Within sight of Walla Walla

A stay-at-home outdoors
Walla Walla weekend proves
that you don't have to drive
half a day to find scenic
beauty and wildlife.
A drive of less than 40 miles
over two days does the trick.
And you get to sleep in your
own bed.
So, I slept in on the first day
off before I rode my bike
along Mill Creek and around
Bennington Lake. I swooped
over the unpaved trails and
roller-coaster hills, sharp
turns and exciting ruts, or
ditches, a foot wide and a foot
deep.
``Exciting,'' if you hit one,
that is, you could crush a rim
and catapult over the handle
bars to land on your punkin'. I
hit a top speed of 24 mph and
covered 14.6 miles in one-
hour, 39 minutes.
On the way home along
Mill Creek, I saw two families
of Canada geese, one with
two adults and three goslings
and one with two adults and
at least a dozen goslings.
And I saw dozens of stay-at-
home folks enjoying shaded,
colorful Pioneer Park.
So I stowed the bike and,
without showering or chang
ing clothes, took my wife
Darlene, Sadie the Dalmatian
and the camera for a ride.
We drove 1.5 miles to see
the geese. We walked along
the stream for 100 yards and
watched adult geese and a
stream of little ones swim up
stream in single file. Almost.
When they came to a weir,
the adults hopped to the top.
The goslings, with mere
stubs for wings, hesitated
then swam back and forth
unwilling to face the chal
lenge.
I watched until my camera
arm ached.
Sadie grumbled. She
waddled to the truck and
back. She stood grumbling
behind me. She made a sec
ond trip to the truck and back.
All the time, the goslings
swam back and forth before
the weir, and the adults
walked along the top, keeping
pace with them. They made
three trips from one side of
the stream to the other, three
times coming within 10 feet of
me before turning back.
Once an adult slipped down
the weir to join the goslings.
The adult swam slowly up to
the weir again and, as to dem
onstrate how its done,
climbed to the top. No little
one followed.
After an hour, the squad of
goslings _ I counted 15 of
them _ swam again to my
side of the stream. Nearly at
my feet, three of them left the
water and stumbled across
the stones to a low, dry sec
tion of the weir.
As hovering parents
watched, they scrambled onto
the weir. Alas, the other 12
turned back.
And I gave up. Surely, they
would all eventually find a
way up the weir. Surely?
We drove another mile-plus
to the Mill Creek Project
Office, and a rooster pheasant
paraded past us on the grass.
On the way home, we
stopped at Pioneer Park, with
it colorful dogwood and laurel
blossoms, and watched famil
ies picnic and kids play on the
covered wagon. We watched a
peacock in the aviary.
So, that was the first day of
an Outdoors in Walla Walla
Weekend. And I drove fewer
than four miles.
Early (7:30 a.m.) on the sec
ond day, we drove into the
Blue Mountain foothills on
Government Mountain Road.
It circles around to connect
with Kendall Skyline Road,
according to my map.
From there we could return
to Walla Walla on Tiger Can
yon and Mill Creek roads.
So I figured.
Well, Government Moun
tain Road climbs steadily.
Within minutes, two
scraggly does clattered into
the road, up the bank and
stood in the field above us.
We counted nine deer within
five minutes.
In another few minutes, we
could see across the valley.
Haze obscured details to
some degree, but we could
see from the airport to Milton-
Freewater, and to the wind
turbines on the distant hill
sides.
Despite the frequent ``No
Trespassing'' signs, we
stopped several times to take
in the view and to let Sadie
sniff around the balsamroot.
Eventually, about 20 miles
from home, we came to a
100-yard snowdrift with two-
foot-deep ruts. I stopped.
``We shouldn't have any
trouble,'' I said, keeping to
myself that I'd taken the
shovel out of the truck two
days earlier.
``Maybe,'' Darlene said.
``You do n't have a shovel,
right?''
She's been here before, I
thought, and grunted.
I slipped the 4-wheel drive
lever into low-low and we
putted through drift and past
a pond alive with frog croaks.
Then after another deep-
rutted drift, a deadfall
blocked the road.
We'd driven 22 miles. I
made half-a-dozen moves for
ward and back to turn on the
two-track road. after passing
the first drift again, I stopped.
``Let's walk back to the
pond and look for frogs,'' I
said.
We spent half an hour at
the pond with hundreds of
apparently invisible frogs
harmonizing for us.
Finally, I saw two frogs, one
with a little one on its back,
suspended in the clear water.
Then, with the valley below,
we drove directly into the
wide panorama on Saddle
Mountain Road to Pikes Peak
Road.
Not a bad way to brush
with the great outdoors and
put fewer than 40 miles on the
truck. Not bad at all.

Juniper Dunes, North Entrance

• Sand shifted beneath my
• boots. Sweat dribbled down
• my forehead into one eye and
• twisted my face into a grim
• ace.
• I wiped the eye with a
• finger behind my glasses. I
• huffed down a bucket of air
• and puffed it out, huff-puff,
• huff-puff, etc.
• Climbing an 800-foot-tall
• sand dune in the Juniper
• Dunes Wilderness on a bright,
• 90-plus afternoon compares
• with an afternoon walk in the
• park as plucking out whiskers
• one at a time with clam-shell
• tweezers compares with get
• ting a barbershop shave.
• One demands attention.
• The other doesn't. That's my
• guess, anyway.
• The particular 800-foot
• dune mentioned above,
• spread thick with shiny ruby-
• red sand dock halfway up the
• slope, slanted steeper than
• the normal 35 degrees or so.
• That's when piled-up grains
• of sand answer the call of
• gravity.
• I've never heard it, but with
• dry sand and a big slide, a
• bellowing sound occurs, often
• called ``singing sand.''
• I paused, leaned back and
• peered upwards through a
• tight squint. The top 20 feet of
• naked sand seemed to lean
• over me, defying gravity.
• The leaning ridge reminded
• me of a snow ledge ready to
• become an avalanche.
• I'm no Chicken Little
• exactly, but my attention
• piqued, and I scooted out of
• its potential path. Who needs
• a sand slide, singing or not.
• Despite the heat, and the
• attention demanded by the
• terrain, a trip to the Juniper
• Dunes Wilderness area IS
• worth the effort, especially at
• the north entrance.
• You reach that gate through
• a section of pasture on the
• Juniper Dunes Ranch. It's
• accessable only during
• March, April and May.
• So, as May threatened to
• slip away, I left home at 11:03
• a.m. one day last week. I
• stopped twice along
• Blackman Ridge Road to snap
• horned lark photos.
• Sadie the Dalmatian stayed
• home, so cattle in the parking
• area corrals barely glanced
• my way. By 1:03 p.m. I signed
• in at the wilderness gate.
• It's possible to leave the
• gate, climb a short distance
• (30-40 yards?) to a path off to
• the left (south) and avoid
• some of the really steep early
• dunes.
• My strategy, however, since
• few trails exist, involves walk
• ing more or less in a straight
• line, dunes and all.
• At the gate I attached my
• GPS unit to my upper left arm
• with a velcro strap. It plots a
• line on a map as I walk, so I
• can track my route (with di
• rection, moving time, stop
• ping time and distance).
• A compass would suffice,
• but the GPS gives more infor
• mation, so I carry it. If I don't
• forget it.
• Actually, on a clear day, a
• hiker may climb a tall dune
• and see the Juniper Dunes
• Ranch.
• With the GPS in place, I
• climbed the first dune and
• angled to the right
• (southwest).
• The largest number of
• 250-300-year-old juniper trees
• cluster in that direction. I
• stopped often to photograph
• flowers, interesting patterns
• in the sand (created by wind-
• blown grasses), animal tracks
• (including those left by mice
• and Morman crickets) and
• scenic views.
• Once a lizard skittered be
• neath a sage bush. I wanted it
• to be a horned toad, but it
• wasn't. It bobbed up and
• down on the sand among a
• maze of sage bush branches
• and leaves.
• I switched the camera to
• manual focus and snapped
• several photos. For no appar
• ent reason, other than my
• presence, the lizard leaped
• from the sand and clung to a
• branch. I snapped a final
• photo and left.
• I've seen deer, porcupines
• and coyotes among the dunes
• (along with deer hunters and
• illegal motor bikers) there,
• but the lizard and Mormon
• crickets were the main
• critters I saw last week.
• As usual, time rushed by.
• On the north or west side of
• the dunes, hidden from the
• light breeze, the heat
• pounded me. On the ridges,
• however, the breeze felt cool
• against my damp nylon shirt.
• I swigged from the
• 100-ounce CamelBack water
• bag as I walked. It contained
• ice cubes, so the water tasted,
• well, like that fabled elixir.
• After 2 hours, 38 minutes, I
• dropped the daypack and
• cameras beneath a aromatic
• juniper. Sweat soaked the
• back of the bag and my back.
• The breeze felt cool as I sat on
• the ground in the shade.
• I sipped ice water and
• munched two PowerBars.
• The GPS said I'd walked
• 1.74 miles, moving for 1 hour,
• 45 minutes and stopping for
• 53 minutes. I'd made a
• squiggly path in the sand.
• Before I started again, I
• took off my boots, pulled up
• my socks and retied my laces,
• a bit tighter than before, to
• give my feet better support on
• the shifting sand.
• I slipped into the daypack
• and camera bag and headed
• east. After a few hundred
• yards, I turned north.
• My energy flagged a bit,
• and I chose routes around
• dunes when possible. I
• paused for a few photos of
• scenes and bugs on flowers.
• At the gate I checked the
• GPS. I'd covered 3.97 miles,
• walking for 2 hours, 44 min
• utes and stopping for 58:37
• minutes.
• I'd turned the GPS off when
• I sat beneath the juniper tree.
• I drove slowly past the Juni
• per Dunes Ranch to keep the
• dust down and show appreci-
• ation for the owners' toler-
• ance of visitors.
• And I was in no hurry. I
• could drive the 75 miles or so
• home in less than two hours,
• so I would probably be in time
• to wrangle a bowl of soup
• before bedtime.
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•  
• If You Go_.
• To reach the north entrance to the
• Juniper Dunes, which is accessible
• during March, April and May, turn