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December 27, 2011.

Deschutes National Forest > Glass Buttes > Horse Ridge Natural Area > Portland

* Click the map above to zoom in *

A couple more checkmarks

The snow never came down during the night, so I didn’t need to make a dramatic escape. I rose just after the sun did, planning to backtrack 50 miles before heading home for good. One of my goals of the trip was to tick off several “Unique Natural Features” listed in the Oregon Gazetteer that I had not yet visited. Glass Buttes was listed as a site rich with obsidian; this was the traditional obsidian warehouse for American Indians. They collected the precious rock to make arrowheads. I was excited to visit this place, since I was actually this close. I’d never had any reason to travel this stretch of road before.

I followed my scrawled directions to Glass Buttes and was greeted by a barbed-wire fence with an equally uninviting gate. I got out of the car and looked for an alternate entry point, but nothing was obvious. I was rather disappointed in all the extra driving to get here, but I didn’t want to be accosted by some angry landholder accusing me of inappropriately accessing private land. The wind was blowing, hard, and the cold morning air was being driven right through me. Hungry, I busted out my camp stove and whipped up a steaming batch of oatmeal. In the comfort of my car I polished off my warm breakfast while squinting through the sunlight at the beautiful butte rising up from the flat desert.

Defeated, and with many miles left to travel before reaching Portland, I turned and left. Nothing stood between myself and home, 200 and something miles away. Or, so I thought.

Horse Ridge Natural Area was my last shot at hitting a “Unique Natural Feature.” Located not far out of Bend on highway 20, I would be driving right past it in an hour. The familiar brown sign greeted me as expected, letting me know I had a patch of public land to investigate. At the Horse Ridge Trailhead, there was a map of the roads and hiking paths leading to, but not inside, the Horse Ridge Natural Area. That was good enough for me. I packed a very light bag and set off at a good clip up the trail. I walked for about 30 minutes before swinging around 360 degrees to take in the views and then returned the way I came. It was a pretty area, but I was set on getting back to town at a reasonable hour, and before the working crowd was heading home.

I was surprised to see, as soon as I hit the road again, there was a pointer for Oregon Badlands Wilderness. What! I had no idea this place existed! As my car careened into the lot, I poked my head out the window to read the trail signage. Damn. There were many miles of hiking paths there. Had I known, I definitely would have spent a day slogging around these trails. Luckily, the Badlands aren’t too far from Bend, making it not so hard to get back here. Endless adventures await me…

Reflecting upon this trip, I have made a few observations.

1. Traveling alone gives me precious detox time, where I can free my mind from work responsibilities and life’s other obligations. It provides an opportunity to reconnect with what’s important, and lets my mind filter out thoughts that do not serve me. As “dangerous” as some people think it is to camp and travel alone, I find this time critical for my own happiness and well-being.

2. Leaving some space for flexibility in a travel schedule affords time to take advantage of opportunities that come up. Scheduling every last detail hampers curiosity.

3. Adapting to the hand dealt by nature is a great way to utilize and develop problem-solving skills. I was not expecting the temperatures to drop as low as they did on this trip, so I had to pull many of my old winter camping trips out of the bag, and I discovered a few new ones. Being confronted with challenges is an enjoyable way to forge new connections in the brain and keep the mind sharp.

4. Most importantly, I absolutely love everything about these trips: experiencing solitude, feeling connected with nature, practicing survival skills, learning new things, and seeing new places. I am distressed that most people don’t understand why I need to get out there, and I am sad that many folks will not have these experiences out of fear. I hope that by telling my stories, I will inspire someone to try something new, and push him or herself just out of the warm, cozy comfort zone for the sake of personal growth and learning.

Read previous entries…
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 26, 2011.

Antelope Reservoir > Charbonneau’s Grave > Pillars of Rome > Pete French’s Round Barn > Diamond Craters > Crystal Crane Hot Springs > Burns > Deschutes National Forest

* Click the map above to zoom in *

I didn’t have much on my agenda for today, so I pulled out the Oregon Gazeteer and the bible as written by William Sullivan to look for places to visit. I came up with a couple of notable sites on the way to Burns. Along the way, I also followed interesting-looking brown signs. It ended up being quite a full day.

First I detoured to Charbonneau’s grave in Danner. This middle-of-nowhere homage to Sacagawea’s son is graced with an American flag and treasures laid out around the gravesite. In the distance, cows mooed and dogs barked. There was a nice little sign explaining the life of the man, and a groomed walking path tracing a circle around the site. It was a charming way to start the day.

Next I traveled to Rome, where a lonely cafe was open for breakfast. I walked in and took a seat among people who all appeared to be related to each other as well as the man working the counter. I was served some weak coffee and, eventually, a decent breakfast. Tom and Jerry played on the TV overhead. Folks stopped by, said hello to everyone at the counter, then proceeded to serve themselves coffee or walk back into the kitchen. It turned out everyone in this town was related to each other.

My next stop was the Pillars of Rome. These tall, beautiful rock walls were easy to find with the directions I’d printed from the Internet. There’s no official pullout or trail for viewing, so I thought I’d find a good place to park the car and then wander around once I got close. It turned out that I was trespassing on private land, which I figured out as soon as a beat up, old, yellow pickup truck came driving down the gravel road where I was walking. A gritty old man in the truck asked me what I was doing on his land as I humbly explained that I thought I was on public land. The map labeled much of this land as belonging to BLM, i.e me, and it was really confusing for me to figure out what was and was not okay to be exploring. I apologized and turned back towards my car. I was disappointed, since it was such a beautiful morning and I was enjoying a pleasant walk.

A little flustered, I hit the road again to drive for another long stretch. I noticed a marker for Pete French Round Barn, which sounded dreadfully boring, but it was another excuse to get out of the car. As I approached I noticed a sign for a Visitor’s Center, and it was open! Hooray for human contact (and a cold beverage).

I was welcomed into the gift shop by an old man who turned out to be a font of local knowledge. We talked about all sorts of things: the Barn, Diamond Craters, ranch life, government bureaucracy, his family’s heritage, and the education programs at the Visitor’s Center. I was enthralled. I walked around the Visitor’s Center to see the historical collectibles on display, then flipped through the myriad of books for sale. I had to force myself to buy only one. This place was great! On my way out I asked for some pointers before driving to see the local sights and he was extraordinarily helpful. If you’re ever out this way, be sure to say hello to Dick Jenkins.

The Round Barn awaited my visit. It was an impressive-looking structure, with rustic wooden planks and stone walls. The barn was used to train horses back in the day. They say this barn was one of the first with this unique circular design. While I didn’t know the first thing about training horses, I still thought it was a mighty beautiful building.

Onward to Diamond Craters. There would always be more lava to be seen on these trips. With my Diamond Craters Auto Tour booklet in hand, I drove to stop #5, where I began my tour. At each stop, I got out of the car, walked around a bit and read aloud the geological description printed in the booklet. I had fun being my own tour guide, weaving down more gravel roads and hiking through Oregon’s past all laid out on display.

Just like the day before, the cloud cover made it nearly impossible to get a decent picture of the lava. Plus, the features at this site were so enormous, I thought the best way to experience it would be from the air. Nonetheless, I stopped dutifully at each viewpoint, read the text, and looked around. It would be one of the last opportunities to experience such a quiet, desolate location before heading back towards civilized life.

But the day only got better from here; next stop: Crystal Crane Hot Springs. These springs were developed but not resorty. There was tent and RV camping available in addition to rental cabins. The natural pool outside was available for a nominal access charge of $3. I opted for the private room with a tub for just a few dollars more. The outdoor pool was swarming with kids and I knew that would not be a relaxing time for me. Inside the room was a long aluminum tub with a faucet pumping in water from the hot springs. I got it to a nice, hot temperature, stripped off all the disgusting camp clothes I’d been living in for the past 5 days and got in the water.

It was the most relaxing hour of the trip. I emerged from the tub refreshed and excited. My admission fee also included access to a shower. Squeaky clean, I hit the road for a dinner stop in Burns.

I’d read somewhere that Burns was slated to be the next Bend; an old working-class town turned resort destination. A short drive through town proved that this prediction would not likely come true in the near future. Most everything was shut down, and I daresay some tumbleweed likely blew across the road as a lonely banjo played. There were a few chain restaurants and banks, plus some local shops scattered here and there. I couldn’t find any sort of downtown strip, so I parked and walked into the only store that had lights on, Gourmet & Gadgets. Inside were shelves full of unique and handy kitchen gadgetry, from stand-up cookbook holders to colorful wire whisks and top-of-the-line cookware. There were jams, baking mixes, fancy chocolates, and hot sauces. There were cookbooks, knife sets, and decorative kitchen kitsch. It was like walking into heaven. It was almost closing time, however, and since I knew I wouldn’t be buying anything I didn’t want to waste the proprietor’s time by browsing the aisles after 5pm. I made one purchase, a packet of candy cane hot chocolate powder, and then departed. I knew that would come in handy later in the evening.

At the local bar, a dive for sure, I ate an enormous burger and fries and then split town. The sun had set long ago, so I was left to find a suitable campsite in the dark. My first stop was no good, so I set my sights on a faraway gravel road that led into the Deschutes National Forest. I figured it would take me at least 2 more hours to get there. Fortunately I was making my way through a 10-disc audiobook; that kept me company for the long haul.

It felt like forever, but finally I made it into the depths of the forest. Wood was abundant; it took me 5 minutes to round up enough wood for two nights of campfires. The wind picked up as I started the fire and intermittently, light snow drifted down. Surprisingly, the temperatures were in the low thirties and it felt like summertime. I was melting in the multiple-layered cold weather suit I was wearing. I sipped my minty hot cocoa anyways, as the wind brought with it a bit of chill. I was worried that I’d get stuck here, trapped in a web of snow-bound gravel roads, and so I slept in my car that night. That way, I thought, I could leave at a moment’s notice.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 25, 2011.

Leslie Gulch > Jordan Craters > Antelope Reservoir

* Click the map above to zoom in *

Christmas morning. As a kid I remember anticipating rushing downstairs to see the lights blinking on the tree, shiny presents piled up under its branches. My brother and I were allowed to dump out the contents of our stockings before my parents woke up, so we ate candy and played until the sun rose and my parents awoke from their slumber. We’d open presents and then wait for the cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. There was a mad sugar rush that started early and lasted for the entire day.

On this Christmas morning I awoke with a different excitement. For breakfast, I snacked on the various dried fruits and other treats my parents mailed me the day before I left Portland. I didn’t want to fiddle with the stove on yet another subzero morning. I drove back out to the cabin and parked at the entrance to Dago Gulch for one last hike before leaving this pristine canyon wonderland.

I stepped out of the car, already forgetting how cold the air was. I stuffed my head into a balaclava, put on the obligatory Santa hat, zipped up the pink puffy and walked quickly up the old road. It was so cold I had to walk quickly to stay warm. I had heard about the bighorn sheep population that resided in Leslie Gulch but I very much doubted I would be able to see any wildlife at a pace like this. Oh well, I was happy to be able to walk around a bit, knowing that today would be a crazy driving-down-gravel-roads day. I never liked walking on roads, so after about 15 minutes, I called it good and turned back towards the car. I’d realized that I’d forgotten my camp chair back at the campsite, which meant nearly 10 miles of backtracking and two more trips over the worst part of the road in my car. Poor Scion. My head wasn’t in it. As I was furiously marching along the road, I heard something big flush out of the bushes to the right of the trail. Startled, I looked up to see two coyotes booking it up the side of the canyon. I stood there, frozen, as I watched the graceful beasts get as far away from me as they could. There was no time to take a picture, since I knew they’d be gone before long. I watched them disappear into the brush, and then continued marching back to my car.

I drove for a couple hours, swinging through Jordan Valley for gas, then spending more time with my good friend the gravel road on the way to Jordan Craters. Jordan Craters is a BLM site that includes a relatively recent basalt lava flow. The only notable feature on the tour brochure is Coffeepot Crater. The last mile of the road to Coffeepot Crater is recommended for 4-wheel drive vehicles but the Scion rose to the challenge again. In the parking lot I fired up the stove to melt what little ice I could extract from my Camelback so I would have enough water for a hike. After knocking the pot over and spilling half of my precious supply, I ended up with about a half-liter to ration throughout the day.

The official marked trail system at Jordan Craters is one mile long. I decided to spice things up a bit by doing some cross-country travel. The landscape was mostly flat, with the one large hill near the parking lot serving as a landmark. I started to the right of the hill, walked along the edge of the lava, then turned to walk across the lava’s surface. It reminded me of a long-forgotten asphalt basketball court that had buckled and cracked through years of disrepair. I stooped to look at the shapes created by the ancient lava flow: streams, holes, bubbles, clamshells, ribbons, pockets, and waves. Hopping from one fold to the next I found myself feeling much like a little kid, exploring this alien landscape.

When I had my fill of the lava field I veered back towards Coffeepot crater. The Sullivan guide mentioned a way to get down to the bottom of the crater, but it looked sketchy from every angle. I jumped the gun and began following what looked like a faint footpath into the crater. All the rock was loose and slippery; even the vertical rock walls looked like they could crumble at any second. I’d wished I’d had a helmet with me, although if any rockfall hit my head I’d probably be in big trouble with or without a helmet. Once safely at the bottom of the crater, I walked around on the shifting piles of gravel, rock and debris. It was really cool down there; the video doesn’t do it much justice. In my exploration I noticed what looked like a moderately sloping path up the talus to the crater’s edge. So, that’s the trail, eh…

At the surface I took two more detours: one path led straight back into the lava field along another swath of grass, and another path led towards a row of spatter cones visible from the road. The cones made interesting shapes as they jutted up from the black waves of lava. They were colorful, too: red minerals were much more vivid in these amorphous projections of lava. The footing was not as nice near the cones, and I’d pretty much had it with my adventure. After taking some pictures I made a run for the road and walked back to the car.

Lots more driving brought me to Antelope Reservoir, where I’d camp for the night. A small BLM campground sat perched on the edge of the beach, with three open campsites available. I was really excited to have a lake full of fresh water to resupply my empty bottle, but my excitement dimmed as soon as I stepped out of the car. I could hear that the lake was frozen. Hoping I was wrong, I grabbed two bottles and walked across the rocks to the lake shore. Crap, I was right. The whole thing was frozen solid.

I walked back to my campsite with a new plan. I emptied out a nylon shopping bag and went back to the lake to gather ice. In no time I had smashed enough ice along the frozen water’s edge to fill up the bag. Back at the picnic table, I fired up the camp stove and began the mundane task of melting ice, then pouring it through my high-tech bandana filter to extract the pebbly bits from the water.

While all that was happening, I scoured the area for wood. Dried, sun-bleached sage branches lined the beach. There wasn’t much big stuff to gather, but after some creative harvesting I managed a reasonable pile of fuel for the evening.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 24, 2011.

Lake Owyhee > Owyhee > Succor Creek State Recreation Area > Leslie Gulch

* Click the map above to zoom in *

Remote gravel roads

I left my spot along the Owyhee River and began the long, dusty trek back to town for gas. Not knowing exactly how large Adrian was, I drove slightly out of the way, to the town of Owyhee to fuel up. Soon after, it was back onto gravel roads as I disappeared into the vast desert.

I drove and drove among sagebrush, dust, and cattle. Here and there a large ranch would dominate the landscape, but even the largest of these would be dwarfed by the rolling hills and canyons. My route took me through Succor Creek State Recreation Area, which wasn’t really a destination as much as a scenic drive. As soon as I entered, it was clear why this area had been designated as such. It was absolutely stunning. Sheer rock walls bolted straight up from the riverbed, shading the narrowest parts of the canyon. Small pullouts here and there were wedged between the road and the river, providing much appreciated shade in the summer months but dreadful cold in the dead of winter. I kept driving. At the far end of the area, the canyon widened and a gravel spur led to a larger picnicking area with a restroom and several picnic tables. I stopped here and walked around a bit, trying to coax the scenery to imprint a little more strongly in my brain.

The desert has a way of making me feel very insignificant. The landscape goes on forever. Gravel roads, unmarked, branch off from the main road in every direction. I can only hope I’m following the correct path. Road signs can be several miles apart, and at a rate of 20-25 mph, quite some time passes before seeing another road sign. Getting lost out here would be a nightmare.

I was relieved to find a pointer for Leslie Gulch in the middle of nowhere. Only 15 more miles of gravel and I’d be at my nighttime destination. There would be a couple of hikes along the way as well. The gravel here went from bad to worse and then back again. The washboarded sections were so insanely bone-rattling I had to slow down to nearly 5 mph just to prevent all the bolts from wiggling out of my car frame. I felt a little nauseous after passing over each rough section.

Oh, to stretch the legs

I’d read that a four-wheel drive vehicle with high clearance was recommended for driving the last 8 miles to the campground. I had hoped that wasn’t true as I approached the road in my little blue Scion. At the cabin located about 4.5 miles from the campground at road’s end, a shallow, nearly dry streambed cut right across my path. I was afraid I would bottom out and get stuck so I got out of the car to check it out. It looked like if I stayed to the far left, I could make it. Fortunately I was right, and so I continued along the road until my first hiking stop.

I deferred to William Sullivan’s Yellow Book for descriptions of where to go hiking in this spectacular canyon-tastic area. My first stop was Juniper Gulch, a 0.8 mile out-and-back style hiking trail with its own parking area and sign. I put a bar, some water, and layers of clothing into my backpack for this quick little jaunt. I also carried binoculars in hopes of spotting some of the resident Bighorn Sheep herd.

I followed the trail up a dry wash as it darted in and out of the shade. It was freezing cold under the shadow of tall, rock walls and blistering hot in the sun. I hadn’t felt warm for days so I took my time strolling through the sunny spots. This place reminded me of Canyonlands in Utah. It was gorgeous. At the end of the line, the trail petered out and so many choices lay before me. I was faced with a maze of rock outcrops, sandy slopes, slot canyons, hills, and brushy patches. I scampered around a bit before recognizing how incredibly easy it would be to get lost if I went much further. Plus, I’d only packed for a 1.5 mile hike so I had few supplies. Oh well. I dropped my pack on a wide swath of rock, took my down jacket and shoes off and did some kickass desert yoga underneath the full force of the afternoon sun. It felt glorious to be able to move around so freely. I was so enamored with the place I took a video to try and capture the beauty and quiet of that moment.

Next stop: just a mile up the road, unmarked Timber Gulch awaited my arrival. I parked at the single-car pullout and followed the dry streambed according to Sullivan’s directions. There is no official trail here, but it is easy to walk along the drainage as it ascends to a cirque of tall rocky cliffs above. I climbed higher and higher, getting a sweet view of the landscape around me, until topping out beneath a massive, orange wall. Here I sat and basked in the sunshine just a little bit more, knowing I had another long, dark night ahead of me. I looked and listened for any sign of life, but I observed nothing. Before leaving this place I scrambled up just a little bit more to a viewpoint that allowed me to see across the other side. Armed with a map, time, and some more supplies, I could have wandered around this area for days without running out of stuff to do. But my current level of preparation set me up for just a couple of short jaunts and I retreated to my car.

Please, sir, may I have another?

I drove the remainder of the road to reach Slocum Campground at the far end. This was one of the most picturesque car-camping spots I had ever seen. Several of the sites had picnic tables covered with metal canopies, an excellent respite from the hot, summer sun. Being December, I chose a site sans canopy to settle in for the night. I had just a few hours of daylight remaining and the two short hikes I’d just completed left me hungry for more. I knew I could sneak one more in before resigning myself to camp chores. A path wore through the brush behind my campsite, leading into a canyon just in the distance. This hike was also listed in Sullivan’s book, although the single-sentence description wasn’t all too helpful. I hiked up the broad valley along another dry streambed. A grassy hill rose to my right and more vertical rock formations appeared on my left. I continued along until the left-hand side narrowed into a steep, impassable V and the right-hand side opened up to another broad valley. I chose to go up the slope in between the two in a dual effort to get a view of the narrow canyon and to chase the sun-kissed ridgetop. It was cold in the shade.

Climbing uphill quickly took the chill away and I found myself stripping off layers as I clumsily clambered up the loose rock and slippery grass. I stopped frequently for breath and water as I haven’t had to work very hard for days; my body was out of practice. Once atop the ridge I saw many more opportunities for exploration, but my time was short. I piled the layers back on, waited for SPOT to send a locator message, and snacked on the enormous bag of sesame sticks my parents had sent me for Christmas (yes! no reindeer sweater for me!).

Going back down the steep hill was the hardest part. My ankle protested the entire way, ignoring my angry pleas to “suck it up.” I was glad to reach the dusty river bottom and cruised the mile or so walk back to camp from there.

Dead or alive

I scrambled to gather firewood as the daylight waned. There were really no trees in sight, but there were plenty of sage bushes everywhere. The problem with sage, I found, was that it’s not that easy to tell if it’s living or dead. I scoured the area, yanking on branches here and there to find material to burn. Over 50% of the time, I ran the same dialogue in my head:

Sage: “I’m not dead!”
Me: “What?”
Sage: “I’m not dead!”
Me: “Yes, you are.”
Sage: “I don’t want to go into the cart!”

Damn. So it went on like this for the next hour, walking to fill my arms with mostly dead sage, depositing it into the growing pile near the firepit, and walking further still to find another crop of fuel. The pile looked huge but the gnarled and twisted branches provided only the illusion that I had collected quite a bit of material. I knew I’d burn through it in no time.

Soon after I started my evening campfire I grabbed a huge log stump, that someone must have been using as a seat, to throw in the fire pit. This was my last-ditch effort to trap some heat and prolong my sorry burn pile. It was a great decision because that sucker eventually got burning and was releasing heat for much of the night.

It was this night that I perfected the sleeping cocoon. I used the same set-up as the night before, but tossed an old army surplus wool blanket over the cocoon, including my face. This kept the frost off my sleeping bags plus it kept the cold air off my face. The hood of the 15 degree bag puffed up just tall enough to create a shelf for the blanket to rest, therefore keeping the blanket just a couple of inches off my skin. I let the yipping coyotes lull me to sleep.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 23, 2011.

Granite > Whitney > Bates State Park > Unity Lake State Recreation Site > Vale > Ontario > Snively Hot Springs > Lake Owyhee

* Click the map above to zoom in *

When is a ghost town not a ghost town?

I awoke to morning temperatures below freezing; a pink-blushed sky illuminated my forested surroundings. Driving into camp in the dark, I had no visual of my location. I couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d woken up in the midst of a theme park or a sandy beach. I had trouble getting my camp stove to function well at this temperature, but I was able to keep it running long enough to boil my oatmeal. After a quick breakfast I broke camp and drove into Granite.

I’d checked out a “Ghost Towns” book from my local library before departing on this trip. Today was intended for exploration of these lost towns. As I drove into Ghost Town #1, Granite, I found several modern buildings with smoke coming out of many of them, and a person or two milling about outside. Some ghost town, I thought. I drove on to Sumpter, where I’d eaten last night, also listed as a Ghost Town. This was obviously inaccurate as upward of 100 people were currently residing there, and it had a range of services available for locals and visitors. My search for a real ghost town took me ultimately to Whitney, which fit my vision much better than the previous two towns. I parked at a signboard explaining the history and demise of the town. I walked up the gravel road, half frozen, taking pictures of the buildings in various states of collapse. I was disappointed, however, to come across a home with a solar panel array and a Direct TV dish! Clearly there was at least one part-time resident here. Two other homes showed some sign of occupation, although I saw no one else at the time of my walk.

Oregon’s newest state park

Back in the warmth of my vehicle, I pressed on to Bates State Park, just opened this summer. The park was closed for the winter, but I parked outside the gate and wandered in. I vaguely recalled looking at a trail map online, seeing a small network of hiking trails that would make this a worthy stop. I regretted not printing the map, however, because there was no trail map or useful signage to be found anywhere. I wandered over to a frozen body of water and spotted a trail sign to my left. Following this trail brought me to several other trail junctions in less than a quarter of a mile. I tried to make the largest loop possible, but the terrain I covered was always in view of the road and the forest wasn’t terribly remarkable. Before long I was back at the car and I headed out of there. Yet another disappointing “new” park. Why spend the money, Oregon, if it’s not to create something worth visiting? I certainly would never pay to go there.

Echoes in the ice

I had no plans to stop before Vale, 88 miles away. I have always tried to keep an open mind on these trips, however, and my eyes constantly scan the road for brown signs. I noticed a pointer for Unity Lake State Recreation Site and decided to take a detour there. It was a large, flat, lake, and there didn’t appear to be any trails, so I almost ended up just getting back in the car. Instead, I found a set of steps leading down to the rocky beach beside the lake so I walked down to the edge of the frozen lake. Immediately I was bombarded by a strange sensation of noise that filled the air and that seemed to be coming from the lake. It reminded me of whale recordings, no, video games, no… I couldn’t pinpoint the quality of the noise.

I continued walking along the edge of the lake, keeping my ears tuned to the chaotic music traveling through the winter air. Later I would read about this phenomenon on the Internet, and although my attempts at recording the noise failed, this guy succeeded.

As I proceeded, I found natural treasures that kept me exploring. Gorgeous, giant ice crystals grew on the lake. A massive oyster shell lay on the beach. Cliffs along the edge of the lake were striped with ancient soil layers. Cliff swallow nests made of caked mud clung to the striped walls. The lake itself kept coming up with novel sounds that surprised me. This was a magical place. In the past, I’ve made plenty of impromptu detours that turned out to be a waste of time; this was unexpectedly an excellent choice.

Hot springs…and a quest

Looking at my rough itinerary, I found a free hot springs located close to where I hoped to camp tonight. Realizing I hadn’t brought a towel, I made it my day’s mission to purchase one before heading off into the boonies. The next “major” city on my route was Vale, a community of just under 2,000 people. I had hoped to pop into a few shops and parks just to stretch my legs and get a feel for the place, but most businesses were closed. There was a Dairy Queen and a drugstore open. I walked into the drugstore and asked the clerk if there was any place to buy a towel. He looked confused and asked a coworker, and they didn’t have any ideas. I gassed up and hit the road again.

Next I stopped in Nyssa, at a grocery store, to see if I could procure a towel. Nope. All I saw here were sugar beet and onion fields, and not much else. I asked the proprietors of a coffee shop where I might be able to get one, and they recommended Ontario, about 15 miles away. With over 11,000 residents and all the usual chain stores, this was my best and closest bet. Upon arriving in town I was overwhelmed with the choices, but I was unable to find a large department store. I stopped to ask for directions to K-Mart and the only person who could direct me tried to explain, in broken English, how to reach the store. I politely thanked her but the information was so garbled I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Frustrated, I blasted back up one of the main roads and veered into a Rite-Aid parking lot. Unbelievably, they had a supply of bathroom supplies that included full-size towels. Perfect.

Endless driving, it seemed, took me down a winding road along the Owyhee River and finally to Snively Hot Springs. There was only one car there, and no one in the water. I was excited to sneak into the springs just before sunset, then head off to camp. I loaded up a backpack with water, snacks, clean clothes, and a towel. I could see steam rising from the inlet stream that fed the pools by the river. It looked like there was some attempt to corral the warm water into small pools bordered by stones. I reached into the pools with my hand to find one of suitable temperature, then waded in. I tried and tried to find a location that was deep enough to sit in and that was Goldilocks-perfect, but to no avail. The water went from skin-melting hot to ice-cold in a matter of millimeters. Soaked from the waist down, watching the sun and air temperature fall, I admitted defeat and retreated from the springs. I quickly toweled off and put warm layers on before getting back into the car and completing the drive to Lake Owyhee.

The campground there, of course, was closed. Even in the pitch dark it looked ugly and unpleasant. I backtracked along the road until I found a roadside pullout that appeared to have enough space to set up camp. I gathered what I’d hoped was enough dead sage to build a fire for the evening and hunkered down. The sound of the river rushing by was pleasant and I was happy with my lodging choice. I read by firelight as long as I could, then rigged up my sleeping cocoon. This time I took my big down jacket and wrapped it around my feet, since my feet were still a bit cold last night. Cozy.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 22, 2011.

Portland > Cove > Union > Hot Lake > Sumpter > Granite

* Click the map above to zoom in *

You can take the girl out of the city…

It was about time for another road trip. I planned a loop that would cover over 900 miles, not including side roads to destinations of note, taking me from Portland to some of the remotest parts of Oregon. Not surprisingly, folks weren’t knocking down my door to join me so I loaded up the Scion and took to the road on my own.

I drove east on 84 and didn’t get out of the car until I hit the small city of Union. Located southeast of La Grande, Union had about 2,000 residents at last count and a very short main street lined with a few small businesses, a school, a library and a park. I left my car at the city park and walked to a bench to eat some lunch. A group of young boys were playing football in the grassy field adjacent to my car. The sun shone, ice glistened on the surface of the partly frozen river, and the atmosphere of small town America engulfed me. I shoveled the food down fast; it was awfully cold outside. I was delighted to find a heated public restroom at the park, which I visited before stopping in the library for some information.

The librarian was very helpful in describing the few local sights to see as well as explaining the opposing viewpoints on the encroaching wind-power development in the area. Upon her suggestion, I walked along the main street, stopping into the few shops that were open on this quiet day, before detouring to the local cemetery. I walked along rows of old grave markers dating back to the 1870′s. I noticed many of these people died young, and there was an abundance of infant gravestones. In the back of the cemetery, some deer were making themselves cozy.

Before leaving town, I stopped in the hardware store for a hot beverage (logically enough) and then set my sights on Hot Lake Resort, another recommendation from the librarian. I hadn’t read about it before hitting the road so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Oregon’s creepiest hot springs

I pulled into the grandiose driveway of the place and gazed up at the massive brick building. I asked at the front desk what types of touristy things were available for day visitors, and I was told a $10 tour of the property was available. I thought that might be interesting so I paid my money and waited for further instruction.

It didn’t seem like they were used to getting many visitors this time of year; in fact, I felt as if I was a minor inconvenience. My “tour guide” set me up to watch a video in the empty restaurant and she walked out of the room. Christmas music played loudly both inside and outside the building, so it was hard to hear the people speaking in the video. The contents of the video made up a bizarre tapestry that included the history of the building, its subsequent purchase and remodel, the marital history of the couple who own the place, and the husband’s bronze sculpture studio. Blatant religious undertones lingered throughout the entire performance. It felt uncomfortable, like watching an episode of “The Office.” I wasn’t sure if I was listening to a sales pitch or a sermon. When the video was over, my tour guide was nowhere to be found. I walked out of the restaurant and into the gift shop, wandering around and looking confused until eventually we crossed paths.

Next she sent me outside to tour the grounds. I walked past the hot springs, various wooden structures, bronze artwork, a shed containing old fire engines, and other miscellaneous artifacts and doodads. It was as if everyone’s misplaced antiques from a 100-mile radius had been lifted up by a tornado and were deposited here. I came full circle and re-entered the building after photographing a nearby collapsed barn and harassing the resident peacocks. Again, I searched for my tour guide. She then informed me that I could walk upstairs and view the remaining floors, and she took off again. That’s it? I thought I would get a guided tour.

The inside of the building was just as unusual as the outside, except I was now getting mental flashbacks of “The Shining” as I walked the long, empty corridors of the old hotel. Christmas music blared over the loudspeakers as I examined the arbitrary antiques and peered into darkened corners of the building. It appeared that no one was staying here, and barely any staff were around. Occasionally, the matronly owner of the place would whisk by in a whirlwind, asking how I was enjoying the tour. She didn’t have a believable smile, and her intense eyes drilled into my skull before she disappeared down the hall. I felt like I was trespassing through a long-forgotten mental ward. The rooms seemed to have decorative themes, but there was little continuity from room to room. Some pieces of decor drew upon the history of the building, while others did not. Most of the rooms also contained a television or other random modern electronic device misplaced among the period pieces. One of the creepiest rooms was set up as if it were part of the old sanatorium. Cheap, stuffed mannequins modeled patients in beds. The room was white, almost too white, with beat up wooden floors and old metal furniture serving as the patients’ beds. Outside, the hallways were lined with articles written about the new Hot Lakes resort as well as clippings from the resort’s glory days in the early 1900′s.

I wanted to get the most for my $10 but I also wanted to get the heck out of there. The museum was closed and the artist’s studio was closed so there wasn’t much else for me to see. I wrangled some lodging information from the seemingly brainwashed staffperson at the front desk before heading out. “I love working here! Isn’t this place great?” She was way too excited about this place…

Burger heaven

Intending on exploring some ghost towns in the morning, I traveled west to Sumpter to try and find some dinner and a place to stay. There were two bars in town located right across the street from each other. The first one I entered was full of cigarette smoke. A two-man folk band was playing music in the corner and two old fogeys sat at the bar. I asked for a menu but all they had available were deep-fried foods, so I went to the bar across the street.

At the Elkhorn Saloon, the air was fresh and the atmosphere was lively. There were several people seated at the bar–locals, I think– and a large group of people clustered around a table. I saw a pool table, football on TV, and a restaurant-style seating area in the back. It looked as if Christmas vomited all over this place; the bar was decorated with lights, stuffed animals, figurines, signs, and other holiday trinkets. I asked for a menu, and was surprised to see no less than 30 different variations of burgers to order. Each menu item offered a different array of sauces and toppings, and each one sounded delicious. I ordered a hickory bacon cheeseburger and a beer and took out my journal to write. That was mostly a cover for eavesdropping, of course, since the locals’ colorful conversations were amusing. One cranky old man’s voice dominated everyone else’s, and he was dropping curse words like a sailor. I ate, drank, schmoozed with the barkeep, and killed a little time so my night wouldn’t feel so long. It looked like I’d be camping somewhere this evening as there was no cheap (or open) place to stay.

I ended up driving to Granite, the next town up the road, which had no services. I drove a bit further until I found a wide gravel pullout that would do for the night. I gathered some wood to build a fire and quickly piled on the layers. It dropped to at least five below zero that night. I was glad I’d brought both of my sleeping bags and my Gore-Tex bivy. I rigged up a warm sleeping cocoon as follows:

I laid down my RidgeRest sleeping pad, then my inflatable ThermaRest on top of that. Next, I rolled out my bivy sack on top. Into the bivy I stuffed a 15 degree down bag, then crammed a 40 degree down bag inside of that. I took some hot water off the stove, filled a one liter Nalgene bottle with the hot water and tossed that into the bottom of the 40 degree bag to keep my feet warm. Lastly I laid my pillow at the top of the whole shebang. I brought my nice shaped memory-foam pillow from home, which was now frozen solid. I didn’t know pillows had a range of operable temperatures. As soon as I burned through my wood I jumped into my cocoon and slept beneath the stars.

Read previous entries…
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

November 23- 26, 2011.

While others dream of spending time with family, watching football, and spending hours in the kitchen, I dream of putting 30 pounds on my back and setting off into the woods.

Photos from the trip are on Picasa. Can you find the two videos in the report below?

Day 1

It’s my only tradition; I leave town right after teaching my last class, my car already packed. I sit in traffic for hours, arriving at the Gold Lake Sno-Park well after dark. While carefully loading a Thanksgiving dinner into my backpack, I think, is this going to be boring this year? After all, I’ve done this exact same trip twice already, on the same weekend each year.

I navigate by headlamp along the gated road, noting that the snow level is really low this year. I cruise ahead at a relatively fast rate, wondering what I had forgotten to pack. After all, my load feels awfully light this year. Maybe I’m stronger. Maybe I’m used to carrying a rope and trad rack. Maybe I’m just so ready to be here that it feels like my bag is filled with feathers. Wait, my bag had better not be filled with feathers.

I arrive at the three-sided shelter, excited to get a fire going. It’s not that cold outside, in the upper twenties, maybe, but the ambiance of a fire in the wintry backcountry can’t be beat. I search the shelter for an axe. Although there is a season’s worth of wood stacked at the shelter, none of it is split. There’s always an axe here, I think, maybe I’m just not seeing it. Sure enough, no axe. Most of the wood is so big it can’t fit into the stove. I start shaving curls of wood off a large chunk with my 3″ hunting knife. An hour later, I have a fire. Just in time for bed.

Day 2

In the morning I make a leisurely cup of coffee and pot full of oatmeal. Once I’m fueled, I set off among the trees towards Maiden Peak Cabin. Little blue diamonds show me the way. I walk at a moderate pace, not mired by feet of fresh snowfall as I was last year. I blast up to the cabin in no time at all. I quickly make myself at home, finding places to set my gear, filling a huge pot with snow, taking out a tasty sandwich for lunch, and relaxing on a comfy wooden stump. Here, wood-cutting tools are aplenty; and someone was kind enough to leave a huge stash of split wood ready to go behind the stove. There would be no axe-wielding today! I make an award-winning video of the cabin interior.

I get a fire going, and then fall in and out of consciousness while sprawled out on a foam pad by the woodstove. It is surely bliss. Snow falls gently outside the window. I bide my time until dinner.

Once the sun sets I spring into Thanksgiving mode. Water must be boiled. Bread must be buttered and toasted. Multiple courses need serving bowls. Where’s my spoon? It’s time to get down to business. I lay out the spread: Roast turkey (white and dark meat) and gravy, mashed potatoes, bread stuffing, cranberry sauce, olives, bourbon-spiked soy nog, oh what am I forgetting? The spoon. I dig in, and gravy flies everywhere. That’s it! The meat stuffing! I heat it on the stove as I dive face first into the other courses. I don’t think I’ll have room for it all, but the next thing I know there are four empty bowls in front of me. And then there’s the pie and cookies…

Day 3

I wake up from a sugar coma the next morning fired up and ready to go. The sun is shining and it looks to be a good day. Temperatures are low, so I start a fire and again enjoy a warm, casual breakfast. Where do those calories go?

Heading out along the trail I connect the blue diamonds to weave a path through the untracked snow. Scouting out the diamonds proves to be hard work as many of the trees appear to be spray-painted with snow. As the terrain begins to steepen, the diamonds become harder to follow, so I set my own path zig-zagging through the woods. My eyes focus on the crystals glistening on the blanket of snow and I wonder if anything could be more perfect than this.

I move slowly, methodically, as I hunt for diamonds, break trail, and manage my body temperature. Twenty degrees is comfortable for hiking, so I think. As the trees become smaller and more twisted, I anticipate the excitement of navigating to the summit. The diamonds are long gone; I make my way up the mountainside, angling around the oddly shaped snowdrifts and fallen trees. I am almost completely swallowed up in a tree well but I manage to extricate myself after some cursing and digging. At last, the false summit appears and provides an awesome view across to the actual mountain top. A view for me! Three years I climb this peak and only once will I be able to see beyond my outstretched arm!

On top of the peak the wind blows, but I don’t care. I can see it all (and you can too!); to the north stand the three Sisters, Broken Top, and Mt. Bachelor. I think that’s Mt. Jefferson, but it may be Washington, or some other dead president. To the south is Diamond Peak. All around are large, blue lakes and tree-filled valleys. It is a tremendous view and I have it all to myself. I add layers to salvage my plummeting body temperature and sit down to have some baguette with cheese and hummus. Would I rather be shopping, like all the little lemmings at the mall today? Uh, no thanks.

I dally as long as I can before the stinging wind forces a retreat. Still, I slowly meander back through the parts above treeline that I love so much. Each step brings a new angle for viewing the surrounding landscapes. Every tree is sculpted in a slightly different way by delicate rime projections. Surely, this is bliss.

Once I dip below the trees, my pace quickens. The way is steep, and it is quicker to break new trail than to follow my old, short, footsteps. I giggle as my eyes trace the wildly meandering snowshoe tracks heading uphill; it is clearly obvious where I lost the diamonds. My new path takes me directly back to the marked trail and I am able to zip through the trees back to the cabin in half the time it took me to get up here.

Now, it’s time to get down to business. I strip down to a t-shirt, grab the axe, and head outside to hack up some wood. The stumps are enormous, and heavy for their size. They don’t give in easily. Lots of swinging, picking up tipped over wood chunks, and muttering under my breath results in a re-stocked wood supply that will last me all of tonight and tomorrow morning, plus there should be some left over for the next group that wanders up here. Feeling satisfied, I settle back in to the cabin for a snack and the comfort of more layers.

Shortly after I begin shaving wood to start the next fire, a group of three U of O students enter the cabin. They’ll be spending the next couple of days here so I have company for the night. They gladly helped eat some of my food so I didn’t have to carry it out, and they provided entertainment for much of the evening.

Day 4

As I lay in dreamland I anticipate waking up to a warm cabin filled with the bustle and laughter of my new companions. I awake, however, to a cold and quiet loft with just the soft rumbles of snoring to my right. Great. I tiptoe downstairs and set to work on getting another fire lit, while dumping out my food bag to survey my breakfast options for the day. Oatmeal and butter, a cup of Via coffee, and a few bites of marionberry pie make the cut. As soon as my fire begins to blaze I hear a squeaky “Good morning” behind me. As I set about my morning chores the three travelers come downstairs, one by one, each having gotten between 11-16 hours of sleep the night before. I am happy to leave them and sink back into my own thoughts so I load up my pack and head out of there.

The sun is doing a number on the snow outside, sending heaps of the white stuff down off of the tree branches to splat on the ground below. Even though it is warm, I am wearing my soft shell jacket to keep myself from getting soaked. I am in no rush to get home, so I take my time walking back to the road. The other group came up from Rosary Lakes so I am temporarily lulled into following their tracks until I realize I am off course. Turning around for a bit I find my junction and notice the soft indentations of my 2-day old snowshoe tracks heading back the way I came.

I only see one couple walking towards the Gold Lake Shelter once I hit the road. The rest of my 5 mile walk is in peaceful silence. It is a superb finish to another successful weekend trip. The main road greets me with a blast of blinding sunshine. My car is gleaming under a few inches of well-packed snow. I brush off my ride, sit and enjoy a hearty lunch while soaking up sun rays. I already dream of next Thanksgiving.

Archives of my previous Thanksgiving adventures: 2010 | 2009

September 24, 2011.

about 14 miles | 3700′ ele. gain | 8 hours
Snowgrass Flats > PCT > Old Snowy > Ives > down talus to PCT and out

Photos from this trip are on Picasa.

Sue and I left Portland early to arrive at what we thought was a reasonable time. When we pulled into the Snowgrass Flats trailhead parking area just before 9 am, the place was overflowing with cars. I was already not excited about my first trip to the Goat Rocks.

We walked for a couple of hours through unremarkable, forested terrain. The trail was well-maintained and well-graded, so we were able to cover a good amount of miles without too much work. We saw a handful of people who were mostly carrying overnight packs. I was happy to cruise by with just a small daypack.

Once we broke free of the trees and entered one gorgeous meadow after another, I began warming up to the hike. An undulating ridge overlooked the colorful wildflower display at our feet. Remnant snow patches still lingered on the rocky slopes. Paintbrush, lupine, gentian, and asters provided a never-ending show of beautiful hues. We followed the trail as it gradually gained elevation along zillions of switchbacks that ascended to the highest point of the PCT in Washington State. Along the way we watched a train of horses heading up the trail, spied a lazy marmot enjoying the sunshine, and admired the intriguing rock formations. There was never a dull moment.

Once we hit the apex of the PCT we turned left to climb the north ridge of Old Snowy, our destination for the day. Ahead of us was another group of hikers with a small child, moving upwards at a glacial pace. We cruised by and were greeted at the summit by a Mazama team who were enjoying some snacks. Once the other group caught up, it got awfully crowded up there and we wanted to leave. I had gotten the idea that we could tag Ives while we were up here and it was so close. I didn’t have any specific details besides follow the ridge to the summit.

It didn’t take much convincing to get Sue to agree with the new plan, so we happily departed under sunny skies along the bumpy ridge connecting the two peaks. The route turned out to be surprisingly straightforward. We had to negotiate our way around several large gendarmes along the ridge that looked more challenging than they actually were. Along the way we came across bits and pieces of climber’s trails and the occasional series of boot tracks. There was a considerable amount of loose rock on the route that reminded me of climbing back in Oregon. We essentially followed the ridge as it rose and fell, passing by an interesting rock arch and other notable geological features, until we hit one steep talus slope taking us to the base of the summit’s ramp. From the base of the ramp we were able to follow a climber’s path up the rock to the top.

It took an hour to reach summit #2. We stopped here to soak in the solitude that we longed for on summit #1. It was beautiful up here; we got a great view of Gilbert Gottfried Peak (or Curtis-Gilbert or whatever the kids are calling it these days) as well as Mt. Adams. Although I could have sat up there for hours, we had some friends to meet at a car campground that evening, so we packed it up and eyed a route down.

It was easy to see the PCT junction in a huge patch of dirt far below us. We headed down a talus field, crossed over some snow, then lots more rocks, until we bottomed out in the meadows. After dumping the rocks out of our boots we glided across the wildflowers to reach the trail again for some easy walking. The time from summit to trail: 1 hour.

As we walked out, we kept turning back to burn the images of the expansive and lovely Goat Rocks into our retinas. I was sad to leave the open meadows, and didn’t look forward to the treed-in slog ahead. We passed several more backpackers on their way up and I was glad that I would not be camping up here with everyone else. I suppose since the Goat Rocks are accessible for such a short period of time, that all the use is concentrated in that fleeting window.

I will certainly return to the Goat Rocks, preferably in the off-season with some snowshoes or skis. There are some other peaks and areas that I am interested in exploring. This was certainly a nice introduction to the area. We took a quick jaunt up Nannie Peak the next morning before taking the long drive back to Portland.

September 4, 2011.

10 miles | 3782′ ele. gain | 6.5 hours

Photos from this trip are on Picasa.

My friends came in late last night to join me for the final two days of my Labor Day Weekend Trip. The last two peaks to tick off my to-do list were Mt. Thielsen and Mt. Bailey. I’d been up Thielsen twice before and I had fond memories of the hike.

We got what we thought was an early start, and I was surprised to see a few other groups taking off at about the same time, around 7:30 am. This was clearly more popular than any of the other hikes on my list. The trail was just as I’d remembered for the first mile or two, until we hit a hillside that had been ravaged by something: a windstorm? flood? Who knows. Trees were knocked sideways, piled high, while pioneer species such as fireweed and red huckleberry were growing alongside the trail. This disturbance must have happened no earlier than four years ago, since I don’t recall any of this from my last hike through.

Just before reaching the end of the trail we walked by a tent located not 2 feet off the trail (ugh) and then hit the junction with the PCT. A large cairn marked the start of one of many climbing trails, which were all heavily eroded and in a sorry state. The ground was dry and sandy, making upward progress harder than walking on the trail. It was nice to break free from the trees and walk uphill on whatever path we liked. There were a couple of folks ahead of us, and once we started scrambling on big chunks of rock I put my helmet on as a precaution in case of rockfall. Although the view of the summit pinnacle was pretty, the landscape was very gray and boring. We all made it to the big ledge below the summit block, where we dropped our packs and assessed the last bit of scrambling. Sue decided to wait at the ledge while Brody and I headed for the top. A short bit of fun scrambling took us to the summit where a welcoming party of swarming flies were awaiting us. We enjoyed the views briefly before returning to the ledge for a snack. Compared to the hike up, the summit block was composed of bomber rock with huge handholds and ledges; it was the most solid climbing I’d done all summer! I’d done a fair amount of rock climbing since first summitting this peak, making the “climb” much more blah than I’d remembered.

We ate and chatted with several other folks also enjoying the safety of the ledge. It was an interesting and entertaining mixture of people, an unexpected pleasure of the day. We knew the day was only going to get hotter so we parted ways with the others and started heading down. My group had varying experience on this type of terrain so the going was a little slow. I headed left towards a nice looking scree field for a faster way down where I would not have to worry about people below. I quickly realized that my speedy descent had put me way off track, since some rock formations we’d seen on the way up were now on my right, and I knew they should have been on my left. I begrudgingly traversed the scree towards the rock towers and noticed a gorgeous, colorful gully that appeared to offer an alternate descent route. Since my friends were following me (oops) I decided to take them down the gully to check out the flowers and multi-colored rock. The ground was more solid here, interspersed with sections of gravel, which offered different challenges. It was far prettier than the slog up, so I was glad for this little detour.

Once we reached treeline we rejoined one of the climber’s trails and returned to the big PCT junction. Now there were several groups on their way up as well as a few who bailed well short of the summit and were returning back. The varying personalities and preparation level of the new influx of people on the mountain were intriguing. These prominent features seem to attract every type.

The walk out was unremarkable, save for the large number of people going up and the two folks on horses with their (tired and hot!) dogs.

Would I do this one again? No chance. Too many people, not enough pretty scenery, and little payoff for the effort. I’d recommend this one for a first-timer as a mid-week jaunt, if possible, or at least not on a holiday weekend. I’d consider camping up here in the winter again, but this one has dropped off my radar for a dayhike. Besides, its dull-looking neighbor to the west, Mt. Bailey, would prove to be a surprisingly good choice tomorrow…

September 3, 2011.

Rockpile Trail > PCT > Climber’s trail up South Ridge of Diamond Peak

12 miles | 3750′ ele. gain | 6.5 hours

Photos from this trip are on Picasa.

I had two sets of instructions for climbing the peak: one from Sullivan’s green book and one from the Oregon Scrambles book. Sullivan’s route included much less off-trail travel, and all of the “climber’s route” was in open terrain. The Scrambles route seemed to require much more off-trail navigation, and to make things worse, there was quite a bit of it in the depths of the trees. In making the switch from one backpack to another, I had forgotten to grab my compass before leaving town and I was not comfortable wandering through the woods with no directional cues. So I decided to follow Sullivan’s description.

I set out at about 7 am to enjoy the coolest part of the day during this hot streak. I proceeded to walk through a pretty forest on a well-graded trail. There was very little elevation gain over several miles of travel. It was very quiet. I stopped occasionally to observe the plants growing on the forest floor but overall I was able to maintain a quick pace. In no time at all, I found myself at the lakes. In a wave of confusion I ended up dead-ending at Marie Lake, having to backtrack my steps and return to the last junction before getting to the PCT junction and turning left.

Once on the PCT I timed myself carefully so as to not miss the climber’s trail mentioned in Sullivan’s book. As noted, there was a huge cairn about 50 feet from the obvious hairpin turn in the trail. Perfect! The trail immediately detoured uphill, a huge change from the last 5 miles or so. This was one of the best climber’s trail I’d ever walked upon; the route was clear and the tread was well worn. A great effort was put into building cairns frequently along the path as well. I stopped to rebuild several of them on my way up. As the trail left the trees, the ground turned to a steadily ascending slope of rocks and debris. Among the rock and gravel, there appeared to be footsteps all over the place as well as cairns barely discernible from the other rocky piles. It was easy for me to find the way up but I was concerned about the way down. I stopped several times to turn around and gain the opposite perspective, as well as make a few mental notes to help me navigate back down to the trail. With huge and distinct volcanic peaks sticking up everywhere as well as obvious features on Diamond Peak, it was pretty easy to get my bearings.

The slog uphill was long but absolutely gorgeous. It was like walking through an ornate rock garden. Delicate and hardy alpine plants emerged from the seemingly lifeless dust covering the rock. The hillside was adorned with buckwheat, stonecrop and paintbrush of various colors.

Upon gaining the false summit, I looked north to my final destination. A half-mile rocky, undulating ridge lay between me and the top of the peak. This interesting section of climb took me past several cliffy rock outcrops that I had to navigate down and around. Squeezing in the space left by melting snow as it parted ways from the rock wall, I pondered how much easier this would have been just a few weeks earlier with a more hefty snowpack.

The summit area was flat and broad; it was a great place to sit and relax before heading back down. In the sun and haze I was able to see several peaks including the Three Sisters (at least two of them), Mt. Thielsen (aka “Tomorrow”) and Mt. Yoran (aka “Yesterday”). It was remarkable to have this beautiful place to myself at 10:30 am on a holiday weekend.

But I knew I had to get down before it really got hot. I sadly left the summit behind, hopping across the rock to a narrow snow ridge that I walked across until it got a little too narrow for my liking. I squirmed through the moat again, returning briefly to the rock ridge before barreling down the talus and scree. I edged right to another snowfield and plunge-stepped down as far as I could before moving back to the rock. About an hour later I reached the trail, immediately encountering people. I passed another couple at the corner and then three backpackers further down the trail. After that short rush of congestion I swiftly walked out to the car in peace and quiet.

Summit 2 out of 4 for this trip is also highly recommended. The flat approach provides a nice warm-up for the climb itself, and the off trail navigation is pretty straightforward. This would likely offer an interesting snow climb for most of the year as well, although it would be a shame to miss the spectacular alpine flora during its brief bloom.