February 20, 2018.

1.5 mi.| 500′ ele. gain | 1 hr.

It’s like Pilot Butte, but a longer drive.

That’s pretty much all you need to know about Bessie Butte. The elevation profile is pretty similar. The views are similar. The trail tread is pretty similar. There are two key differences: you won’t see many other people there and the summit is wild. No pavers, no mountain finder, no rock wall. Just a bunch of dust, scrub and fire-charred rocks.

But, it was something different.

For the Hike366 project I really wanted to show as few repeats as possible. I could have just hiked the River Trail, or clambered up Pilot Butte, or done any number of short, easy, in-town trails over and over again. But that didn’t feel right to me. So I sought out other locations to shake things up and at the same time broaden my local knowledge.

Of course I turned to my pal Sarah, a long-time local, to share some of her wisdom with me. And the two of us met up today to hike up Pilot Butte’s cousin, Bessie.

It was a really lousy day. The sky was saturated with clouds. It felt really gloomy and oppressive. What made the hike worth it was hanging out with Sarah and enjoying a slightly different perspective from this particular location.

Will I rush back out to hike this butte any time soon? Probably not. But having experienced it once I feel at least educated enough to be able to talk about it and recommend it to others, or not!

February 19, 2018.

It was, as the kids would say, cold AF today. But, it was a hike day and I had to get out there. My map study led me to a section of Shevlin Park that I had yet to explore. It appeared that there was a trail along the creek, although I didn’t know how far it went or what my options would be from there. The best way to find out was to take a walk.

I bundled up and drove across town. My tires crunched over last night’s snow coating the parking area. I cinched up my hoodie nice and tight. Did I mention it was cold?

There was a signpost indicating a “Tumalo Creek Trail,” and there were even human footprints on it. I walked the trail as it paralleled the creek, with red foliage brightening up the white and gray terrain around me. Soon I came to a gravel parking area and some kind of dam or water control system on the creek. The trail continued on, and so did I.

The air was cold, but it was quiet. This stretch of trail was a bit off the radar for most of Bend, it would seem. And for good reason. The public right-of-way abruptly dead-ended after about a mile and a half, so I turned back.

Brrr…I thought. No problem. On the walk back I examined the creek and all the cool ice sculptures that had formed on its edges. There was a benefit to enduring this cold air. These ephemeral artworks were only visible to those who braved the elements. I felt lucky to be there.

In the end, it was only a 5K, but a nice one and I achieved my goal for the day, which was simply to get out and take a hike. Sometimes that’s all that I need to do.

February 18, 2018.

Winter. It’s amazing. The air is cold. Snow flutters to the ground. The ground sparkles. Ice crystals decorate the edges of streams and lakes. But all these seasonal changes make it harder to access the high country. That forces me to be a bit more creative about finding places to walk. I’m not a good creature of habit; I like exploring new places. So when a friend mentioned the Tumalo Canal trail system, I said “huh?” And like that, I knew I had some Googling to do.

The Tumalo Canal Historic Area is a stretch of land managed by the Prineville BLM. The trails are open to walkers and/or horses but not bikes like the neighboring Maston area. A new place that’s close to home, with no mountain bikers and easy access in the winter? It sounded like something I needed to check out.

I grabbed a map at the trailhead and headed off in to the snow. I was socked in with gray clouds. The area was classic high desert: juniper, sage and grasses. Impossibly bright splashes of green came from lichen clinging to tree branches. I trudged along in the gloom, snow pelting down from overhead. I passed one couple on their way back out.

A patch of blue. The sky! It showed itself for a moment before covering back up again. I continued walking, trying to link up the numbered posts on the trail with the numbers on the map. I reached the old canal and confirmed my position, then kept walking. Some of the trail junctions were confusing. There were old roads and trails that weren’t well-marked, located right next to the ones that were. I got slightly discombobulated, then made my last turn for the stretch back home.

Finally, the clouds began to part. The sun came out for good. Warm rays of light brought joy to my face. Ah, what a lovely feeling. I noticed all the colors and textures now. How the furrowed juniper bark swirled up from the ground towards the tips of each branch. How the yellow grasses caught the light just so. How the snowflakes rested on each micro-ledge of the rock cliffs. I walked slowly and intentionally, seeing so much more than I had before.

There were no epic vistas, no challenging climbs, no major sights to see. But this simple little trail system brought me something that none of the dramatic Cascades Highway trails would: an opportunity to stretch my legs in the winter, and the space to stop and look at all the little treasures that nature had to offer.

February 6, 2018.

7 mi | minimal ele. gain | 2:30 hr.

I noticed a funny thing on Google Maps the other day. I turned the terrain layer on and scrolled through Bend and Redmond, looking for new features to explore. And there, cutting right through Redmond, was a canyon. In that canyon, it was mostly blank. BLANK. In the center of Redmond. I dug around a bit, until I found out a name: Dry Canyon. And it was filled with parks. A trail ran through the length of it. I had to check it out in person.

On the city’s website, Dry Canyon is dubbed the “crown jewel” of the city parks. How had I never heard of it before? At 3.7 miles one way I could easily do this as an out-and-back hike in an afternoon. I packed my backpack.

I arrived at the southern terminus of the trail in the early afternoon. Patchy clouds filtered the sun overhead. Although it was chilly, the sun that broke through felt warm.

Blacktop cut through the dry grass and juniper trees filling the shallow canyon. I hopped on the trail among other walkers, cyclists and joggers. As soon as I saw a side path cut out into the dirt I took it. It looked like walkers and mountain bikers made several unofficial trails in the desert landscape. The tread was gentler on my joints and it was prettier in the brush, anyways.

But my off-trail exploration was short-lived. Soon I was funneled into an underpass that was decorated with murals. Then I found myself in the middle of a city park, with sports fields, parking lots and people everywhere. Then I walked onto a disc golf course. And then…

The Maple Avenue Bridge.

I’d seen pictures of this bridge in magazines. There are climbing holds, permanent bolts and quickdraws placed on the underside of the bridge so that people can climb on the structure. Pretty cool! But alas, with no rope, rock shoes or climbing partner, I had to just crank my head back and gawk at the scene today.

As I continued walking north, I found some wilder places to ramble. Dirt paths led every which way through the broad canyon. At some point I distinctly remember a smell. An odor that sliced through the air. Having a bad sense of smell, is rare that I pick up such a scent. But this was so pungent, it had to be…

Ah yes, a wastewater treatment facility. Right at the end of this lovely trail. What an unfortunate coincidence.

I had hoped to linger here and have a snack but given this new information, I hightailed it back the way I came. Once I was out of range of the sickening aroma I found a park bench and dug into my treat bag.

On my way back I admired the diversity within this canyon. In places, basalt columns rose vertically from the dry brush. Occasionally the steep walls were broken by wide stairways leading into the neighborhoods. Some areas looked wild, pockmarked with Ponderosa pine and juniper. Sagebrush filled large swaths of the canyon. Birds and squirrels filled the air with chirps and chatter. Lots of people were out recreating in a number of ways. This was truly a land of many uses.

I watched the clouds and light change as the early afternoon marched towards evening. Days are so short in February.

After experiencing the Dry Canyon in its entirety, I can say now that this is the crown jewel of the Redmond City Parks!

February 4, 2018.

4.7 mi. | 300′ ele. gain | 1:45 hr.

I always find it amusing when facts are debatable. The Shevlin Park loop, probably one of the most popular hikes in the park, is listed on various websites as 6 miles, 4.6 miles, 4.9 miles, etc… The most consistent sources clock it in at 4.7 so I’m going with that.

Today I partnered up with a friend who was going through some relationship troubles and needed some fresh air and kid-free time. I was happy to facilitate this.

The air was cool and brisk, as any day in February, and we heartily took to the trail. We walked quickly as we talked. There was so much to say and so much to hear. Occasionally we pulled off the side of the trail to let a runner pass. Trail running is so popular around here. I think it’s Bend’s favorite pastime.

As we reached the mid-point of the loop we paused on the bridge. The water tumbled beneath us. It was a nice place to stop and take it all in.

Nature is chaos. Life is chaos. It seemed appropriate then, to put the two together. I was sorry that my friend’s marriage was collapsing. I struggled to hear her pain. But together, in the forest, among birds and trees and clouds, we shared a moment. I was grateful that she felt comfortable enough to talk.

We walked on, shifting gears to lighter topics. There were more people on this side, mostly hikers. Everyone smiled and said hello as they passed. It was a jovial crowd. Anyone who’s out on a walk in the winter is pretty dedicated to being out there and having a good time. How nice is it to live in a community that values preserving and enjoying natural spaces.

As always, Shevlin Park brought the goods. I only wished that our hike could have been a little longer.

February 2, 2018.

I needed a hike today for my Hike366 project so I texted my friend Sarah to see if she was available. We decided to meet at a coffee shop downtown and then walk the Deschutes River Trail until we ran out of time.

It’s easy to take a hike in Bend. The Deschutes River Trail, which covers 20 miles from end to end, runs straight through the middle of town. It’s a convenient place to take a stroll whether you’ve got 5 minutes or 5 hours. Today we had just under 2 hours, since we parked downtown and didn’t want to get a ticket.

It was a chilly, moody day. Bend is well-known for “300 days of sunshine.” Well, today was not one of those days.

Nonetheless, we sipped our coffee, caught up on life and walked on the trail through downtown, Drake Park and the Old Mill.

We stopped across from the surf wave to watch people in their wetsuits try and catch the wave. Then we turned our attention to the large numbers of waterfowl enjoying the natural side of the river.

We ended up waiting longer than we’d anticipated as a huge caravan of ducks slowly plodded across the path. They were adorable to watch.

Heading south, the pavement eventually turned to dirt and it finally felt like we were on a hike. From here the Deschutes River Trail gets a bit wilder. But we wouldn’t have much more time to explore. The clock was ticking.

I love living in Bend. It’s so easy to find a trail and start walking. But the face of Bend is rapidly changing and I wonder how things will look ten years from now. I hope that we are able to preserve access to wild spaces and contain development as much as possible.

January 10, 2018.

9.3 mi. | 1060′ ele. gain | 3:30 hr. | All the trails at Otter Bench

It can be difficult to find new and interesting things to do in the winter when all you want to do is go for a hike. The snow makes access to high places difficult and sometimes dangerous. Bare ground is at a minimum. After much snooping around I came across a trail description for Otter Bench, just a stone’s throw from Bend. I checked the forecast, packed a bag and headed out.

It felt weird, pulling up to a trailhead in basically a neighborhood development. But there it was. The hardest part of the whole day was just figuring out exactly where to go from the parking lot, since there were trails and user paths going every which way.

My goal was to hike all the trails today in order to get the most out of my visit. I began on the Lone Pine Trail, which led steeply down to the river bottom from the parking area. The trail just kind of petered out, so I admired the river and the golden winter foliage before trekking back up.

Back at the parking lot I took the Horny Hollow Trail (which was open this time of year) to the junction with the Pink trail, another spur down to the river. This was a beautiful trail with great views of the Crooked River Canyon. I imagined this place would be insufferably hot in the summertime and was grateful for the cold, wet winter weather I had this morning.

After a quick jaunt down the Pink Trail I returned to the main pathway and continued north. The Opal Canyon Loop formed a lollipop shape as it looped up along the river and then cut inland to return. The riverside walk was lovely. Before turning back I stopped to eat my lunch. I had a great viewpoint overlooking the deep canyon. Far below, the Crooked River rushed by. No one else was out here today.

The hike back was across the broad, flat, high desert plateau. It was less scenic and interesting than the hike in, so I moved a bit more quickly. Occasionally I’d stop to photograph the interesting forms made by dormant winter plants. Their twisted stalks, geometric seed heads and striking colors made me curious.

One more trail to go: the Otter Bench trail. It was just as boring and mundane as the one before. I don’t think I’d go back here in the spring or summer, when access is restricted to this trail. Besides the heat, there just wouldn’t be much to look at.

Grateful for three and a half hours of solitude!

November 18, 2017.

12 mi. | 2400′ ele. gain | 7 hrs.

The last time I hiked to the top of Paulina Peak in the winter I remember one thing: snowmobiles. It was late December, and snowmobile season was in full swing. We heard them, we saw them, and worst of all, we smelled them. It was awful. Ruined an almost perfect day.

So this year I put my thinking cap on. How early could I plan a trip up Paulina where there would be good snow for hiking but not enough snow to get the sleds out? Mid-November. I hoped. And then I put it on the schedule for the Cascades Mountaineers.

Eight people put their faith in my planning skills, so I REALLY hoped I had timed it right. We all met up in Bend and carpooled out to the trailhead on a cold and sunny November morning.

By 9:45 am we were all ready to start walking. There was a light coating of snow at the trailhead so we started with snowshoes strapped to our pack. It would take a couple miles of walking before we decided to strap them on our feet. We trekked into the viewpoint of Paulina Falls and took a nice rest break. Food, water, pictures. It wasn’t too long before we put our packs back on and started the climb up towards the peak.

I’ve been on this trail many times and each time the most difficult section is finding the summer trail from the road. There are blue diamonds on some trees that lure you into the woods, but then they seemingly disappear. I always end up walking on the road and off the trail for a while. So after a little bit of fussing around, that’s what we did.

Once the trail started climbing steeply uphill, the group separated a bit. The fastest hikers sped ahead and the slower hikers filtered towards the back. I prefer to lead from the back so I accompanied the latter group. It was such a lovely day and I was just so happy to be out there. It felt like we were the only group on the mountain.

After much trudging in the woods we eventually broke out to our first good viewpoint looking towards Paulina Peak’s cliff faces. It was beautiful. But we still had some ground to cover, so we didn’t dally long.

As we approached the upper trail sections we were careful to follow the blue diamonds. I have been led astray many times up here by following my gut instead of looking for the trail. In just a couple spots we stopped to assess our route. We mostly stayed on track.

That final push to the top couldn’t come soon enough. We burst out of the trees to a summit sign and an epic view over Paulina Lake. All the snowy volcanoes stood out on the distant horizon under deep blue skies. It was perfect timing, after all!

At the top we all got comfortable and dug into our food supplies. One of the hikers brought out his “instant fire” and we had a little warming station to stand around as we ate.

On the way down there was lots of chatter. The hard work was mostly done. We could now relax and enjoy the walk. Heading down the mountain through a gallery of rime-coated trees was just as magical today as it was the first time I wandered up here in 2006. As the sun began to set in the distance, we completed the final riverside walk to the parking lot. It was a glorious day. I was grateful to be able to share this experience with others and hopefully inspire them to plan their own winter adventures.