White Bird Battlefield

It's been said that "history is written by the victors and framed according to the prejudices and bias existing on their side."*  This concept continues to this day.  There are confederate statues that still occupy prominent places in town squares in the southern States.  There frequently is no mention of the work slaves did in building the United States.  There is the word, usually written by European peoples, denigrating, forgetting, or confusing what took place when those Europeans encountered other peoples.  A classic example of this is the Nez Perce National Historic Park, scattered through Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Montana.

We visited part of the Nez Perce National Historic Park a short while ago.

One of the things I noticed, and it became almost glaring, each time I saw it on a interpretive sign, board, or pamphlet was this phrase:

The Nimîipuu, as the Nez Perce called themselves...

Nowhere on these signs or brochures, or pamphlets or other propaganda does it say anything like, "the cavalry, as this group of soldiers call themselves," or "General O.O. Howard, as he was called by the US government."  For some reason the National Park Service, and others, always makes an issue of what the Nimîipuu call themselves.  I would never say, "I am an American, as I call myself."

It was a sunny, warm spring day when we visited the White Bird Battlefield, part of the Nez Perce National Historic Park.  Nobody was at the parking lot, and nobody seemed to stop, or hike on the trail for the 2.5 hours we were there.  Is this the same number who visit Gettysburg, or Pearl Harbor, or Normandy?  We wondered.

The view of the battle site.

The trail starts near the creek and slowly climbs up a draw, loops around over and behind a couple hills, then descends back to the draw.  Birds were singing, crickets chirping, and the wind wisping through the medusahead.  It was hard to imagine a battle between the Nimîipuu and the United States Military on this site of exotic weeds, invasive, non-native, imported plants.  But there it was.

Most likely in the olden days, that is to say, during the battle, there was a lot of disturbed ground.  The non-treaty groups of Nimîipuu who were camped near the Salmon River reportedly had thousands of horses and several hundred head of cattle with them.  There may have been nothing natural about the area.

Today there is very little naturalness about the battlefield.

Strolling through the medusahead.

Not to say that we couldn't find anything native on the battlefield.  In fact, the National Park Service helped us out by putting arrows on signs to point out the natives.

Pointing to the native basin wild rye.

There were areas where you can imagine the US Army being outnumbered by the locals.  But the fact was that the Nimîipuu had fewer people fighting, and the US Army were poor shots.  About 34 US soldiers were killed, and no Nimîipuu were killed.  A rather lopsided rout.

Now, throughout this sacred battlefield, grow entire hillsides of thistles.  Non-native grasses provide about 80 percent of the vegetation cover.  Medusahead, cheatgrass, ventenata, smooth brome.

A nice old growth stand of medusahead rye.

It wasn't all grasses on this neglected battlefield of past hatreds.  There were forbs, most of which were alien.  Some of the most noxious, despicable plants imaginable.

Common crupina was very common on some hillsides.

While walking the 8 kilometer trail around the battlefield I kept a quick and dirty list of the non-native plants.  The following list is certainly not all inclusive.  And some of the species may be mis-identified.  But for the most part, it illustrated how prevalent the foreigners have taken over the battlefield.

	Family	Common Name	Scientific Name	Duration
	Apiaceae	bur chervil	Anthriscus caucalis	Annual
	Asteraceae	yellow star thistle	Centaurea solstitialis	Annual
	Asteraceae	chicory	Cichorium intybus	Perennial
	Asteraceae	bull thistle	Cirsium vulgare	Biennial
	Asteraceae	common crupina	Crupina vulgaris	Annual
	Asteraceae	bitter lettuce	Lactuca serriola	Annual
	Asteraceae	dandelion	Taraxacum officinale	Perennial
	Asteraceae	yellow salsify	Tragopogon dubius	Annual
	Brassicaceae	whitetop	Cardaria draba	Perennial
	Brassicaceae	tumble mustard	Sisymbrium altissimum	Annual
	Clusiaceae	St. Johnswort	Hypericum perforatum	Perennial
	Convolvulaceae	bindweed	Convolvulus arvensis	Perennial
	Dipsacaceae	teasel	Dipsacus fullonum	Biennial
	Fabaceae	black medic	Medicago lupulina	Perennial
	Fabaceae	alfalfa	Medicago sativa	Annual
	Fabaceae	yellow sweet clover	Melilotus officnale	Annual
	Fabaceae	hairy vetch	Vicia cracca or V. villosa	Perennial
	Fabaceae	rabbit foot clover	Trifolium arvense	Annual
	Geraniaceaea	storksbill	Erodium cicutarium	Annual
	Lamiaceae	horehound	Marrubium vulgare	Perennial
	Plantaginaceae	narrow leaf plantain	Plantago lanceolata	Biennial
	Poaceaea	meadow foxtail	Alopecurus pratensis	Perennial
	Poaceaea	dense silkybent	Apera interupta	Annual
	Poaceaea	smooth brome	Bromus inermis	Perennial
	Poaceaea	rye brome	Bromus secalinus	Annual
	Poaceaea	cheatgrass	Bromus tectorum	Annual
	Poaceaea	bulbous bluegrass	Poa bulbosa	Perennial
	Poaceaea	Kentucky bluegrass	Poa pratensis	Perennial
	Poaceaea	medusahead wildrye	Taeniatherum caput-medusae	Annual
	Poaceaea	intermediate wheatgrass	Thinopyrum intermedium	Perennial
	Poaceaea	wire grass	Ventenata dubia	Annual
	Polygonaceae	curly dock	Rumex crispa	Perennial
	Rosaceae	sulphur cinquefoil	Potentilla recta	Perennial
	Scrophulariaceae	moth mullein	Verbascum blattaria	Biennial
	Scrophulariaceae	mullein	Verbascum thapsus	Biennial

The Nimîipuu were on this land for many years, thousands of years, before the battle at White Bird in 1877.  One of the oldest sites of humans in the Americas is located just downstream along the Salmon River at Cooper's Ferry.  There's nothing there to describe the ancient site.  It's canyon country and there aren't a lot of people traveling the gravel roads.

Coopers Ferry, occupied since 16,000 years ago.

Uphill from the Salmon is a little overhang in the cliff.  Archeologists have determined that the Weis Rockshelter site had been occupied for nearly as long as the Cooper's Ferry site.  Poison ivy was nearby at both sites.

The Weis Rockshelter had been occupied for eons.

Remains of the ancestors is sparse, but we were able to track down some graffiti.  Who knows what they were trying to communicate?  What was said and who was the information for?  Where were the bighorn sheep?

Buffalo Eddy petroglyphs.

There could have been a lot more time exploring the Nez Perce National Historic Trail.  We had decided to keep the trip focused on the Idaho sites.  But with a few weeks we could have visited every site along the trail through Montana.  There is a long history of the Nez Perce, as we call them, in this part of the country--millennia worth of living, and we tried to do it justice in a measly three days.  Now it's your turn.





* - Attributed to Senator George Graham Vest, August 21, 1891

I backpacked to Huckleberry Mountain

Friday dawned, bright and early.  There were six people who had committed to go backpacking, using appropriate distancing procedures .The intention was to leave La Grande about 10, hike a few miles and set up camp.  Saturday was going to be a day hike, Sunday would be packing out. Then emails started flying back and forth.   The emails talked about how the weather forecast was looking for the weekend.  The intensity and hysteria increased to a fevered pitch.  People were frantic.  It was chaos!

Bottomline, of the six people, only one went, me, who had made a level five commitment.  And truth be told, while I longed for my friends, I was cautiously optimistic that the weekend would be good, and I would not be impacted by the news of the global pandemic of coronavirus, riots in the streets of American cities, statements by the President about killing people, and all that other tragic news.

I left La Grande shortly after 10, as planned.  On the drive to the trailhead I watched a mother badger escort her three offspring across the road.

There was nobody around when I parked the car and started ridge walking the five kilometers to Huckleberry Mountain.  Spring is a great time to view wildflowers in the Blue Mountains, and this hike was turning out to not be an exception to the rule.  The hiking trail was occasionally off the ridge, and sometimes is was what has become an atv trail.  The air was redolent of fragrances from bitter cherry and bitter brush.

At one time, years ago, this atv trail I was walking on was a hiking and horseback trail.  Now, alas, atv's had widened and made the trail two tracks.  There is something to be said about atv's, but I decided to leave it for another day.

About two kilometers of hiking, and I see a tent, right next to the trail.  How could somebody, or why would somebody even want to camp so close to the trail, even a seldom used trail?   The tent looked unused.  Inside was a wood stove, on the floor some leavings of a small mammal.

Huckleberry Spring was passed, and at the meadow I dropped my pack and walked around looking for the right campsite.  There was the declining aspen stand, the view of the North Meacham canyon, the large ponderosa pines with the view of the meadow and back from where I'd come.  That was the place, so the tent was set up, sleeping gear spread out, and time to relax.  

For an hour I quietly sat, writing and reading.  Around 6:15 I casually glance up, look out to the meadow and see a mountain lion running left to right.  I stand up for a better view and notice a female elk on the right side of the meadow--right where the cougar was heading.  The elk started making barking sounds as elk are wont to do, stomping the ground and taking a couple steps toward the charging cat.  The cougar veered off and into the thicket of snowberry.  The elk continued making noises for another minute, then nosed down into the grass, and up stands her offspring on wobbly legs.  The mountain lion may have stopped in the snowberry patch, for a squirrel in a tree started making a ruckus, which went on for several minutes.  Nonchalantly, the elk and her baby walk downhill, across the meadow, and into the forest.

Pacing the distance from where I was to the tree the elk had been was found to be 100 meters.  This was next to the tree I had left my pack when I first arrive at the meadow.  I looked around for signs of what I had just witnessed and found a few droplets of blood, and some deep impressions of elk tracks, but no sign of the cougar.

Droplets of blood left from the birthing process.

Deep impressions from an agitated mom elk.

A great horned owl had called out in the night.  The next morning I was hiking down ridge by 6:30.  The ridge, trending west, was grassland on the south side and forested on the north side.  At one time there was a worn trail following the ridge, but was seldom used now.  Good views of North Meacham and Hoskin Creeks.  Somewhere along the way I got onto the wrong ridge, a sub ridge of the one I wanted to be on.  There were more shrubs, steeper slope, and no trail.  I persevered to the creek bottom and realized to go downstream I was going to have to scale a veritable cliff, or ford the raging creek.  I took off my boots and waded.

A seldom used hunter cabin was explored in spite of the warning on the outside of the building that trespassers would be immediately arrested.  The state of the interior was such that woodrats, mice, gophers and other rodent-like creatures had had their day with the mattresses.  The trail heading downstream from the cabin hadn't been used in a few years as evident from the downed trees, overgrown shrubs, and lack of much track.

Little cabin in the woods.

Somebody must like watered down Canadian whisky.

One barrel of chemicals.

The original intention of this hike was to continue to the main stem of Meacham Creek, another three or four kilometers downstream, but the more I thought about the elevation I still had to do to return to camp, I turned around.  The second stream crossing was completed and I started the stroll uphill.  The weather was a little warmer than I was use to, and many rests were done on the ascent.  One sit down rest was accompanied by a western fence lizard.

The bright blue under the throat indicates this individual as a male.

On Saturday evening the breeze picked up.  And the temperature dropped by twenty degrees, or so.  There was "weather" coming in, and it wasn't looking pleasant.  The weather finally materialized at one in the morning with lightning, thunder and a light sprinkle of precipitation.  No hail.  But lots of consecutive flashes of lightning.  I didn't look out of the tent, but the inside was well lit by the frequent lightning.  After a few minutes of intense storming, the system passed, and I  went back to sleep.

An indication of impending doom.

The hike out later that day was one where everything seemed fresh and clean.  The floral smells were in the air, flowers looked newly blossomed, warblers and vireos were singing. and no dust was on the trail.

Life continues, fresher than ever.

Reflecting on the trip, I realized I would probably never have seen the cougar/elk interaction had even one or two other people joined me.  This solo trip had paid off in the wild kingdom sort of way that never would have happened had other people been around camp with me, setting up tents, cooking dinners, talking.  At times there are merits to going solo.

China Cap in the Autumn

What is your favourite summit?  When is your favourite time to go there?  How often do you make it to that summit?

True, a favourite peak may be a one time adventure.  That favourite summit may only be a memory that is as vivid today as it was when it happened.  It may be a favourite due to the company you were with.

But then there are the peaks, mountains, hills, and buttes that lure you back, time and again.

Such is China Cap.

For me, China Cap is an "easy" stroll to the top.  The record, from trailhead to the summit, made by a now anonymous person, was one hour and thirty-nine minutes.  At least that is what is written on the cover of the summit register.  My own personal best is unknown.  I record how fast, but I haven't paid attention to what the fastest time was--perhaps three hours and change.

On a brisk November day, I left the trailhead and immediately was hiking on snow.  I had tried five days earlier and was overwhelmed by the situation.  This day was about twenty degrees warmer with a temperature hovering at thirty degrees F, and I was starting an hour earlier.

Left to Right:  China Cap, Burger Butte, Granite Butte and Mule Peak, from near Thief Valley.

It was the middle of rifle male elk hunting season, but nobody was at the trailhead and nobody was seen the entire hike.  The snow on the trail had been packed down, most likely by the first season elk hunters a week before, and there had been no new snow.  Off trail the snow was deeper, and usually with a breakable crust.

The view of the 'Cap from La Grande.

The trail goes through a mixed conifer stand of Douglas-fir, grand fir, Engelmann spruce, lodgepole and western larch.  In the summer the usual complement of understory plants are visible:  snowberry, chimaphilla, twin flower, rattlesnake plantain and the occasional grass-like plants.

Shortly after entering the wilderness you start walking on the north side of Burger Butte and enter an avalanche path.  This provides good views of both the north side of Burger, and the approach side of China Cap.  For example:

The north side of Burger Butte and the avalanche path.

China Cap from the avalanche track.

Re-entering the forest after the avalanche track one notices a change in species composition, with a majority of the trees Engelmann spruce, lodgepole pine, and sub-alpine fir.  A couple minor stream crossings, although in the early summer they can be problematic, and then one comes to the trail fork.  From an unsigned junction the prong to the right heads up to Burger Pass while the left traverses slightly up across the side of China Cap.

There are a couple ways to summit the mountain but on this day I angled up to the left of a prominent rock outcrop.  There were fresh footprints that went up about one hundred meters then turned around.  Mark had been up here, attemptiing the summit two days earlier, but must not have had any traction devices with him.  I stopped and installed micro-spikes on my boots and proceeded upward.

I seem to be slowing down, for it took much longer then previous trips, to reach the summit.  Maybe it was steeper, or snowier, or slicker, or higher, than before.  But after zig-zagging up the chute, walking a short distance across mostly gravelly ground for the wind had blown off the snow, picking my way through the elfin forest, I was on the apex of China Cap.

From the summit with Burger Butte in the upper right.

From the summit you can, in clear weather, see to the Cascade Mountains (Mount Adams has been seen as the sun set earlier this year), Elkhorn and Strawberry Mountains, into Idaho to the east, and north to the Washington State Blue Mountains.  Nearly every peak in the wild Wallowa Mountains is visible:  Twin Peak, Sacajawea, Matterhorn, Aneroid, Pete's Point, Eagle Cap, Cusick Mountain, Needle Point, Red Mountain and all the peaks in between.

The hike back was uneventful.  A little faster than going up, but care had to be taken not to start sliding too much, nor too fast.  And the pull of the mountain was there--taunting, luring me back, each time I turned around to look at where I had been.

Snow has a tendency to slow down the travel time.

It's one of my favouritest summits.  I hope it isn't your favourite, or the place may become too crowded.  But what is yours?  Where do you like to hang out and ponder the big questions of the day?