Outdoors
Rec
B
Saturday, January 22, 2022
The Observer & Baker City Herald
Shoeless Snow Action
Lisa Britton/Baker City Herald
Oregon State Marine Board/Contributed Photo
Looking southwest across Phillips Reservoir from the shoreline trail on Sunday, Jan. 9, 2022.
Quagga mussels, an invasive species, on a boat motor propeller.
Appreciating the utility
of snowshoes — by
not wearing them
Program speeds
boat inspections
JAYSON
JACOBY
ON THE TRAIL
T
he best way to appreciate
snowshoes is to leave them in
the car.
Best, of course, is not always syn-
onymous with smartest.
In this particular episode, in
fact, the words were much closer to
antonyms.
The second Sunday of 2022 — the
9th day of the year, to be more pre-
cise — came on sunny and cold. This
was the pleasant part of the month,
before the temperature inversion, a
not uncommon phenomenon here-
abouts in January, left some of our
region’s valleys to marinate in a dank
miasma.
My wife Lisa and I, with our kids,
Olivia and Max, drove the 17 miles
or so up the Powder River along
Highway 7 to Phillips Reservoir.
Olivia, who’s 14, indulges Lisa’s
and my affi nity for hiking in all
seasons with various degrees of
acceptance.
But she’s unequivocal in
describing her favorite sort of route.
Flat.
The word is inevitable in every
pre-trip conversation, most often in
the form of a question: “Is it fl at?”
Our part of the globe, of course, is
quite often decidedly not fl at.
But among the nearby options,
the shoreline trails at Phillips come
nearest to satisfying Olivia’s chief
criterion.
Fortunately the short road leading
from Highway 7 to the boat ramp on
the north side of the reservoir, near
Mason Dam, is plowed, aff ording
access for people hoping to pull
some rainbow trout or yellow perch
through a hole in the ice.
Or, in our case, people interested
in fl oundering through the snow.
That wasn’t my goal, of course.
Jayson Jacoby/Baker City Herald
Frozen Phillips Reservoir, about 17 miles southwest of Baker City, on Sunday, Jan. 9, 2022.
Our four pairs of snowshoes
were scattered helter-skelter in
their customary place, the back of
our Toyota FJ Cruiser. They spend
most of the winter there, dripping
meltwater onto the thick rubber
fl oormat.
As we parked, Olivia asked
whether we were going to put on the
snowshoes.
Although her disdain for strap-
ping on a couple square feet of
plastic to her boots isn’t as palpable
as her feelings about steep trails or
roads, suffi ce it to say that her ideal
hike does not involve snowshoes.
I noticed, as I looked at the slope
where the shoreline trail winds
between the ponderosa pines,
that there was suffi cient snow for
snowshoes.
But neither was it especially
deep.
I was in that fateful moment ren-
dered insensible by a combination
of two powerful forces — naive
optimism and the desire to grant the
wishes of a teenager.
Individually, either of these can
potentially lead to blunders.
Combine them and it’s certain.
I agreed that we could have a go
without snowshoes.
I convinced myself that, after
several days of dry weather, the
snow that fell the fi rst week of the
new year likely would have solidi-
fi ed somewhat. I mustered quite an
internal argument in favor of this
proposition, based on the idea that
because the trail mainly follows
south-facing slopes, the snow would
have melted a bit each afternoon in
the weak winter sunshine, and then
refrozen each night, facilitating the
fi rming process that would render
snowshoes, if not superfl uous then
at least not mandatory.
As we strode away to the west,
toward Union Creek Campground,
this concept didn’t seem wholly
fantastical.
The snow was indeed compacted
in places, so much so that my boots
barely breached the icy surface.
But snow is treacherous. It can’t
be trusted.
We hadn’t hiked more than a
couple tenths of a mile before we
started occasionally to plunge into
snow up to mid-calf (or nearer the
knee in Max’s case; at 10, he’s both
the youngest and shortest member
of our quartet).
But this wallowing didn’t even
have the dubious advantage of being
consistent, and thus predictable.
The vagaries of terrain and trees
and exposure to sunlight had con-
spired to create a sort of minefi eld
eff ect. Sometimes we would take
a dozen steps without sinking in.
Then we would hit a patch of softer
snow and slog for several paces.
More often, though, there was no
regularity, no rhythm. One boot
would stay on top while the other
thrust through clear to the frozen
See, Shoeless/Page B2
A new program is
designed to speed the
transport of watercraft
into Oregon, Washington,
Idaho and Montana, while
also reducing the risk of
bringing in boats con-
taminated with invasive
species.
The Pacifi c States
Marine Fisheries Com-
mission started the “Call
Before You Haul” program
to prevent delays during
the transport of watercraft
to the four states. Boat
transporters can call a toll-
free phone number prior
to hauling watercraft from
outside the region to one
of the four states. The pro-
gram is currently being
piloted in 10 states and is
intended to be expanded to
all states in 2022.
By calling the toll-free
number, 1-844-311-4873,
prior to hauling, and pro-
viding some basic informa-
tion about the watercraft
being transported, a rep-
resentative from the desti-
nation state will reach out
to the haulers to expedite
the watercraft inspection
and, if needed, decontami-
nation. This is intended to
prevent delays at inspection
stations. The four states
are working together, so
boat haulers who set up an
inspection with one state
can also continue into any
of the others.
All Pacifi c Northwest
states have made it illegal
to transport aquatic inva-
sive species (dead or alive)
within their respective
states, including penalties
up to, and including, a no
bond felony. Much of the
ongoing spread of aquatic
invasive species to inland
waters throughout North
America can be attributed
to the hauling of watercraft
between states.
Invasive species such
as quagga or zebra mus-
sels can be carried in bilge
water, live wells and bait
buckets, as well as on
boats, motors and trailers.
Every time a boat is trans-
ported overland after use in
an infested waterway, there
is the possibility that it
will transfer aquatic inva-
sive species to uninfested
waterways.
The Oregon Department
of Fish and Wildlife man-
ages border inspection sta-
tions, including one along
Interstate 84 at Ontario,
where all boats being trans-
ported are required to stop.
Inspections generally take
only 10 minutes and go a
long way to help protect
Oregon’s waterways. Fees
from waterway access per-
mits, out-of-state aquatic
invasive species preven-
tion permits and motorboat
registrations through the
Oregon State Marine Board
help pay for inspection sta-
tions and other prevention
eff orts.
For more information on
aquatic invasive species in
the West, see: www.wester-
nais.org.
Visit myODFW.com
for more information
about inspection stations
in Oregon and required
permits.
Reviewing 2021 with ‘fi nfographics’
A different way
to lay out a year’s
worth of fishing
LUKE
OVGARD
CAUGHT OVGARD
F
ishing is such a visual
pastime that it’s hard to
imagine it through any
other lens. The sound of a fi sh
pulling drag off of a spinning
reel, the smell of cutbait, the taste
of salt spray in your face when
crossing the bar into the wider
ocean or that feel of a wet fl y
line passing through cold hands
all contribute to its mythos, but
fi shing relies on visuals more
than any other sense.
Though I’m sure there are
niche corners of the Internet that
off er unique tactile alternatives,
pictures of our catch remain the
currency in most fi shing circles.
Just as the digital revolution made
cataloging and sharing these pic-
tures more viable, the Internet
also made it tougher and tougher
for anglers to stand out. Posting
half a dozen of your favorite pic-
tures to Instagram at the end of
each year might seem unique and
creative, but what started out as
a novel idea has since been che-
aepned by the masses.
So instead of posting a few
highlight photos and a cap-
tion long enough to bore legis-
lators with all of the results of
my year’s fi shing shenanigans, I
decided to shake it up a bit a few
years back.
See, Ovgard/Page B2
