Palouse River
Two hundred years ago yesterday, William Clark sketched a small river feeding into Lewis’s River onto his embryonic map of the region. They did not explore this narrow affluent, but they did name it for one of their party. How many of us would be upset if a nod towards our participation or accomplishments were noted in the naming of a landscape feature, and our name was spelled incorrectly? We don’t know how George Drouillard felt about his situation with the new delineation on the map being labeled “Drewyer’s River.” Would anyone believe this was “his” river? Without a timely publishing of the journals, names on Clarks maps were either lost or changed. Later explorers came and drew maps, re-named rivers, landforms and other topographical features, and they published their materials. Drouillard as well as Lewis lost their rivers to later cartographers. Today, the maps label this small tributary as the Palouse River, flowing not into the 1805 named Lewis’s River, but into the Snake River.
No matter what it is called, it was our river for the morning, and we thoroughly enjoyed our water-level explorations by kayak and Zodiac on its ponded waters. Balmy temperatures and abundant sunshine dictated we devour our thoroughly scrumptious lunch outside this afternoon. We cruised downstream, towards our last two locks on the Snake River. By sunset, we had reached Ice Harbor lock. The towers supporting its guillotine-style gates were silhouetted by a fiery glow.
If Clark had witnessed such an explosion of color in the western sky, would this grand sight have been commemorated by a feature name on his map? Sunset Point? Reflection Harbor? Or would he have put his quill aside and enjoyed the sight of the sizzling hues of the sunset, while sitting on the bank of Lewis’s River?
Two hundred years ago yesterday, William Clark sketched a small river feeding into Lewis’s River onto his embryonic map of the region. They did not explore this narrow affluent, but they did name it for one of their party. How many of us would be upset if a nod towards our participation or accomplishments were noted in the naming of a landscape feature, and our name was spelled incorrectly? We don’t know how George Drouillard felt about his situation with the new delineation on the map being labeled “Drewyer’s River.” Would anyone believe this was “his” river? Without a timely publishing of the journals, names on Clarks maps were either lost or changed. Later explorers came and drew maps, re-named rivers, landforms and other topographical features, and they published their materials. Drouillard as well as Lewis lost their rivers to later cartographers. Today, the maps label this small tributary as the Palouse River, flowing not into the 1805 named Lewis’s River, but into the Snake River.
No matter what it is called, it was our river for the morning, and we thoroughly enjoyed our water-level explorations by kayak and Zodiac on its ponded waters. Balmy temperatures and abundant sunshine dictated we devour our thoroughly scrumptious lunch outside this afternoon. We cruised downstream, towards our last two locks on the Snake River. By sunset, we had reached Ice Harbor lock. The towers supporting its guillotine-style gates were silhouetted by a fiery glow.
If Clark had witnessed such an explosion of color in the western sky, would this grand sight have been commemorated by a feature name on his map? Sunset Point? Reflection Harbor? Or would he have put his quill aside and enjoyed the sight of the sizzling hues of the sunset, while sitting on the bank of Lewis’s River?
