October 22, Wednesday – Aftermath

I logged in my last entry at 39,089 miles; my starting miles for the RV was 23,070 which was for a shakedown cruise before the actual departure so I would say that it was a 16,000 mile trip plus 6,900 miles on the Jetta, which really surprised me. I didn’t think that I drove it so many miles. So all and all after seven and a half months of touring the Untied States border which included a 1,200 side trip from North Dakota down to Denver that 23,000 miles were covered. What was the fuel cost for such at trip? My records show that I spent $7,500 and $1,900 in campground fees. I didn’t count my food costs because I would have eaten even if I had not gone on the trip.

Cheers to those of you who have read Ron’s Circle Tour and have supported me in my journey in circumnavigating my/our wonderful country.

Love,
Ron

October 18, Saturday – Home

When I reached Chehalis I quit last night. From Longview to La Conner is a little under four hours but since I left Mary at 4:30, I didn’t want to drive through the heart of the Puget Sound cities at night so dropping anchor along the freeway was not a difficult decision. But the desire to get to my community of Shelter Bay on Fidalgo Island got me on the freeway at 7 in the morning. Driving up the interstate with familiar landmarks caused a sense of neutrality. The emotion and feelings of ending 30 weeks on the road with the US border always on my starboard side were placid. I felt numb; I just drove like I had been month after month. The first sign of emotion that bubbled to the surface was when I past the county line with announcement that I was now in my beloved Skagit County. I felt a deeply satisfying smile spread across my face as I laid on the horn to proclaim a milestone. Peeling off the freeway at Exit 221 Conway/La Conner still didn’t produce a burst of euphoria. I didn’t question my feelings; I just marveled at the beauty of the place where I lived as I have done so many times before. It had never been hard to come home to the Skagit Valley for me. On Fir Island all the crops were in except for a few cabbage trucks on Dodge Valley Road. The small traffic circle at the entrance to town with the farm produce stand to the south represented the rural setting of my place. Crossing the Rainbow Bridge from the mainland to the island I glanced habitually over to see the schooner, Rejoice, tied up behind the Calico Cupboard. Because the folks that were house sitting my place had not yet found another place to dwell, I drove to the marina parking lot and stopped for the last time and just sat. Hannah answered her phone with her always cheerful voice when I called to tell her I was finally home. Within minutes a home family welcoming party arrived for massive hugs all around. The last photos were taken and then what to do next was discussed. Well, it seems as though everyone was headed to the pumpkin patch when I called. Without skipping a beat, the Jetta was dropped and the welcoming party hopped aboard Snee-Oosh and off to Gordon’s Farm laughing and talking at once. This is why I am in love with my place of home. A setting of family and friend unrivaled by any that I saw on my travels around the United State; lush farmland rich with harvest, backed by the snow capped North Cascade Mountains with Mount Baker serving as the king of the throne and the saltwater of the Salish Sea pushing through the archipelago San Juan Islands. As I have said so many times on this journey of a lifetime – I am so blessed. Welcome Home, Ron
See Link

October 17, Friday – Glide Path

When I woke, the magnetic pull was undeniable. Home was close and the urge to get there was overpowering. Mary and I headed down I-84 stopping off at the Bonneville Dam complex. I was surprised at how extensive it was with a visitor center and fish hatchery. We wandered and enjoyed the autumn day ending our visit to see Herman, the 70 year old, 11 foot sturgeon.
Coming into Portland I gassed the RV up at $2.88/gallon. Talk about timing. I’m on the glide path to the end of my circumnavigation and the price of fuel is lower than when I left. Even though it was late afternoon, I dropped off Mary and said goodbye then headed for my final destination. La Conner, Washington.

October 16, Thursday – Two for One Day

When we drove up the gorge the day before, we unhooked the land dinghy (also called a toad by some. I never did understand why until just the other day. It is the ‘In-Tow’ vehicle or “toad” for short…) and headed to a place that some of the local La Conner women go to called Carson Mineral Springs. The spa is located on the Washington side of the river near Stevenson. The mineral springs was in the middle of an identity crisis. It did not know what century it was in. The old St. Martin Hotel and the Bathhouse were of the 1920’s but the lodge buildings were definitely 1990’s. Mary and I asked if we could check the place out and off we went exploring. The woman at the desk threw out the hook. “Tomorrow is two for one day. Total price is $20.”
But before we indulged, we went further upstream to the famous Maryhill. When I was there last week, it was overcast and almost empty. Today it was electric clear with hundreds of elementary school kids. Loved the contrast. After a meander through Sam Hill’s collection of fine art, we drove up to Stonehenge to make scarifies and take photos before returning to the land boat for a supper on the river.
From there we headed for the date with a tub. I was surprised that after our soaks and comparing notes how different the mineral springs was for men and women. The sexes are divided into their appropriate parts of the Bathhouse. I was shown to a room with eight comfortable narrow beds and was told that the basket at the end of the bed number 6 was for my clothes. On Mary’s side the women had private changing stalls with baskets placed in a rack. The bath attendant took me to room with eight huge claw foot tubs and again I was number 6 with a room full of guys. Mary had a privacy screen around her tub.
So into the mineral water I slid and adjusted both mentally and physically to the change. The water temperature must have been 106. For the next 45 minutes I soaked alternating between submerged to hanging my legs outside the tub. When I thought that my poor heart could no longer take it, I pulled my limp body carcass out and swayed to the bed for a wrap. First the attendant put a steaming hot towel across my back then had me lie back on the bed, then he wrapped my whole body in a sheet followed by a light blanket then a heavy blanket tucked in tightly around me for a final cover and there I roasted in my own heat like an Egyptian mummy. Because my head was also wrapped, I could hear very clearly my arrhythmic heart beat in my ears. Sweet ,sweaty, hot, death……….. Death for only $10. Can’t beat it. Finally I threw off my suffocating cocoon and staggered to the showers. I must live! I have daughters to teach about life.
As I left the Bathhouse I found Mary sitting on the benches outside in the night time air. I collapsed next to her and we spoke of our soaks and wraps at Carson Mineral Springs. It was worth every penny.

October 15, Wednesday - Last Hurrah

Mary Lyons goes way back to my days of teaching in the inner city of Seattle. She and Pat Cruver were part of that forged friendships coming out of that institution of learning. Since Mary lived on the way home to La Conner, we threw in together for a short road trip up the Columbia Gorge for a last fling of freedom before the anchor went down for good in the homeport.
Even though I had been in the gorge just the week before on my to Portland, going back to the region caused no worries. Repeating an area just provides for another view. With Mary in the navigation seat we headed upstream to Memaloose State Park on the Oregon side of the river. What a find! Because the season was late, there were only a few spots taken so we got a choice view location. Fall was in full swing with the trees going through a spectrum of color change. The river was attracting salmon fisherpersons in mass. The air was clean and fresh.
We did have one problem, though. The last presidential debate was to happen and we didn’t have a TV set onboard so we scooted down Interstate 84 for that liberal town of Hood River, which has a lock on the world’s best wind surfing. After a few inquires of the locals, we found ourselves among like believers in the watering hole called Horsefeathers. Every screen had the debates on it and crowd participation was encouraged. Mary said, “He’s going to win!” Then gasped, “That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud!!” Yes, a revolution is coming on November 4th. I am so proud of our country that we can have a change in government without a military upheaval.

October 13, Sunday – Back to the City

When we pulled anchor at the campground, we stopped to answer the call of nature in the form of dumping the holding tanks. Caitlin watched as I opened the side compartment that held the sewer outlets. We both gasped when I opened it. Here was a ball of Doogen’s fur along with excrement that wasn’t in the tank. Now how in the hell did those rodents get into Snee-Oosh? On the buy list goes mouse poison.
Fortunately the drive back to Portland was not as eventful as the near miss on the way out to the coast. In fact when people ask me if there were any close calls on the trip, the chip truck made it into the top five. After we arrived back in Caitlin’s neighborhood, we pulled out the road atlas to plan “The Next Big Trip.” Will’s folks had invited the northwest contingence to Christmas at their home on the California coast north of Bodega Bay. Getting to the coast from the I-5 corridor took some figuring out. It was faster to almost drop all the way down to Santa Rosa then turn and go back north then west then to try to cut across the Mayacmas Mountains especially in winter with six people on board the land boat. Another trip. I’m ready.

October 12, Saturday – Jolly Time

Caitlin had heard that in the village of Otis just back from the coast that there was a café that was to be reputed to having the best pie in western Oregon. We had a destination. Doogan was passing his dog traveling tests with stars and Caitlin was contributing by brushing him again at the campsite before loading him into the Jetta. I did raise an eyebrow when she walked away from the numerous tuffs of dog hair spread across the ground but figured that some animal would delight in it for nesting material. Little did I know.
As we headed down the Oregon coast the small towns and long beaches were broken up with high headlands. We got alternating views of close-up beach surf and long sights of wide beaches from where the road climbed to the top of a ridge marching to the sea. We went down past Pacific City and Neskowin then turned inland on the highway that connected Salem/Interstate 5 with the coast following the smell of pie like a salmon seeking its spawning stream. We had no problem finding the small café on the side of the road. Finding a parking spot was another issue. Otis is made up of an antique store, post office and the café. The café crowd took all the parking spots of the other establishments. The café only seated about two dozen folks so Caitlin and I joined the porch people waiting in the sun to be called by one of the family members that ran the eatery. We got seats at the counter next to a California couple who we had run into up the coast and who we told about the pie place. We had a great chat with them plus eating delicious pie. “Ordering one whole strawberry/rhubarb pie to go” was our request after savoring our single slices. Of course we had sick Will’s enjoyment in mind.
After returning to the coastal highway, we hit Lincoln City. Something was happening on the beach because there were crowds and cars and lots of kites in the sky but we managed to plow our way through the congestion and onto the south side of town. There wasn’t anything in the town that spoke to us, but on our return back through town I thought that perhaps it would be a good place to buy a kite so we stopped at a store across from the beach parking lot. We found out what all the excitement was about: Lincoln City Kite Festival – the best place in North America to fly a kite. We went to check it out because I had never seen a kite festival. It was billed as “Oodles of Octopi” and there they were their long lines tethered to heavy stakes in the sand. Lining the parking lot barrier were speaker towers pumping hard rock out to the crowd on the beach. It was a festive atmosphere. Okay, we saw all the kites flying and people hanging out which was really cool and were about to go when the music stopped and an announcer called out that that was so and so from such and such and next up was a guy named Lamb from Vancouver, BC. What was this all about? The announcer said that the music was queued up and was waiting for the signal. “He has lifted his leg; he’s ready to go!” Music, quiet music. We looked and saw nothing unusual. Music rising and there lifting out of the sand was a kite shaped like a bat wing. It was connected with an invisible bond to the music. The music and the kite were one. I stood slack jawed as I watched this incredible seductive dance between the kite, the wind and the song. The kite climbed, floated, turned and stopped and hung only to move again then pause then move and fall. I had never believed that a kite could show such raw expression. I was a convert. I wanted to be that kite, that kite handler, that choreographer. There was a shift that occurred within me. I had to know more.
When we got back to our land boat I went directly online and looked up Revolution Kites. See the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYqzQB3xPJc and you will see why I fell in love. Here were six kites but we saw only one kite which was magic. It was a time of joy.

October 10, Friday – Saltwater

Caitlin and Will are part of the work-a-day world: Caitlin as a recruiter for Inside Track, a firm that works with college students to remain in school and to achieve academic goals and Will, who just got admitted into the PhD program at Portland State in artificial intelligence. So breakaway time didn’t come until Friday. The four of us (Caitlin, Will, Doogan, the dog, and me) were to head for the Oregon coast for a little R & R. Will was a last minute scratch because he was coming down with a cold.
Friday at noon Snee-Oosh with the Jetta in tow had a new load of passengers on board; one in particular was being closely watched. I have a thing about having a dog in my RV, namely, accidents, dog hair on everything, being on the furniture to name a few. This was a test run for my attitude and Doogan was the subject of concern. Caitlin and I loaded his dog crate and placed it under the settee table. Caitlin then built a barrier at the far end of the sofa/bench seat. She also put his crate door just behind the front seats so he could look out the front but not get into the driving area. The crowning action was that she brushed him before he got into the rig.
I have visions of Caitlin taking the RV on her own trips so as soon as we were outside of Portland I turned the helm over to her. For the first time since Hannah was on board in the last part of May, I got to ride and look out the window. Going up and over the Coastal Range and down into Tillamook Valley was a good experience builder for Caitlin. As a youth she drove a huge pea viner in the Skagit Valley so driving big equipment was not intimidating for her. As we were dropping off the summit we had one close call: a timber chip truck was going over speed as he was heading uphill. He came at us then cut back to his side of the highway causing his trailer almost to tip over on us. Scared the you-know-what out of us. Doogan sat in the walkway just behind us taking this all in.
We got into Cape Lookout State Park a little after 2 and took one of the two last moorages available. I had forgotten that it was Columbus Day weekend and folks were out enjoying the fine weather and the last fling of fall. As soon as we stepped out of the rig the crash of the surf greeted us; a sound I had not heard since leaving the mighty Lake Superior. With the shore power and the water line hooked up we headed for the dunes and the beach. I was in bliss. The beach stretched for a couple of miles to the north to sea stacks with arches off the coast of Cape Mears. To our left was a two mile finger that projected out into the Pacific Ocean called Cape Lookout. We unleashed our inner child and ran and played with the incoming ribs of water smoothing up the sandy beach. Since Doogan was a Yakima dog, this was his first experience of being on the ocean. At first he stayed right next to Caitlin; if she ran, he ran, if she walked, he walked. He slowly got familiar with the lay of the beach and when he crossed that threshold, off he went and then it was playtime. He would charge us at full speed and at the last second change directions with the grace of a football corner back. Jumping this way and that at us.
There is something about playing with a dog on the beach that is so primitive and therapeutic. I finally broke away from our small group and went to the water, the saltwater, knelt and touched it. My connection had been made. This feeling of being part of a planet with its water and companions was capped and put to bed by watching our special orbit slide into the water sending shards of light into the layer clouds collected on the distant horizon. Goodnight, Caitlin. Goodnight, Doogan.

October 7, Tuesday – Going Through

I’ve never been down the entire length of the Columbia River Gorge. The place where I had spent the night was at the eastern entrance to the rift through the Cascades dividing the long western range into the South and North Cascades. I watch from my living room in La Conner the sunrise over those beloved North Cascades where I worked as a park ranger three decades ago. The weather forecast said that 30 to 40 mph winds would be blowing up the gorge. The wind hit my rig as I pulled out of the protection of the Deschutes River drainage into the westbound traffic. The vegetation said I was still in the dry lands of mountain rain shadow but there were orchards and vineyards clinging to the narrow ledges that lined the canyon because river water could be lifted to provide the moisture that they needed. At The Dalles I unhooked the Jetta, gassed up at $3.30/gallon, crossed the river and headed back east on the Washington side for a trip to Maryhill Art Museum and Stonehenge. Sam Hill had built this showplace for his daughter, Mary, who declined to live there and Hill himself wasn’t interested in the place either. He was persuaded to make it into an art museum. I was impressed with the number of cars in the parking lot even though it was a weekday and the neighboring river bridge was closed due to construction. I enjoyed prowling the rooms and was pleased to see an extensive collection of First People artifacts along with the Rodin sculptures and Andy Warhal exhibits. What gave me the most pleasure though was the huge mushroom fairy ring growing outside under the popular trees. I didn’t see any elves dancing inside the ring, which was disappointing. Sam Hill also recreated a full-scale model of Stonehenge just up the road from Maryhill. I was delighted to see this replica and its possible explanation of its purpose even though it wasn’t the real thing.
Back on the Interstate I was startle by the quick vegetation change due to the slight difference in annual rainfall influenced by the coastal climate. From dry brush land to coniferous forests. It had been a long time since I had seen large growths of evergreens. The gorge drive was entertaining with the changing views and the stiff up-canyon wind. However I only saw two wind surfers out challenging elements. Not a good show for a world-class sports area, although another challenge was going on around me. Where to put four lanes of highway plus two sets of railroad tracks on very limited real estate. Putting the east bound traffic sometimes in a tunnel produced a temporary solution and shoving the west bound traffic out on a causeway also helped. But the railroad kept getting in the way so it was placed up against the cliffs or moved back out over the water constantly being shuttled back and forth across the freeway. And then suddenly they were gone. Space was no longer a premium. The mountains laid back and disappeared into the coastal flatlands. My mountain travels were over with.
Coming into Portland was a bittersweet experience. When I turned off the ignition in front of Caitlin’s house, I had completed the last link in my Circle Tour. Seven months and four days and 14, 828 miles earlier, Bob and I had sat at this very spot. The circumnavigation of the country had been completed. From now on I would be on an already traveled track. I opened a beer and raised it high in the four directions of the compass. The ceremony was completed when Caitlin and Will arrived home on their bicycles ala Portland style. Life is good.

October 6, Monday - Out Front

I am getting close to being able to count on my fingers how many more times that I can say that I weighed anchor and headed down the road. My journey around the perimeter of the United States of America is approaching the end. I can feel the sadness hanging back off stage preparing to let itself known. The “now what’s” are beginning to form a line. Just take one day at a time
Leaving the Wallowas and working again west toward family and Portland was the goal of today’s travels. The country road skirted along the Wallowa Range then followed down through the river’s cut into the mountains to merge with the Minam River to only climb back out onto Cricket Flats heading cross country to Grande Ronda Valley. As I got closer to Le Grande the population began to be denser. I was again among the masses. Speeding up the on ramp of Interstate 84 West put me out front of the backcountry that I had enjoyed so much. After ten days of wheat fields, cattle herds and canyon byways of rural America, I was back on the fast track. My last freeway driving was coming across eastern Montana to reach Missoula. Gaining the summit pass on the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon marked my last mountain climb. The only obstacle that stood in my way of reaching home were the Cascades and I would be knifing through them via the Columbia River Gorge which meant no more long pulls for Snee-Oosh. She has been a workhorse of a land boat.
I wanted to break the 350 mile trip to Portland from Joseph into two days so looking at my road atlas I thought that Deschutes River State Park on the Columbia would be a nice place to spend the night. I love doing my campground walk to see what states folks are from and what types of setups they had. Every small state park has its own character; some are geared for families others for ATV enthusiasts; Deschutes was a fish camp. Manville of the likes that I hadn’t seen since surf fishing in the Carolinas. Chest waders and beer. The added homey touch was the two railroad tracks, which sandwiched the small camping area on both sides. Peaceful sleep in spite of it all.

October 5, Sunday – Eye Candy

It rained off and on all last night but this morning hinted that if I just stepped out of the Wallowa River valley tucked into the mountains there might be some photographer’s delight of the ridges and summits playing hide and seek with the drifting clouds. Taking my trusty land dinghy I headed out into the basin and didn’t get very far. I was spot on. The clouds, sunlight and the peaks were putting on a post storm show that kept me dancing behind the lens. I swung up toward the road to Hurricane Creek and stopped on the shoulder of the rural road of ranch land. I braced myself against a telephone and fired one frame after another as the eye candy of lights and shadows did magic with the rock faces and snowfields. I kept saying, “ENOUGH! STOP SHOOTING!!” I would get back into my VW and start the engine then glance at the front range doing its thing again. Saying “Ah, shit!” found me back leaning against the telephone again with the camera pressed to my face. I love watching the weather changes and again am torn between allowing the transition of the conditions permeate me or to witness it from behind a viewfinder. I don’t think I’ll ever reach a place of well being in the struggle for balance.
Link to more photos

October 4, Saturday – Rattlesnake

An hour after a cloudy dawn found me heading south on Washington’s Highway 129, the road from Clarkston to Enterprise. Pat and Chris had told me about their trip down to Wallowa Lake near Joseph with Eagle Cap Wilderness describing it like Jackson Hole and the Tetons in miniature. But Chris cautioned about the infamous Rattlesnake Grade that dropped like a shot down bomber to the bottom of the Grande Ronde River only to switchback back up immediately to gain back all the elevation that was just lost. She didn’t think that my rig and land dinghy could handle the steepness and the hairpin turns. Her warnings even caused me to dream about descending narrow mountain roads and flying off into space through the weak guardrail.
I was now there. I dropped Snee-Oosh into third gear and put my four-way flashers on. Griping the steering wheel in a death lock I popped my ears as the road seem to have no place to go but down Rattlesnake Canyon. Another element to the journey was that there were no other vehicles either coming up the road or down. I was alone but was in a state of total rapture. This was mountain driving at its best. There was nothing in my seven months of driving that could hold a candle to this. I just needed to keep focused and not look over the drop off.
A sign warned “bump”. What they really meant was that the highway was separating from the cliff and was heading for the creek hundreds of feet below. I felt the rig tip to the right responding to the slopping pavement which prompted a direct reflex to head for the other side of the road. Didn’t like that feeling at all.
Finally what seemed like ten miles of snaking in then out, then cross over the ridge line only to double back the road reached the bottom of Rattlesnake Creek to follow it down to the Grande Ronde and the bridge. There situated on the riverbank was a small café with about eight pickup trucks parked out front. I was too much of a weenie to pull over and walk through the door.
This was no scenic drive along the river’s edge like on the Clearwater. The road took the first side canyon and started to claw its way back up to the plateau that it had just left on the north side. The south side of the journey was not as torturous as the north side. The canyon was straighter so one could see the progress further up the canyon end and the doubling back and forth up the canyon wall. This whole down and back up again employed numerous switchbacks and because of the zero traffic and the coolness of the overcast sky I just played the road as it lay. Kick ass driving.
It was like crawling up a table leg and then bang you are out on top. No transition: either climbing or going flat. The countryside was rolling with some wheat fields and forested low ridges. Suddenly there were other vehicles but not on the road. Every pullout or turn out had one or two pickups parked. Hunting season. I saw two large flocks of wild turkeys. Was this their game? I saw no horses or trailers. Correction: I saw one lone cowboy on a grassy knoll near the road along with 400 sheep and three dogs. Wish I had caught a picture of that.
This open range driving was a delight. Ahead I saw storm clouds with light rays beaming through and as I got closer I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was absolutely amazing. Here I am near the end of my circle tour in my neighboring state, essentially my backyard, and there in the clouds are rugged, massive mountain peaks with snow and glaciers. WHAT is THIS?? They’re called the Wallowa Mountains. I have heard about them but had never seen them. Cousin Mac told me that they are an amazing set of mountains. Eagle Cap Wilderness is the protective cloth that holds this mountain range together. The clouds added depth and mystery to their origin. The rolling hills gave way to an open basin containing the towns of Enterprise and Joseph. The towns were surrounded by ranches of the caliber of Wyoming. The mountain range lifted directly from the basin floor making for spectacular scenery. Wallowa Lake stood with one foot in the mountain valley and the other on the basin floor complete with glacial moraines to add to its prominences. A state park of the same name was at the head of the lake situated in the ponderosa pines. This was indeed a nice place and a grand time of year to be here. There was strong evidence that during the summer season this could be a messy place with masses of humanity. Closed down attractions of jet skis, miniature golf courses, go-kart tracks, bumper boats pools, trail rides and a tram to the top of Mount Howard smelled of noise and confusion in a place that deserved better. It was the time to be here.

October 1, Wednesday – Pat Cruver

Pat joined the inner city alternative school a couple of years after I got there in 1969. We became fast friends spending many weekends out in the wilds: Building igloos near Crystal Mountain Ski area and then ski mountaineering to the ridge systems, descending to our snow palace; climbing in the Cascades or Yosemite Valley; glacier hopping on Mount Rainer or ascending Liberty Ridge; cross county skiing on Shuksan. The list goes on. He is a ‘brother’ and a friend – 36 years and counting.

We hooked up the utility trailer to the Chevy and kidnapped Chris, Pat’s partner, from her veterinary clinic then drove down to the Snake River to gather rocks for Pat’s rock garden. My arrival time was spot-on because Pat had load limits. He was restricted to 10 pounds of lifting weigh due to recent back surgery so he was the rock spotter while Chris and I hauled the boulders to the trailer. Half way through the job we took a break to watch the Washington State University Crew row by on the still waters of the dammed up might Snake.
I was continually struck by the contrast of the river bottom terrain and the uplands that dominated the rest of the southeast corner of my state. The shades of browns and grays; of cliffs and rolling hills of the Palouse - incredibly different from western Washington with its evergreen forests and saltwater bays and sounds. With a trailer full of rocks, the pickup got the job done hauling the weight up and out of the river canyon on the rural back road. Hopefully this was the last load of many to complete his project.

On Friday Pat and I teamed up to epoxy paint the centerboard on his San Juan 21. It was fun spending time. It would be really cool to go sailing with him on Lake Pend Oreille someday.

Even though cousin Mac and Sandy with Pat and Chris in Pullman were a strong force to stay, the urge to travel overcame me so at 5 p.m. I headed south toward the Wallowas.