April 22, 2026 – Colville Valley Association: Colville @ Kettle Falls
Okay, full disclosure here. The Colville Valley Baseball Umpires Association doesn’t really exist any longer. As with Gray’s Harbor on the west side, CV got to the point where it no longer had a dedicated assignor so got somewhat assimilated by the Inland Empire (Spokane) group. When Bob, the Inland Empire, informed me of this he was kind enough to ask if I still wanted to work up there. To him, I’m sure, it was out of the way.
For me, however, it was more than that. Not only did Colville Valley represent one of the legacy groups that I worked with over the years it also was a section of the state I never really got to visit during my time here. I eagerly awaited the chance to visit this relatively unspoiled section of the state.
I awoke glumly in my trailer at the Country Club RV in Chewelah, a small town halfway between Spokane and the Colville Valley. It was raining (again) and hard. I had hoped that I would put the rains behind when I crossed the mountains, but no such luck. My visions of doing a little work under my awning in the sunshine were quickly eradicated in the pelting rain. After I grabbed morning coffee in town and did a few bits of work hunkered in the trailer I hitched everything up for the trip. The slogging in the mud left me with the grim expectation of missing on an assignment I was really looking forward to.
I decided to enjoy the drive nonetheless, and found my mood buoyed as I went farther north. The intensity seemed to fade, and the clouds were parting. I kept a dim hop in my chest as I passed through Colville. I went through early enough to give me the chance to find the ballfield, or so I thought. The address said that the field was at the middle school, so there I parked. I wandered around the fields slightly puzzled – they all looked like softball fields. The important thing, however, was that they seemed none the worse for wear and were being worked on. We passed the two hour window prior to the game for cancellation, so I excitedly popped back to Colville for lunch.
It turned out that the assigning program took some liberties with the location of the field. I found it on Google Maps, less than a quarter mile from my original location. When I got there I could see that the mound and batter’s box had been dug up and reworked, but teams started showing up and our game was on.
My partner Bruce was the opposite of Tyler, at least in age. He is an older gentleman, one of the remnants of the original Colville Valley Association. He was excited to work with me and we went through a detailed pregame. He clued me in on some of the local lore of the teams, coaches, and players – certainly nothing I couldn’t handle.
As a game it wasn’t especially memorable. Kettle Falls is one classification below Colville, who is currently at the top of the classification in the state rankings. Kettle fought valiantly but ended up on the short end of the mercy rule.
I didn’t care that the game was not particularly competitive. I spent the time between nearly every pitch marveling at the spectacular view beyond center field. The high. rolling hills were covered in green, interspersed with trees and houses. On the other side of the snack snack/announcer’s booth was a wire fence with a flock of hens cackling away. Every once in a while I would make a call and they would squawk in protest. I had to hide my smile under my mask.
At one point during the game I mentioned to the Kettle Falls catcher about how beautiful the view was. “Oh yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he replied. “See that green house up the hill there? That’s mine.”
Sure enough, halfway up the hill in center field was a green house overlooking the valley. I picture him, this polite young man, looking at his home to the far off ballfield where his youth would pass way too quickly, in a town that many did know know even existed. I regret now not telling him to keep with the game as an official.
After the game was over I packed up my things and headed into town. I popped down to the falls for which the town in known, gassed my vehicle, and grabbed an ice cream at the local drive-in (it was a small and was about three stories tall – I’m glad I didn’t get a large!). I kept finding little things to keep me from heading down the road. Finally, I realized that the daylight was beginning to fade and I headed down highway 25.
My other regret of the day (aside from not recruiting the Kettle Falls catcher) was not stopping and taking photos along the route. Highway 25 winds its way along the east side of the Columbia River, upriver from Grand Coulee Dam in an area where the river becomes know as Lake Roosevelt. the road split between the Colville and Spokane reservations. The natural beauty was unspoiled here, and I marveled at every turn. I turned tourist in my own state, on my own tour. The images of the trees, river, and wildlife trekking across the highway in front of me will be forever burned in my brain.
This is the part of the tour that is selfishly for me. The rains of earlier in the day long since passed, it was just me and the raw wilderness of northeast Washington. I mourned the last vestiges of daylight at Fort Spokane and focused on collecting my thoughts.
I knew that there was no way that my words could do justice to the incredible beauty I got to experience. And maybe it was just as well. Some things are best kept in one’s own little chest of wonders.
