Somebody lost their marbles on the South Fork Walla Walla River trail.

Don’t worry. I picked up all that weren’t embedded in mud and brought them home for display on my writing desk.

Marbles might be sparkly to walk over, in the right light, but I, for one, think nature can’t be improved on — except for wider, smoother trails.

Nature can be destructive, though. The February 2020 flood played havoc with the river channel and washed out the road leading to the original trailhead. I loved that trail and hadn’t been back, not wanting to see a once loved beauty marred.

Near Pendleton and Walla Walla, the trail before the flood was very popular. In spring, butterflies, ladybugs and blooming wildflowers abound.

In summer now, the hike is easy. When water is low, hikers can drive to Harris Park, walk up the gravel road and use stepping stones by a basalt cliff to navigate the washout. Then, following the road, they can reach the original trailhead.

In other seasons, best access may be the skinny north side Harris Park trail that takes off from the lower bridge parking area.

At first, the trail climbs abruptly. Don’t let that discourage you. Soon the trail levels out. Traversing meadows, crossing exposed rock outcrops and ponderosa pine forest, the hiker goes 3/4 of a mile to reach the original trailhead.

Just don’t try the north side trail with ice and snow. Darwin Awards await.

The trail clinging to the cliffs is skinny enough you might feel like the gymnastic GOAT, Simone Biles, doing the balance beam.

Most of us, however, have no goat blood. It’s a relief to get off the severe sidehills and into forest where the trail is carpeted by fallen pine needles.

As a sunbreak gives way to nervous clouds, I reach the old trailhead and follow the river into the mountains. Much walking is on old road, littered by boulders, some washed in by the flood. At other times the trail, wider than by Harris Park, clings to cliffs.

On a trail muddy at times, I trod over once proud leaves and past beds of ferns. Overhead, cottonwood trees gossip about the weather.

The river cascades down a gorge through flood-created logjams.

I hike about 3½ miles before reaching my goal. Here the trail, washed away, abruptly ends. I see now why rebuilding seems impossible.

The only way ahead, other hikers have said, is to climb uncongenial cliffs or wade the river.

Neither route seems plausible unless it’s summer and water is low.

I turn around and head downstream. Irritable wind chasing raindrops slaps my face. However, with a record high in the 60s, rare for December, the wind’s intemperance is tolerable.

A mile farther along, the adventurous wind switches directions and blows down valley. Giant ponderosa pines sway precariously.

On the last bit, the “balance beam” high above Harris Park, a gust seemingly straight out of the steely skies nearly knocks me flat.

Utilizing baby steps, I carefully negotiate the basalt escarpments.

The trail is not up to government specifications but fine if you’re careful. If not, you could scramble your marbles.

As always, leave only footprints and take only pictures. Whether in town or on the trail, try to leave your surroundings better than you found them.