The Palouse (Seattle to Sandpoint, Idaho, 492 miles)

The drive out of Seattle was beautiful, a little treacherous (mountain driving in snowy areas), and extremely boring. I'm not one prone to boredom, raised as an only child and left to my own devices I could easily create whole worlds and fill them with people always up to something, probably dramatic, maybe terrible, with long, fragmented story lines that would stop abruptly when the clothes shopping was finally done (yawn) or the bus arrived at school (double yawn). 

Probably Mt. Defiance, in the misty morning.

But driving is different. You do have to keep most of your attention on the road, whether racing down the highway at 75 mph or tap, tap, tapping those brakes through endless construction zones. As I-90 East begins to traverse the Cascade mountain range, miles and miles of road is cordoned off by traffic cones. It is clear that the road is in bad shape, with big cracks and canals running through it in places. What was peculiar about the scene when I passed through wasn't the obvious infrastructure problems of a major highway--America is full of infrastructure problems--it was the fact that it was a weekday morning and there were no road crews to be seen anywhere along all those miles of one lane, jammed traffic. Not one single, solitary human in a hardhat, not one piece of road repair equipment. There was also no sign of work being done on the road itself--no torn up sections, scored sections--nothing. So what's it all for? Just cordoning off the dangerous sections? A check of news stories and posts suggests work has been done, but I saw none of it.

I am not sure when I became aware that I'd entered the Palouse region of Washington state, but it was well before a sign informed me that I was indeed on the Palouse Scenic Byway. I was really here, in one of the top places on my wish list.

According to Wikipedia, "[t]he Palouse (/pəˈluːs/ pə-LOOSS) is a region of the northwestern United States, encompassing parts of southeastern Washington, north central Idaho and, by some definitions, parts of northeast Oregon. It is a major agricultural area, primarily producing wheat and legumes" (x), but that's just geography. What brought me across Washington to Idaho was the promise of beautiful, rolling hills, like a picture out of a dream or something one might imagine while riding the bus to school, lost in thought at the train tracks, head against the glass, breath steaming up the pedestrian view of an early Wichita morning. Wikipedia informs us that "[t]he peculiar and picturesque loess hills which characterize the Palouse Prairie are underlain by wind-blown sediments of the Palouse Loess that covers the surface of over 50,000 km2 (19,000 sq mi) on the Columbia Plateau in southeastern Washington, western Idaho, and northeastern Oregon." (x) In other words, it is a wind carved wonder, now bent to the will of agriculture, which affords otherworldly views as one drives through this strange landscape, a patchwork beach made not of sand but of barley, lentils, and in great abundance, wheat [x].

As I drove, the patchwork quality of the scenery was very evident, with bright yellow, shorn wheat fields dominating the kaleidoscope, punctuated with rich greens of late season crops and freshly tilled, dark brown soil, all in patterns conforming not only to property lines, but to the ceaselessly undulating hills. I even saw a few farmers working their land with small farm equipment, easily managing the steep curves, bends, and twists as though they were nothing. I suppose a lifetime, or even a season, of practice makes perfect, but from a Kansan's perspective, it was a topsy turvy world more common to Escher paintings than practical, work-a-day life.

One of the best spots to view the Palouse region is from the top of Steptoe Butte, just north of Colfax, Washington, near the eastern border of the state. The drive up the steep incline is very precarious, with spotty guardrails and thin passageways where only one car can fit. Luckily for me, I was all alone on my trek that day, probably because it was late in the season for tourists, but also because dusk would be falling soon and photographic opportunities were waning fast.

I did not go all the way to the tippy top because I'd reached my freaked-by-heights threshold for the day, but there was an easy turnaround and parking area just below it that offered some pretty spectacular views. It was a particularly fantastic day that, while mostly sunny, also saw intermittent rain storms in clusters all across the valley. I tried capturing these as best I could, but I guarantee seeing them was far better than anything I was able to photograph.

I have a million pictures winnowed down to just this thirty or so, shared here, some with more explanation in the captions, as needed. The drive through the Palouse region was truly a magical experience and I would strongly recommend (shove, harrass, threaten, ask nicely, whatever works) that you find yourself there someday, as there is nothing else quite like it in this world. During the research phase, I was able to view some incredible shots others have taken of the region, which seems to have something new and exciting for every season, with colors changing with the progression of the crops, bright green and lush in the spring, to white, snowy hills in the winter. It's a place you could visit every season and see something entirely different...but always only barely of this world.

On to the photos...

Scablands Rock Formations

First view from Steptoe Butte