Raven and the Mountain That Blocked the River

Long ago, the River People lived in harmony with the land. Every year, the red salmon returned, filling the river with life and feeding the people through the long winters. But one year, the salmon did not come.

The people waited. They sang their songs, made offerings to the river, and prayed to Raven, the wise one who had always brought the salmon to them. But the water remained empty.

Some whispered that Coyote was angry.

Coyote, the trickster, had seen the world change. A new kind of man had come to the land, men who did not listen to the wind, did not thank the water, and did not walk with care. They built without asking and took without giving.

Coyote growled deep in his belly, and the earth began to shake. The mountains rumbled, and a great cliff broke loose, tumbling down into the river. The rocks crashed like thunder, piling high until the water could no longer flow. The river was blocked, and the salmon could not return.

The River People cried out in hunger.

High above, Raven watched. His black robe shimmered in the sun, for it was not just feathers—it was made from the skins of the red salmon, each one shining among the darkness like tiny flames.

He heard the cries of his people and felt their pain.

“I must help them,” Raven cawed.

With his mighty wings, he soared over the fallen mountain. The rocks were tall, but Raven was strong. He climbed to the very top and looked down at the river, where the salmon were trapped on the other side, desperate to return home.

Raven spread his wings wide and shook his robe.

WHOOSH!

Like falling stars, the salmon skins flew from his feathers and tumbled down into the river. As they touched the water, they became real salmon once more, their bodies twisting and turning as they swam past the blockade, free at last.

The river filled with shimmering red, and the people rejoiced!

But Raven kept one salmon for himself, tucking it into his feathers. "This one will remind me," he said, "that I must always watch over the River People."

And so, to this day, when you see a Raven by the river, know that he is watching, listening—waiting to help, should the salmon ever be lost again.

The End.

 

 

The Salmon Bride of Shonitkwu, otherwise known as Kettle Falls

Long ago, in the heart of the land where the great Grandfather River roared over the mighty falls of Shonitkwu, there lived a young girl named Wíyaka, which means "Feather" in her people’s language. She was as free as the wind, her laughter as bright as the sun.

Every summer, her family would travel to Shonitkwu, where tribes from all over gathered to fish, trade, and celebrate the bounty of the river. It was a place of stories, of friendships, and sometimes, of love.

One day, as Wíyaka wandered along the cliffs, she saw a young fisherman casting his spear into the rushing waters. His name was Čháŋwíyape, meaning "Fish Hunter," and his arms were strong like the cedar trees. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the river itself seemed to slow its mighty current.

Wíyaka and Čháŋwíyape spent their days together, laughing as they ran along the rocky shores, sharing stories of their people, and watching the fish leap through the misty spray of the falls. But as the summer waned, Wíyaka’s heart grew heavy—soon, she would have to leave with her family, and she did not know if she would ever see him again.

On the last evening before her departure, she stood upon the cliffs, looking down at Čháŋwíyape fishing below. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him she would return, but as she stepped forward, the rock beneath her feet crumbled. With a cry, she tumbled into the churning waters of Grandfather River.

The current pulled her deep beneath the surface, and just as she thought she would be lost forever, she heard a deep voice rumbling all around her.

"Wíyaka, child of the wind, your love is true, and true love must not be lost to the depths. I shall grant you a gift—you will become one with my waters, and every four years, you will return to him."

The river shimmered with magic, and when Wíyaka opened her eyes, she found herself swimming, her arms now sleek and strong, her body covered in shining scales. She had become a salmon, her heart still beating with love for Čháŋwíyape.

Each season, the fishermen at Shonitkwu spoke of a great and beautiful salmon that returned every four years, leaping higher than all the others, as if searching for someone. Čháŋwíyape knew in his heart that it was Wíyaka, keeping her promise to return.

And so, every four years, he stood at the river’s edge, waiting, his spirit bound to hers by the endless flow of Grandfather River.

And Grand-daughter, let us hope, if you ever stand at the falls of Shonitkwu, listen closely to the rushing waters—you may hear the whisper of Wíyaka’s song, carried by the current, forever searching for her love.

 

Swims with Salmon and the Warning of Father River

On a crisp autumn morning, as the mist curled over the water like a sleeping spirit, Swift River set off to explore the woods near the river’s edge. He had felt something strange in the air—something different. Moving silently through the trees, he came upon a group of men he had never seen before.

They did not look like his people. Their clothes were heavy, their faces covered with thick hair, and their voices were loud and strange. They stood knee-deep in the icy water, sifting through the riverbed with their hands and wooden pans, searching for something hidden beneath the stones.

Swift River crouched behind the bushes, watching closely. For a long time, they worked without stopping, their hands red from the cold. Then, suddenly, one of the men shouted and leaped from the water, holding something in his fist.

He whooped and danced, holding a bright yellow rock above his head. The others rushed to him, their eyes wide with hunger—not the kind of hunger Swift River knew, the hunger for food to feed one’s family, but another kind. A hunger that never ended.

Uneasy, Swift River slipped away and ran to the place he loved most—the deep pool below the falls where he swam with the salmon. He dove into the cold water, letting it wash away his fear. The salmon swirled around him, moving as one, their bodies strong and swift.

Then, from the depths of the river, a voice rumbled through the water. It was deep and old, a voice that carried the weight of many seasons.

"Swift River," spoke Father River. "This is the beginning of the end for the little ones that swim with you. Those who find the yellow rock will grow to be more in number than there are salmon that swim. They will build great walls across my waters, and the salmon will no longer return. Your people will wait, but the salmon will never come. The river will grow sick and silent."

Swift River felt his heart grow heavy. No salmon? No flashing silver bodies leaping through the falls? No more food for his people? No more days spent gliding through the water, feeling at home with his finned brothers?

"But all is not lost," Father River continued. "One day, the people of the yellow rock will realize what they have done. And when that day comes, Swift River, your spirit must guide them to make things right. The salmon must return. The river must live again."

Swift River clutched the Heart of the River stone in his palm. He did not know how or when, but he knew what he must do. He would remember the warning. He would tell the story. And someday, whether in his own life or in the spirit of those who came after him, he would find a way to bring the salmon home.

As he surfaced, the sun broke through the clouds, its golden light shining on the rushing water. Swift River took a deep breath and whispered, "I will remember."

And the river whispered back, "Good."

 

 

Way Back When: The Cosmic Journey of the Reservation Rocket

Way back when, in the little town of Keller, Washington, nestled along the flowing Sanpoil River, there stood a tavern where stories were told, legends were born, and the annual April rodeo brought everyone together. The rodeo was the heart of the town, and this year, Flipp, otherwise know as Earl, had the Reservation Rocket all tuned up for a trip.

Flip was no ordinary tavern keeper. He and his crew of Walk-Abouts—Broken Feather, otherwise know as cousin Butchy, Sassy Lil, otherwise known as cousin Gracy, and Runs out of Wind, otherwise known as, cousin Phillip, who never wore shoes and Walks a lot, otherwise know as John Tom — all known for their consistent lack of reliability, always looking for a good time. But none were as wild as the one they poured some of Joker's 210 proof Special Cosmic Go Juice in the beloved 1916 Ford Model A, known as the Reservation Rocket.

The crowd gathered at the rodeo, expecting to see bronco busting and barrel racing. But low and behold, they watched in awe as the Reservation Rocket rumbled, sputtered, and with a crackling flash of a shorted out headlight, lifted off the ground, soaring into the great beyond. As the rodeo grounds disappeared behind, they could hear the rodeo announcer stutter and exclaim, "Safe trip boys, Ya'all come back now ya hear?"

A Stop at the Moon

As the Reservation Starship zipped past the clouds, the crew whooped and hollered, tipping their hats to the Earth below. The Moon soon came into view, "I thought the moon was where The Great Spirit, had his tipi? You see any tipis?

“Yep, behind that mountain of cheese that looks like a nose” Sassy Lil , otherwise known as Gracy. pointing to the horizon.

Flip. otherwise know as Earl, nodded, and they gently landed in what felt like mud but was a combination of cottage cheese and pie dough. To their amazement, they weren’t alone. There were moon-cows—large, slow-floating creatures that mooed in long, drawn-out tones, some right side up and some upside down. Broken Feather tried to lasso one, but in the Moon’s light gravity, he was the one who floated away instead! The crew laughed as they wrangled him back into the Reservation Rocket, cracking open a few cold pops in celebration. "Cow Pies, made of cheese? Who knew?", Ha, Ha, Ha, everyone got a chuckle out of that.

They slogged through the cheesy cow pies to the Tee Pee and read the flashing neon sign above the entrance that said, "Closed for eternity, the Pow Wow has been permanently moved to Heaven and sometimes Mars."  "Well that answers that," said Sassy, "Granny was right, be good or you can't go to the Pow Wow."

A Martian Pow Wow

Leaving the Moon behind, they pressed onward, the engine poppin' and sparks flying out of the tail pipe, heading straight for Mars. The red planet glowed in the distance.  As they landed, they were surrounded by herds of tiny green buffalo that stretched off to the horizon.  "So that's where all the buffalo got to," said Comes With the Wind.

Mars is covered with lots of canals for the canoes the Martians use to get around. At a crossroads they saw Little Green Men wearing bonnets of pink turkey feathers pounding drums and blowing whistles, making a racket that would scare the dickens out of any booger men around.  "Sounds like a Pow Wow to me, hollered Runs out of Wind, "Let us see if they have any Stick Games going on."

“Welcome, Cuz!” said a Martian wearing a bustle made of recycled Copenhagen chewing tobacco cans hanging from his bottom. “Y’all made it just in time for the Whoop Up Circle Dance!”

The crew wasted no time in joining the festivities. They stomped, spun, and clapped in a Martian-style dance, kicking up red dust and jumping 100 feet into the thin air as the Martians pounded on what look liked hub caps from a 1962 Lincoln Contenental. Flip, otherwise known as Earl, came back from the Stick Games having lost his shoes in his last bet, "Those guys cheat, I lost my moccasins to a 3 toed Martian, my feet are getting cold. We might as well head back before the Sanpoil Rodeo is over." So they all shook hands with the little green cousins and piled back into the Reservation Rocket, cranked up the engine waving Good-bye and yelling "High d Hi and Howdy Ho, to all their new cousins.

Back to the Sanpoil

Flip tipped his hat and said, “That was fun, I sure liked dancin' with that cute little three toed Martian gal. She invited me for a drink but I said I couldn't because I was the designated driver.  The interplanetary joy ride took half the time because they didn’t stop at the moon to get any moon pies.

As they landed with a thud and a couple wheels falling off in the middle of the rodeo arena, where a cowboy was being bucked off by a Brahma bull, the crowd gasped. Flip and his crew fell out of the Reservation Rocket covered in space dust with pop cans scattering out of the back seat just in time to catch the cowboy flying through the air.

"Hooray shouted the crowd!"

“Good catch! How was the trip?” the announcer asked.

Flip grinned. “We found our cuzzins where the buffalo all ended up. It was out of this world!”

Runs out of Wind, tipped his hat. “Next Pow Wow's in Heaven.” To which everybody at the rodeo scratched their heads but clapped anyway.

From that day forward, folks in Keller spoke of the time when Flip, otherwise known as Earl and his Merry Walk-abouts, rode the Reservation Rocket to Mars and back. To this day everyone smiles at the little green buffalo that live upside down under the tables at the Keller Tavern.  Oh, yeah.  And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon hanging behind the bar.

"Looks like somebody forgot to empty their pockets when we we came back from the Pow-Wow on Mars." Said Flip, otherwise know as Earl.

The End (for now)

 

 

 

 

Sleeping Salmon Studio

www.greggcaudell.com

 

Artist's Biography; Gregg Bradely Caudell, 2025

 I paint on location a lot using canvas as a camera. Plein air painting is the zen of painting. It is being in the moment.  It is a light poem reflecting creation from the mirror of a single soul. Light stopped in the fabric of time, becoming material. Starlight caught in the web of earth's karma on the eternal path of existence. 

I work en plein air daily as a gardener works his garden, in contrast to my studio work which is a reflection of what I've found most significant in those daily efforts. It usually has to do with light and substance. Light is the substance of the universe from which all is derived. It is a marvelous yet challenging privilege to be a painter. I love painting en plein air.  It is a method that reflects today's world both internally and externally. Our internal clock is wound tight in a virtual world. Stopping that world for a moment and translating it into the eternal truth of a painting is a constant goal.

Working in the studio is taking up more of my time.  I focus on projects to establish a body of work that pursues continuity in both technique and subject matter.  One painting leading to the next and the next and the next with occasional aberrations that become tangential with prospects such as portraits and the occasional one off piece that may be a fish or an angel or an angel that is a fish.  Imagination is a tool as much as a palette knife or paint brush.  Reality is a source of inspiration that I use as a point of departure to arrive at a goal that is a painting to share the journey with others.  Life is short and if I can, I hope to share some little impression on the life I was given so that others might know I was here and enjoyed the privilege with all my heart and soul. 

Many of my pieces are farmscapes as I live in farm country and am a farmer myself.  For many years I only used horses. You will find a gallery of equine art in my portfolio.  Having paid my dues hoofing it behind a team of horses for 35 years, I bought my first tractor when I turned 60 which the horses greatly appreciated.  They now are retired and enjoy munching the good hay their tractor provides.  

Horses were a good life and took me many places.  Logging in the Redwoods of California and driving horses on Rockefeller's roads of Acadia National Park.  I now spend my time pushing paint around and hope to share what I find interesting and important in the world around me.

I also fish a lot.  My motto "every good fishing hole is a good painting", if I can't catch a painting a fish will do. lol

About painting; When a painter paints the scene of a place, he owns it.  Owning a place is as important as it is to have the next meal.  In pre-european days of North America, all activity and culture was geared to the pursuit of food.  The places that nurtured them became places to own, your territory, something to defend and consequently take from those weaker than your tribe and marked as petroglyphs on the wall of a cliff.  It is human nature to leave your mark. 

A plein air painter has the experience of owning the scene he dipicts. Not only that, he packs it and takes it with him to be repeatedly enjoyed.  To paint a place is to know that place, acquiring the visual vocabulary of that place.  Doing so one is in harmony with the moment and has the opportunity to know the earth better each time he paints its likeness. It is a map of a person's life.

As I get down the road of life I find the challenge and joy of creating is what motivates me.  Sometimes while deeply into a painting I forget to breadth and get a rush out of the adventure of pushing on to the next idea, the next painting.

My family and I, find ourselves to be blessed to live in paradise on a ranch in NE. Washington.  I never go begging for subject matter.  With 1000' cliffs rubbing shoulders above the Sanpoil River where once 100 lb salmon spawned and died.  Today we work with the Colville Tribe to bring back chinook and kokanee as well as endangered red band trout in Betty's Brook that joins the Sanpoil River.  It's the headwaters of what was at one time a great fishery supporting the native family's in the valley.  We have great hopes that salmon will thrive to establish themselves above Grand Coulee Dam, one of the impediments that prohibited salmon from half their native waters that included the west slope of the Rocky Mountains at Lake Columbia, B.C.  I look forward to being part of their return and do quite a few paintings about that subject.  It's a spiritual journey both for myself and the earth that my paintings are a totem to sing the salmon back.

Summary of Juried Shows and Events:

2020-2023 Gallery Representation and shows at Confluence Gallery Twisp, Winthrop artists co-op and Arthouse Designs, olympia, wa.

2020 Liberty Gallery, Spokane, WA

2020 Color of Words, Confluence Gallery, Twisp, WA

2019 Batdorf and Bronson, Olympia Fall Artwalk

2019 Pop Up Show, Olympia, Wa Spring Art Walk

2019 Exhibiting current work at Winthrop Artist’s Co-op

2019 MAC Art Source, art rental program, Spokane, WA

2018 Ferry County Memorial Hospital public art collection

2018 Confluence Gallery, Group Invitational

2018 Exhibiting current work at Winthrop Artist’s Co-op

2017 MAC Art @ Work, Spokane, WA

2017 Confluence Gallery, Group Invitational

2016 Olympia, Wa., Spring Art Walk

2016 MAC Art @ Work, Spokane, WA

2016 Confluence Gallery, Group Invitational

2015 Moses Lake Museum and Art Center, one artist show, 

2014 Olympia, WA Fall Art Walk, featured at the Art House Designs Gallery

2013 Columbia Center for the Arts, Hood River, OR plein air event 

(Juried in to show annually since 2008) 

2013 Parklane Lane Gallery, Kirkland, WA Summertime Show  

2013 Art House Designs, Olympia, WA one artist show 

2012 Confluence Gallery, Twisp, WA, two man show with sculptor, Simon Kogan 

2012 Scotch Peaks Wilderness, Sandpoint, Idaho, plein air paint out

2011 NW Museum of Culture, Spokane, WA, group show and auction 

2010 Scotch Peaks Wilderness, Plein Air Paint Out, Sandpoint, Idaho 

2009 Coos Museum of Art, Expressions West, Coos Bay, OR group show 

2009 Barrister Winery, Featured Artist for Art Walk, Spokane, WA 

2009 US Plein Air Open, Langley, WA 

2009 Parklane Gallery,Juried Kirkland, WA 

2008 Red Hawk Gallery, Plein Air Invitational, Sandpoint 

2008 Moses Lake Museum Central Washington Regional Juried Art Exhibition 

2008 Museum of Arts and Culture, Kress Gallery, Spokane, WA, one artist show 

2008 Wallowa Valley Art Festival and Paint Out, Joseph, OR 

2008 Coupeville Art Center, U.S. Open Plein Air Paint Out 

2008 Oil Painters of America, Plein Air Paint Out, Coeur d’Alene, Idaho 

2008 Coos Bay Coos Bay Art Museum, 'Expressions West' Regional Competition 

2008 Western Paper Company, 2008 Invitational Show, Kintsler Gallery, Seattle 

1972-1979 Spokane Museum of Native American Culture Western Art Show

Awards: 

2015 Best of Show, Confluence Gallery, Invitational

2013 Purchase Prize Award, Hood River Plein Air Paintout, Hood River, OR

2012 Best of Show, Scotchman’s Peak Plein Air Paint Out, Hope, ID 

2012 Artist Choice Award, Scotchman’s Peak Plein Air Paint Out 

2011 Best of Show Annual Gallery Exhibition, Coulee City, WA

2007 Best of Show, Moses Lake Museum of Arts and Culture, Regional Competition 

2024 3rd place, Gonzaga University, Regional Landscape Competition, cash award $250

Galleries: 

Outskirts Gallery, Hope, ID 

Confluence Gallery, Twisp, WA 

Art House Designs, Olympia, WA 

Washington State Capitol Legislature, by invitation 

NW Museum of Culture, art rental program, Spokane WA

Winthrop Artist’s Co-op

References:

Susie Englestadt, Arthouse Designs, Olympia, WA

Tammy.gabbert@northwestmuseum.org

The Inimitable Kally Thurman, Hope, ID

Publications, Instructional Videos and Illustrations;

Farmer’s Almanac

Small Farmer’s Journal

Rural Heritage Magazine

Publisher, Horse Logger’s Int. News

Author; Horse Logger’s Manual

Co-producer, Video; A Day Horse logging, The Basics

Education:

1972 – 1975 Eastern Washington State College 

  Print making with Bruce Beal 

1975-76 Fort Wright College 

  Oil painting with Charles Palmer, Al Ring 

  Sculpture, Sister Paula Mary Turnbull 

1974-76 Life drawing, Stan Taft

1976-1977 Spokane Community College 

  Certified Welder, Ironworker’s Local #14 apprenticeship 

Workshops Taught: 

2011 Organized and hosted an artist plein air retreat and workshop at our ranch on the Sanpoil River near Republic, WA 

2013 Basics of Oil Painting, Gallery 2, Grand Forks, BC

2014 Basics of Oil Painting, Grand Coulee, WA

2015 Basics of Oil Painting, Coulee City, WA

Workshops and mentors:

1987 Ned Mueller, Clarkston WA 

2005 David Alexander, Kelowna, BC 

2007 Glenn Grishkoff, Sandpoint, ID 

2007 William F. Reese, Wenatchee, WA 

2008 Leonid Gervits, Gage Academy, Seattle, WA 

2011 Simon Kogan, Olympia, WA 

Online body of work;

www.greggcaudell.com

www.gregg-caudell.pixels.com  Online store and fine art swag.

contact;

Gregg Caudell

Republic, WA 

gcaudell@msn.com

509-775-2130

 Standing on the beach of the Sea of Cortez, I saw dorado swimming in the waves.  I'm starting to understand acrylics and eagerly look forward to new ideas and the next painting.  I take a break and go cross country skiing as winter continues to get along but feel as if my toes are buried in the warm sands of the beach as I imagine the sun setting in the tropics of my mind.

 It has been a pleasure although a challenging one, to work in acrylics to express my ideas.  After an inspiring trip to the Sea of Cortez  after the dreary taking a break from the grey of winter in the North.  I think I understand why Mexican art is so colorful.  It must be the light at the Tropic of Cancer.  I look forward to spending more time there to discover why else the house are so colorful and the culture is as spicy as its food.

Sea of Cortez, 12x24, acrylic, Available, email; gcaudell@msn.com

Working with acrylics has been daunting although once I've found the right process I'm excited to pursue more work.  It has it's detractions but it has attributes that oils don't allow.  I especially like how fast it dries so one can proceed with the next part of the process.  It's also less toxic than oils and their solvents.  Something that is problematic in the closed space of my studio, even with an exhaust fan.  I like large washes to achieve effects although I like working impasto en plein air, I have yet to develop a good impasto technique in acrylics but have alot of exploration to do with achieving new effects with acrylic mediums.

My 50 year reluctance to using acrylics has been a dedication to the heritage of art history bias that "important" paintings are oil paintings.  I see now how rediculous that prejudice is especially with the advent of digital art, something like how the artists of the 1800's felt about painting when photography came along.  Today there is a question whether digital art is art.  Of course it is, art is the expression of ideas by mark making.  I doesn't matter if that mark was made by a stone age artist or a person or machine using "code" to generate an image.  Fear of change is fatal.

 San Jose del Cabo, Baja California and the Sea of Cortez otherwise know as the Gulf of California.  The resort Meca of Baja.  Extrordinary disparity between the have and have nots.  One dependent on the other, both in a landscape of sun and the fecudity of the Sea of Cortez, that the famous marine explorer, Jacque Cousteau called the Aqarium of the World.  

As winter buries us in snow and cold we seek the opportunity to re-charge solar selves under the sun at the Tropic of Cancer.  As John Steinbeck wrote in his "Log of the Sea of Cortez", the desert is only a footnote to the Sea of Cortez".  A place that still seems to be full of life despite the assault open Earth's habitats.  Although the fishery may be smaller and pearls no longer the treasure locked along the shore by oysters, there is still an admrable spectrum of wildlife both marine and avian.  Whales and manta rays swim with pelagic fish and frigate birds, pellicans and fish hawks.  I'm sure the desert has it's features but the ocean compels my interest.

Wandering the tourist part of San Jose one finds the typical merch one would anywhere in Mexico's resort towns.  I did find the central palaza which was an energized community event where local families, artists and musicians played off of one another.  

                         

Fishermen that we are, we scored a trip with Captan Allehandro and young deckhand Christian who put us on Dorado.  A delicious fish that is milder than tuna but the same flavor.  A new favorite.  After catching 4 of them we went searching for Marlin without success.  Winter is less successful than fishing in the summer but far more pleasant than summer temperatures of 100+ degrees.  We enjoyed a pleasant 80 degrees and slept outside under the stars in the cool off shore breezes. 

I look forward to going back and make it my own happy place.  Not a difficult task as there will be much fishing and new paintings.  One goal will be to learn enough Spanish to get to know the locals.

Vayacon dios me amigos and amiga.

 Place, as in plein air.  Because I believe in reincarnation i.e. that not only one's body is recycled by nature but one's soul is recycled on the wheel of karma to learn the lessons one needs to grow as a being, that place is where one is launched/reborn or to start again.  I feel that place must be memorized so that one's soul/spirit can begin again.  I record that place by painting en plein air.  I am memorizing/memorializing the Sanpoil Valley as that place.  Curiously I must have a lot to learn because most all of my life for many moves has been along the 48th parralell of the U.S. Perhaps I was with David Thompson.  (look up who died with him along the 48th parallel when he was surveying the 49th paralell.

"Sleeping Salmon Mountain", 12x24, acrylic, Available, email; gcaudell@msn.com

"Winter, Sanpoil Valley", 30x40, oil, SOLD

 The cold and snow continues in the the mountains of eastern washington.  Painting en pleinair is a challenge but one perseveres hoping for the warm spring days to come.  The birds are anxious and have delayed nest building and the bees are hunkered down hoping for trees to bloom and provide badly needed pollen to sustain themselves and grow their brood to replace all the workers that didn't make it to spring.  C'mon girls hang in there!