Monty Python pursued the Holy Grail.

I am on a quest to reach a tree.

It looks tiny on its distant Wallula Gap hilltop as I emerge from a steep, rocky trail that starts at Highway 730, about 43 miles north of Pendleton.

A stiff wind sweeps the valley of golden grasses. Noise from the busy highway along the Columbia River recedes.

I’ve parked by the “History of Wallula” sign, just east of the more popular short hike to Twin Sisters.

To the north, Lake Wallula stretches its arms toward the Tri-Cities.

Climbing a fence, I’m feeling every year of the 67 spent on this spinning ball orbiting the sun.

A crow aerobatic team shouts encouragement as I follow a mountain bike trail higher into the hills.

Sagebrush cascades in yellow blooms.

Black beetles scurry across the trail. It’s like Alaska’s fat bear contest — except less fishy — as the plump beetles compete to see which is most ready for winter.

Wind swipes at my hiking hat as I trudge upward.

A grasshopper friend hops for cover.

I pass lichen-covered rocks, not hard because they are not moving.

A network of bike paths honeycombs the hills and valleys of this 800-acre plot owned by Whitman College. Recent trail work makes the hiking more pleasant.

On this Wednesday I have the space to myself. I choose trails that head for the tree. Soon, I gain enough elevation to look down on the brooding eminence of Twin Sisters.

The tree that is my quest grows nearer. After a hillside traverse in fierce wind, I emerge onto a plateau. Nearing the tree, stepping more lively, I hear a wind chime jangling. Sun plays peekaboo in a brooding sky.

A bench offers a place to sit and catch up on water intake.

Eating grapes, I enjoy the panoramic view.

My smartphone registers 1,035 feet above sea level, more than 600 feet above the trailhead elevation. More than 6,000 steps have been required to reach the tree.

Rejuvenated, I head down a different way — north. Dried leaves rattle in the wind. Sage scent fills the air. I see evidence of coyotes claiming this ridge for their brotherhood.

After a half-mile, the trail suddenly stops on a rocky knoll. The overlook offers a grand view downriver toward Umatilla from this airy vista.

After trudging back to the tree, I take the trail down that originally brought me up. After many twists, I see a shortcut that plunges abruptly over sage-covered hills. Playing mountain biker, I trot a few steps down what I’m calling Chicken Out Hill. My knees remind me of my age.

Once down the last steep stretch, going slower now, I take one look back at the juniper tree, my Holy Grail.