Outdoors
Rec
B
Saturday, February 5, 2022
The Observer & Baker City Herald
Victor McNeil/Contributed Photo
Victor McNeil, director of the Wallowa Avalanche Center, uses a snowmobile to travel into the backcountry of Northeastern Oregon and assess
avalanche danger.
Digging in to find dangers
as the Wallowas or the Elk-
horns, and thus more prone
to thaws and rain during
winter, which can result
in much different ava-
lanche risks than elsewhere,
McNeil said.
“There’s a lot of ground
By JAYSON JACOBY
to cover,” he said. “We want
Baker City Herald
to do the best we can to get
out into the field and visit
ictor McNeil travels
all of the zones.”
the backcountry
McNeil said the Center
of Northeastern
also solicits field reports
Oregon with a shovel, but
from experienced back-
country travelers.
he uses the tool for a pur-
pose more profound than
All the information is
freeing a stuck rig.
available, for free, on the
Saving lives, potentially. Center’s website: https://
McNeil is director of the www.wallowaavalan-
Wallowa Avalanche Center, checenter.org/.
McNeil is the Center’s
based in Joseph.
The organization,
only salaried employee.
founded in 2009, mon-
Other staff members, in
itors the region for ava-
addition to Kelly McNeil,
lanche danger that can
are avalanche special-
ists Michael Hatch
pose a risk to skiers,
(director of the Out-
snowboarders, snow-
door Adventure Pro-
shoers and snow-
gram at Eastern
mobile riders who
Oregon University),
venture into the
Tom Guthrie and
region’s untrammeled
Caleb Merrill.
mountains.
Hatch
A vital part of the
McNeil said all the
Center’s work is dig-
Center’s staff mem-
bers put in a considerable
ging pits in the snow —
amount of volunteer work,
hence McNeil’s ubiquitous
although they are reim-
shovel — to study the var-
ious layers in the snowpack bursed for travel and other
expenses.
and identify dangers, such
as weak or icy sections, that
can greatly increase the
Growing interest in
avalanche risk.
learning to recognize
“With avalanche fore-
avalanche danger
casting, you really don’t
McNeil said the Center’s
have the full picture until
activities, and its budget,
you get out and get your
shovel in the snow,” McNeil have grown over the past
four years or so.
said. “That’s a huge part of
The annual budget,
what we do.”
The Center issues fore-
which was about $30,000,
casts four days each week
has risen to around $45,000.
— Thursday through
McNeil said that unlike
Sunday — for each of the
some larger avalanche fore-
cast operations, the Wal-
four zones in this corner of
lowa Avalanche Center
Oregon.
The Center has its big-
doesn’t receive financial
gest annual fundraiser this
support from any govern-
ment agency. The Center
weekend, the 10th annual
relies on fundraisers such as
Eastern Oregon Back-
country Festival at Anthony the Eastern Oregon Back-
country Festival, and grants
Lakes Mountain Resort.
McNeil, who lives in La
and other donations.
Grande with his wife, Kelly,
But the biggest increase
who is an avalanche spe-
in the budget has resulted
cialist with the Center, said
from the Center’s avalanche
that dividing Northeastern
safety classes, which it
Oregon into zones is neces- started offering four years
sary because the conditions ago, McNeil said.
that contribute to avalanche
With more people trav-
eling into the backcountry
danger can vary widely
in winter — a trend that has
among them.
The zones are: Northern
accelerated during the pan-
demic, as people seek less
Blue Mountains, Elkhorns,
crowded places to play —
Northern Wallowas and
attendance at the Center’s
Southern Wallowas.
That the Wallowas, a
classes has followed suit,
single, albeit extensive,
McNeil said.
mountain range is separated
The Center teaches stu-
dents how to analyze ter-
into two regions illustrates
rain and assess avalanche
the point.
McNeil said the ava-
danger during a three-day
lanche danger can be sig-
course, and how to rescue
nificantly different between people caught in a snow
the two Wallowas zones, in
slide, a one-day class.
part because in most win-
A trio of three-day
ters quite a bit more snow
classes earlier this year
falls in the southern section attracted about 18 stu-
dents each, while a one-day
of the range.
The Northern Blue
course had 21 students,
Mountains aren’t as lofty
McNeil said. These are
Wallowa Avalanche
Center doubles
number of weekly
forecasts
Dennis Dauble/Contributed Photo
Scott Abernethy demonstrates how a two-hook rig under a slip
bobber can lead to a double.
Cold beats boredom
Ice-fishing a
fine cure for the
winter doldrums
V
DENNIS
DAUBLE
THE NATURAL
WORLD
T
Wallowa Avalanche Center/Contributed Photo
Victor McNeil is director of the Wallowa Avalanche Center, which is-
sues avalanche forecasts for four zones in Northeastern Oregon.
larger turnouts than in the
past, and the additional rev-
enue — three-day courses
are $450, and one-day
classes $125 — make it
possible for the Center to
expand its work.
This is the first year, for
instance, that the Center has
issued forecasts four days
per week — in past winters
there were two forecasts
each week, on Thursdays
and Saturdays, McNeil said.
“We’ve developed a bit
of a reputation for high-
level education,” he said.
Two types of travelers
McNeil said the Cen-
ter’s courses tend to attract
two distinct groups of back-
country travelers — snow-
mobilers, and those who
get around under their own
power, whether by skis,
snowboard or snowshoes.
Generally speaking,
snowmobilers who take
classes are experienced
backcountry travelers,
McNeil said, and many
have some skills in iden-
tifying avalanche dangers
even if they don’t have the
technical knowledge that he
and other instructors do.
As for the nonmotorized
travelers, McNeil said many
who attend the Center’s
courses are newcomers to
mountain travel.
But regardless of the stu-
dents’ mode of travel and
experience level, the goal
is the same, McNeil said —
to teach them to recognize
places they should avoid
during their trips, and how
to rescue someone who gets
caught in an avalanche.
McNeil said that
although many of the local
snowmobilers he has taught
have years or decades
of experience traveling
through the mountains, they
understand the value of
knowing how to study ter-
rain and snow conditions to
assess the risk level.
At the most basic statis-
tical level, snowmobilers
tend to have a higher risk
simply because they travel
so much faster and cover
so much more ground
that they’re more likely,
at some point, to ride into
terrain where avalanches
pose a threat.
“Riders are just as
engaged as the skier
group, if not more so, in
the classes,” McNeil said.
“They’re just like sponges
taking in information. It’s
pretty cool to see.”
This is avalanche
country
Northeastern Oregon
is not infamous for deadly
avalanches compared with,
say, the Alps or parts of the
Rocky Mountains.
But that doesn’t mean
avalanches are uncommon
here, McNeil said.
Although the Wal-
lowas have been branded
as “America’s Alps,” the
comparison, however
apt in terms of scenery
and geology, is flimsy in
other respects.
See, Avalanche/Page B2
hirty minutes on
the ice and my rod
tip has not twitched
once. I have jigged every
which way I know how
and never once felt tension.
I dropped my offering
until line went slack,
reeled up two cranks, and
pretended I did not care.
Two lure swaps have also
not led to action. I haven’t
given up though. A school
of hungry yellow perch
should be close by.
A short toss of a corn-
hole bag away, Scott sits
in a canvas chair and
stares at a tiny Thill slip
bobber as if doing so will
provide answers to the
meaning of life. Three fat
perch flop beside his gear
bag, indicating a patient
approach can pay off.
Scott wasted little time
putting a 1/8-ounce Triple
Teaser in the strike zone,
that magic “within one
foot of the bottom” layer
where yellow perch are
said to reside. They reside
there because water has a
unique property of being
most dense at approxi-
mately 38 degrees Fahr-
enheit, a feature that
results in conditions being
warmest at the bottom of
iced-over lakes.
With area streams
closed to steelhead
fishing, seasonal affective
disorder hit me hard this
year. Hoping to bust out
of my funk, I checked in
with a flycaster friend a
week prior. Conversation
went something like this:
Me: “I’m tired of
looking out the window
and waiting for snow to
melt. Are you up for an
ice fishing adventure?”
Ken: “As much as I’d
like an outing, I’m not
much of a fan. Is the ice
even stable?”
Me: “Mullie and
Doober were on the ice
two days ago. They caught
a dozen perch each.”
Ken: “Yeah, but they’re
Midwesterners that don’t
know any better. Bobber
fishing when it’s nice out
is bad enough. Standing on
ice and freezing your butt
waiting for a bobber to
sink is not that intriguing.”
Rejection often leads
to introspection. In this
case I decided someone
having a Great Lakes
heritage would more
likely embrace the idea of
ice fishing than someone
who favored dragging
Wooly Buggers behind
his float tube on a warm
spring day. As if to affirm
my supposition, a friend
from Michigan shared
a hot tip. “A source
reported catching 100
perch a day at Red Rock
Lake,” he said. “I have
good info on where to
fish and what they were
using.”
Thus began the typ-
ical slow dance that often
occurs between two busy
retirees. What day? When
and where to meet? The
five-day weather report
showed warming to 36 F
and no wind at mid-week.
A 9 a.m. start time would
ensure roads were free of
ice and not lead to circa-
dian misalignment.
Scott rolled into the
driveway while I laced
up my 1,200-gram insu-
lated Blizzard Stalkers.
Gear checked and loaded,
we skirted the perim-
eter of the Hanford Res-
ervation under leaden
skies, crossed the mighty
Columbia River, and con-
tinued north through
wide-open farm country.
Our route took us past
orchard workers trim-
ming apple trees, covered
haystacks, circle irriga-
tion pivots, and steel-
sided warehouses the
size of a football field. A
quick review of Google
Maps led to a county
road south of Royal
City and basalt outcrops
flanked with big sage and
rabbitbrush. Flocks of
geese honked noisily as
they circled over a series
of cattail-lined ponds.
Crossing over railroad
tracks onto an ice-glazed
gravel road, we reached
171-acre Red Rock Lake
before noon.
The quarter-mile trek
from the parking area
involved frozen chunks
of slush over 8 inches of
clear ice. Two folding
chairs, gear bags, and
hand-power ice auger
strapped to a circa 1950
Flexible Flyer steel
runner sled scraped
along. Shouts of glee
from anglers sheltered
inside a blue nylon tent
provided incentive to set
up station next to a flock
of freshly augered holes.
See, Dauble/Page B2