I had no idea that there was an Ice Age Floods National Geologic Trail.  Apparently it starts in Montana and travels through Idaho, Washington, Oregon until it finally reaches the Pacific Ocean.  this geological trail starts with an ice dam that created a lake of about 3,000 square miles.  That's a big lake.  As expected, an ice dam won't last and eventually failed which allowed all that water to course through Idaho and into Washington.  Here you can see where the water ran over the sides of the canyon wall creating a waterfall larger and wider than Niagara Falls.  Having visited last year and being at the bottom, thinking that was impressive I could use my imagination for this.  Still the scope of it is too big.  The waters carved out the Coulee Corridor. Now this area is dotted with spring fed lakes that make it a beautiful destination for fishing, camping and hiking.





 

 The miles rolled by, scenery blurring out the window. A podcast playing loudly, the windows rolled down.  The gentle snores of the dog curled up on the backseat.  We sat next to each other up front, quietly, letting our thoughts go with the passing trees. At the curve in the road up a head, I noticed what appeared as two furry ears and then a large head came into focus.  John braked sending the dog forward off of her preferred seat as what I had originally assumed was a dog with a hiker.  I sucked in my breath realizing it was much wilder than a dog and definitely not a hiker.  Its large brown furry body leaped into the road mere feet in front of our vehicle. My hands automatically grabbed my camera that had been nestled in my lap. Bringing it to my face I took shot after shot automatically adjusting it as we watched this surprisingly quick brown mass of a bear cross the road and plow into the brambles of bushes and trees on the opposite side.  The twigs snapping with the speed and weight of the bear until it could no longer be seen but instead the noise of its movement betraying its presence until that too was gone.  We sat in the middle of the road with smiles on our face and eyes wide open with the gift we were given.  Never I seen a bear up close like that in the wild as we drove along.  Looking down at the camera, I grinned at the photos that I had on my camera but also wishing that bear would have turned around and looked back so I could have a shot at it's face. 

Highway 20 is an amazing road over the mountains to central Washington.  Besides the abundant hiking opportunities starting around Concrete and continuing on throughout the Cascades.  There are boating, fishing and camping opportunities as well.  Camera must be in hand as well due to the numerous view points and one of my favorites is the Washington Pass Observation Site.  We've been here twice now that it was walk in only and once that we could drive in.  Each time, my breath is totally taken away by the immense views of the peaks and the road descending between them.  This is where we discovered what kind of dog we have.  She isn't a hot weather dog, or a water dog. She isn't a lazy dog or a stupid dog.  She's a snow dog.  Her inner 14% husky definitely comes out to play.  She scales 5 ft. snow banks while kicking up snow.  It is her jam. She was at  her happiest when she was "hunting" for her stick or chasing it down.  Burying it to dig it up again, over and over.  













 

 Hiking has been such a central part of our vacations anywhere we go.  We get to see so much of an area through hikes and its a chance to be outside.  Even though fishing dominated our Sun Lakes vacation, we were able to get in one hike.  This lake is below Banks Lake in the Coulee Corridor of Central Washington.  The road isn't paved and you need to go through Sun Lakes National Park to get to the trail head and boat launch area.  As we ventured out with our dog, we were reminded by the signs to watch for rattlesnakes which we didn't see any.  Doesn't mean they weren't there.  The sky was barely dripping water which kept the mosquitoes away and made the hike in enjoyable.  We hiked along the eastern shore and is was apparently quickly why it was called Deep Lake.  There wasn't much of a shelf below the water line and then it looked as if it went straight down to darkness. 
 Deep Lake has a recorded depth of 115 feet and 100 ft in the middle of the lake.  It runs through a narrow canyon with steep walls on the sides making climbing out a bit difficult.  Since we were there in early June and it had been a very late spring, the whole area was in bloom.  As we hiked along the edge of the lake, we started to climb the steep sides over looking the water.  It seemed to stretch out curving around a bend after another.  At one point I noticed painted numbers on the side of the canyon walls opposite us and realized it must give boaters and others a point of reference if needed.  The trail markers were white with blue reflectors and we could see one at a time until the dusty path at our feet started to dim and the white markers had vanished.  A climb to a bluff overlook and we turned around to make our way back to the car.  The echo from the opposite canyon wall had the dog peering out trying to spot the person on the other side calling her name, until the pack of coyotes made their voices known.  They echoed all around us bouncing from wall to wall and then it was silent.  I tried in vain to spot them on the bluff but they remained hidden from view.  

About 20 minutes from the trail head, we introduced Ann to wading.  It was apparent that swimming was not going to be her thing at all.  Maybe wading would entice her to swim a bit.  Her big thing with water was to find the largest head-sized rock at the bottom of the shallow spot and bring it to shore.  Fetching sticks wasn't as big of a draw as the green slimy water moss covered rocks on the bottom.  

 As the afternoon warmed and the mosquitos came out in droves, we headed by out to the water.  This time with two poles.  The wind had kicked up a bit and I wondered if the fish were even going to bite.  I started my steady rowing rhythm towards the east side.  The dog was anxiously looking over the stern to see if the fish from this morning were still there.  Confused she gave us this look as if to say "Please don't disappoint me." Within minutes it seemed I had lost a fish.  Yes it had taken the hook with it, right off the flat fish lure.  A bit of jerry rigging and we were in business once again.  Both the dog and I now looking towards John with anticipation.  




We had fish again that evening, each time getting better at the meal.  Pan fried trout and perfect nectarines replaced the meal I had originally decided upon.  Each morning we woke early to fish, spending our time on the water.  Flapping wings of birds rising into the air, the knocking of woodpeckers for their breakfast, crickets serenading us from the banks and the steady movement of oars dipping in and out of the water.  We were alone in the mornings as the others had not even risen for their morning coffee.  There was a sense of freedom, of slowness, and thoughts.  Each morning I wore my sweatshirt until I became warm from the rowing and the day.  We sat mostly still wrapped in our thoughts and dreams wondering if we could do this more than just a few days of the year, wondering if we could continue to catch almost the limit each day.  The dog had learned that fish came from the bending poles and she eagerly wanted to help bring them into the boat.  Only once did she fall overboard but that was trying to bring the fish on the stringer back into the boat. She learned quickly after that.  She is a wading dog NOT a swimming dog.  By the end of three days our schedule was set.  Wake early for coffee and cheese filled croissants, row the boat out to the lake and start our trolling path.  Place the poles in the water and fish until it warmed and the fish weren't rising.  Back to the cabin for a nap, lunch an outing and maybe back on the lake in the evening.