GOLDENDALE, Wash. -- Frustration emerged on the face of Yakama elder Johnson Meninick as he walked along a dirt access road in the Windy Flats wind farm project just south of town.

The road, intended to make way for another series of wind turbines in the 88-turbine project, follows a ridge overlooking the Columbia River Gorge and is flanked by dozens of rock cairns -- historical footprints of his ancestors -- and colorful wildflowers and rare medicinal plants.

Developers say they are using caution not to disturb any of the ancient rock piles that commonly mark traditional hunting and food gathering grounds and graves.

But their efforts may not be enough. In another area, a similar road was built over a cultural site. Such sites contain artifacts, remains or significant historical impressions linking present to past.

According to Allyson Brooks, the state Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation director in Olympia, the road was constructed without a required permit and the area wasn't surveyed.

Now, her agency is investigating.

"Fines could be imposed if someone was negligent," she said. "A damage assessment will figure it out."

Developers say they followed the law and ran into an unknown site.

But no money can erase the damage to a site that should have remained untouched, said Meninick, who is also manager of the Yakama Nation Cultural Resource Department.

"Now they want to mitigate," he said. "The damage is already done -- what do they want to mitigate?"

It's a scenario that happens all too often, he said.

About 30 miles to the west, a home was built on a sacred site where the Feather Dance religion began near White Salmon, not far from the Salmon River.

Near Ellensburg in Kittitas County, a cattle grazing operation damaged three natural springs that the Yakamas regard as sacred.

In that same area, construction of a wind farm unearthed petrified logs near where natural medicinal plants grow, Meninick said.

The problem, Meninick said, is twofold: Developers aren't consulting with the tribe, and state laws protecting cultural sites don't fully consider tribal interests.

State lawmakers in recent years have taken a more proactive approach to protecting cultural sites while allowing development, a sometimes tough task, said state Rep. Bruce Chandler, R-Granger.

"There are people who wish non-Indians weren't here and there are people who wish Indians weren't here," he said. "But I think the state's role is to protect legitimate interests and balance the competing demands."

That, however, often falls short of the tribe's interests, Meninick said.

"It's very difficult for us to accept any damage to any site because it's our responsibility to protect them," he said. "We have been charged by our elders to protect these sites."

Meninick said that most developers hire archeologists who lack understanding of the tribe's culture, and that communication with tribes isn't always the best.

Furthermore, state law only protects sites where artifacts or human remains are found.

But the Yakama value their ties to specific areas that serve as shrines to spiritual beliefs, such as a rock outcropping in the Gorge that tells the story of Speelyi (Coyote), a bringer of law. They also want to protect natural resources in those areas, such as native plants used for food and medicine.

Rather than pinpointing site by site, the tribe -- which has its own archeologists -- establishes zones that should remain untouched, Meninick said.

"We look at a broader area that has a high probability of other sites within that area," he said.

That's something Windy Flats developers failed to do, he added: "That whole area should be left alone."

But state law doesn't reach that far.

Windy Flats project administrator Brandy Myers said developers are being careful and have identified and avoided more than 150 cultural sites.

She also said that a permit wasn't sought for the road because developers weren't aware of any cultural sites in that area. A permit is only required if a known cultural site exists.

"It wasn't a known site," she said. "It was something that happened accidentally."

Myers said fabric was put down before the gravel road was installed to protect the ground beneath.

After the project is complete, the road will be narrowed and restoration work done along the areas disturbed, she said.

"We did not take a bulldozer over the ground, we did not impact it," she said. "We are trying to do this project in a way that we are protecting cultural sites and archaeological areas."

If damage is done to a site, fines or charges can be pursued only if developers are negligent or knew the site was there and ignored it, said Brooks of the state's Archaeology Department.

But state laws only require governmental agencies overseeing such projects to conduct archeological and cultural surveys beforehand in areas where known cultural sites exist, she said.

While they run the risk of hitting a site, such agencies can ignore advice to conduct such a survey, she said: "They're not required by law to follow our recommendations."

Under the Treaty of 1855, the tribe retained its traditional hunting, fishing and food-gathering rights and spiritual ties to the more than 10 million acres it ceded to the federal government.

It's on ceded land off the reservation where most tension over cultural sites arise because much of that land is in private ownership.

Federal laws protecting such sites on federal lands, such as National Forest property, are much more restrictive, Meninick points out.

Working with the state continues to prove troublesome, he said, describing the Department of Archeology and Historic Preservation as bookkeepers without any real authority.

"That's how they function," he said. "They don't have any authority."

He said state archeologists are often too quick to issue excavation permits to developers without first consulting the tribe.

Meninick points to what is known as the Jacob Longhouse site near the Salmon River, where the religious Feather Dance began. There, he said, a developer built a house on top of a burial ground, potentially disturbing roughly 59,000 artifacts.

The development was believed to be on the edge of a burial site, and no major artifacts were found in the backfill that was screened, Brooks said.

Either way, the issue could have been avoided altogether if the tribe was better informed of the project, Meninick said.

His office sought fines against the developer, but he said even then problems between agencies arose.

An officer with the Yakama Tribal Historic Preservation office signed off on a settlement with the developer, Brooks said.

But the Tribal Historic Preservation office is funded by the U.S. Parks Service and doesn't always represent the best interests of the tribe, Meninick said.

"(The officer) entertains federal and state law," he said.

Meninick said he's not against all development, but there are some sacred areas that should be left untouched.

And having surveys conducted by people who lack cultural knowledge of the Yakama only complicates matters.

"I can almost read what we're looking at when we get out there," he said. "What takes a scientist years and years, I can spot a site in a minute or two."