Stashed away in Richard and Debbie Surface’s cabin in Joseph, Oregon, sits a .30-30 Winchester Model 94. Richard’s grandfather won the rifle in a raffle back in the ’30s and passed it down to his son. Richard and his dad used it to hunt mule deer together here in the ‘50s. Now at 71, Richard has plenty of guns, but this was his first, and remains his favorite. Chips adorn the stock. Dings mark the barrel. But it still shoots, and it’s loaded.
“Well, it doesn’t do any good if it’s not,” Richard says.
I let the hammer down slowly and place it back against the timbers of the cabin. We sit on benches in the dining room eating dinner at a long table. Out the plate glass windows rise the granite peaks of the Wallowa Mountains in the Eagle Cap Wilderness. In the foothills sits a mom and pop ski hill with six runs, a rope tow and a T-bar. Stretching out directly in front of us, with fields of blooming lupine, is upland grassland, native prairie.
This is the Wallowa Valley, birthplace of Chief Joseph, who fled his homeland for Canada with 700 of his people. But his escape was cut short 40 miles shy of the border by U.S. soldiers. The town of Joseph bears his name. His father, Chief Joseph the elder is buried a mile outside of town.
At the base of the Wallowas on the shores of Wallowa Lake, Richard Surface spent his boyhood years. His family lived north in Gresham, where he continues to run the family nursery started by his grandfather Melvin in 1925. When he was in high school, Richard would borrow a nursery truck, load the back with a troop of friends and head to Wallowa Lake.
At the lake, they caught fish, hiked, got lost, found their way. “We did everything the good ole American way,” Richard says. “We voted on it.”
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A young Richard with his grandfather’s .30-30 and two nice mule deer. (photo courtesy of Debbie and Richard Surface) |
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Today, this slice of America in northeast Oregon is where he and Debbie come to breathe. In the evening, they sit on their back-porch swing, Debbie with a glass of wine, Richard his Crown and water. They listen to the elk chirp and mew as they filter onto the property. The cows give birth to calves here, and in the fall the bulls return to try to make some more.
The worries of running the 300-acre nursery, employing 50 people, and traveling to nursery shows and expos drift down Little Sheep Creek that runs through the property. They bought the 678-acre ranch 10 years ago as their getaway. They bought it for its wildlife, for its tranquility. Last year they placed it in a conservation easement with the Elk Foundation to assure it will always remain that way.
Prior to the 1860s, a band of the Nez Perce, led by Chief Joseph the elder, had lived in the Wallowa Valley. Generally accepting of the newcomers, this band of Nez Perce tolerated settlers as they staked their land claims. In 1855, Joseph signed a treaty to create a 7.7 million acre reservation that maintained much of the traditional Nez Perce land.
But then came gold.
In the 1860s, gold brought settlers en masse to Nez Perce land. In 1863, the U.S. government wanted the Nez Perce to shrink their reservation to less than a million acres in Idaho. Joseph the elder protested unsuccessfully. After his death in 1871, Joseph the younger was elected to lead the tribe. Six years later, he made the decision to lead his people to the reservation in Idaho. On their journey, a few enraged warriors attacked nearby homes and killed settlers. Joseph realized this meant war, and he turned his people toward Canada.
What followed was one of the most famous exoduses in history. For three months and over 1,400 miles—outmanned and outgunned—Chief Joseph and his people, 200 of them warriors, fought their way north. On October 5, 1877, only a day’s ride from the Canadian border, they surrendered.
Since the time of the gold rush, 99 percent of the Palouse Prairie of eastern Washington and north-central Idaho, that once sustained the northern tribes of the Nez Perce, has fallen to the plow. But the high-elevation Zumwalt Prairie in northeast Oregon escaped such a fate. The harsh climate and poor soil spared it the blade. Of the original 300,000 acres, two-thirds of the Zumwalt remains as native prairie, says Phil Shephard, northeast Oregon stewardship director for the Nature Conservancy.
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Life Members Richard and Debbie Surface serve on RMEF’s Habitat Council. (photo by PJ DelHomme) |
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The native bunchgrasses of the Zumwalt support abundant wildlife populations including one of the highest concentrations of breeding hawks and eagles in North America. Ferruginous and Swainson’s hawks thrive here, though they are on the decline elsewhere throughout the West. The only native grouse to Oregon, the Columbian sharptail, is being reintroduced here by Oregon biologists after being absent for more than 50 years.
More than half of the 678 acres of Zumwalt Prairie on the Surface’s conservation easement is covered in a sea of Idaho fescue, bluebunch wheatgrass and lupine. On the rest of the easement, Doug fir and ponderosa pines provide cover for resident ungulates, including 300 elk and more than a few of Wallowa County’s 25,000 mule deer—no doubt descendents of those Richard and his father hunted here decades ago.
The snow-fed waters of Little Sheep Creek running the length of the property hold threatened bull trout and spawning steelhead, fodder for nearby nesting golden eagles. In the summertime, neo-tropical migrant birds such as yellow warblers live in the riparian corridor. Ruffed and blue grouse hide in the grass. Black bears, bobcats and cougars roam the quiet nights while wild turkeys strut up and down the creek.
Beyond the Surface property, farther up Little Sheep Creek, human developments become denser. That’s what makes the Surface easement so valuable, says Vic Coggins, biologist with Oregon Fish and Wildlife. “The Surface property is part of canyon country,” he says. “There’s good bunchgrass on those slopes. The mixed edges of conifers and grasslands are very productive, thanks to the cover it provides for elk.”
Tributes to the diversity of prairie wildlife can be found in downtown Joseph, where larger-than-life bronze sculptures of eagles and cowboys adorn city streets. Bronze foundries crowd the backstreets while art galleries nearly outnumber the bars.
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By trimming ladder fuels and thinning, the Surfaces provide key habitat on their ranch for elk, mule deer and other wildlife. (photo by PJ DelHomme) |
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It seems the smaller the town, the bigger the community, and with roughly 1,000 people, Joseph is one big community. Richard and Debbie Surface play no small part in it. Downtown Joseph is lined with trees donated from Surface Nursery. During the annual Chief Joseph Days Rodeo, their home plays host to hundreds of friends from around the country—many of whom they met through the Elk Foundation.
Following their rodeo celebration this past July, once everyone had left and quiet returned, the Surfaces relaxed and watched 50 elk filter back onto their place soon after the dust had settled. Being able to watch the elk is just one of the reasons the Surfaces decided to protect their land.
“At one point in time, I heard someone wanted to put a dirt bike track up here,” says Richard. “I said, ‘Not in my lifetime.’”
“Up here you’re a long ways from computers, phone lines and civilization,” he says. “It’s awesome.”
Life members since 2004, Richard and Debbie came to the Elk Foundation for a sense of community. In 2003, longtime friends Terry and Irene Bates brought them to the Wallowa Mountain Chapter banquet in nearby Enterprise. At the banquet, it was love at first bid.
“It’s the social event of the year,” says Debbie. “It’s where you meet the neighbors.”
Here, they bid on art and catch up with friends like Mike and Mona Rahn, past chapter chair and co-chairs. “They are cuter than cute people,” says Mona. “Our banquets are in the spring, so they have to snowmobile in from their cabin. Debbie can step off a snowmobile, shake her hair a little and look like a million bucks.”
Bidding and socializing aside, it wasn’t until Debbie read an article in Bugle that the couple decided to really get involved. Two years ago, flying from Portland to Atlanta, Debbie read a piece by Mike Mueller, RMEF lands program manager, titled, “Why Conservation Easements are Good for Elk Country.” Its message stuck with her. Eventually Debbie got in contact with Bob Bastian, senior regional director of the northwest region.
“When they came to me, they were fearful that one day the property might be developed,” says Bastian. “They had seen ranches broken up in the area, and they didn’t want that to become a reality on their place.
“When my wife and I visited Richard and Debbie for the first time on their place, we were able to feel their appreciation and concern for the future of Little Sheep Creek. It is as close to heaven you can get.
“That article in Bugle assured them a conservation easement would ease their concerns about the protection of their property for wildlife,” Bastian adds. “They were also hoping that this would stimulate others, not only with property adjacent to theirs, but throughout the Northwest whose property provides critical wildlife habitat.”
“It just seemed the proper thing to do,” says Debbie. “We were able to protect the property and still enjoy it.”
“Putting an easement on the place was a good way to go,” adds Richard. “Knowing it will be left the way it is is a good feeling.”
And enjoy it they do, with sunsets untainted by powerlines and poles, for they live off the grid. Solar panels and a back-up generator provide electricity and pump water from the well. Stoves, refrigerators and warm showers arrive via a natural gas tank out back.
The Surfaces don’t hunt anymore, but their home is adorned with memories. A rack from a moose that Debbie’s father killed hangs upstairs, while an elk rack given to them by a late friend sits over the fireplace. An antique New Brunswick pool table Richard bought when he was 12, during a hunting trip with his father, sits next to the bar. And that loaded .30-30 stands in the corner.
For the canyons and its ridgetops, for the wildlife and the grasses that sustain it, history runs deep here. For Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce, for Richard and his father hunting mule deer with his grandfather’s .30-30, and now, for the Surfaces watching the sun set over the Wallowas on their porch swing—the roots of the Zumwalt Prairie weave with the roots of human history. And thanks to Richard and Debbie, those roots will have no end.