Palouse River
The National Geographic Sea Lion slid under the bridge at Lyon’s Ferry and dropped anchor in mirror-calm water at the head of the Palouse River. These days it is, in reality, a small lake. In the time of the Corps of Discovery, it would have been an inconspicuous large stream/little river which deposited a modest amount of water into the mighty Snake.
Our luxury bus was awaiting some of our guests who rode ashore by Zodiac. A short drive up rolling hills and over scabland brought them to Palouse Falls. To our eyes the amount of water dropping over the rim 198 feet down into a plunge pool, looked tremendous. However, compared to what poured over the land a few thousand years ago, it was just a trickle. The renowned Missoula Floods appeared from the northeast many times; perhaps hundreds of times, scouring the surrounding lands of all its topsoil, leaving something I once heard described by a local as “so poor, you couldn’t even raise your voice on it”.
Meanwhile, on glassy water down below, kayakers paddled serenely, surrounded by narrow-leafed and broad-leafed cat-tails, tule rush, willow and sagebrush. Two golden eagles flew high overhead, and a quick sighting of a mule deer caught our eyes. A bald eagle made aerial dives after American coots while bold colonnades of basalt stand erect all around, supporting massive headdresses of crackled entablature, some tumbled into slopes of talus, all reflected.
By late morning a brief storm front came through with wind and a few drops of rain, but nothing to scare any of us into a quick return. Food was a draw in the end, and lunch beckoned.
Once onboard we continued our expedition back down the Snake River, through two more locks (Lower Monumental and Ice Harbor). At nightfall the confluence with the Columbia River caught us, possibly at the same time as it did with the Corps of Discovery, all those years ago.
The National Geographic Sea Lion slid under the bridge at Lyon’s Ferry and dropped anchor in mirror-calm water at the head of the Palouse River. These days it is, in reality, a small lake. In the time of the Corps of Discovery, it would have been an inconspicuous large stream/little river which deposited a modest amount of water into the mighty Snake.
Our luxury bus was awaiting some of our guests who rode ashore by Zodiac. A short drive up rolling hills and over scabland brought them to Palouse Falls. To our eyes the amount of water dropping over the rim 198 feet down into a plunge pool, looked tremendous. However, compared to what poured over the land a few thousand years ago, it was just a trickle. The renowned Missoula Floods appeared from the northeast many times; perhaps hundreds of times, scouring the surrounding lands of all its topsoil, leaving something I once heard described by a local as “so poor, you couldn’t even raise your voice on it”.
Meanwhile, on glassy water down below, kayakers paddled serenely, surrounded by narrow-leafed and broad-leafed cat-tails, tule rush, willow and sagebrush. Two golden eagles flew high overhead, and a quick sighting of a mule deer caught our eyes. A bald eagle made aerial dives after American coots while bold colonnades of basalt stand erect all around, supporting massive headdresses of crackled entablature, some tumbled into slopes of talus, all reflected.
By late morning a brief storm front came through with wind and a few drops of rain, but nothing to scare any of us into a quick return. Food was a draw in the end, and lunch beckoned.
Once onboard we continued our expedition back down the Snake River, through two more locks (Lower Monumental and Ice Harbor). At nightfall the confluence with the Columbia River caught us, possibly at the same time as it did with the Corps of Discovery, all those years ago.
