June 2, 2023.
11 mi bike | 8.5 mi hike | 2600′ ele. gain | 7.25 hr.
I rarely share details on my cross country routes, but due to the remoteness of this area, extremely low probability of anyone repeating it and the likelihood that no one’s ever Googled “Rabbit Hills” with the intention of locating this area in Oregon, here we go.
Another day, another bike ride
It would be our last day in Camp Hart and I wanted to see as many more wildflowers as I could before leaving this magical place. I hopped on my bike and rode 11 miles of gravel road to the base of the Rabbit Hills. I only found this area because I spent the last few days zooming in on the map at any high point within biking distance of our camp. From afar, it looked like a cluster of boring, barren lumps on the landscape.
The highpoint
I left my bike behind a lone, scraggly sagebrush and began walking across a cheatgrass-covered field towards a break in the slope ahead. The occasional deep purple larkspur poked up between the nodding stalks of grass. As I climbed up the wash, I noticed that any depression in the landscape was choked in tumbleweed. Cow pies littered the ground. It was definitely not my best pick of the week.
But, I had a highpoint to find, so I kept going. I found some large, sun-bleached cow vertebrae. An animal leg with some fur still left on it. Clumps of milkvetch. Buckwheat. A pronghorn raced along the horizon. Okay, I thought, this is getting more interesting.
A cold breeze blew as I crested up to the top of a rocky pile. I looked across a small saddle towards my summit. Based on zillions of trips like this, I knew it looked farther away than it actually was. I took a sip of water and wandered downhill to start the next uphill section. At the bottom of the hillside, I found thousands of reddish bitterroot buds, just waiting for their chance to burst open into beautiful blooms. Plus lots of phlox and buckwheat. I rolled under a barbed wire fence, giddy to find out what else these hills had in store for me today.
My progress screeched to a halt as I found myself in wildflower heaven. Joining the previous lineup was paintbrush. Brilliant red, orange, peach and so many delicate combinations of shades. And every time I thought, it can’t get any better, it did. As I crested the final flat spot before the summit, I found myself in a wildflower garden to rival any I’d seen before. HOW could I keep feeling this deep sense of awe so many times in one week?
At the summit, I pulled out my map, looked around and concocted a plan for what to do next. I’d already given Aaron my pickup point, just not a time. Originally, I thought this would be a quick hike. But once I got out here, I knew I needed time to explore. Across a valley, I noticed an abrupt change in the rock color and type. From there, I could string together all the highpoints on the horseshoe-shaped ridge. I had a plan.
Up and down
I wanted to race down off the highpoint so I could get to the next part, but the rocky hillside with all its grass clumps and holes and dips and sagebrush branches wouldn’t let me. I carefully made my way down so as to not break an ankle, salivating over what cool discoveries I was sure to make on the next section.
Nothing could have prepared me for the profusion of wildflowers I’d find. The number of different species was quite low, but the volume of flowers couldn’t be beat. The largest threadleaf phacelia plants I’d ever seen, with numerous stalks of cheery, purple blooms. Vibrant clusters of paintbrush in even more colors than I’d seen before. Bouncy buckwheat flower heads sticking their necks out as if to compete with the flashier wildflowers. And bitterroot, now with their petals open to the sun. And some with green buds instead of the familiar red. What a treat.
The rock on this hill was so interesting. It was a lighter color, practically white, providing a different color contrast to the vegetation. As I continued along the rolling ridge, the rock became red and then black. The piles of red boulders in the middle section reminded me of places I’d explored in the southwest. Such a diversity of experiences in one short hike.
As I gleefully ascended the last bump to complete the traverse, I saw a familiar sight: a pronghorn. I saw its pointy head rise up above the rocks at the summit, followed by its body…it began coming down the hill in my direction. NOT AGAIN.
With my eyes looking over my shoulder, I slowly descended a bit down the hill. It kept tracking me. This one had big antlers, too. We played this game for several minutes. I’d walk downhill, stop and turn around. He’d continue downhill in my exact direction. And, repeat. Ultimately I determined that this summit was off-limits for this hike, and I began quickly and decisively descending towards the valley bottom. I needed this animal to know that I was not a threat. It was his home, anyways, so if he didn’t want me there then I had to leave.
As I tromped through the beautiful field, I looked towards the road and noticed the van. I had an easy spot to walk back to, but I wasn’t ready to be done yet. So, I found a little bump with a nice view of the surrounding hills where I could sit and paint. I enjoyed watching the shadows of the clouds pass over the landscape and tried to replicate that feeling in my painting. Was it a success? Who knows. But every time I take time to paint, I learn new things.
The walk back was hot and boring, but I was still riding high from the day’s delights. I can never tell what the experience will be by just looking at the topo map and satellite views. However, that’s part of the fun for me. It’s a bit of a treasure hunt with every un-tested hike. Despite a lackluster beginning, this one lives in my top ten list for sure.