The overnight at the RV park was dry but windy. I had hoped to set up my awning and work outside, but there was no way that was happening. I connected to the Wi-Fi at the park, nestled in my little trailer, and spent the morning getting as much done on my laptop as I could before my noon checkout.
My campsite was directly across from the downhill course for the Omak Suicide Race, and I was fascinated by it. I had read about it when I was younger and often imagined what it looked like – there it was, right in front of me.
The Suicide Race is a feature of the Omak Stampede that dates back to the 1930s. The premise is simple. A pack of horses with riders – most from the local Colville Tribe – ride for about 50 feet before careening down a 60 degree hillside for about 75 yards and into the Okanogan River. The horses then swim downstream for a short distance before emerging at a path on the opposite shore. They sprint the final 500 yards into the stadium, awaiting the cheering throngs. The entire race lasts less than a minute.
The rub, of course, comes from the risk to the horses. Many animal rights activists advocate for the race to be banned as it frequently results on horses being injured to the point of requiring euthanizing. Having seen videos of the race in the past I was fascinated by the amount of sheer athleticism required by horse and steed for this event.
I took pictures of the hill down which the race took place, then decided to cross the river to see if I could find the start point. Sure enough, tucked between a pair of houses on Dewberry Street there it was – a fenced off area marking the start of the notorious race.
The gate was open. I took that as a sign to explore, so I walked in.
The view from the top of the hill was glorious. I could see all the way across the Okanogan Valley from there. I looked down at the sandy surface, imagining the adrenaline that would have to be coursing at this place every year. I took a deep breath and made my way to the edge of the hill. With camera in hand, I videoed my approach to the hillside.
Once I hit the edge and looked down, I emitted an involuntary “holy smokes!” Looking down the incline literally took my breath away. I looked down at the river and across to the stadium. The wind whipping down the river was the only sound cutting the otherwise gaunt silence. It was glorious.
After a delicious lunch at the local BBQ restaurant I made my way back up to the local elementary school. After maneuvering my trailer into position I relaxed and awaited my partners, Kenny and J.P.
Kenny took the plate, J.P. at 1st base, and I took 3rd. We met a full hour before the game to give ourselves plenty of time for a good pregame. Both partners were very excited to have an opportunity to put into use what I had taught them the previous evening. Kenny worked the state tournament last year in Bellingham, and admitted to feeling lost on the field for all four games. I felt for him, as the nuances of three-umpire take some time to pick up.
We had a great visit, interspersing stories with preparation. J.P. kept coming back to the fact that with whatever we learned or did the past two days, it would soon be lost without proper reinforcement. His words echoed in my brain and planted a seed. I needed to work within my position to figure out how to help.
Ironically, there was very little three umpire work to be done. Visiting Tonasket took a 1-0 lead after the first inning, but that was it for them. Okanogan piled on ten runs over the next two innings (mostly on the unfortunately errant arm of Tonasket’s poor shortstop) and we walked off after the middle of the fifth due to the mercy rule.
The two guys thanked me one last time as we packed away our gear. I assured them that it was I that benefitted from our time together.
The drive from Okanogan back to Lake Stevens was a good four hours. I spent all of it reminiscing the previous 30 or so hours, wondering how it was going to shape my future. As much as I thought I was weaning myself from the game, these days only reminded me that this may just be a transition.
Whenever I refer to leaving the game Wendy laughs and says, “You won’t ever leave the game. It’s too much a part of who you are.” As usual, I disagreed with her assessment. It’s time to move on to something else, I say.
As usual, she is probably right.
