The afternoon is so humid I can feel its resistance, like I’m going the wrong way down a one-way street. The byzantine map the secretary gave me only makes me feel more lost. 

Although Spokane’s Greenwood Memorial Cemetery is scarcely 130 years young, it feels ancient. This is the way of woods. A sign in front of a thickly wooded area reads Non-endowment Section. This, I later learn, is where you go if you want to be untrammeled, to really rest in peace, to be the most forgotten. 

In 1980 every single brass ornament—even the brass elk that stood atop the mausoleum—were unceremoniously pried off and sold for scrap by the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks to help pay off its substantial debts. This abandonment of the order’s fallen, and their once illustrious resting place, is widely considered the source of the haunting. 

I finally spot the stairs, hidden back in the woods a few yards. The staircase rises above me, much shorter than I’d imagined, and nowhere near the mythic thousand—yet somehow far more treacherous. I raise my camera to snap a picture just as blurred shapes drift into view at the top. Someone else is up there, the flash of a phone points down the stairs. I start to climb and try not to let the presence affect me. None of us are alone in this place anyway.

Many steps are broken, and all are off kilter. Some are gone entirely, swallowed by time, so that you have to stretch a bit to haul yourself up. “There’s my workout for the day,” I say to the three women who flitter about at the top. They smile hesitantly then drift away, not breaking their silence. 

A gray granite vault stands before me, the backside covered in decades of graffiti. The front is remarkably clean and dominated by rusting gates. Constructed by the Elks around the turn of the last century, the mausoleum now stands as a monument to the excess of the Gilded Age. It is filled not with the bones of brothers, but rather sadly, discarded lawn care equipment: coils of rotten hoses, splintered wheelbarrow handles, rusting t-posts. The brothers are scattered around in graves. Some inscriptions are lichen encrusted and rendered illegible. The air feels more humid than I can ever recall, practically suffocating. Every time I look down at my notepad I feel like I am being watched. When I look up no one is there, save a sprinkler’s incessant shushing. It is at this point I take my leave, scurrying down the steps, feeling no need to count them. Best stick with 1,000. As I climb in my car and start the engine in one fluid motion, I realize there’s nothing like a short walk down a long and crowded cemetery to be reminded of one’s mortality, or make one feel more alive.

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If you plan to water a garden solely off of rainwater, you’ll probably need a lot more than a 55-gallon rain barrel. A decent starting point, especially if you use drip irrigation and mulch your garden, is more like 500 gallons, but even that will likely run out in the dry months of an Inland Northwest summer. 

I picked up a 275 gallon, food grade, “caged” IBC Tote from Eagle Peak Containers, and sourced another one from Bumble Bar. Depending on the tote’s drain valve thread style, you may have to special order a garden hose adapter instead of assembling your own from PVC pieces procured from a local store. And really, ordering all your connection components online will save you a lot of time and effort compared to tracking down each and every part in person. Another option is to search online for a rain barrel component kit. 

With all this effort you’re going to want as much water storage capacity as possible. So if anything, go overboard on cistern size. When it comes to irrigation, there is really no such thing as too big of a tank, only too small. For instance, 55 gallons is about how much a single 4 by 8-foot raised bed will consume per watering session. Unless you are hand watering a small container garden, or you daisy chain a bunch together, those rain barrels are not practical in the Spokane area’s hot summers. 

For the serious water harvester with the space, Home Depot stocks 2,500 gallon cisterns ($999), and many other large capacity tanks are available online, including slimmer, narrower tanks, perfect for tucking between houses.

I installed rain gutters from the hardware store, checking with a level to ensure it sloped toward the downspout. Though not strictly necessary, I also installed a “first flush diverter” ($38 from Rainwater Systems via Amazon). During a rain event, the diverter fills up with the initial burst of pollen, dust, and asphalt shingle gunk, and automatically diverts clean water to the cistern, preventing the drip emitters and in-line filters from clogging up. I also installed an overflow tube at the top of the cistern to divert excess water towards the garden. 

I also wrapped a reusable mesh bag around the gutter outlet and over a mesh colander that functions as a cover for the cistern hole. This keeps mosquitos from breeding and provides a quick way to empty leaves or anything else that falls over the hole. Burlap sacks also keep light from both creating too much algae and block UV rays from breaking down the plastic.  Despite being slightly uphill from the garden, there was not enough water pressure from good old gravity alone to fully pressurize the drip system. This year I plan to install a low-watt “rain barrel” pump. This should be enough to pressurize an average home garden drip system.

Tips for Harvesting Your Own Rainwater

• Source the cisterns from places like Eagle Peak Containers, Earthworks Recycling, or Craigslist (make sure to buy food grade containers). Multiple online sources can deliver specialty cisterns. If you get an IBC tote, check if the drain threads are skinny or fat. The fat thread is called a “butterfly” valve. 

• Carefully secure gutters and PVC plumbing parts. Lowes has the best selection, but beware: there is a slight but very important difference between 2 inch inner diameter versus 2 inch outer diameter PVC pipe and connectors.    

• Design your system so it’s easy to drain all the parts in wintertime. 

• Design your outflow so you can quickly fill a watering can and/or shunt it to your drip system. It sucks standing there for 5 minutes waiting for a watering can to slowly fill up. 

The post A DIY Guide to Rainwater Harvesting in the Inland NW appeared first on Out There Venture.

Urban ziplines have become increasingly popular in recent years. Cities from Dubai to Montreal to Bellevue compete for the highest, zippiest, longest, most scenic, most urban, and whatever other bragging right they can think up. If it all works out, Spokane may end up having one more spectacular downtown feature to brag about other than the waterfalls.

Mark Richards, President of the non-profit Downtown Spokane Partnership, has been rallying for a zipline for years. His vision was originally to bring “more young people” to a downtown that seems designed more for an older, wealthier, more staid population.

A closer study of other ziplines proves their enduring popularity among a wider age range than one might expect, luring in folks in their eighties. So the zipline could be an intense, multigenerational family outing serving approximately 100 riders per hour then releasing them into the heart of Spokane to explore the newly renovated Riverfront Park and area shops and restaurants.

According to Marlene Feist, communications director for the city, the idea originally was to have one stretch north to south across the entire river gorge, paralleling lower falls, or connecting Kendall Yards to Peaceful Valley, but that idea was squashed for liability concerns. The most current iteration promises a longer and possibly even more thrilling route, running from the as-yet-to-be-completed CSO plaza, ducking under the arches of Monroe Street Bridge, and ending down in Redband Park (the former Garry Field) in Peaceful Valley.

If this sounds a little crazy to you, it’s no crazier than a small, unknown rail town in Eastern Washington hosting a World’s Fair on an island in the middle of a raging river. In fact, the zipline idea conjures other aerial rides that once populated the Expo grounds, like the open air “red chair” gondolas that hovered above the fairgrounds, crossing over the waters by the opera house. It also brings to mind the current SkyRide, which is the sole cable ride to survive the fair’s dismantling.

A zipline would be a different experience; it’s more intimate, with the rush of wind on your face, the speed, and the fast vertical descent through a part-urban, part-wild landscape. It’s a totally new way to see our riparian environment.

Richards, who has long studied the idea of a zipline alongside the falls of the Spokane river gorge thinks it will help bring new energy and new revenue downtown. And if things move forward, a private vendor will design, build, and operate the zipline. The whole process could get going once the new CSO plaza is completed sometime this fall, and may be operational as soon as 2020.

The post Up In The Air: Spokane’s Lofty Zipline Dream appeared first on Out There Venture.

Bears are often around in the forest, whether you know it or not, according to Chuck Bartlebaugh, Director of Be Bear Aware. Chances are they will keep their distance. Yet grizzly territory is expanding, in part, because of our expanding human presence with rural development and a steady rise in outdoor recreation. This means encounters with potentially dangerous wildlife are on the rise.

“In 2018 grizzly bears have been spotted in areas they haven’t been seen in for fifty to a hundred years,” Bartlebaugh says. His longstanding Montana-based organization seeks to “empower people to share bear avoidance, wildlife stewardship, and bear spray information with the public.”

It’s one thing to have bear spray; it’s another to know how and when to use it or to be able to reach it quickly. “There’s a lot of misinformation out there,” warns Bartlebaugh. For example,”Spraying a charging bear at 30 feet away is too late,” he says. Instead, 60 feet is the key distance to remember, despite what popular wisdom maintains or the conflicting instructions on various sprays claim.

Bob Legasa, a hunter from Hayden, Idaho, recently survived a dawn grizzly attack in Montana thanks to his friend’s steady stream of bear spray. His biggest regret was keeping his own canister too far away on his hip, instead of on the front of his belt where it would have been more quickly reached.

Be Bear Aware’s educational materials are the result of 40 years of in-depth interviews with survivors of bear attacks and encounters. Their presentations are made “in participation with state and federal wildlife agencies, numerous outfitting and guiding associations, backcountry horsemen, hikers, campers, hunters, and fishing enthusiasts.”

Making noise or yelling constantly is not necessary. “Do not yell ‘Hey bear ho bear,’ unless you actually see a bear,” Bartlebaugh says. That phrase should alert people that a bear is truly nearby. Still, it is important to make your presence known when hiking in areas with limited visibility. You should speak in a “middle-tone voice,” say something like, “Coming down the trail,” or, “How you doing?”

It is also crucial to purchase official EPA approved bear spray, and keep it within reach. If a bear charges you or your group, spray a full steady spray at 60 feet and keep spraying until the bear contacts the cloud, diverts the charge, and runs away. Bear spray has saved lives even when deployed at point blank range.

The consequences of a bear encounter can be grim. This past November in Yukon Territory a grizzly mauled to death a mother, Valerie Theoret, and her 10-month-old daughter while they were out for a walk. The husband, Gjermund Roesholt, after checking his trap lines, encountered the bear. He shot it dead when it charged him. He then discovered his family already fallen victim outside their cabin. It is not yet known whether the mother had bear spray.

Sometimes attacks are survivable.  In May 2018, Amber Kornak, a U.S. Fish and Wildlife seasonal assistant, was checking a snare site when she surprised a sleeping grizzly. The bear attacked her instantly. She survived only by spraying the bear directly in its face, spraying herself in the process. Although the bear’s teeth punctured her skull, she escaped and hiked two miles to her vehicle.

Be Bear Aware teaches people how to tell if a bear is in the vicinity before you see one, which is a critical piece of bear avoidance. For example, hiking after sunrise and stopping before sunset is strongly advised. Also, children should stay close to their parents—especially small children.

Bartlebaugh points out that it’s not just bears that we need to be aware of. “Cougars, rattlesnakes, and moose can be dangerous at times,” he says.

“In Alaska we had a bear run past us—it was being chased by a moose and took shelter behind us. And so the bear and all of us—about 20 people—we all just stared at this moose! Thankfully, the bear ran off when the moose went the other direction.”

Be Bear Aware will be sharing their expertise at the Spokane Great Outdoors and Bike Expo February 23-24. They offer educational courses to groups of all ages. Visit their website at www.bebearaware.org.

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Convention says to dig a trench one to three feet deep, three to four feet wide, and fill and pile the trench with wood (branches and even whole logs) as high as you want to go (up to five or six feet), and then cover the wood with nitrogen-rich compost and finally soil. If you’re working alone like I was, well, good luck. Initially, I had grand visions of a fifty-foot serpentine Hugelmound. The reality of my Perry District soil is that my shovel resounded in hardpan barely two feet down. My neighbor across the street told me it’s an ancient river bed. Halfway through, I was tempted to give up and take a long nap in my wood-grave, but I still had to mound the debris up as high as possible.

Due to some back pain, and failing to choose the best, sunniest, most parallel-to-the-wind location, I decided to allow my first hugelmound to top out at a pathetic two feet, after factoring in the eventual subsiding. I crossed my fingers, and hoped the depth of the trench would make up for the height. It’s amazing how much wood disappears under a seemingly small pit.

Since decaying wood hogs nitrogen until it rots, you can add grass clippings, hay, and manure. Some sources even encouraged gardeners to pee on the wood to jump start the process. Avoid wood chips in the interior, although mulching on top is fine. Make use of yard debris instead of sending it off in a compost bin. I mixed in “green manure,” leaves, hay, grass clippings, and aged manure. Also, don’t forget to pack a few inches of soil around all the logs; a straight up woodpile won’t easily break down. Additionally, consider that big air pockets make perfect dens for rascals like mice, voles, and marmots.

To keep steep mounds from falling down, pin or “nail” it together with grasses, strawberries, or other ground cover. When it comes to the right plants for hugelkultur, the rules are hazy, but popular choices include squash, beans, peas, sun chokes, comfrey, zucchini, kale, strawberries, berries, bush tomato’s and even sunflowers. Essentially, try everything! Diversify, and don’t worry about over seeding. Whatever is best suited will survive and thrive; what’s not suitable will not grow. If you have fresh logs in your hugelmound, try to inoculate them with gourmet mushroom spawn. I infused mine with shitake dowels.

Some people claim immediate improvements with seeds planted in hugelbeds, but the general consensus is things will really take off after year three or four. Either way, the reward for all this backbreaking labor (or back strengthening, depending on your point of view) is a raised bed that will provide a major surplus for decades, making my few days of grunt work well worth it. Happy Hugeling!

Originally published in the April 2018 print edition of Out There Venture under the title “Low-Tech Backyard Gardening with Hugelkultur Beds.”

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With the assistance of his wife Rosemary since they met at Comstock Pool in 1947, and the help of his grandkids in recent years, Balazs has graced our homes, colleges, offices, churches, and parks, leaving a trail of beauty as surprising as it is strange. His work runs through cities and towns across the northwest, and reaches further afield in Alaska, Pennsylvania, and his native Ohio. It includes temporary sculptures, too, like a forty-foot driftwood tower assembled by students on Desolation Sound, soon destroyed by the tsunami from the 1964 Alaska earthquake. And there’s the impromptu driftwood totem erected on the shore of Priest Lake with fellow artists, an undertaking fueled by home brew and christened The “Great God Damn.”

His style resists classification, but it certainly has elements of abstract art. One of the common themes is a kind of made-up iconography, a take on the ancient cuneiform language, where one letter or symbol signifies one idea. Yet Harold’s twisty symbol-letters cannot be decoded. They are products of his imagination, fused together into fantastical monuments bursting with energy like unruly, tangled vines. Look at his famous concrete lantern, Opera Tower, behind the INB performing arts center: four sides of cast concrete “Haroldology” rise up thirty-two feet, the corners expertly notched together like a log house.

That was the sculpture that nearly crushed him. During installation in 1974 he tried to stop a section from blowing over in a wind gust—he saved it, but crushed three vertebrae in the process. During the many weeks of convalescence he took to watercolor and painted squashes in their garden. With his artist friends and their easels, they sketched and painted the verdant chaos of vegetation in solidarity.

Throughout his life Balazs has taken inspiration and solace in nature. His relationship with the outdoors started in his depression-era Midwest childhood, where he worked the strawberry harvest, earning 12 cents a quart; at the seven-acre homestead in Mead; or on trips to Alaska, where he installed over two dozen public artworks over a ten year period as part of Alaska’s Percent for Art, making time for side forays to hunt caribou with artist friends Ken Spiering and Mel McCuddin.

“Except for brief periods, such as college,” Balazs explains, “I’ve always lived on a farm.” This close proximity with nature informs Balazs’s distinct style and flows out of it, mostly in a subconscious way. In his aptly-titled enamels, “Birds of the Northwest” and “Northwest Wildflowers,” which are located on the Lincoln Building at 818 West Riverside, one pastoral scene explodes with irises, rhododendrons, and daisies, and the other one explodes with birds—soaring swallows, owls, and goldfinches caught in vibrant colors as pure as the day they were created back in 1981. In fact, there’s so much going on visually in all his work, and the pieces are scattered around town in so many unexpected places, that it’s best to simply experience his art instead of analyzing it—much as one would a national park.

“Nature is seen in most of his work,” says Blair Williams, owner of Art Spirit Gallery in Coeur d’Alene’s where Balazs has shown his work since 1997. “His public sculptures are literally in nature, like the one floating in the [Spokane] River. In that way, they all tie together.” His work fits the city well, since Spokane is infused with so much nature and art— riparian greenbelts running throughout, public art on many a corner, and murals beautifying many an overpass.

One of my favorite pieces is the Rotary Fountain, built in 2005, which is arguably the most interactive of his public pieces. (The fountain is currently undergoing a million dollar repair.) Spokanites love running under that halo of cascading water or watching much braver folks play while basking in the sunlight slicing through the mist. It’s crowned by a garland of Balazsian squiggles that frame jets of water converging in the torrential middle. The stainless steel basalt columns are almost indistinguishable from the real thing, echoing the bedrock beneath our feet.

At the heart of his style glows a fearless fascination with our world and all the wonder and mystery we constantly stumble upon. “I’m interested in everything,” Balazs still proclaims, as he ardently has for all the past 89 years. And that’s because everything is interesting, to him, and ought to be to more of us, perhaps.

The materials we all tread upon are hallowed: dirt and water are molded into clay, pigments from minerals we mine are ground and mixed with oils to render images and feelings. The key is to never stop making things and, Balazs insists, not to think too much. He says most days he’s still out tooling around his workshop, assembling small sculptures from the odds and ends he’s gathered in a lifetime dedicated to the arts.

Other Places to Find His Work

Finding every sculpture in and around Spokane will take you on a whirlwind but worthwhile outing. You’ll encounter friezes hidden in plain sight—the cast concrete facade of Hennessey Funeral Home on Division, a giant Tree of Life unfurling curlicue leaves arching across the entry; or carved into the brick walls of Century Link’s downtown office and the Wheatland Bank on Wall Street’s pedestrian mall. A mural at 4th and Sunset depicts Balazs’s legacy, capturing his vivid style and emphasis on wonder.

The post Harold Balazs and The Art of Nature appeared first on Out There Venture.

The best thing about Stehekin is its remoteness. It is only accessible by boat or foot, and the few vehicles, like many of the houses, have a hardy, weather-beaten beauty. Once ashore, the crowds quickly dispersed, and we set off to check out the quaint resorts, cabins and backcountry trailheads. Even though it was a busy weekend, we walked for stretches without seeing a soul.

We opted for tent camping at a Forest Service campground a five minute walk from the dock, although you can also rent cabins. We cooked our meals on our backpacking stove and showered at the coin-op bath and laundry on Main Street. The second night we moved camp to an open spot right on the water, but the wind pummeled us all evening, as if to punish us for being too greedy.

The best way to get around Stehekin is by bike. You can bring your own bike on the ferry for $27 or rent them there in town for around $40 per bike. Most of the sights, activities and trailheads are scattered a few miles along the main road, but the reason you’ll want a bike is for quick access to the Stehekin Pastry Company. The bakery serves mouthwatering treats of all kinds. The Danish was my favorite, but they also have great coffee, pizza and ice cream, and sometimes it’s worth stopping in more than once a day. After hiking the popular Rainbow Loop, we staggered past the bakery again, ready for dinner. The pizza was tempting, but I ordered a second round of huckleberry ice cream.

We had heard about a fantastic garden called, strangely, The Garden, and we made a point to visit the small organic farm along the main road and try the fresh herb goat cheese and sesame crackers. After arriving, we wandered around until the famously barefoot owner, Karl Gaskill, strolled over. Besides offering honey, goat yogurt, crackers, and seasonal produce, the man was a pleasure to chat with. He told us great stories about his days running the wildly successful Honey Bear Bakery in Seattle and his return in 2000 to full-time gardening in sleepy Stehekin. We left with a jar of big leaf maple syrup and a new appreciation for the wonders of goat’s milk.

On the ferry ride to Stehekin, we had befriended two hikers, Mike and Scott, and Mike’s dog Irma, and our paths crossed all weekend long. We ran into them a half-dozen times. Scott had just returned from hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, and one evening we shared beers and stories in the little picnic shelter, and our conversations kept returning to the joys of spending time in nature. We saw them again on the return ferry—this time on the faster Lady of the Lake, which was still a leisurely two-hour cruise. We shared goat yogurt and admired the vivid-green hillsides passing by us in the evening sunlight. That’s the thing about a one-road, remote lake town like Stehekin–you’re likely to come away with new friends and a new favorite place to escape the grind.

The post Back of Beyond: Stehekin Camping on Lake Chelan appeared first on Out There Venture.

I grew up visiting the Bowl and Pitcher, gazing over the wooden Great-Depression-era suspension bridge at the roaring rapids, so the view from the water would be unique compared to my normal vantage point from dry land. My only previous rafting trips included the Clark Fork a few years back, and the White Salmon 15 years before that. Last summer, I finally tubed the popular stretch of the Spokane River for the first time, and I knew that the river view is unlike any other in Eastern Washington. It was only possible to get that view by being there in the water, constantly moving downstream.

The slow stretches between rapids were made exciting by friendly water fights, a fun way to pass the time in the sluggish parts. I preferred the relaxation of the calm, however, and let my head tilt back and watched the trees glide past upside-down so that their wavering reflections slid by oddly upright. Rafting can bring a kind of mind-expanding kaleidoscope effect brought on by the ever-changing, passing landscape.

I enjoyed the unequalled opportunity to closely examine the Spokane River’s sandy slopes contrasting with sections where we felt dwarfed beneath towering basalt cliffs. Passing through these sections of our landscape at river level provided a better understanding of the geology and river corridor ecosystem. At Plese Flats, we paddled to shore and hauled the rafts up, peeled ourselves out of our now sloshing “dry” suits and helped ourselves to a cooler of complimentary drinks.

The post Spokane River Rafting: Paddling Past Familiar Ground appeared first on Out There Venture.

The next goal was a way to prep the garden to maximize food production with Spokane’s 130 frost-free days. In cold climates like ours (zones 4 and 5) even a simple greenhouse wrapped in poly can provide a jumpstart on the growing season and dramatically extend the harvest. This winter, I hope to heat it passively, via compost, to allow herbs like rosemary and lemongrass to survive, plus other plants that normally won’t make it on their own here. Through late spring, I hope to get an early crop of tomatoes, beans, peas and other climbers I can tie to the cattle panels, essentially a built-in trellis that will help shade the greenhouse and keep it a bit cooler in the summer. Heat-loving plants like peppers will likely thrive. And if the sun gets too intense, I can always throw a shade cloth or opaque plastic over the greenhouse to help diffuse the rays.

I needed to build something strong, yet cheap. My budget was $200, a third of the cost of the cheapest greenhouse kits. I stumbled upon the idea for a cattle panel greenhouse on the YouTube channel “EdibleAcres.” I learned the cost was roughly $150 and took a day to build. It took me about two weeks of random evenings to build, and ended up costing about $250. Nothing ever goes as planned in life, especially when the 35-pound roll of plastic is stolen off your front porch. Some jerk ended up with a lot of nice greenhouse plastic.

The building process went like this: I built a wood frame along the ground, then hammered in stakes along the inside at four foot intervals. Next, I arched the cattle panels (fence panels used to keep cattle where they belong) one at a time and tied them to the stakes with wires. Next I screwed them to the stakes and tied the panels together with wire every foot, adding zip ties as a backup. The ends were framed with 2×4’s, featuring a wheel-barrow-width doorway on one end, and a small, high-up window on the other. I installed an automatic window vent, and built a lightweight door from scrap wood and plastic. Finally, I covered the structure with my re-ordered, fancy clear UV-coated 6 mm greenhouse plastic (the most expensive part), and secured it to the frame with cedar batten strips. The result is an airtight, sturdy, simple structure that will, hopefully, last many years. Just in case, I saved scraps of plastic to patch the inevitable holes.

Inside the greenhouse, permanent raised beds live along either side, and I may install rows of narrow shelves above for starting seedlings. Again, this is my first year ever doing something like this, so I admit it’s a trial run. Throughout this garden project I expect to learn something every day, to both fail and succeed. Plus, seeds are cheap, far cheaper than buying dozens of starts in spring, and they’re even free at the Spokane Public Library seed catalog, (or from gardener friends), and this fall I hope to save my own seeds.

Even if all my plants get scorched, or they just can’t make it through the next frigid winter, at least I’ll gain experience and have a year-round spot that’s bright, warm and dry, even when the mercury drops and the rains come. If nothing else, I’ve built a solarium for the price of a month of mochas. // (Nick Thomas)

Build Your Own Greenhouse with These Supplies

Without a doubt, gardners could spend a ton of money on a cattle panel greenhouse, but here’s a generic list to get you started. There’s a chance you have several of these items in your garage already.

• 4 Cattle Panels
• a dozen 2x4s
• wood stakes
• galvanized wire
• UV coated clear greenhouse poly
• screws and hinges
• cedar batten strips

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