Don's Tuesday Column

          THE WAY I SEE IT   by Don Polson   Red Bluff Daily News   8/29/2017

          Burning steaks; the Snake River

After viewing the solar eclipse, we almost eclipsed not only some rib eye steaks, but also a large propane grill and the deck we sat on. We then ventured on to a total eclipse of another sort. About those rib eyes and the "great steak flame out," just know that using someone else's grill, and knowing nothing of its performance and history, can lead to unexpected results. Propane level? Check. Igniters starting flames from all ports? Check. Splash guards over flames? Check. Preheat cycle? Check. What could go wrong? A "burning man," for one.

Almost as amazing as seeing the entire interior of the grill aflame, almost as amazing as seeing the temperature dial go from 500 degrees to 1000 degrees and yet not burning the plastic cover draped over the wood railing behind the grill, let alone the very dry, old wood itself--almost as amazing as all that was the fact that I was able to grab the steaks with some tongs before they turned to cinders. You see, years of usage had coated the inside of the grill with a layer of soot, so once the lower parts caught fire the rest of the soot ignited much like a chimney fire.

Having turned off the propane and avoided catastrophe, my attention returned to the steaks. Believe it or not, except for some edges that were black and crunchy, they were medium rare and, honestly, just about the juiciest steaks I've ever eaten. Go figure: big steaks, big heat, big flame, seared meat with all of the juices intact. The Bar-B-Q University guy might even approve.

Payette, Idaho, is less than an hour northwest of Boise (radio station call letters, KIDO, sound like "K-Highdeeho") and is about an hour away from Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, the most dramatic part of the Snake River's path to the Columbia River. What we saw there was stark, awesome, and geologically magnificent. What flowed through the canyon was backed up behind dams providing visitors with fishing and boating, as well as power for much of the region. Much of that water began its journey from places we had spent time admiring: Big Springs and the Henrys Fork of the Snake River, the Island Park Lake, the creeks of Harriman State Park, and Belchor and Falls Rivers in the Cave Falls area of southwest Yellowstone Park.

The Snake's headwaters issue forth from a rather hard-to-find source at the southern boundary of Yellowstone; it is a creek-size flow where no roads or trails go and the maps all but hide the location. By the time it flows through Jackson Hole and the Grand Teton National Park, it has collected the waters of numerous creeks, streams and rivers. It then crosses the Wyoming/Idaho line, fills a massive reservoir, Palisades, and, together with the above-mentioned waters, proceeds to the wondrous Shoshone Falls in Twin Falls, Idaho. You really can't visit the Idaho/Wyoming/Teton/Yellowstone area without being constantly reminded of the Snake River.

The heat in the Hells Canyon area, below 2,000-feet elevation, was initially uncomfortable but the inexpensive power hookups at an Idaho Power-built campground made it possible to use one of our two air conditioners as much as needed. The steep, brown treeless mountain sides above the water were not appealing beyond their sheer size; the smoke from near and distant fires turned the views from the Hells Canyon Overlook into washed-out vistas. Curiously, two men with binoculars could still spot some elk across the canyon; their bow hunting season started the next day (motto: If you're good enough to sneak up that close to an elk, you better have the energy to haul the pieces out on your back).

An 8-hour day trip to Joseph, Oregon (named after Chief Joseph of a local tribe) allowed for admiring the "Swiss Alps" of Oregon, with steep, forested mountainsides reaching almost 10,000-foot heights, while you view them from less than 4,000-foot levels in town. Situated in the Wallowa-Whitman National Forest and surrounding Wallowa Lake, the verdant Wallowa Mountains and the Eagle Cap Wilderness would doubtless provide hikers and pack animal riders with marvelous experiences. The tram ride to the 8,256-foot top of Mt. Howell would be well worth the $30 if you had clear views without smoky air.

However, we were able to scout the town and lake for future visits and camping; sadly, it has a "resort" atmosphere and ambiance. Translation: lots of people and families crammed into a finite space, with gift shops, miniature golf, motorcycle rallies, festivals and camping "cheek to jowl" style and no bushes between you and your neighbor. We found ourselves repeating the line from a Star Wars movie: "It's a trap," as in tourist trap; we had good ice cream and hamburgers.

There was a similarity to the Black Hills and Badlands of South Dakota. The lush forests of the Black Hills created, over time, the arid, mostly barren features of the Badlands due to the meteorological fact that rain-bearing weather systems move from west to east. Just as the Cascade and Sierra mountains leave reduced moisture for the valleys to the east, and the Black Hills have deprived the Badlands of rain, the Wallowa Mountains create dry, treeless parts of Hells Canyon.

The "total eclipse of another sort" mentioned above has to do with our moving from cell phone and Internet-rich Payette to a literal empty digital wasteland. We've had no connection to the outside world beyond an AM radio station for a week, as of Tuesday. If this is published on the 29th, it means I drove a good 20 miles to find wi-fi at a store, river rafting or wilderness outfitter shop yesterday, to send an email attachment to the editor. It means no news stories, analysis or opinion from the Internet, no newspapers or TV. We will appreciate getting back the connections and signals; however, there is an almost forgotten sense of joyous isolation to be had when your entertainment is nature and a good book. Try it sometime; you might like it.