When lovely woman stoops to folly: this broken poetry

For Robert the Incomparable because no other lives and dies in poetry, knowing the curse of a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

Deer evening

Now that the evenings are lengthening and warming I can take my wandering Stingy Lane walks after work. This particular evening was full of beautiful light, fresh spring growth and deer.

Rez Roadtripping

In mid-April, on opening day of turkey hunting season, I go exploring in the Spokane and Colville Indian Reservations where I find beautiful wildflowers are just coming into bloom.
I also discover Midnite Mine, a uranium mine and many beautiful vistas, ride the Gifford-Inchelium ferry again (separate post) and have an adventure of the chickenskin kind in Inchelium.
Half way through photographing the murals on the community centre walls, my camera suddenly gives me a red screen of death. Battery out. Huh? But I just recharged it before setting out on this little road trip.

I switch the camera off. Switch on again. It seems quite calm and contented. I take a several more shots. When I get home and upload the pictures, I discover that the frame of Chief Joseph which I had just shot when the battery claimed to be kaput is missing.Makes me think of that line from the "Older than America" movie. "What's with you white people? The minute you come onto an Indian reservation, you begin acting like you've taken peyote."

A Saturday well spent in spite of the momentary heebie jeebies in Inchelium. And yeah, this was just an excuse for a picture post. As always more on flickr.

Swing low, sweet chariot

In Kitsap County, on the west side of the Cascades, riding on the big Washington State ferries is a way of life. Huge multi-decked vessels pour the daily commuter crowd in tunnel-visioned, monochromatic, dark rivers across the Salish Sea (aka Puget Sound) to Seattle from Bainbridge, Bremerton, Kingston. In summer tourists and leisurely locals enjoy the views from the open decks. In winter we huddled against chill winds and watched our lives recede from us.

In contrast, the San Juan Islands routes are pure adventurer delight, with progressively smaller and smaller boats and incredible island scenery. Yup. Just about every journey where I was living required a water crossing to get anywhere off the peninsula. So much so that the big ferries have become an icon for the Pacific Northwest.

Turns out, however, that ferries existed first in Washington State in the Inland Northwest, on the dry eastern side of the Cascade mountain range.The story of the nearest ferry to my current base camp goes something like this. In 1896 a Congressional decision was made to open the Colville Indian Reservation up to non-Indian mining interests. This development led to more people wanting to cross the Columbia River. In 1898 a ferry began operating between Gifford in Stevens County on the east side of the Columbia River to Inchelium on the Colville Indian reservation.In 1939/40 the area was flooded by the construction of Grand Coulee dam. Both settlements of Gifford and Inchelium were moved to higher ground. Of course this meant that the Gifford-Inchelium ferry had to find new landings as well.Today the Columbian Princess is the single boat in the Gifford Inchelium fleet. This boat was built in 1981 by the Fisherman's Boat Shop in Everett at a cost of 1.7 million, paid for by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. It seems that this water princess had quite a journey to get to her home waters. First she was towed through the Straits of Juan de Fuca to the mouth of the Columbia. From there she travelled upriver through a series of 5 locks to Pasco. After that she was trucked 108 miles overland at a speed of 4-6 miles, through the soft rolling seas of the wheat lands. Imagine that!

Since 1994 the Gifford Inchelium ferry has been operated by the Federated Tribes of the Colville Indians on contract from the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

The Columbian Princess crosses daily starting at 6:30 am. In winter the ferry shuts down for the night around 8:30 pm and in summer 9:45 pm

There is no charge for the ferry ride, and no schedule beyond the first and last ferry. The crossing takes six minutes and the ferry staff are relaxed and gentle about loading and unloading, knowing their routines and taking the time to greet a cousin or nephew doing the crossing. None of the impatient, incomprehensable but clearly irritated gestures of the officials on the other side of the mountains.

It seems to me that the ferry boat captain waits until enough vehicles have collected. Or sometimes maybe he just crosses when he gets tired of waiting. On the first crossing the amber liquid sunshine Ford Ranger and I did, there were only two vehicles on this 120 foot long vessel.There is something beautifully African about the Columbian Princess. Old office chairs provide comfort for the rudimentary crew to lounge on while waiting for loading or on their breaks. Lunch pails, bicycles and much loved motorcycles lean against the sides of the boat. Exhaust from the engines pours out from smoke stacks on either side of the deck. There is no passenger cabin beyond the cab of your vehicle. The captain is perched in a little compartment on a bridge above the single deck.The views can be beautiful - especially early in the morning or evening when the light is sweet and low and the sense all about is that the chariot is coming for to carry you home.
More about the eastern Washington ferries here:

http://www.historylink.org/index.cfm?DisplayPage=output.cfm&file_id=8035

http://www.wsdot.wa.gov/Regions/Eastern/KellerFerry/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gifford%E2%80%93Inchelium_Ferry

Ancestral voices: the dark heart of the matter

A few weeks ago, on my first exploration on Colville Indian reservation, down the west side of Lake Roosevelt, I paid respects to the ancestors at a cemetery near Inchelium.

The construction of Grand Coulee dam in 1939/40 caused the flooding of a huge area, stretching hundreds of miles upriver. This created Lake Roosevelt with its 660 miles of shoreline, some of which you have been seeing in photographs on this blog already. Environmentalists today condemn the damn building and subsequent flooding. A huge swathe of unique river bank eco-system and a myriad plant species were destroyed by this act, not to mention how it interfered with the salmon life cycle journey.

It is difficult to comprehend the hubris of those times only 70 years ago, to think it was okay to block the path of the salmon, but there we have it: Grand Coulee Dam and Lake Roosevelt. Don't worry, we will give you electricity and a huge playground of a National Recreation Area. You can swim, boat, fish (for reintroduced farmed species), camp. Play. And, wait there's more: for no extra charge, free bonus extra in summer: we will give you a coloured light show on the wall of the dam. Celebrate electricity!

One begins to understand the passion in Edward Abbey's environmental activism writings which were deeply rooted in protesting the horror of "progress" of the nature of Grand Coulee dam. Apocalypse now, here, in the heart of this country. It was happening. But who pays attention to poets, dreamers and novelists?On a human level the building of the dam flooded not only villages and sacred sites such as Kettle Falls, but also cemeteries. For those who believe it is important to be near the burial grounds of their ancestors, this must have been a profoundly disturbing event.Before the waters rose, the Bureau of Reclamation, of the US Dept of the Interior, was responsible for relocating the burials. It seems that many of them were moved to New Inchelium Cemetery which I think is also Hall Creek Cemetery and the one I visited. Or maybe Hall Creek Cemetery is now under water. I am a bit vague on the detailsWhat I do know is that the cemetery I visited is on the 1.4 million acre Colville Indian reservation, on the west side of Lake Roosevelt, just north of Inchelium. It is owned and maintained by Saint Michael's Mission in Inchelium, a Roman Catholic parish which was founded in 1926 on the banks of the Columbia river. In 1942 Saint Michael's Church was moved to higher ground above the rising waters of the newly formed Lake Roosevelt and today has a mission to serve the people on the eastern side of the reservation.
It seems that only Indians and their immediate families are buried at Hall Creek Cemetery and the grave monuments reflect this. As with the cemetery in Suquamish, there are stones here commemorating the unknowns as well as the reinterred buried without proper records - possibly these were relocations from flooded burial grounds?

All the places in the world

Another Carlos Casteneda marries Leonard Cohen crack-that-lets-the-light-in day on a recent Saturday kayaking expedition.

Started a little slow loading a kayak in the frosty morning with ice still on the bird bath. Then to Spoko fuel for petrol and a little pre-kayaking treat of wedges of fried potatoes aka jo jos.
Decided on French Rock, west side of the river down a little ways from the Kettle Falls crossing. It had looked protected and interesting on a scouting party. En route there I discovered Sherman Creek apple orchid in full fresh bloom reminding me of the winelands of the Western Cape of South Africa. Okay none of the inimitable scenic whitewashed Cape Dutch gabled architecture against purple fold mountains..... but there was a similarity. orchards against a backdrop of mountains. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see other places I have been.
The colours, especially the blue of sky and fresh early spring green of bud at that point of the adventure were out of a child's crayon box in their intensity.Just after the orchard, a coyote bounded joyfully across my path. He looked over his shoulder, laughing directly at me. I swear he met my eyes. What is it about coyotes that whenever I see them they turn and look at me. Setting me up, huh?I took a little side diversion to explore a deserted campsite where peahens with iridescent blue necks foraged amongst the pinecones. It was the harsh cry coming from the woods more that the sight which had me feeling I had stepped through a crack in the worlds and was back in India. Or why did coyote take me down this road? To mock me for how tarnished India has become in this ordered oh so secular land of plenty?At French Rock the water was calm at the launch. I found blue triteleia flowering on the little bluff overlooking the cove whilst a yellow bellied marmot (thanks to Morticia for the id) watched me from another.The south wind was strongish when I left the shelter of the launching cove but I had already decided to paddle up river, then return with the flow. Not that it was as strong or noticeable as the tides in the Salish Sea.
I found islands of tumbled volcanic structure poking out of the sea. Some had poetic pines, clinging in a Japanese woodblock way, and Canadian Geese.I played around a little bit in the interesting flows of water, calms and cross currents around the coves and bluffs of those islands. Though the light on water was, at times, reminiscent of some of my best prayer paddles on the clear salt water on the west side of the Cascades, this Lake Roosevelt water has a brooding deepness to it somehow. There's a visceral vertigo grabs at me at times. I feel wobbled from the deep with chickenskin and sense of mysterious depths beneath me.I realise how small and alone I am in this vast landscape of water, mountains and sky. Not a human being knows where I am most of the time and only the local critters see me: eagles, ravens, coyotes, marmots, geese, brilliant washes of yellow from the arrow leaf balsamroot. There's a stillness. Such a deep stillness surrounds.

The kayak sometimes feels irrationally wobbled and tipsy in a way that it never felt on the salt water. There I felt rocked, cradled, bobbed about but always buoyant. On this fresh water, I feel a dark sinking precariousness.

People once walked paths of the drowned canyons I paddle over now. Built campfires on the banks of the river which flowed with salmon and life.

It takes a while for trust and communion to build up.

I am spending so much time alone, in the interior world these days. It takes all the covering off nerves and senses.

I found a sandy beach to have my lunch on. With half closed eyes and ignoring the cold wind off the snow still on the mountains around, I could almost imagine myself on a Hawaiian beach: white sand, water.

I lay and watched cloud shapes form and dissolve. A hand in the vee of a peace sign formed. I lazily reached for my camera. When I looked again it had turned to the single fingered salute. Flipping the bird at me are you coyote? A shark swam across a different section of the sky, jagged jaws elongating.

Coming back the storm blew in with rain and a chill wind.

Be nice to chickens today

As a fiery rooster by Chinese birth, (and don't my friends and family just remind me about this cocky nature of mine daily!) I could not resist a celebration of sorts on this rather un-hallmark holiday: International Respect for Chickens day.

Who amongst us remembers that winged warrior: Chicken maaaaaan from the days of radio way back in the seventies? In another country.

Since I strictly don't eat the critters nor that which uses the chicken to make more of itself, the egg, I feel I do respect these fowls every day. My household altars are quite set about with images.Lately visitors of another avian species, a small flock of California quail, have been gracing the Skunk House backyard lockup. Curious creatures with beautiful markings and a lovely comical crest on the males, this little family of two hens and two cocks delights in sandbathing in any newly dug soil, when they are not seriously seeking seeds. Hmmmm.... I wonder if they know anything about the patchy germination rate of the spinach, kale and chard seeds sown last month. Then again it could also be the weather. If it comes down to a vegetable garden or quails in the backyard there's no debate. Quails have my vote.