Palouse Outdoors: A Photo Safari in the Columbia Wildlife Refuge

My predawn exhaustion caused me to miss the freeway exit and my goal of being at the Teal Lakes at dawn, thanks to a detour through Connell. My tardiness was irrelevant, however. The vibrant sunrise I had hoped for never transpired, but a brief period of blood-orange horizon presented over the rim of South Teal Lake. It was colder in the scablands than anywhere else that morning. Steam rose and drifted over the lake's surface while waterfowl silhouettes floated delicately along the shoreline reeds.

As the sun rose, an odd pair of domesticated ducks waddled up from the lake. The large drake appeared to be part mallard. His female companion was chicken-like, mottled brown and white with a red bill. They pecked through the gravel as if picking up grit, but what exactly they were doing was unclear. Their approach was deliberate, but they retreated to the lake and disappeared behind the reeds after realizing I had nothing to offer.

As the fleeting moment of color faded from the sky, I moved on to a puddle I discovered on a fishing trip last year. It was covered in waterfowl and hidden from the road by a small hump of basalt. I left the truck running and scampered through the sagebrush to peek at the pond. Coots were bobbing and paddling all over. A small raft of mallards sat lazily awaiting the warmth of the day.

The sun was above the horizon when I arrived at the next stop – Long Lake. Though some clouds had shielded the landscape from the sun's full glory, a golden glow was cast across the lake's distant bluffs and mirror surface. The water was low, and a white band appeared on the rocks, likely from calcium deposited with lake-level fluctuations over time. I snapped a few photos of this classic scablands scene before my attention was diverted by a songbird melody drifting over the sagebrush.

For years I have sought the perfect image of a meadowlark. Finding them perched atop sagebrush is no trouble, the challenge is finding one close enough to nab a passable photo with a 200-millimeter lens. Their warbling could be heard in every direction as their strong voices projected from impressive distances.

Approaching on foot is a futile task. Meadowlarks seem to know exactly how close it takes to get a good photograph and strive to remain just beyond the cutline. Putting down the roads with the windows down was a chilly endeavor, but it allowed for unsuspecting inspection of the landscape when the meadowlarks sounded close. They did their best to dodge the paparazzi, but I found myself amid a few more quintessential scablands landscape views.

At the head of North Teal Lake, a basalt band protrudes from the ground like a wall built to shield the common folk from peering upon the beauty of the royal lake beyond. A hole in the wall where the basalt had toppled provided a picturesque opening surrounded by sagebrush. At least the landscape remains still for the photographer.

Time was wearing thin, so I motored to Herman Lake, where I met up with Sean. After forty minutes of gathering and donning gear, we packed our float tubes into Quail Lake for a shot at some feisty rainbow trout on the fly rod.

Most "seep lakes" are deep in the pock-marked basalt, providing interesting views of the rock rims. The shorelines are thick with common reeds, cattails, waterfowl, and red-winged blackbirds. I typically leave the fish-catching to Sean while entertaining myself with the camera.

A good photo of a male red-winged blackbird contrasting against the tawny reeds and sporting that blood-red wing patch was one of my goals for the day. Like the meadowlarks, they remained just beyond lens reach, either hidden by the reeds or keeping their distance. I managed one shaded photo of an immature male hopping among the reeds as my float tube drifted by, but another trip is needed to capture the image in my mind.

By early afternoon, I had photographed Sean catching fish, landed a couple of good rainbows myself, and pondered the high, honking snow geese as they continually drifted overhead. The forty-six-degree water had sufficiently numbed our legs, so we paddled to shore. Upon hoisting our float tubes across our backs, we set out for Herman Lake, where we had parked. The meadowlarks taunted me as their song could be heard over the "swish-swish-swish" of our waders rubbing to a marching cadence.

The day warmed to a beautiful sunny sixty degrees – perfect weather for a slow drive back to the pavement with the windows down and an ear tuned to the songbird channel.

I was mesmerized by gravel crunching under the tires when a meadowlark belted its thrasonical tune through the window as if it were just feet from the truck. I stomped the brake, grabbed the camera, and scanned the sagebrush. The terrain rose slightly to my left, and I spied the bird perched on the far edge of the rise, perfectly clear and staring at me. It tolerated me long enough to exercise the camera shutter. Moments later, the bird lifted from the sagebrush and vanished behind the terrain.

The photos would have been stellar had I been set up on a tripod and a remote shutter. Instead, I captured a few semi-blurry images; resulting from slightly shaky hands against the truck window with an extreme lens zoom. Were the photos better than nothing? Meh, but near success leads one to seek true success with greater intent. Another trip is in order, and there are worse ways to spend a day than on a photo safari in the Columbia Wildlife Refuge.