A Rogue Life

After soaking and relaxing along the Umpqua, we headed down to another of Oregon's fabled rivers, the Rogue.  Located in the heart of the Siskiyou Mountains, the Wild Rogue Wilderness area was established in 1987 to protect an important section of the Rogue River and its surrounding watershed. But folks have been visiting the Rogue long before then. Native Americans used the area (mostly in the summertime) for the last 10,000 years or so, picking berries on the dry canyon slopes and fishing for salmon and steelhead in the river's deep, cold pools. Then around 1850, white people discovered gold in the hills along the river and a flood of newcomers entered the area in search of glittering profits. They kicked out the locals, and with the help of high-powered hoses, excavated entire hillsides, sluicing the remains into bins, mixing the mud and rock with mercury to extract the "good stuff", and then headed back East with their fortunes, leaving future generations to clean up the mess. Not surprisingly, most left with little more than the debt from all their equipment and memories of dark, frigid winters and sun blistered summers.

This is the cabin of Zane Grey.

The Rogue River became popular in the 1920s thanks to the work of American author Zane Grey, who built a small cabin on the banks of the Rogue so he could write in peace and fish when he wanted (he was a champion fisherman.) One of his novels, Rogue River Feud, was published posthumously in 1948 and depicts hair-raising adventure and intrigue along the river, typical of Grey's Westerns. Ironically, Grey left his cabin on the Rogue in 1935 and moved north to the Umpqua River, because he felt the Rogue was becoming too popular, in part because of the attention his presence had brought to it.

  
We arrived on the Rogue on June 25th and camped out at the Griffin Park CG along the banks of the river. We watched osprey and eagle hunt fish and nighthawks cruise for insects no more than a few feet above the water. The next day, June 26th, was Giovannina's birthday. As a treat, I signed us up for some horseback riding. Giovannina grew up with horses, but hadn't been on one in years. I have never been around horses and had no idea what I had gotten myself into. But our guide, Mike, was very patient and so were the horses. Mike took the lead on Beau, while I was on Ace and Giovannina got to ride Kucina. I never thought such big animals could be so docile1 Mostly, I had to pull Ace's head up to keep him from eating too much grass. The six of us rode through tall stands of sugar pine, growing 150' or more, and strolled through an old meadow, the remnants of an abandoned homestead. We almost caught sight of a herd of elk, but they disappeared before we could spy them. It was a great way to spend an afternoon and I think Giovannina enjoyed her equine birthday present.





That night we had dinner at Morrisons Lodge on the Rogue. We chose Morrisons because our friend James Sampsel works as a fishing and rafting guide for them. We met James at the Cajon del Azul trailhead in El Bolson, Argentina back in February. He had said to drop him a line if we were ever passing through Oregon, so we took him up on it. Great guy and great host. He set us up with Mike for the horseback riding, gave us a place to crash and drove us to the trailhead to begin our hike of the Rogue River. In addition to being a rafting and fishing guide, James is also an artist. You can check out his work at http://james-sampsel.com/.

 

We began hiking the Rogue River trail on June 27th. By 10 am the sun was already hot and the river's waters were looking a lot more appealing than the poison oak infested trail. We envied the rafters, floating lazily downstream, their boats carrying hundreds - seriosly HUNDREDS - of pounds of gear, while we hoisted our packs to begin the 40 mile trek from Grave Creek to Ilahee. We planned to spend four days hiking the river, but gave ourselves an extra day just in case.

Despite the ubiquitous poison oak, which sometimes filled the trail, the hike was wonderful. We worked our way along the cliffs, which gave views down into the river while also offering vistas of the surrounding Siskiyou mountains. Every few miles we would cross tributaries trickling there way to the Rogue. These smaller, quieter streams often had campgrounds, waterfalls and great swimming holes. The trees along the trail were exquisite. Seriously. Unlike the Cascades, the Siskiyous have a great mix of both wet and drought-tolerant species, so not only did we get plenty of Douglas Firs and Western Hemlocks, but also large, majestic Madrones, their red-orange trunks twisting above the cliffs and whole groves of Live Oaks, stately trees with kingly crowns and moss-lined trunks that left dappled shadows across the trail.
  
The first day was the only hot one of our journey. After that, the weather cooled, which was actually much nicer for hiking. We planned to hike about 10 miles a day, but the rolling trail without any big climbs combined with the stunning scenery invigorated our legs and we did 14 miles the first day. This may have been a mistake, however, as Giovannina had a large blister and half way through the trip she took to wearing my shoes as an alternative to rubbing the same spot - I hiked in my sandles - even though they're five sizes too big.

 Ultimate  The musicians (Glen, Jason, Ron and Woody)

Our second night, we camped at the Rogue River Ranch, an old homesteader's property now run by the U.S. Forest Service. We set our tent on the edge of a large field, downhill from the restored houses, tack shop and meeting hall. Below the field a bluff led to the river where two large groups of rafters were camping for the night. One of the groups invited us to play ultimate with them in the field, and even though my legs were sore from the day's 10 mile hike, I couldn't resist the opportunity. It was a blast. Later that evening, the same group invited us down for some music. They had brought a couple guitars  and even a fiddle with them - those rafts really can take about anything - so I sat with a couple of the guys and strummed out tunes in the falling darkness. The other group of rafters came over to enjoy the show and requested a few songs. The guitars and fiddle sounded great together and the roaring of the river behind us did its job to cover up the broken notes of my singing. A free concert in the wilderness. Not a bad way to spend an evening.
The next day we met up with the rafters again - we were taking a lunch break and they pulled up at our same spot.  After reminiscing about the night before we talked some more and found out that they knew Roger Ogren (a co-worker of Giovanninas at the Aquarium) Roger has even rafted the Rogue with them years ago and they all said to say hi. Hi Roger from your old roomate Glen and gang.



Our last night on the Rogue was at Flora Dell, a beautiful little rock outcrop right on the river. We set up camp and bathed in a cold, clear pool from one of the side creeks, salamanders scurrying beneath our nakedness. We made dinner and  Giovannina soaked her feet in the cold water as we sat and watched the sun go down over the mountains, dark green, mist covered hills slowly fading from view in the distance.

The next morning we were greeted with two surprises. The first was rain, which dampened our moods and made hiking in blistered feet all the more painful. The second was a large group of rafters who came to Flora Dell to jump off one of the rock promintories. So much for solitude. We took both of these as signs  that it was time to move on, and so we hiked the last five miles out to our car, which had been shuttled - for a $100 fee - to the Ilahee parking lot. We got to the car, packed up, put on clean shirts and hit the road for Corvallis, where we met up with our friends Mike and Julie, had ourselves a burger and a beer or two,  and treated ourselves to the most wonderful of modern conveniences - a hot shower.

Happy Solstice!

 

On June 20th  (my mothers birthday, Giovannina writing, and the summer solstice) our destination was the painted hills of John Day National Park. We had heard about the unique colors of the Painted Hills and were excited to go see them. 
 
The painted hills are the result of thousands of years of volcanic eruptions over Central Oregon.  Each eruption laid a layer of ash and each had a different mineral composition. Years later as the land was geologically pushed up into "hills" and exposed to wind, rain and sun the minerals in each layer oxidized creating the bands of colors in the hills.  
 

We arrived around 7:00pm, the sky overhead was dark with thunder heads and the hills were wet from a recent rain. Over the next hour the sky cleared the hills dried and it almost seemed like we were watching the sun rise instead of set - we even got a rainbow. 






The changing light made the hills come alive, shifting colors as if they were being painted right there in front of us. A purely magical experience for such a special day. We watched the sun set and then headed out to find a spot to camp for the night. 
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.............................................................

The next day we drove to Crater Lake. It was my request to go (Woody had been there before) and I had done the research to make sure the roads were open, I was really looking forward to hiking around the most pristine lake in the world.  

Funny thing is that although the roads were open, as we got closer to the lake (and higher in elevation) there was still snow.  Not just a little, there was over 12 feet of snow on the side of the roads, and we learned that none of the hiking trails were cleared yet. As we watched people putting on their Snowshoes and skiis we realized how unprepared we were but we still decided to camp out that night and then drive the rim the next day to enjoy Crater lake from the car. 

 

                
That night we were snowed on (which was actually better then being rained on because for the last few nights we had been fighting a leak in our rain fly). In the morning, the sky was clear blue and we had spectacular views of the lake.
 Umpqua Falls near the hot springs.


Playing in the snow all day was fun but we were ready for a dry camp sight and decided to go early to the Umpqua Hot Springs. The perfect end to the Solstice weekend.


Happy Solstice !!! 

Oregon: The Ochocos

After Smith Rock, we decided to test our legs with an overnight backpacking trip in the Ochoco Mountains to the east of Bend, past Prineville. Most Oregonians don't know about the Ochocos, but I had discovered them many years ago on a road trip with Matt Arsenault and Jason Chaytor and have always wanted to return. These mountains are as close to the geographical center of Oregon as you can get, and unlike the Cascades to the west or the Wallowas in the east, none of their peaks are over 6000', which meant they were snow free for us to enjoy. And as we soon found out,they in full spring glory packed with wild flowers.



We chose the Black River Canyon Hike, a simple out and back along the the Black River, a tributary to the John Day River. Our hiking book described this hike as "...wonderful, as long as you don't mind getting your feet wet." This turned out to be an accurate description as the trail fords many small streams and rivulets, some of which were crossable via fallen trees and rock hopping, but none had any sort of constructed bridge. So we found ourselves hiking most of the 11 miles down the trail in our sandals, and with the 90 degree heat, this turned out to be a blessing.

 
The first six miles of the hike led us down through a recent burn (2005) that littered the hillsides with standing, dead poderosa pines, their white skeletons charred with black burn scars. But once we got down into the river bottom, the landscape filled in with maples, alders and tall, mature pines. We set up camp at around eight miles and decided to take advantage of the abundant daylight and explore more of the canyon.

 
Freed from our heavy packs, we hiked easily along the trail as it rolled its way down stream. Crossing side creeks along the way, the Black River was rarely in view, being covered by abundant shrubs and small trees. But we could always hear the river's churning and gurgling as it plunged its way between the canyon walls. After hiking for only thirty minutes or so, the forest opened up and gave way to grasslands that stretched up both sides of the canyon. We were definitely on the dry-side of the mountains now and the afternoon sun was heating the air all around us. Thank God for those creeks - a quick splash in the water invigorated us and kept our legs pumping. The canyon narrowed through basalt cliffs and the trail moved closer to the river, crossing it several times in a back and forth meandering between the ever encroaching canyon walls. The red and black basalt rims appeared as stone-faced sentinels outlined by the blue sky behind them. It was breath-taking,  but it was also getting late and we had traveled another six miles from camp without realizing it. So with stomachs grumbling we made our way back to camp for some dinner and a card game before retiring for the night in the comfort of our down sleeping bags.

On the hike we had some great wildlife encounters, including a black bear which we startled a the trailhead at the beginning of the hike. It was about 100 yards from us and bolted out of the brush as soon as it heard our footsteps. Thankfully it ran away from us, galloping through the forest like a wild horse. We heard (and thankfully didn't encounter) several rattle snakes, their marquis alarm telling us not to bother their mid-day rest. And we crossed paths with a skunk, who made no qualms about showing us his tail, indicating - without any argument from us - who really had the right of way in the backcountry.