I left off with typing in the morning of day 23 as Knak was finishing breakfast and packing up the tent. We had had a rough evening of quiet separation as I sat by the fire and he laid in bed both a bit weary from a hot day in the sun and the emotional lull following the respite of Missoula. I had pondered when to try to clear the air and instead of waiting for our planned hot spring bath to talk, we just worked through things immediately in the car. After twenty minutes of driving through the winding hills of the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest, we arrived at the final Fothergill suggestion. It became a running joke that we ignored all of his suggestions, but my defense was that he claimed he'd email us with suggestions a couple months ago and instead it was endless suggestions on the very day we were in a certain location. But technically we did follow through on at least 4 or 5 of his dozen or so suggestions. Sorry John, but we actually did listen to some of your ideas after all. We might've listened to more if you ever emailed us, as you promised. They don't really use the internet in Montana is all I can draw from this. He'll never know I'm trashing Montana since he doesn't read the blog, since, again, people in Montana don't use the internet. (Knak: "that's brutal man, brutal!").
The final suggestions was just what we needed after the heat and tension the day before: Jerry Johnson Hot Spring. After a quick hike we arrived at an opening along the Lochsa River. It was the first time I've been able to enjoy a natural hot spring and we took full advantage.
The final suggestions was just what we needed after the heat and tension the day before: Jerry Johnson Hot Spring. After a quick hike we arrived at an opening along the Lochsa River. It was the first time I've been able to enjoy a natural hot spring and we took full advantage.
Rejuvenated and feeling remarkably clean and soft-skinned - which makes scientific sense despite the sand and debris (insert Korchnak science-y explanation for springs and minerals and such) we headed through the rest of the National Forest. Our goal was the twin cities of the west: Lewiston and Clarkston (where is Yorkston I ask!?!). Knak drove a fair portion which was a welcome break as I have shouldered most of the load in the car. Thankfully, the scenery has returned to absolutely breathtaking. The dramatic vertical rock formations reminded me of the Black Hills again, which still stands out as, perhaps, my favorite landscape of the trip. After a bit of coffee and WiFi in Clarkston where we made some much needed updates to the blog we found minimal camping opportunities. The only option was an overpriced Chief Timothy State Park. The allure for me was that this park was one location identified in a travel guide as part of the Confluence Project by artist Maya Lin. Maggie Towne, ceramics teacher at KCD, urged us to check the installation project peppering the west from here on out, so I felt obliged. The park was on an island and was a rather bland traditional campsite. Nevertheless, we were cheerful and rejuvenated after coming back together both unified and with soft mineral-rich skin.
While Knak investigated flight options home early and cooked an interesting Indian lentil soup I jogged up a small ridge that was really the only 'hiking' available. Tan crickets flopped out of the way with each step and despite my best efforts at protection, the tan grass hooked through crevices in my pants and shoes and into my socks. I enjoyed the moment though and watched a barge cross on the other side of the island. It was well worth the 20 minutes of picking the grass out of my boots and socks.
While Knak investigated flight options home early and cooked an interesting Indian lentil soup I jogged up a small ridge that was really the only 'hiking' available. Tan crickets flopped out of the way with each step and despite my best efforts at protection, the tan grass hooked through crevices in my pants and shoes and into my socks. I enjoyed the moment though and watched a barge cross on the other side of the island. It was well worth the 20 minutes of picking the grass out of my boots and socks.
My hammock dreams were crushed after a late evening jamming Oppenheimer Analysis and Tears for Fears when a light rain started to fall. After about 15 minutes denying that it was going to persist I relented, quickly unhooked the ENO, and hopped in the tent. Aside from the absence of the Confluence Project, the incredibly unpleasant odor of garbage emanating from an un-emptied bin nearby, and the short and beautiful walk up the hill to the other side of the island, Chief Timothy State Park was rather 'meh'.
The next morning we had a rather bland drive to the tri-cities area of Kennewick, Pasco, Richland around the confluence of the Snake and Columbia Rivers. It's a natural point for humans to settle, which I try to get my 8th graders to ponder early in the year as we talk about the decision-making process for early European colonies: "Why do people settle where they do settle? What factors need to be considered?". After a bit of hot dog heaven in Kennewick and some talking to the locals we determined a place named Greenies in Richland offered kayak rentals on the Columbia River. At last, we had made it to the river that would spill into the ocean. In 1804, the Corps had hoped, but we knew it to be true.
I think both Greg and I are in this zone where the anticipation of seeing the ocean is killing us. I can only imagine the anticipation the Corps of Discovery felt after such a long journey. These last two nights have felt like filler almost. After a grueling portage through the town of Richland (how often do you get to cross a busy intersection with a kayak in tow?), we enjoyed a bit of work on the upper body which was a nice change of pace after the long spell of hiking since our last canoe expedition. The scenery wasn't anything to write home about, but Nelson Island (sp?) did provide some cool waterfowl and we even spotted a deer or two. Can anyone confirm how far deer can swim?
I think both Greg and I are in this zone where the anticipation of seeing the ocean is killing us. I can only imagine the anticipation the Corps of Discovery felt after such a long journey. These last two nights have felt like filler almost. After a grueling portage through the town of Richland (how often do you get to cross a busy intersection with a kayak in tow?), we enjoyed a bit of work on the upper body which was a nice change of pace after the long spell of hiking since our last canoe expedition. The scenery wasn't anything to write home about, but Nelson Island (sp?) did provide some cool waterfowl and we even spotted a deer or two. Can anyone confirm how far deer can swim?
I will say this area of eastern Washington and Oregon is quite unusual and not what I expected. Back to beautiful open area and, as the dude pumping my gas this morning said, 'high plains desert'. I've enjoyed it quite a bit and it's nice to be savoring the landscape again after a stretch of feeling like I was becoming numb to the natural beauty that surrounded us.
After getting our kayak back to Greenies, we quickly discovered a free campsite only 45 minutes away that was built by the US Army Corps of Engineers called the Sand Station Recreation Area. Knak left out the the reviews suggesting it was a haven for meth-heads and homeless due to the intoxicating allure of free camping. I will say that it was a memorable evening. I wrote quite a bit of ideas for some lyrics but a proper summary of our evening will have to wait until later. I need to take it in a more creative and literary direction in the spirit of our evening in Butte. I will just leave you with this juicy morsel: serious drifter vibes permeated the small sandy area along the Columbia River gorge. Suffice it to say, we slept with our blades ready to be drawn at the first sound of our tent being unzipped.
After getting our kayak back to Greenies, we quickly discovered a free campsite only 45 minutes away that was built by the US Army Corps of Engineers called the Sand Station Recreation Area. Knak left out the the reviews suggesting it was a haven for meth-heads and homeless due to the intoxicating allure of free camping. I will say that it was a memorable evening. I wrote quite a bit of ideas for some lyrics but a proper summary of our evening will have to wait until later. I need to take it in a more creative and literary direction in the spirit of our evening in Butte. I will just leave you with this juicy morsel: serious drifter vibes permeated the small sandy area along the Columbia River gorge. Suffice it to say, we slept with our blades ready to be drawn at the first sound of our tent being unzipped.
Now we sit in the Dalles, OR prepared to investigate the Dalles Dam and some hiking and camping in the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area in north-central Oregon. Tomorrow: Mt. St. Helens, the Goonies house, and the ocean we have waited so long to see crashing on the rocky coast of Astoria, OR.
Our feelings will undoubtedly share much with the Corps of Discovery when they reached the Pacific. To quote William Clark: "Great joy in camp. We are in view of the ocean, this great Pacific Ocean which we have been so long anxious to see, and the roaring or noise made by the waves breaking on the rocky shores (as I suppose) may be heard distinctly."
Our feelings will undoubtedly share much with the Corps of Discovery when they reached the Pacific. To quote William Clark: "Great joy in camp. We are in view of the ocean, this great Pacific Ocean which we have been so long anxious to see, and the roaring or noise made by the waves breaking on the rocky shores (as I suppose) may be heard distinctly."