population growth was in logging towns and suburban areas, but have not yet investigated the drivers of early population growth in the state.

**I would also like to compare trends in tourism over the years, but haven't pursued this yet and am not sure if adequate data is available.

Exploring Canyon Country

I think it may be summer finally! We've had what's felt to my skin like a lot of sun the last few weeks here in the northeast Oregon, with no more snowfall outside the mountains since May 12th. I spent many evenings training for the Scout Mountain Ultra, and then had the revelation that I didn't want to spend 14+ hours of time, fuel, and energy driving to Pocatello. I want to be here, in this place, while I'm here. It doesn't hurt though to be in fine trail running shape to get out and explore. Here are two recent adventures.

The last weekend in May, Jasper and I headed to canyon country and spent a peaceful evening car-camping on a beautiful ridge in full spring wildflower splendor. The next day we hiked from the ridge down along Swamp Creek to its confluence with Joseph Creek. The 20-mile hike took us about seven hours including luxurious morning snack and lunch breaks. We saw lots of cows early on in the creek bottom, and as we clawed our way through the final unmaintained and fenced half-mile section approaching the confluence, I became more grateful for their trail-squashing presence than I've ever been before.

The sunset view looking northwest towards the Swamp Creek canyon and Starvation Ridge across the way.

The ridge top hosted healthy ponderosa pine forest with a carpet of spring wildflowers.

A few essentials make for a happy hike.

At one creek crossing, we found evidence of a resourceful scavenger in a collection of empty mollusk shells and a lone crayfish claw.

Jasper smiles in gratitude for a scrap of shade as we climbed several hundred feet back up the ridge to the Subaru at the end of the 20-mile hike.

This week, Kyle is taking advantage of his freedom to explore and visiting while he looks for summer employment. We took a drive through the Zumwalt Prairie and up to Buckhorn Overlook, which affords spectacular views of Imnaha Canyon and the Seven Devils beyond.

A survey marker and arrowleaf balsamroot blooming high above Imnaha Canyon. Lightning Creek is the smaller drainage coming in from the opposite side of the valley. Over the first ridgeline is the Snake River and Hells Canyon and the Seven Devils are barely visible through the haze of the gathering storm in the far background.

While seeing these landscapes from high above, I've also been reading Temperance Creek by Pamela Royes, which is an account of her time as a sheepherder in the Hells Canyon and the Wallowas. It is also the story of falling in love with her husband, and more importantly, developing her own identity in this world. I highly recommend.

Saturday Morning

This morning is pure pleasure. A storm is coming over the mountains now, but at seven the sun was out and melting the frost on the grass in town. I took Jasper for a longer walk to the moraine to make up for working long hours yesterday. Now I am toasting bread on a piping hot wood-burning stove and smothering the bread with smoked salmon torte, left over from a catering gig for the Nature Conservancy. I'm waiting for the Joseph Public Library to open at noon so I can go get my library card and hopefully check out some books on local cultural and natural history.

Walking along the eastern lateral moraine of Wallowa Lake. The Wallowa Mountains are towering in the distance like ghostly versions of themselves, costumed with fresh snow that fell yesterday.

Ten Hands

From greenhouse to ground, we've almost finished filling the middle beds with onions, greens, and brassicas. I loved the steady flow of the morning, covering the plots with landscape fabric to keep out the weeds, plopping the plants down, and pressing them into place. Ten hands made light work.

New friends listen to a lesson in placing and planting.