Read Brian Schofield's blog from his three-month RV tour around America

The Oregon prairie dozed in the scalding midsummer heat, and the miles passed as the truckers, farmers and loggers showed the way eastwards and inwards through the crisp, rolling wheat fields.

The highway started to rise, weaving over the Blue Mountains then sliding down into another frying pan, the valley of the Grande Ronde, a river scarcely worth the name, crawling through the farmland, dotted with dog-eared little towns. (“We’re too blessed to be depressed” proclaimed one church sign defiantly.)

Finally, the road began to curve upwards again, a merciful breeze rolled in, the tan grass was dotted, then clustered, then shaded with pine trees, and the angles of the land tightened from lowland curves to alpine edges.

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Follow the Nez Perce Native American tribe on their epic exodus between Idaho and Montana - the Lolo Pass

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BACKGROUND

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The hill topped out to a broad-shouldered summit, revealing the treasures it protected, a view that had raised the spirits of homecomers, new comers, guests and transgressors for millenniums. This was Nez Perce Indian country.

Steepling pine-covered slopes folded away to the horizon, falling swathes of meadowland breaking the deep green wash and, below, the fast-running Minam River caught the last of the afternoon sun as it carved out its canyon walls. Soon, the Minam poured into the main event, the Wallowa River, and the canyon’s sides began to release their grip, widening and slackening until it was time for them to fall away entirely, and let the softening light flood across the full sweep of the Wallowa Valley. And then, the wonder of the place strikes in an instant, and it’s a dull heart that doesn’t echo the thoughts of a certain Joseph F Johnson, one of the very first white men to drive their stakes into this land: “As soon as I looked out into the valley, I said to myself, ‘This is where I want to live.’

”You could find nowhere better. The heart of the valley is the river basin, corralled into farmland and pasture, speckled with lonely red barns and white ranch houses, with the Wallowa and Lostine rivers winding lazily through. Serving guard on one flank lies a bank of rolling grass-land hills, while on the other the Wallowa Mountains shoot skywards in a flurry of forests, cliff faces and snowfields.

The town of Wallowa itself, the first in the valley, is little more than a picturesque bend in the road, a few shops and a diner clustered between the gas station and the espresso shack. It was only a short drive to the north edge of town, where the teepees were clustered against the edge of an irrigation ditch, mosquitoes plundering in the darkness, the craggy mass of Tick Hill looming over the encampment meadow like an unfriendly giant.

The next day we busied ourselves with preparations for Tamkaliks, the annual Nez Perce Indian gathering. I joined the local youth conservation volunteers, gradually and messily mastering the art of turning a pine tree into a working lodgepole, stripping off the bark with double-handled sickles, covering ourselves in pungent, tenacious sap. A circular wooden arbour lay in the centre of the meadow, with bleachers stacked in the shade for the spectators.

As the afternoon came to an end, a crowd gathered to help raise the arbour’s roof – an old army tank parachute, a billowing mass of military-green fabric that hung from a central pole to fill the centre of the circle, and shade tomorrow’s dancers from the fierce peak of summer.

SATURDAY BUSTLED in the heat, the vendors on their summer powwow trail gathering their stalls around the arbour, selling jewellery, art, fabrics, ice cream, Indian tacos and countless gallons of lemonade to the growing, sweltering crowd, a mix of locals enjoying a chance to chat, flirt and gossip, plus pilgrims from across the western states, a group of greying military veterans in their pressed white shirts and, away from the stalls, enjoying the calm of “Teepee Alley”, the drummers and the dancers, dozing, sewing, unpacking, preparing.

As the 10-minute call for the Grand Entry was delivered over the tannoy, the bleachers filled with spectators. At the five-minute call, the Nez Perce elders took to their lawn chairs in the front row; at show time, the drummers took their seats (four or five men circled around each hide drum, young boys peering over their shoulders for lessons), then the absolutely last call came through, the drummers started to play – and only then was the floor filled with dancers, from toddlers to patriarchs, following the stars and stripes and the tribal staff into the arena, porcupine quills, eagle feathers, buffalo horns, neon shawls, bell-strewn jingle dresses, buckskin waistcoats, fur-trimmed boots, beaded bags and bracelets all in perfect order.

From the crowd-melting Tiny Tots to the cold-eyed com-petitiveness of the Golden Age Men, the evening now passed through the age brackets and dance styles, each rigid to a dress code and etiquette of movement, sometimes reflecting the wings of a butterfly, at others the posturing of a prairie chicken, the action of warriors ducking can-nonballs or flattening the long grass for a camp, while the drum groups took it in turns to control the floor like puppeteers, beating rhythm and straining for their stratospheric harmonies.

As night fell, the crowd in the bleachers grew larger, the dancing more expressive, the darkness adding theatre and concentrating our minds on this unlikely circle of light. Brian, the emcee, announced that the central moment of the weekend was due – the veterans’ honour dance. “This is a time for us to heal, a time for us to come together – and that’s what this ceremony is all about.”

Any veterans of military service, Indian and nonIndian, were invited to take to the floor and follow the flags of the armed forces in a circle dance (48 men and women stepped up, many of whom, it transpired, had travelled hundreds of miles just for this moment), then the whole crowd, maybe 300 of us, walked the circle shaking each hand and offering our thanks for their sacrifices, to starch-pressed veterans of Omaha Beach and Korea, bearded and Hawaiian-shirted baby-boomers with Vietnam tours to recall, eerily fresh-faced returnees from the war on terror. The microphone was passed around, each veteran asked in turn to describe their service, each lengthily applauded, many unable to hold back the tears as they spoke of fallen friends and stolen youths.

The last man to take the microphone wore a Purple Heart on his white short-sleeved shirt, his jet-black ponytail falling beneath a US Marines cap: “I just want to thank you all; this is a heart-warming experience for me, and a healing...” He began to weep deeply, quietly. “I was in Vietnam, and... I’ve still got the stress disorder, the dreams. When I think about some of the things I’ve seen... some of the things I’ve done...” Most of us were crying now. “Well, this is the most healing I’ve done in a long time, and, just, thank you all.”

The dancing went on late into the night. ON SUNDAY, Tamkaliks wound to a close, with a traditional Nez Perce religious ceremony in the morning, a friendship feast of buffalo, elk and salmon, then a final round of dances, and a closing prayer. The teepees started to come down, the vendors shut up their vans.

The Nez Perce packed their cars, facing the long drive home to Idaho, Washington, the Oregon prairie and elsewhere, leaving the valley to its placid routine of yard sales, baseball games, fundraising breakfasts and coffee-morning gossip.

“We ask the children to dance first,” Brian had said, “then the women and then the men. We do this to remember how we left this valley, to honour first those children, then those women and those men who left this place, our homeland, 130 years ago.

“Because, as we all know, 130 years is not a very long time...”

TRAVEL BRIEF

Getting there: fly nonstop from Heathrow to Seattle with British Airways (0844 493 0787, www.ba.com) or KLM/Northwest (www.klm.com). Expect to pay about £450. Your best transport and accommodation option is a mobile home. Cruise America (www.cruiseamerica.org.uk) has RVs for hire from £900 a week. Alamo (0870 400 4562, www.alamo.co.uk) has one week’s car rental from £113, all-in.

Where to stay: the Wallowa Valley would make a fantastic road-trip destination, staying at the head of the valley, in Joseph. Belle Peppers is a splendid B&B (00 1-541 432 0490, www.bellepeppersbnb.com; doubles from £48); or try the Indian Lodge Motel, which is right in the pretty town centre (541 432 2651, www.indianlodgemotel.com; doubles from £44).

When to go: avoid the cold of October to March. September 10-13 is Round-Up in nearby Pendleton, Oregon – the best rodeo in America.

Getting involved: Nez Perce tribal events take place throughout the summer: visit www.nezperce.org. For a calendar of Native American gatherings, see www.powwows.com.

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