Early Winter in the Highlands: Part 2 of 4

Early Winter in the Highlands Part 2 of 4: Short-Tailed Grouse Preserve

By Kathy Vaughan

     Ras and I moved to the Okanogan Highlands about 12 years ago. We moved from Bellingham so that we could buy a piece of land, build our own small home and raise our daughter, homeschooling her ourselves. We wanted to live simply. We found our 5 acre spot along Mary Ann Creek in the Chesaw area. Directly across from our property is a Short-Tail Grouse Preserve. This land extends as far as the eye can see and beyond. It nears the Canadian border. The area has a rich history and many old homestead buildings remain. There are old root cellars and stone buildings, barns of silvered wood still standing, pieces of old farming equipment, abandoned claims from the gold mining era and lots of old road beds to follow.

     Although I enjoy seeing the remains of the area's history, my main interest is these old road beds. They make awesome running paths as well as cross-country ski trails for winter. Ras and I have since moved from our little cabin we built on our 5 acres and our daughter, Angela, has gone off to college. We now live in a big home that we caretake. But my friend Lisa still lives near these trails and she explores this area often. She invited me to join her for an all day trek that would begin at the trail head near my cabin and end at her house on the other side of the town of Chesaw. We would hike across the grassy hills and down into draws, wooded with aspen. We would find our way across the hills, summitting the high point, Strawberry Mountain, before making our way back down to dirt road again. Lisa's house is along this dirt road. We didn't really know how long it would take us, exactly what route we would take to get there, or what our mileage would be. This turned out to be the beauty of the day.

     I drove to Lisa's house in the morning and picked her up. We left my car at the trail head that enters the preserve near my cabin and took off into the grassy landscape. There were some patches of snow, but mainly the ground was bare and the grasses were dead. There were lots of choices of road beds to follow, some mowed by Fish and Wildlife during the summer months. We decided to first climb to a lake near an area called Bootlegger's Pass we had both heard of before. Legend has it that the pass crosses into Canada and was used to transport liquor across the border back in the day. Before Ras and I were ultra runners, we used to wander around these hills with  Angela, but we hadn't made it as far as the lake. I was intrigued by what we might find.

     We reached the lake and it was frozen. We named it Horseshoe Lake. It had an island in the center we could walk out to. The surrounding draws were mysterious and dark. They were filled with thick fir trees. Rocky outcrops dotted the landscape. Mostly we just saw grassy hillsides, but the rocky areas and wooded draws were inviting. We chose to hike towards them and down into their reaches. As we climbed back out, we would choose the next one to hike to. We continued across the preserve in this way, sometimes hiking towards an old homestead, sometimes towards a stand of trees. It was freeing and relaxing. I imagined what it would be like to have been a Native American in these lands or a homesteader, trying to survive the harsh climate of winter and the dry desolate summers. 

     When Lisa asked me whether we should head for the lower ground or towards the distant summit of Strawberry Mountain, my answer came quickly. I definitely wanted to climb the mountain I could see. We still had about an hour and a half of wandering through the hills before we would reach its base. We hiked through several more of these old aspen groves; the white bark of the trees bare of leaves were visible from a distance away. The homesteaders liked these groves because it usually meant water nearby. Aspen require a source of water and in this area it is usually an underground spring. Sometimes small ponds or lakes are nearby. The trees rot at their bases over time and many of these groves have lots of downed trees. The center of the tree rots as well, and a round cut out of a log of aspen can be carved into a nice hand drum. 

     An abandoned home and a large, frozen lake were at the base of Strawberry Mountain. Another old road headed out past the lake and off into an area I would like to get back to on skis. But for now, it was time to climb to the summit. It was a steady climb but not technical at all and soon we were at the top. We had a 360 degree view. To the east, we could see the Kettle Crest Range. Up north, the snow capped peaks of Canadian mountains loomed. Just below the mountain, we could see the homes of local Chesaw folks situated on carefully chosen hillocks, along creeks, or near stands of fir trees. The sky was blue and the wind was still. At my feet, I was astonished to see a form of life, so tiny and yet protected from the cold temperatures in a way only nature can perfect. Piles of ladybugs were tucked under the rocks. There were hundreds of these little beetles. Lisa had seen them there in the past. This is a place they call home in the harsh conditions of winter, in a high mountain desert landscape at about 4,300 feet in elevation. 

     It was a blast barreling down the mountain. We got to the bottom and saw one more idyllic setting for homestead remains, several buildings this time. I stopped to take one last look, knowing dusk was approaching and we were getting closer to Lisa's house.  These scattered homes were so mysterious to me. I wondered out loud to Lisa if the children at this home might have gone over Strawberry Mountain to visit the children at the home alongside Strawberry Lake. I think they probably would have.

     We were able to easily follow a roadbed that descended all the way down to the dirt road that passes in front of Lisa's home. We walked up her driveway in the dark and stepped inside to the warmth of wood heat and the complex fragrance of a vegan curry dish, wafting from her kitchen.