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| Salmon with Fresh Carrot Puree served in the Okanagan Valley |
These
are the things I missed and craved while on a two-month long road trip through
the Canadian Rockies and the Pacific Northwest this summer.
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| Mrs. Yvonne Swan and her Bumbleberry Pie |
What
I ate instead were cherries at their peak, picked by French Canadian college
students summering in the Okanagan Valley, and apricots ripened just in time to
keep those migrant workers busy. I
actually swooned at the intensity of a just picked nectarine from an orchard
with a long-range view of Oregon’s Mount Hood on the Fruit Loop Trail.
Peaches from that roadside market were
as sweet and juicy as those from home, soothing my homesick thirst. Juicy pears from Fruitland, Oregon, and
the new crop of apples from another roadside stand in Fruitland, Idaho were
tasty treats, as well.
Bags of
sweet onions from Walla Walla were just too big to fit into our crammed car, so
a couple had to do.
But we had no
trouble devouring a great big Bumbleberry Pie we bought from Mrs. Yvonne Swan at
the Powell River farmers market.
A SEAFOOD DIET . . . . .
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| A Pea Crab in a clam??? |
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| Hama Hama grilled oysters |
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| Steve opening oysters he grilled on San Juan Is. |
Then
there were the oysters smoked over alder wood on a homemade grill, fashioned
like many from the South from an old oil drum. We screeched to a halt when we saw the smoke and sign on the
side of the road at Wallapa Bay, just south of the Olympic National Park in
Washington.
Or those grilled
outside the seafood market further down the coast at Hama Hama.
Or those we grilled ourselves that we
bought while visiting Westcott Bay oyster and clam farm on San Juan Island. Even
though it was high summer, the oysters in the cold waters of that region don’t
get milky as they spawn as those in our southeast waters do. No worries about the “r” months. They
roll and knock them about to produce oysters with deep “cups,” which adds to
their flavor.
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| Razor clam, Oregon-style |
Oregonians
brag about their razor clams, which they beat until flattened, then bread and
fry. The best from our north to
south coastal search were served at the Drift Inn, a nondescript, old saloon-like
place with a colorful history, a view of Yachats River, and umbrellas hanging
from the ceiling. With the sunny
summer days we experienced, I didn’t get the umbrellas. “Come back later,” we were told
with a roll of the eyes.
WE GOT CRABBY.......
And Oregon has crabs. Big Dungeness crabs, pre-cooked to be cracked and picked, or patted into crabcakes. We saw two young Mormon men from Salt Lake City, Utah spending their two years on bicycles in Newport, one of the state’s largest ports. They were catching crabs from the dock using mink as bait. “Like what they make fur coats out of?” one said, trying to dispel my disbelief. That’s a far cry from the chicken necks we use on our coast.
As tasty as Dungeness crabs are, you just can't beat a Carolina Blue Crab. I missed them.
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| Crab added to Cioppino |
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| Just half of one big Dungeness crab has enough meat for one. |
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| Crabcakes a la Dungeness |
And
Oregon has crabs. Big Dungeness
crabs, pre-cooked to be cracked and picked, or patted into crabcakes. We saw two young Mormon men from Salt
Lake City, Utah
SALMON BELLY
But
what I really came back from this grand road trip with, was a belly full of
salmon. On the occasional nights
we treated ourselves to a restaurant meal, we found sockeye and Chinook on the
menu. Can’t refuse local catches
of salmon.
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| Small grilled pieces of a large salmon, hand-caught! |
And
then Steve caught his own. Four
beauties, the daily limit, within ONE hour, from a wharf up at the northern end
of Vancouver Island.
We were staying
near Campbell River, the self-proclaimed “Salmon Capital of the World,” and
were on a day trip to the picturesque Telegraph Cove. A detour on a scenic road called out to us, and we came upon
the wharf on Kelsey Bay near Sayward.
About a dozen fishermen were in the midst of a salmon attack, with
schools and schools of spring, or pink, salmon speeding toward the mouth of the
- yes, believe it or not - Salmon River.
The jumping fish were being chased in by a pod of – yes, believe it or
not – Orca whales. I couldn’t
decide on what to shoot with my camera.
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| One of the four pink or spring salmon, the catch limit of the day. |
Fishermen
(and women) fighting with the pull of a five- to ten-pounder would yell to
Megan, the young woman manning a round net the size of a bushel basket. She’d
lower it just under the fighting fish, snag it, and yank it up. It was up to each fisherman to grab the
small club and smack the daylights of the fish to prevent it from flapping back
into the water.
While
Steve cleaned his trophies, I chatted with an older couple that had just docked
their small metal boat. Their beautiful
water spaniel supervised their activity.
“Oh he loves it when we pull our shrimp pots,” the just-retired teacher
said. They had dozens of
plastic bags full of beheaded pink shrimp on ice, their crusts still crunchy,
and well, pink. “Here, have one,”
she said, offering me a bag. “See
how they compare to your shrimp in N.C.
Just boil them up and then shell them. Eat them with cocktail sauce or melted butter.” I never turn down this kind of
generosity. Two pounds of shrimp?
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| Rocky coasts, so different from NC's |
Another
day, we drove the coast of San Juan. We sat on a rock outcropping to eat our
lunch, while watching orcas snort and breach yards from the beach. Steve also kept his eye on four commercial
fishing vessels that seemed to have a rhythm of taking turns casting their
purse nets, then bringing them back up to the boat with small dories. Later that evening, as we sat outside
our rental cottage enjoying a brew while watching the sunset, he noticed one of
those boats docking, then unloading.
And someone approaching, then leaving with a sack.
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| Watching seals and sunset on San Juan Island |
“I’m
going over to see if I can buy a fish from them,” he said, eager still for more
fresh salmon. He returned
triumphant, with a huge sockeye to clean.
“We talked about what I had observed, and how they did menhaden off
Atlantic Beach in North Carolina that way,” he recanted. “And when I asked if I could buy a
fish, they said they were not allowed, but could give us one.” Steve promised to bring them a
“donation” of beer the next day.
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| Surprise! |
Except
they didn’t come into port the next day, and not until late on our final day on
San Juan. Steve took them the
12-pack, minus one for tasting, and some chips and dip. When he came back into the kitchen where
I was preparing clams with fresh tomato sauce, he said, “Close your eyes.” I was chopping parsley and really
didn’t want to.
Because he was so
excited, I gave in. When I did
open my eyes, it was in true surprise.
He had a huge Dungeness crab in each hand. Two big boys! The fishing
boat had gone up to Bellingham, WA to sell their fish, and returned with a
chest full of crabs. They, too,
were surprised by Steve showing up as promised with beer, etc. and felt obliged
to reward him with those beauties.
That almost chopped parsley tasted great in melted butter for the crabs.
SEEING RED
After
leaving the coast, and then the Columbia River Gorge, we headed toward the
mountains of Idaho and Wyoming.
While
listening to a local radio station, I sang along with Willie Nelson’s “Whiskey
for my men and beer for my horses.”
Steve accused me of being a cowgirl at heart.
I
accused him of NEVER being a cowboy when he claimed the steer that stopped our
car in the middle of an S-curve in Wyoming’s hills was giving him the Evil Eye.
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| Former coach Bobby Knight hit one of these guys on the same road just a few nights before our encounter. It totaled his car. The cow was called for a blocking foul. |
That
was after he admonished me for standing in the middle of the road taking photos
of bison standing in the middle of the road a few days earlier. Those animals will run you over, he
warned. “Didn’t you see them
giving me the Evil Eye?”
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| Not so small, these buffalo roam! |
I
was beginning to wonder if all four-legged animals gave this city-slicker
husband of mine the Evil Eye. Then
I remembered when I first brought him home over forty years ago to the
farm. The cows had gotten out, so
my dad and I herded them up and chased them up to the barn. Steve had been stationed at the gate,
and told to just direct the cows into the barnyard. When he saw them “stampeding” toward him, he abandoned his
duties. He‘s never forgotten that,
nor lived that tale down.
Each
time he ordered a thick, juicy, free-range beefsteak, I asked if he felt like
he had triumphed over the dangers he’s faced with free-ranging steer. Or when we had buffalo burgers, he’d
snort about all the bison that stopped traffic in and around the Lamar Valley
of Yellowstone. He’d won and ate
well.
SWIRL, SNIFF, TASTE AND SPIT
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| In the beautiful Okanagan Valley |
The
original premise of this big Road Trip was to explore the Okanagan, Williamette
and Walla Walla wine valleys. And
then the national parks, the Rockies and coastlines got in the way.
We
cleaned ourselves up after camping and hiking in the Canadian Rockies, and hit the fertile
Okanagan Valley, where pinot and merlot grapes grow as beautifully in the very
warm summer as cherries and other fruits do. We had tasted pinots from the Okanagan while on previous
trips to Vancouver City and Island and thought they were good. This time we were bowled over.
They were outstanding in flavor and balance, and the price was right.
And
have you ever met a pinot noir from the Williamette that was not drinkable? After leaving the coast and heading into
the Dundee Hills, the northeastern corner of the Williamette Valley, we wished
we had had a stash of pinto gris and noir to enjoy with the crab and clams we
downed on the coast.
We
were heading over to Idaho from the Columbia River Gorge, when I noticed on the
map that Walla Walla was about an hour away. Off we went on another day’s detour, where we found three
wineries open late in the afternoon for tastings, and a delightful
Mediterranean bistro that featured local wines to pair with local food on their
menu. We could have spent days
devouring the area.
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| Great tasting at this old school building! |
The only complaint we had about the
wines we tasted and downed in Oregon or in the Walla Walla, WA appellation was
the price, compared to the outstanding wines we tasted in Okanagan.
That didn’t stop us from returning
with more than a case of goodies.
On our way to taste Oregon wines,
we drove through Corvallis, and sought out Two Towns Ciderhouse, produced by a
team of alumni from Oregon State University that has a dynamite food science
department housed in Wiegand Hall.
Seems a Professor Ernest Wiegand, no relation, earned his name on the
building for helping to develop the process used for mass production of marachino
cherries, saving farmers from ruin after Prohibition stopped their cherry
liqueur from flowing. Two Towns ciders use local apples, and range from crisp,
everyday quaffs to sophisticated bubblies. We loved the ones we tasted, which made their way into the
ice chest.
A SNORT IN A GLASS
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| Woodford Reserve |
So,
all that whiskey that’s downed in one snort in Westerns has to come from
somewhere, right? And why not try
local whiskey from established and fledgling distilleries, as we do with local foods, we decided.
Wyoming’s
rye whiskey surprised us with its smooth, deep flavor. So did Montana’s. It was almost like sipping Scotch. But not Bourbon, Steve declared.
After
our last night on the road, just east of Louisville, KY, Steve studied the
map. “We’re going to make a
detour.”
Just
off Interstate 64, in the middle of the Kentucky Bluegrass country, there
happens to be another trail he needed to follow. The Bourbon Trail. Which led us to touring and sipping at
Woodfood Reserve, where his favorite bourbon is born and raised.
That sipping detour was a fitting
way of spending the last of our 13,000 miles on the road this past summer, and
a fitting tribute to our stamina and the adventure.
We each raised our shot glass and
toasted.
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| Crater Lake is phenomenal! Blue, blue, blue water. |
And we found eating lunch out was a cheaper alternative to dinner. On the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, we thought we had driven to the end of the world where the road ends in Lund, finding The Laughing Oyster restaurant. Lovely view, lovely weather, lovely food. "I wish lunch would last forever . . ." goes a Jimmy Buffett song. And at the table next door was a gal who grew up in ChapelHill!
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| Dinner at Cannon Beach, Oregon |
