We drive over Snoqualmie Pass,

then we motor down,

and down,

and down

to the wider view,

on the other side of the mountains.

 

The dry side.

 

We’re headed to Umtanum Creek Recreation Area,

a shrub-steppe habitat of dry hills, sage, and rattlesnakes.

Bighorn sheep are said to roam the craggy tops;

in the creek’s deep crease

willows flourish,

butterflies lilt,

and wildflowers cycle through bloom, seed, dormancy, and bloom again…

 

Umtanum Creek’s clear water feeds the wide Yakima River,

which in turn feeds the Columbia River,

which empties into the Pacific.

Today the water is cold but the sun is hot –

perfect for a raft trip down the Yakima.

 

But we’re interested in a dry place, so

we head across Yakima river

on a bridge

of creaky wood

and swaying steel.

The creek’s final course flows quietly

under a cool, shady thicket. We could follow it –

walk up the creek trail,

but…

 

 

Remember last year?  We walked up the creek and

after that we were curious about that hill, so

we trudged up

a steep path

but we were tired and

we didn’t get very far.

Why not do the hill path first this time?

Later we can cool our heels

in the creek.

 

It’s hot. Steep. Rock-strewn.

No one else is

on the trail.

We have 3 bottles of water,

little bags of nuts and raisins, a chocolate –

we’re already thirsty.

 

I drink in the open landscape, the

way rolling hills

are clothed in subtle shades of umber and gold,

olive and gray,

and the creek below

weaves a frothy emerald path

through the canyon.

I sense movement ahead on the rocks to my left.

– amazing –

a bighorn sheep!

I’ve never seen one before – didn’t expect to see one today.

Don’t you have to be miles from the road to see this kind of wildness?  Don’t you have to come at dawn, or dusk?

(Oh, would a long lens be good right about now!)

 

Just one ram,

and so nobly beautiful!

Surprise – instead of running away he makes eye contact. He poses on the rocks,

then climbs down closer.

I walk a few steps up the trail,

and he steps nimbly, almost aggressively,

towards us.

It’s lamb season, so we realize this may not be safe –

time to back off!

I force myself to step backwards on the trail,

not wanting to divert my gaze.

One last look –

can you see him there still?

King of the Hill…

 

It’s all good though.  He has his turf.

We had the privilege of meeting him,

in his world

for a few electric minutes.

 

 

Back down along the creek, a rattlesnake

slithers slowly away

through rock shadows  –

No matter I didn’t get a usable shot – I’m glad it’s gone.

Again I’m distracted by butterflies and wildflowers,

the curl of dry grass,

yarrow with its fair share of insect life,

tall grass ornamented with tiny yellow flowers,

wild roses

announcing their pinkness

amidst the green.

 

 

Finally, the water up close:

feet cool off:

delicious!

 

 

Back on the road

heading down Yakima Canyon,

we glimpse strange basalt rock stacks painted

lichen red and yellow,

like primitive sculpture, or maybe an artist’s recent work

(how’s that for site-specific?).

And then more luck – we’ve gone from bighorn sheep and rattlesnakes

to a vintage ’51 Pontiac Chieftain,

looking very at home, even on the four lane!

We pull off so I can photograph the plain, graceful hills in late afternoon light.

A Western meadowlark sings somewhere out there – we can’t see it.

Telephone poles

and weathered fence posts

march crookedly up and down:

imaginary ideas of here

and there

and

who-owns-what

pasted on the hills.

We know there is no ownership.

I imagine the poles as dashes – pencil marks across

a manuscript

pale and dry as paper,

but ever changing.

Heading back towards home,

the Cascade Range appears in the distance

like a mirage.

Let’s stop at the top –

I want to breathe in the difference between

the dry place

and the fiercely steep, snowy place above,

the mountains with their towering trees and

spring flowers, still

blooming

as if it were April.

We stop briefly at Snoqualmie Pass,

walk to a smidgeon of the Pacific Crest Trail –

(hikers pass through here on their 2,650 mile trip from Mexico to California).

How’s that for inspiring?

Yes, trillium are still blooming here.

 

This is one of the reasons we left New York and moved out here two years ago –

truly wild land is more accessible to us now.

In the course of a day

we can drive from

June to April

and back to June again,

from wet to dry to wet again

from lush to arid to lush again!

Yes, how’s that for inspiration.