Thursday, June 19, 2008

Lookout Mountain










As the summer struggles to begin it seems increasingly likely that the Cascade range will be off limits to us for the majority of our remaining time on the Pacific coast. With snow going nowhere fast we continue to search out areas in the more arid east. This past weekend was one of those rare ones where no one had anything planned, making it perfect for out of town excursions. We made for the Ochoco Mountains (pronounced O-cha-ko), a part of the bigger blue mountain chain further east in Oregon. The Ochoco's top out here at Lookout Mountain at about 7000 feet.

We once again had the black lab sole with us for the trip and she made for a well behaved trail dog. She couldn't care less about approaching people or dogs and always stays close. I wish I could say the same for her white counterpart.









Beginning at the abandoned Independent mine, the hike climbs only four and a half miles to the summit. It's a relatively easy climb as far as backpacking goes. But by 5 o'clock we had the entire mountain to ourselves, as well as a sprawling, sunny campsite with a three sided shelter to call home. The sun stayed with us both days. At times not even a cloud in the sky.


With a short hike in, we had the luxury of lounging around in our spacious camp. We tied up the mutts and napped in the sun, played a game of scrabble, which I was crushed in, and made some lunch. We saw only a handful of other people from the time we made camp.

We made one initial climb to the summit to find out why they call it Lookout mountain and decided there on the spot that we had to be there for sunset.

Too often in Oregon you reach a high point looking out onto miles and miles of forest, hoping and half expecting there to be an unroaded, unmolested mass of wilderness, only to find the near hills intact and bristling with old forest. Often beyond are the rigid outlines of clear-cuts, forming a quilt of decimated land, stitched together by a few remnant parcels of old-growth. The industrial logging juggernaut leaves its mark almost everywhere. So when we reached the summit here in the seemingly forgotten Ochoco's I was expecting much the same. The Forest Service has explored all their options. But we came across a view unmatched with any I've seen. Rolling hills of pine and fir, rippling all the way to the Cascade Volcanoes. To the north we could see the hulk of Mt. Adams in WA state, following the ring of fire hundreds of miles south past Mt. Hood, Jefferson, the Three Sisters and even further.






The views were epic. We've never seen so much of Oregon at once.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

John Day Float Trip Day 2









By morning clouds had replaced the clear skies of the night before. Overnight the patch on the equipment raft had hardened and we were ready again for the water. We all decided, after our coffe and breakfast that it would be better to get on the water early and to our next campsite while there was a decent amount of day left. There was only one stretch of whitewater to contend with today, although there were several stages to it, with big rolling waves. With the water as high as it was there was not much to maneuver around. We crashed on through and avoided the canyon walls. At points throughout the day we came across large colonies of cave swallows that had made nests in the muddy river banks. We floated under one that was teeming with hundreds of birds coming and going from their nests honeycombed in the mud. The smell was awful, but it was quite a sight.


After some fishing that produced no results we reached a spot called horshoe bend. As we neared the apex of the bend, we realized it was a natural amphitheatre of sorts, surrounding a peninsula of broad sloping prairie. We noticed several stands of juniper trees near the riverbank and without discussing it we all paddled hard to shore. It was obvious this was one of the best campsites on the river.







After pulling the boats out of the water we quickly set up shop, opened some beers and got a game of bocce ball under way. A little later in the afternoon, when the clouds began to break into intermittent sun, Mark, Nick and I decided to go for a hike. We chose the peak behind us in this last photo.


It was quite the climb. We took the raft across the river and scrambled up a loose slope of scree to a high ridge. Then it was straight up; a little scrambling a little leg lifting climbing. At one point I was stuck and Mark had to navigate my route to the top. From that height, I believe on the map it was a 1400 foot climb, the view was incredible. We could see the perfect horseshoe of the bend, the rolling buttes in all directions. One landmark that stood out was what we termed unoriginally the sleeping giant. I can't recall the name it went by but it was the best representation of a person I've ever seen in a mountain.






I'm going to post a bunch of pics here that can show the scenery better than I can I tell it. I'll just say that almost all of the rock in these canyons is lava that flowed over this whole area, in some spots rapidly cooling, giving the vertical column look.








By the way, since we were rafting on a river that sees a moderate share of groups, and being that this trip takes on average two to three days, and the fact that campsites are used again and again, we are required by law to take a portable toilet. I'm sorry, "backcountry toilet," consisting of a five gallon bucket with a special blue lid, a bag fitting the same way a plastic bag fits around a trash can, and a comfortable carrying handle. Regretfully I don't have any pictures on this topic. But catching someone stalking off with the bucket was cause for some hollering.


The official start to the summer came to a close the afternoon of the day thes pics were taken. A few of us stayed at the boat launch, unpacking gear, firing up our camping stoves for a meal before the long ride home. There was sleep, there were milkshakes, and then of course more sleep.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

John Day Float Trip






Memorial Day weekend: the official start to summer. This year Oregon missed the date, in fact, the northwest as a whole has bucked every cue to warm up, still dumping snow in the cascades and rain in the city. Last year we had braved the crowds in a Cascade wilderness area for an overnight backpacking trip, but this time around it was east we looked. Our good friend Mark has recently purchased an old 12 foot river raft and it was time for the maiden voyage. With another rental boat from Portland State University, we were ready to hit the water.



Mark, Amanda, Sara, Nick, Toby, Jamie and I drove in two vehicles to the John Day River about three hours drive from Portland. Chuck the dog stayed home with our friends, citing his questionable swimming ability and fear of going in up to his belly. The John Day is the second longest untamed river in the country. Lacking dams, the river is prone to quick changes in flow levels, but also remains much healthier as a system. We had been warned by several news outlets that flows were high this memorial day due to some 90 degree days the week before, which caused snowmelt to send the cascade rivers into a frenzy. After a report of a wild helicopter rescue on the Willamette river, an uneasiness lingered about the upcoming trip. After all it was Memorial Day weekend and if probability stays true there are always a few yahoos drunk on yellow beer without life jackets. The outcome is usually bad for someone. But a little encouraging words from some local rafting people and everyone was calmed to a degree.



When I first caught sight of the river at the put in point, I did have to squash a butterfly in my stomach. It looked big, heavy, fast, brown and swollen. By now I was well versed in cfs flow levels, flood stages and other river terminology. But seeing it swirling against the high wall of the river bend was another thing entirely. The presence of a state cop and BLM officer lent an official feeling to our casting off, as if they were there to size us up and wish us good luck. I am pleased to say that in hindsight, even Mark, a relentless optimist, thought it was moving FAST! Fast here is 5mph. In river speed that's a good clip. However, despite all the portents, people in uniform, and the brown unforgiving river, we were excited. We donned our life vests, pushing off Mark in the equipment barge, later to be named the trash barge. Then the rest of us in the yellow bannana boat, a whitewater version of the infamous "Jaws" float toy, pushed into the swirl.



After a hairy a first three minutes, culminating in several bridge pilings foaming with white water, we settled in to more gentle turns and riffles. The only reason I can even lend a tone of danger or excitement to this account is because it was my first time in a raft, the first time for most everyone on a good size river. Looking back it was a pretty benign stretch, peppered with class 2 rapids that kept us on our toes. Mark was right: a perfect beginner stretch.








Clouds dominated the day, punctuated at points with rain and drizzle, which we could see ahead of us in the dark clouds that veiled the hills and canyons downstream. We hoped, sometimes to no avail, that we would move slower than the rain clouds ahead. Mark spent the better part of the day on the water, bailing out his boat. There was an unidentified leak somwhere.




Sole, Amanda's black lab, (Amanda back right in first photo) kept us one with the water throughout the day. She, like many labs, is out of her mind when near water. She reminded us of this every few minutes as she slid out of the boat like a seal off a rock. We took turns banishing her from boat to boat until we came across a high flat spot on the river dotted with sage brush and willows and looking very inviting. It was soon camp.

Having come ashore we unloaded, soon discovering a hefty tear in the bottom of the leaking raft. Next to come was finding out which gear had been saturated with water. Jamie and I had to sacrifice a little food and ended up saving our oatmeal by laying it out on the sagebrush where the sun could dry the packets. Amanda found a wet sleeping bag that belonged to her but was able to dry it in the sun as well. Had it been raining when we hit camp the mood would not have been so upbeat. But the sky had gone blue and we were soon climbing up the ridge behind us for a better view.




Monday, June 9, 2008

Eagle Creek





On Ian and Michelle's last day in town, we teamd up with Sara and her brother Toby and headed into the Columbia River gorge for a place called Eagle Creek. The creek is really a canyon cut into the cliffs along a river. Waterfalls tumble from every direction. Streams in some places fall right down onto the trail.
In some places the trail is only a few feet wide and the drops to the river below are well over 1oo feet. Into the rock walls in some places, cable has been drilled in for a handrail. Michelle is leaning against one of those safety nets in this pic.









This is the view from the high bridge, three miles up the canyon. The bridge is about 100 feet above the river here. Water rips through this narrow passage at a frightening speed. In the top of the image you can see trees having been wedged in the canyon at the last high water. By far, the best time visit this area is in the spring. All the wildflowers are in bloom and the forest, still wet from spring rains, and winter snowmelt is intensely green. I'ce actually never been to this area in sunny weather.

Punchbowl falls.