Waking by the Wallowas: an Eastern Oregon Travelogue

Opening
The Wallowa mountains towered around me. All those years of coming to Timberline Lodge (at the mile-high mark) had instructed my lungs. Tolerate some altitude and thin air, along with the mid-July ambient lighting. We had arrived at our prime destination on day 3.  Here follows a travelogue on this excursion .

Travel across the globe is a cherished ideal for good reason. Beholding spaces within my grasp, within my cartographic corner, is just as worthwhile. After 5 years, my family and I checked off a special bucket list item: traveling the 7 hours by motor vehicle to Joseph, Oregon. A famed mountain town almost within Idaho’s clutches.

Back in May, we plotted out this July trip. A few days prior to leaving, I decided to leave my laptop behind. That's a little strange. 

You might be wondering...is our dear author going to RELAX? Some may use the words relaxing to describe our trip. 'Entertaining saga' fits this tale better, though.

Joseph, our golden goose, proved remarkable with sweeping views, and the unfortunate outreach of wildfire smoke. Overall, a fantastic experience, with even the challenges adding on beautiful contours. Read on past this point to witness my nearly boatless Eastern Oregon voyage.

Day 1: Portland to Pendleton
House exodus at half past 9 AM. Sun screened, bug sprayed. Car packed.  Route mapped out across multiple platforms, mediums, venues, and meetings.With all our preparation, all that was left was the impulse to head out. 

Pendleton emerged on our route around 11 AM. 

As if! We actually had not even breached the metro area.

The Sugarpine Drive-In in Troutdale provided us a sugary sustenance by the Columbia River’s gaping mouth. Vegan blueberry-ube sorbet gave the purple you can taste. It blended together spectacularly. Oh, and my grilled cheese sandwich was pretty good; had a waffle-like pattern too. 11 AM felt a little early for food of this nature, yet it worked. 

 

In winter and spring, the Columbia River Gorge starts out verdant green in the west with grass mixed with numerous trees. Summer brought out a golden brown shade that remained entrenched throughout. Ordinarily, golden brown and regular brown can seem similar, especially as an Oregonian. Instead, these subtle hues came out dazzling under azure skies.A very surprising color also appeared during the stretch I drove: construction orange, truly the other summer hue. 

At one point, turbines appeared high above. This entire region is known as a wind tunnel, occasionally getting intense gusts. It makes sense, even if Don Quixote may not be happy.  

  

 

John Day Dam surprised me in its size and apparent intensity; with that water flow, it has strong hydroelectric capacity. The turbines peered down upon it. A whole renewable energy medley treat as cars whizzed by on the interstate.

 

 

Traveling to Pendleton generally kept us in this corridor of sights for a few hours, scarcely a turn onto another road. At around 3 PM, the city was struck, and we checked into the first hotel.  

Carstuckness, a particular feeling, alerted me to complaining legs. A need for activity before venturing forth. In the hotel fitness center, I clocked a quick exercise session before returning to the room. Perhaps not so strangely, I had the opportunity to wait for the rest of my party. 

Following two hours of hoteltime, we sallied forth into the dusty, warm day. Sun glowing the glaring red of wildfire smoke. 

At Hamley’s Saloon and Steakhouse, I enjoyed a steak. Imagine old typewriters, a country singer playing live just outside. Eastern Oregon is known for ranching and meat quality. It is also the old country where people rode horses along the Oregon trail. Both sides came together in Hamley's.  Across the hall, a vintage crimson Wells Fargo traveling safe from the 1800s. I understood the cowboy charm exuding from each inch.

 

Another charm of this smaller city: a Farmers Market nearby on a Friday evening. We caught the tail end. People strewn across the closed roads pitching their wares until 7 pm. How else to appreciate a place than to see its local sales!

 

Pendleton provided a honky tonky feeling. Even though the yearly Roundup (a rodeo) had long since left town. I could not help but find charm in this pit stop, a place to sleep. Such rich history easily viewable in a tight downtown. In truth, here we also had the best hotel of our journey; from here, adventure abounded bucking our expectations. 

 

With our strategy, Day 1 was an easing in before entering properly rural Oregon. Scarcely had we left the Gorge, let alone neared the Eastern corners. Now, Pendleton is known as a conservative area, but they were still welcoming. 

 

Not taking a laptop had given a gentle excuse to not do work. Somehow, you could find me writing a few too many 3 paragraph emails on my phone. Listen, the springs of curiosity began flowing but were not full yet. Vacation mode, I reckoned, was something to relearn. The room bedtime ended up around 9 PM; no need for an endlessly late night here.

Day 2: Pendleton to Joseph
Day 1, a Friday, provided the high bar for lodging.  We had slept in the best hotel by far of the trip; breakfast with waffles, decorum, all around nice.  

During the car ride, I began reading Tales from Earthsea, a short story collection brought for low-tech fun. Though known for flatness, the sights around were anything but. The scenery impressed upon me how….hard reading would be. A rather fortunate problem to have. Especially with the immense build up to the golden goose Joseph, and one day until our must-impress Day 3. (Unlike in a certain video game, no moon crashing down.)

Having observational skills was a big plus: our route crossed La Grande, a college town. Thus, I added the town onto our route. 

Just after Pendleton, the asphalt climbed higher and wider; speed limits hit 70 miles per hour (blistering speeds for our area). Trucks whizzing by, as the road curves snaked into infinity. It was a little intimidating! Despite what you may think, though, the roads were impressively in great shape. We approached a must-see item on my sister's list. 

En route once more brought us
to a curious sight: the Deadman’s Pass overlook
to see for an eternity.  

Named for the treacherous curves,
the Deadman’s Pass gave us our stop and stretch moment
as trees and hills extended, perhaps akin to home. 

 

 
Mountains loomed as we entered the city. La Grande, actually, is a certified Tree City, adding to its aura. A few deer crossed the road at varying points. 

 

I was curious to see another university, having been to a few already (University of Oregon, Oregon State University, and Western Oregon University). Eastern Oregon University took only a few minutes with the small campus size. Police just down the road inspired us to be quick. (For legal purposes, this is a joke.) 

 

Following a brief tour, it was time for food. 

 

My choice may throw you off: for it was *Thai food*. Indeed, Thai food, despite being this far from home. Surprisingly, we enjoyed our meal; my stir-fried noodle dish was a touch oily, while on the spicy side! 

 

Back on the road after a short, scarcely planned stop. Through a highly anticipated stretch. 

Blue Mountains held high as forested giants
as the road lead us onward
past geologic majesty,
through the powerfully named Hells Canyon Scenic Byway. 

It is the Blues,
a rocky range underpinned by the Humongous Fungus
whose name needed to be recalled once more in the car;
a memento for Oregon's largest creature. 

Crystal clear water streaming beside the car,
a voyage through pebbles and stones,
white threads, semi-alpine wonder. 

Cows, horses, and pasture presaged our caravan’s transit through truly rural towns. One small spot judiciously halted this movement. Lostine, a hamlet a few minutes long, had this internet-famous coffeeshop called the Blue Banana. Unfortunately, we arrived an hour after closing; nonetheless, it was time for a few photos in the cutouts depicting exactly what you’d expect.

So-called flatness was firmly gone by the time we hit Enterprise, which lives and breathes with the Wallowa Mountains. The town itself sits at 4000 feet. Past the Safeway, and up a hill, one could find a hotel. 

 

Sadly, the check in was not without incident – the hotel accidentally assigned us someone else’s room before correcting the mistake. Certainly, I do not blame the staff here, but finally getting to relax mattered too. That is, after we checked for bed bugs by shining lights and moving the sheets around. My time went into munching leftovers, attending to the gym, and recharging for a scouting excursion.

 

A deer strolled to the hotel's back and munched on tree leaves.  

Joseph, sitting in the northeastern corner of Oregon, was immensely popular for a town of nearly a couple thousand people; the Main Street was filled, despite the smoke lingering. Rumors had not betrayed us: this place was beloved.The sun glowered in crimson as gray thickness converged. 

 

Below is Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce indigenous tribe, namesake of the town. My personal favorite statue, even under the angry sun. 

 

Views covered up. Doubt’s seed was finally planted; would we be able to enjoy this destination? While the answer is “yes”, I was not sure how anything would fit together.  

 

This night's hotel felt a little seedier; the sheets were not as good, and recent reviews suggested bed bugs. Of course, this was our two night stay (joy). My parents reported pain and bites.

 

We had a little concern over whether the bites were before the hotel or at the hotel. I bet on the bites being ordinary -- since bed bugs are known for aggressive swarming -- and aimed for shut eye. The front desk registered our issue and took no action. (No shade on the hotel staff here -- this is a frustration with management.)

Hoping for a better tomorrow clung to my sleep psyche. Perhaps the smoke would clear, or hover less tightly at the higher elevation. Had we come at the wrong time of year? Had our timing been poor? I rejected “yes” as an answer to these questions; there was a greater purpose still to be determined. The purpose of standing 8000 feet in the air and surveying around. 

Coming up soon: the gondola up.  

Day 3:  Joseph - *The Day* 

Haze billowing across Enterprise, hid the Wallowa Mountain behemoths. Air quality improved modestly. These were not ideal conditions to reach for acclaimed sights. 

Coming on a 7 hour road trip from Portland meant our goals could not be budged so easily. It was only another 13 minutes to enter the town of Joseph, giving us the hazy hills effect (captured in photo).  

Thus set the stage of *The Day*, our climax before returning westward. Before following some remnants of the Oregon Trail, not remembered by our tires.

A major scientific explanation for *The Day* comes about from an important phenomenon. It’s called pouring $200 into tickets for a gondola. Not just any one. The gondola to the top of Mt Howard, climbing 4000 feet in 15 minutes. Steepest in all of North America. 

Right before the loading zone, there was a smattering of log cabins and trees. Reminiscent of my time camping as a Boy Scout across the West and at Camp Arrah Wanna near Mount Hood. Lush in a way I had idly assumed to be specific to Western Oregon.

Even for this rational thinker, it was a little daunting. Just like James Bond, I would have to simply….trust Swiss engineering. They let us start a few minutes before their official open time of 9 AM. (Probably to stagger the gondola load.)

Being this high intimidated the nerves. Surreal steepness stayed in sight as we moved forward. Upon each tower (all 25), a gentle tremor. Trees sprang up quite far up the mountain.

Wallowa Lake became tiny during the climb upwards and upwards. Air thinned. Arriving at the top, a welcome sight. 

 

Pacific Northwest's highest restaurant awaited us, aptly named Summit Grill. We proceeded past, having eaten our fill at the hotel, and scoured the lookouts. One sign observed how this mountain's steepness and height made this climate akin to the Arctic Circle. Fortunately, today's weather landed around 60-70 degrees Fahrenheit, albeit breezy. Astonishingly pleasant to experience as hikers. 

 

Smoke could not climb to this reach, alleviating our apprehensions.

 

Butterflies broke out at the top of a staircase near our first viewpoint. Some white, some orange with black spots. They scurried swiftly past shutter speed. Perhaps like the wind whizzing by. 

 

Chipmunks crawled out into the sun, seeming to expect seeds from humans, and darted back into shadows occasionally. 

 

Around here, one can find the Royal Purple viewpoint. These peaks provided a spectacular perspective looking upon the gaping chasm. Truly, you had to be careful with no rail combined with a camera spirit. If there is a photo that summarizes our time, it is this one below. 

 

  

Wide areas all around at this height without any altitude sickness. We continued following the short, relatively easy trails. Stumbled upon the other overlooks whose names I knew much better at the time. 

 

We took the gondola down to the car. Ate some snacks -- lunch-adjacent enough to recharge us -- and returned upwards. By ride 3, heights proved no challenge. (Plus it helped justify the cost, since there was still a ride 4.) 

 

On "round 2", the goal was to simply take the trail going the opposite direction -- past the Summit Grill this time. I really wanted to see the Seven Devils, a range in Idaho. They should be visible. Nonetheless, we had an opportunity to cement our trip.

 

Wildflower season is remarkable in July with these hardy alpine-ish conditions. Ordinarily, this color outbreak is the recommended time to visit. There was much pink heather dotting our walks, for example. Lots of little plants favoring "staying alive" over being gigantic. Many such small stubby shrubs and little flowers containing a myriad of colors. Life forms that are only present here. 

 

 

Continuing along, we found more mesmerizing sights. Each step moved closer to a sweeping vista.

 

They called this the Sound of Music's meadow. By "They", it's actually me. A remarkable overlook onto surrounding mountains. I could not tell you the exact mountains found in this image, but they were still spectacular. 

 

 

Far below, the town of Joseph sat close to the lake and mountains. Indistinguishable without knowing your geography from this elevation. Somehow the purple visibility from here still caught my eye. 

 

 

Unfortunately, seeing into Idaho, Washington, and Montana was not to be. The skies were too stagnant to permit this view. With my older sister, I tried taking a steeper path arching towards the viewpoint. It was much harder than the fairly gentle ways on the mountain summit.

 

My phone chimed in with a "welcome to Mountain time!" message. This path should have shown the Seven Devils, and the Hells Canyon not a new timezone. Instead, it was surprisingly steep, pointing downwards to scarcely any visibility. I made the call that we should give up on this arduous, challenging trail. My sister and I began hastily ascending *before* my ten minute timer sounded. We headed back, though not before seeing some striking birds moving around. Knowing we had attempted this feat was enough to make this foolhardy attempt worthwhile. 

 

Our party of two converged with another party of two at the Summit Grill. Parents had decided to go on a mountain stroll as well, even seeing us on some parts of the Round 2 trek. (Considering the distance involved, pretty impressive!) I finished up  pumyrchased lemonade to keep my spirits up and headed down.

 

By ride 4, the gondola felt quite comfortable psychologically. I let the sights stream over me, rather than try to cram in last minute photos. (The temptation was there, trust me.) Even better: we could easily claim our money's worth now.  

 

  

 

We were not done yet with this area. It was afternoon, past 2 pm, but we sought *more*. First, the charming historic lodge, somehow not on the water. Lodge as nice just not on the level of the true last portion.

 

Wallowa Lake was *not* small on closer look. All the boats seemed smaller there. Small aircraft soared down, skimming the water repeatedly. Unusual behavior, huh? Turns out they were likely gathering water to fight fires. My grandfather had flown planes, so this stirred nostalgia in me. We spent some 20 minutes just watching. 

 

At this point, a bold decision was made near 3 pm. We elected to journey out onto the lake in a rented pedal boat (called a paddle boat); my parents pedaled much of the way, allowing my sister and I to take in the breeze. Feeling a touch cowardly, I put my phone in the car, and ceded picture-taking to my sister.

 

The rental place asked us to stay towards the edges of the lake, giving a wide berth to the landing planes. My mom's energy powered our trip for the most part. Towards the end of the hour, I attempted to pedal. The boat moved slowly, gradually broken up in direction. Eventually, my efforts placed the boat by the dock, just on time.  (On advice requested and granted.)

 

Before the town proper, we stopped by the Chief's grave, overlooking the lake. What a perfect spot to rest.  

 

We had made peace with the smoke, visited the mountains and the lake. Our final task was to simply walk around the town now. Two objectives remained for our climactic day: taking pictures and eating dinner. 

 

Touring the bronze statues felt remarkable. Joseph is a center of bronzework (though the museum was closed), giving us a great central attraction. Cougars, eagles, fish, other birds, chief Joseph, cowboys. A menagerie of remarkable sights. Back in 2000, the Main Street had been renovated, creating a delectable mountain town feeling. Along the route was also a beautiful boutique hotel we had considered as a place to stay. 

 

 

Embers was our dinner destination. They had the charming small yet well lit feeling of a town diner. A casual eatery with a good variety. Eastern Oregon might be a place for ranching and *red meat*. But I wanted to go in a different direction. Fish tacos for me. We had cause to wait patiently for food, with our long day. 

 

All the while, people were watching the World Cup final inside. Our server was a clear Spain fan (Yamal jersey) and chatted with us a little bit about sports. I complimented his shirt. Spain winning the World Cup as we ate and chatted was a warm feeling. Even though I'm not a sports person. 

 

Joseph was the perfect quaint town without obvious corporate franchises. Roads might be a little broken up, more in the charming way. There were the usual town elements, and a lovely Main Street. The wonder it conjures is incredible, especially when you visit the Wallowa Lake and connected mountains. Somehow, I still wished for a more obvious highlight to the trip.

 

Such a 'dilemma' did not prevent me from sleeping fairly soundly. (After all, no bed pests.) 

 

Waking up at 6 AM, witnessing peaks and summits, being paraded around on the lake, exploring the town. All of that contributed to a remarkable full little time period. Disproving the presence of bed bugs helped, though! I dozed off. 

Day 4: Joseph to Baker City
Gazing out upon Enterprise was wistful. I wanted to see more. Smoke and clouds blended, leaving faint protrusions overhead. Arrangements would now take us away from this place. Both the middling hotel and our prime destination. It was time to make the way back with one last night. 

 

 

*The Day* was behind us, our penciled-out awaited passage of time. We had reached our farthest eastern point. Our lodging was in Baker City to the southwest.

No looking back. Done and dusted.

…

… 

 

… 

 

Joseph's allure could not be resisted. A third visit to the town for a simple curiosity.

 

Three’s power paved the opportunity for Arrowhead Chocolates, a long-awaited trip. A remarkable sugar buzz emerged from joyous cocoa, liquid chocolate with tiny ‘pebbles’ at the bottom. My sister and I both got a truffle slice, mine a habanero-lime caramel chocolate. Habanero) was added as salt, seeding a gentle after-burn. This conveyed an outrageously well-layered mouth impression!

 

 

Though the skies cleared modestly, there was no picture perfect view of the Wallowas here in Joseph, final stopover. What did come across clearly, though: a third admiration of the bronze statues, complete with, yes, family photos. Interesting bees with unique yellow rings hovered by flowers. 

 

Here is Chief Joseph once more under modestly better skies. 

 

We set forth.

Past a stream of cows once more, dots along the pasture. 

 

This route led through a small historic town called Medical Springs, taking us off the 84 (the typical way going southwest for this section). Wallowa River, a gentle reminder of this area’s beauty, re-emerged.

Hells Canyon Scenic Byway, along this way, added a cosmic humor. Properly, the canyon was far away, and we could not even see into it from Mt. Howard (asides from a purple vagueness). Deciding to leave aside Hell helped us preserve our stamina for the remaining progress. 

A train whizzing by the rolling hills under a hefty coat of smog. Medical Springs, a small town nestled in these abundant knolls, gave us a stopover to switch drivers. (I ceded the wheel.) After two and a half hours in total, the next city was up ahead.

After Joseph and Enterprise, a grouping of 10,000 people felt like a true city. Baker City, named for someone named Baker not as much the profession, captured Eastern Oregon’s charm. Why did we come to this nestled-in spot? 

We have old neighbors, continued friends, living here. I had just helped their relative with preparing for a PhD defense! This opportunity came about because we had shared our plans.The Tars (totally a real name) had invited us for a dinner at their place. 

There was over an hour until hotel check-in time.

What else would one do but sight see? 

A famous haunt of apparitions first on the list. Grand Geiser Hotel marvelously captures the tourist spirit. Doesn't it simply stand out?  Legends of ghosts drew us onwards. Eerily enough, the hotel spurned us visitors even from a photo. Suspicious, spooky. Perhaps I came close to phoning up the Ghostbusters. In all seriousness, maybe the Geiser was a little too confident in its charm.

 

A wrinkle: Mondays seemed to bring this town to a quiet solitude. Many places were firmly shut, despite our wishes for a sit-down lunch. Warm haze pounded on us, giving me a nagging headache. Finally, there was a recess in Charley’s, an ice cream and deli place. A little unfortunate that lettuce health concerns abounded (recent occurrence), but the roast beef-cheddar sandwich still indubitably hit. 

 

(As for ice cream, tempting…..too early though. Had to save “carb storage space” for the family friends.) 

For a conservative town, Baker City clearly has a welcoming spirit. One remarkable sign stood out so much I had to capture it. To me, this is the high ideal, whether in far-back Oregon or in the City.

 

 

Impressive murals scattered themselves across the downtown area. Were it not for the heat and smoke, maybe we could have deciphered them. 

 

 

 

One more stop popped out. It was quite nearby. (With energy levels flagging, stopping at the hotel would have only halted the excursion.) 

 

Baker City’s Carnegie Mellon Library is historic. Rather than compete with the modern library, this space had an art gallery. Not as rustic a feeling as one might expect, though horses arose in a couple paintings. Basement, a humble pottery studio where teenagers learned fine arts. 

 

As I stumbled around, my mom noticed a peculiar sight behind the front desk. Engraved on the wall were a series of names. The Tars appeared, granting a picture perfect moment!  Enough excitement for now.

At the hotel, we finally checked in. Not enough time for that snooze; enough to decompress for a tiny bit. 

Allegedly at least. This place is two stories, several buildings, and no elevators. Our room was on the second floor in a newer (allegedly) building. These places were Standard price with no patio, though sheets were better. 

Some of the rollons stayed in the car. Musty hard to place smell pervaded our room, needing prompt action from the staff. Okay, sure, they sprayed air freshener. This should solve everything, right. Put a pin in this comment and recall it a little while down the page. 

No time to wonder about that -- we had friends to visit. 

Heading towards the Tars’ house, I secretly wished for the hazard mist to dissipate. Elkhorn Mountains, the governors of Baker City, were barely visible. Our call rolled past increasing street addresses until I pointed we had missed the house. (Pride of the "told you so" kind.)

My decade-prior visit immediately came back with the sights of the house. The Tars greeted us first with cheese and crackers and warm company. There was a lot to catch up on. My older sister had not seen them in a decade or two, so she took the stage. 

After this, we had a wide ranging discussion on international relations, the smoke, town rumors. Our short visit to downtown Baker City had somehow prepared us here. Mrs. Tar had actually been to Charley's recently for a birthday party, a really encouraging sign for me. The Grand Geiser Hotel is perhaps unshockingly motivated more by profit than involvement in the community. Apparently the owners are not especially beloved. Unfortunately, the smoke was a perennial topic too.

In Baker City, the smoke seems to come more in August rather than July. Low snowpack across Oregon had sadly made this inevitable earlier in the year. The Tars' house was built to accommodate sweeping views of outside. It is a great American space, now stifled a bit.  

Tracking AQI, as done by Mr. Tar with his own device, reflected the uncertainty literally in the air. These concerns worsen health and often pair with blazing destruction. Fires devastate the whole community, the whole state, the whole world. It went beyond my own irritated throat or headache. 

With that, dinner rolled around -- simple yet elegant. Our conversation took on a lighter cadence around now. Chicken baked rather than grilled on account of the weather. Sides of a corn salad, tomatoes and cheese. 

Sitting by the table, I noticed the sun coming down, illuminating new sights. Modestly peeked out of curiosity.

 A couple magpies (with blue coats and white outfits) hopped around, probing. Edmonton, Canada taught me that magpies are quite fascinating creatures, not unlike crows. And one other thing. The magpies in Eastern Oregon are short-tailed versus the lengthy-tailed ones of Alberta. Imagine knowing this from living in a few places.   

My sunset sight even inspired my mom to step outside for photos of her own. Rustic beauty readily poured out of the sky. Moments outside cemented the Baker City atmosphere before stepping back inside, retreating behind a window.

Our dear hosts surprised us with muffin-sized homemade cheesecakes with an impeccable sweet-savory mix. I must confess to devouring my item. My "carb storage space" went to good use here! 

Under these skies, there is a chance to see the mountains piercing their veils. A brilliant sunset rose, red gasping to come out against orange. Refreshing contrast threw the mountains into relief. Swallows that nested by the house flew around, including across my camera lens. (At the hotel that evening, my mom would remark I should enter the below photo in a contest). 

Warm, thoughtful conversation with food and company. Joseph's splendor paired well with this comforting evening in another corner. I wished to remember so many more details than are possible. One certainty arose: visiting with the Tars cemented Baker City as a lovely stopover.  

In retrospect, our pleasant evening sails faced stiff winds soon after. Ethereal, grand humor ensued. Take the pin out from a couple paragraphs ago now, if you will.

Once in the room again, a new scent ‘greeted’ us. Noxious fumes. At the time, the landscape's embers seemed the culprit. This was a dubious claim, even then. (Real culprit was, of course, tobacco.) Another round of attempted fragrance repair scarcely held the concerns back. Sleep still approached me all the same.

This one day, scarcely perfect, had given us the lovely opportunity to fortify relations. To immerse oneself in the swath of Oregon I scarcely knew. A couple disappointing hotels could not take that from me. Especially as we approached this final day.

Our accomplishments rode high, yet my mind demanded a special closure from the trip. Onto the last day…. 

Day 5: Westward to Home
Awoke with parched throats, unhappy with a different type of smoke.  Oh well, not as much an issue now that we were leaving.

After Mt. Howard, our plan progressed into lower elevations. Before the final pack-out, there was of course continental breakfast. Waffle made a favorable return after a couple days break. 

 

While eating, I inferred something: a couple staffers likely understood Hindi/Urdu. (Two highly related languages.) My mom, as a speaker herself, got the real lowdown on our room. Our non-smoking room? A long-time smoker had taken up residence there until right before. Not the most fun realization. At least we were heading out shortly. 
Before long, coastward for real this time.  

I had started to crave a slice of solitude. 

 ...A few extra stops before home awaited. You the reader already anticipated this fakeout, didn't you? 

Several hours to go. Take in the Eastern region before life would progress back to normal. Exiting Baker City, itself a mountain town, took us away from the Elkhorn range and onwards to the Blue Mountains.  This area just seemed to capture my interest. 

 

Smoke poured from the Anthony Fire west of Baker City. A hazy tint that had accompanied us. Oregon seemed to sear heat across the entire Northern half of the state. 

Deadman’s Pass made a quick return upon approaching Pendleton, the apparent gateway to home. On this round, the pass just provided a rest area. Waving goodbye to a sweeping shift in character and topography. 

Past there, we entered the Columbia River Gorge once more. A solid couple hours would be spent within the sturdy valley with an earth-carving river. 

The Dalles appeared first, at the rough half point of the Gorge. Yellow giant of the sky, the sun, reached into this riverside location, testing our heat tolerance. Air was heavy with smoke and greater humidity, not just hot.

We settled on...Burgerville (an Oregon chain) as meal of choice. Of course, the meal was burgers.  A selfish impulse spurred me to request a hazelnut chocolate milkshake; it charmingly crumbled in my mouth, giving a more regal feeling. Ordinarily, a milkshake would have felt more simply decadent! 

Three sights remained in this stretch: the nearby Rowena Crest, Skamania Lodge (a pleasant getaway in southern Washington), and Elowah Falls. A steep drive took us above to the Rowena Crest, with warm air feeling molten where haze and heat combined. Without wildflowers, we positioned ourselves against the river, as you see below. Snap! Our phone cameras claimed family photos next. 

 

 

Gorgeous contains the phrase 'gorge', which captures my feelings here. In this area, you cannot help but notice the winds whipping along the water. I came to a greater appreciation this mighty river powering Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia. 

 

Our penultimate stopover was Skamania Lodge, a visit requested by my mom. (Reminder: the most influential person on the trip.) To get there, you must cross the Bridge of the Gods -- a steel truss structure spanning Oregon and Washington -- and pay the few dollars toll. Head a few minutes down a Washington state road, and there is the lodge. We opted to eat fish and chips inside while admiring the sights...safe from the heat. 

 

One more place. The Elowah Falls trailhead proved tricky. Maps application insisted we were going the right way. Nope. Had to get to the other side of the road to attempt the trail. Mere inches before an ominous closure was the trailhead. 

My big sister and I stomped up the gravel. But it was too late. This duo's adventurer spirit was flagging. We conceded about 5 minutes in that the trip was coming to a close. Instead, it was picture time for us. 

 

Adrift smoke followed us westward. We recollected our thoughts and vibrations in the last hour in the car. 

Closing
Our four person party arrived around 5 pm at home. Our official weather station at the airport sizzled at an official 100 degrees Fahrenheit, our very first of the year. (Somehow.) Better than 103 degrees in the Dalles, at least. Solitude was not yet available, though. 

Nonexistent energy levels were summoned once more for a final task. We wanted and sought to be courteous to the fifth person who had stayed back for work. Unlike my usual procrastination, I deftly unloaded my roll-on and backpack, moving items upstairs. My trusted blue drawstring bag, with the white swoosh chipping off gradually, went with my backpack and clothes into the laundry room. 

Why did I pack many clothes and no laptop? Big sister's wishes. Wanting shock and awe. Seeing the Tars* again. Big sister's plans. Imagining a greater openness to my surroundings. 

Our visit to Joseph, and the Wallowas, shattered my normal routine. Hiking 8000 ft in the air, seeing smoke engulf some beautiful sights while creating others. Up at this spot, the town faded, taking a dreamlike quality. Aoi and Hinata (from the eternally charming series Yama no Susume) would surely approve of these types of sight. 

As a "good scientist/engineer", I feel an urge to explain the insights gained before concluding. 

 1) Sure wildfire smoke cannot be anticipated, but there's opportunities to find new beauty and appreciation. My shot of the mountains from Baker City on Day 4 was only possible *because* of the distorted sunset casting contrast. 

2) A 5 day trip can only cover so much. I anticipated more of Hells Canyon. Retrospectively, I also sought to see the contributions of Chinese migrants to the region. And so much more. Instead of diminishing my trip, though, the challenges injected many-faced colorations on a striking portrait.  

3) As of this writing, the wildfire season in Pacific Northwest has intensified. Spokane in Washington and Warm Springs Indigenous Reservation in Oregon were both evacuated. Heartrending damage is ongoing at both locations, to say the least of other places. The smoke is not just an inconvenience; it hurts our whole planet, and everyone on it. Visiting the Inland Northwest helped me appreciate the wider swath of this region. Seeing its beauty in parallel with plumes of despair. 

Pitfalls and soaring successes both appeared in this story. They give the tinge of authenticity to my travel, taking me beyond a simple tourist identity. Recently, my adventures have been through other mediums – reading Le Guin’s fantasy crafting across Earthsea, the grand stories across the fictional continent of Zemuria, hearing Agalloch’s pensive forest music.  This time, the tales are from my own perceptive encounters.

Before, my personal map appeared as mountains of errands, valleys of minute investigations, and rivers of 'job talk.' Waking by the Wallowas challenged my world's geography. In response, I nudged myself back towards a clear-eyed vision ahead.