Appeal Tribune
| WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 13, 2021 | 1B
OUTDOORS
Take a trip to the past
through Clarno Palisades
The Clarno Palisades in eastern Oregon. BOBBIE SNEAD/SPECIAL TO THE STATESMAN JOURNAL
Bobbie Snead
Special to Salem Statesman Journal
USA TODAY NETWORK
Nothing in nature lasts forever.
Landscapes that seem permanent un-
dergo changes over millions of years. It’s
difficult for us to grasp the passage of
time and the resulting changes to the
earth on a scale so vast, but mountains
rise and fall, coastlines advance and re-
treat, rainforests become deserts and
vice versa.
The short trail at Clarno Palisades in
eastern Oregon’s John Day Fossil Beds
National Monument provides a unique
opportunity to look back to the distant
past and see remnants of the steamy,
tropical rainforest that existed here long
before it became the arid semi-desert of
today.
Brilliant sunshine softens the sharp
winter air as I open the car door and pull
on my coat. The stratified rock pillars
called the Clarno Palisades rise 150 feet
above the sagebrush like towering cara-
mel-and-custard parfaits. Each layer is
a different hue in a palette of warm des-
If you go
Directions: From Shaniko on Highway
97 in eastern Oregon, follow Highway
218 southeast for 26.1 miles to the
signed Clarno Picnic Area on the left.
Best Months: October – December,
March – May.
Length: 1.2 miles round trip
Duration; 1 – 2 hours
Elevation gain: 280 feet
Age range: suitable for children of all
ages
ert colors: beige, orange, brown, umber
and sienna. Across the valley, a stream-
er of scrubby juniper trees reaches up a
deep ravine between rounded dry hills.
I hike west on the graveled path,
which brings me directly below the
banded palisades. The geologic strata
are the remnants of a series of volcanic
mudflows that began 45 million years
ago. Back then, this area was a tropical
rainforest. Fossils discovered nearby
show that primitive rhinos and tiny
four-toed horses roamed the jungle.
Huge walls of mud and debris flowed
down the slopes of local volcanoes, in-
undating palm, banana, and avocado
trees and entombing their leaves,
branches and trunks. Millions of years
of erosion have exposed these cliffside
layers; boulders that crumble and tum-
ble from them hold the fossilized re-
mains of past inhabitants.
Rocks that break free from layers
near the top are younger than those near
the bottom. They contain fossils from
the deciduous trees of a more temperate
climate brought on by a worldwide cool-
ing and drying that began 37 million
years ago. I spy the veined impression of
a sycamore leaf in a boulder to my right.
A few steps later I run my finger over a
fossilized sycamore branch. Climbing
higher, I see two fossilized logs, one ver-
tical and one horizontal, cemented in a
T-shape in the rock.
The trail rises to a spot directly below
a delicate stone arch framing the cobalt
sky. Below it, a series of rounded basins
carved by eons of eroding water de-
scends like stairsteps in the rock. As I
gaze up to the arch and the blue above,
two American Crows swoop below the
span and zip out over the valley like a
pair of fighter pilots practicing combat
maneuvers. Their brief appearance
pulls me into the present. Turning my
back to the rocky rampart, I gaze out
over the valley below. The arid land-
scape surrounding me now is just as
captivating as my imaginings of the an-
cient past. Kept dry by the rain-blocking
barrier of the Cascade Mountains, this
sagebrush ecosystem reveals subtle
beauty and complexity for those willing
to look.
Heading back down the slope, I stop
to study the sagebrush fringing each
side of the trail. These silvery-gray
shrubs are perfectly adapted to life in
the high desert. Small, wedge-shaped
leaves tipped with three tiny lobes grow
year-round, absorbing sunshine for
photosynthesis even in the depths of
winter. Tiny moisture-trapping hairs
make each leaf feel like suede. Crushing
See PALISADES, Page 2B
What’s first when the pandemic ends?
Fishing
Henry Miller
Guest columnist
A lot of pundits and prognosticators
in the media and elsewhere are weigh-
ing in with predictions about the post-
pandemic world.
Wow!
Talk about taking a P.
The admittedly cloudy forecasts from
the plethora of predictors (sorry) run
the gamut from “nothing will ever be the
same” to “the first thing I’m going to do
is go to a casino buffet.”
The unspoken by widely acknowl-
edged qualifier being: “If I’m still
around.”
From flying and cruising to going
shopping, to movies and restaurants,
everyone seems to be weighing in with
predictions about where vaccine-in-
duced immunity will stampede the
herd.
My sense is that, if history and hu-
man nature serve as guides, there will
We’d probably all like to take Harry’s
approach to the pandemic. HENRY
MILLER/SPECIAL TO THE STATESMAN JOURNAL
be a couple of months of sober reflection
and introspection followed by a couple
of years of unbridled craziness.
As an example, World War I and the
1918 flu pandemic were followed by Pro-
hibition, which segued in short order to
the Roaring ‘20s.
Just saying.
I could be wrong, not being a psychol-
ogist or social scientist.
And with that being the case, I’m tak-
ing my pandemic cues from my favorite
authority, Harry, the ancient mostly
Jack Russell terrier who owns us.
As an example of what you can learn
from a dog, even before the arrival of the
virus, Harry was a master of social dis-
tancing.
He can tell by a flash of fur and the
volume and tone of a bark a half-block
away whether friend or foe, leashed or
free-range.
In similar fashion, Kay and I have tak-
en to spotting mask-less walkers and
moving off to the side or, when it’s an
approaching crowd, crossing the street.
Which upsets Harry, because he rev-
els in random meet-and-greets.
While indifferent to most dogs unless
yappy or snappy, he loves people, espe-
cially if he recognizes them and knows
that they’re packing … dog biscuits.
If he can peg the intentions of a ca-
nine at 40 yards, he can spot the “Cookie
Lady” on our route a football field away,
and starts pulling like a sled dog.
Winter hasn’t helped.
It’s the covid equivalent of Prohibi-
tion.
Cold, wind and rain have dampened,
pun intended, both the ability to and en-
thusiasm for our former fair-weather,
one- to two-hour rambles.
What Harry misses most, though, are
the extended walks at places such as
Minto Brown Island Park, which was a
two-fer from his perspective.
Because it’s got lots of people, and
except for the dog-park area, a leash re-
quirement on the trails, so odds are slim
of him being blind-sided.
Do you ever catch yourself being nos-
talgic for something that you never even
noticed a year ago, such as sitting in the
dark with strangers and a bag of pop-
corn on your lap?
Or fishing side-by-side on a half-day
boat?
How about crabbing shoulder-to-
shoulder with fellow trap-tossers and
tourists at the docks at Newport?
To sum up Harry’s master class in
predictions for humans in the post-pan-
See MILLER, Page 2B