To celebrate my good friend’s fortieth birthday, we headed west. We aren’t young men anymore, but we pretended we were for two adventure-driven days along the Washington-Idaho border.
Locals apologized to John Maloney and me for not getting to experience their area under clear skies, but the smoke of Oregon fires gave us unique—even exclusive—views of landmarks. After we climbed up from the bottom of Palouse Falls, I gasped. “Look at the sun!” This unedited image captures what I saw when I turned around.
John wanted to go on an adventure for his fortieth birthday. He had hoped maybe even to visit Iceland. Because COVID keeps us Americans out of Europe right now, I Google searched for waterfalls in America that look like those in Iceland. Palouse Falls topped the list. Having visited Iceland for my birthday last year, I could concur it looked like this—well, without the smoke.
We hiked around the back side of the cliff on the left and descended down to the falls in the center and then clawed our way back up to where John is surveying the canyon. We had no map, no cell service. We just followed serendipity.
I’m accustomed to seeing fog rise off remote rivers, lifting higher until it burns off. It was surreal to experience a different kind of fog—wildfire smoke—at all times of the day and night. When we first landed in Spokane, the air smelled sweet. I had smelled that exact caramel-like aroma a couple months ago in the bark of Ponderosa Pines in Colorado.
I enjoy exploring far-flung places on solo trips. I laugh my way through gregarious group trips. And it does my heart good to be there with people when they cross something off their to-explore list. I probably wouldn’t have flown to Palouse and Coeur D’Alene by myself. And now these places hold indelible space on the hard drive of my life. Dreams can be contagious. Celebrations, too. Saying yes to someone else’s adventures enrich my selfish heart and teach my narcissistic soul.
Since Woody wasn’t here to stand in the scariest spot, someone had to. I Torrence’d up. Kinda. We all know Woody would’ve been standing on the end rock.
Palouse Falls hides behind the canyon wall on the right of this picture. We started this hike atop the plateau that ends in that cliff, circumnavigating the canyon until we found a scree slope down to this level.
I had brought swim trunks and a towel to carry down to the base of the falls for a “refreshing” swim. But when we left the parking lot, we weren’t sure if we’d find a way down to the base of the falls. So, I didn’t carry a pack. When we got down to the river, I had a choice between hiking the rest of the trek in wet underwear or going in the old fashion way.
Can you find the sun in this picture?
I’m always intrigued by the hardy flowers and bushes that thrive in inhospitable places. This one, in particular, survives harsh mountain winters, scorching August heatwaves, desert winds, and arid Septembers. And wildfire smoke. Jesus said plants don’t worry; they don’t stress. They blossom where the wind plants them. I’m not that resilient, that steadfast. I aspire to that. I’m grateful for trips that bring these didactic moments to my soul.
We slept in our vehicle on the side of the road the night prior to get to Palouse Falls State Park when it opened at 6:30am. We found no crowds to beat. John and I had the entire place to ourselves. Turns out, the state of Washington is indefinitely closing the park today—three days after the date we picked to visit. We just missed flying all the way across the country to find a “Park Closed” sign.
John Caulder Maloney and I stood in each other’s weddings. He was the first college roommate who led me to tears when I said goodbye. We headed to different norths and different souths after college but ended up in the very same east: Lynchburg. John inspires me to do more research before I pontificate. When he laughs, I know I got the punchline just right. His daughter is one of the few humans I’ve seen in the hospital before they went home for the first time. I don’t have a lot of old friends still in my life on a regular basis, but I’ve got John. In a few weeks, he’ll start his fifth decade of life; and I look forward to what the next decade of our friendship will bring.
The Palouse river wraps around this point. Its eponymous waterfall drops 198 feet from below the rock outcropping on the left of this photo. John and I hiked around that outcropping to enjoy some good exposure.
We didn’t know how to get out of the canyon other than to backtrack the way we came in. We decided just to keep walking the trail to see where it ended. Then we found this crack in the cliff. John said he thought it might be one he saw a YouTuber climb. With water tricking out of it, we wondered what the footing would be like. Thankfully, the handholds were good. When we got to the top, we found a fence—the one that surrounded the parking lot to keep people from trying to stand at the edge, the one near signs that warned that people die here all the time. We jumped the fence—back to safety—with broad smiles, an appreciation of serendipity, and a sense of accomplishment.
I don’t wish for wildfires. I certainly don’t celebrate them. But I thought it appropriate to appreciate the unique beauty they brought to this canyon, to the sky above it. Like a foggy Sunday morning at church, the mystique of mystery brought worshipful thoughts to my soul.
I pulled the truck over to a dirt patch next to the road. “I’ve got to get a picture of that.” This is an unedited image that looked as cool in real life as you can imagine.
We pulled into a KOA campground to use the restroom and get closer to the Snake River. At this crossing, across from where the Palouse River dumps into it, the river is a lake—very different from the wild and foaming miles it displays over the rest of its course.
I love the colors in this likewise-unedited photo. I’ve traversed many bridges over foggy rivers and bays. Their fog didn’t smell sweet or dry my eyes. This smoke made it feel like we were driving into a dystopian movie or a post-apocalyptic novel.
Just one more. Sorry. I couldn’t get enough of this striking juxtaposition of hard rock and soft edges, slow smoke and rapid water. The colors of the sky under the smoke made all waking hours feel like a sunrise.
We had planned to do downhill mountain biking at an Idaho ski resort, but those plans fell through. So, we went to bed early and rose early to explore Lake Coeur D’Alene. I enjoyed watching John pilot a boat for the first time—and doing so in unique circumstances. The smoke left visibility poor—at best just at the edge of what we could safely navigate with the throttle pegged against the governor. The rest of the time, we followed the rugged shoreline at a moderate pace.
John drove us back into this cove. We just sat here for a couple of minutes, taking in this view.
We drove around Lake Coeur D’Alene for almost two hours and encountered fewer than ten other boats. The water was so smooth! At one point, it was like glass. Most of the time, it looked like this. (I know: you were distracted by John’s majestic hair.)
This water was warmer than that of the Palouse River. (I know because I went for a swim.) The water wasn’t, though. (I know, because I went for a swim. Ha.) I’m not sure what about this view and this picture captivated me. There’s a serenity to it.
Piloting this boat was no easy feat in the smoke. John and I both did some squinting, some slow surveying of the horizon. As was the theme for the weekend, I spent a lot of time looking at the smoke-screened sun seen at the top of this image.
John and I covered took two-hour-long turns driving this speedy beast and two hours each as navigator. I snapped this shot at our last driver switch-off. We arrived back to Coeur D’Alene with ringing ears, pumping adrenaline, and a fantastic amount of satisfaction.
In addition to our laminated paper map with color-highlighted suggested routes, we had this rugged tablet with a cool Polaris app that gave us live GPS tracking superimposed on the same map. It made navigating and decision making so much easier. My favorite benefit of this digital assistant was the ability to yell “Hairpin left!” to John as we screamed up mountain passes.
John had never driven a UTV. I had never driven one this powerful. We never challenged its 1,000cc motor. We did outrun our brakes a couple times. Ha. I absolutely loved driving this beast, but I also found great joy in navigating and cheering John on. His stretches of trail somehow got all of the jumps, and he achieved the longest suspension travel of the two of us. We never made it off the ground, but the very tips of our tread tiptoed on occasion.
The first and last section of our RZR trip took us down paved roads around a gorgeous lake. Again: note the sun in this picture. I was entranced.
We fell short of the renter record for a four-hour rental, but we got close. I like that we impressed the guy who rented the RZR to us. We had to wait for him to check us in because he had to rescue a flipped unit driven by a professional driver from the Netflix series, Yellowstone. We slide ours through some turns and skidded a couple of times, but we managed to keep it on all fours.
Okay: one last sun shot from our trip. Speaking of trip, isn’t the sun trippy in this smoke?
While on the trip, I got this text from my sister, Faith. This is documentation of her conversation with my nephew, Ike, who is about to turn four. Backstory: In 2006, I chose my life mission as “to live a life of physical and spiritual adventure in such a way that others are drawn to do the same.” At that time, I didn’t even consider nephews might be part of that audience. I’m thankful for the accountability that the eyes of little people bring. I’m also challenged by a brother who professionally and personally pursued a similar mission.
