Alright, I finally finished up my account of the Oregon camping trip (those pesky classes are always getting in the way). To read the postings in sequential order click here, and then click the "next" link at the bottom of each page.
Enjoy.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Low Elevation!
So, we finally had a warm night last night! We pulled into a campsite alongside the "Wild and Scenic" Rogue River (Oregon's state tourism board didn't have to think long about how to describe this one). The campsite was at an elevation in the hundreds of feet, instead of thousands, like the nights before. I've never been so excited about wearing flip-flops. This was our back yard:
Perhaps the most notable event that evening was stopping in Union Creek (in between Crater Lake and the Rogue). The little mountain town is home to Beckie's Cafe, home of what is quite possibly the best piece of pie I've ever had. The house special was Huckleberry, so we brought a few pieces back to the campsite. We couldn't eat them there, after all, we were roughing it.
This morning was spent hiking along the gorge carved out by the Rogue and the Lava streams before it. I was as amazing as what I've come to expect from the Oregon wilderness. Take a look:
One of the coolest parts of this region is a natural bridge carved out by Lava flowing underneath the surface rock. It was a big shortcut for getting back to our car, so we hopped the fence and put it to use.
Our next stop was the product of some logging executive's guilty conscience. The Boise Cascade company set aside some of its privately owned forest. It was a nature preserve containing the aptly named Avenue of the Giant Boulders:
and Mill Creek Falls:
We got back in the car and headed to the Whisky Creek portion of the Rogue river. We had found a great little place to hike to and camp in. It was pretty secluded--we had to take 15 winding miles of backcountry roads to get there (think Deliverance, plus trees, minus Ned Beatty). For a trip that was suppposed to be all backpacking, it was about time we left the car for a bit. The trail ran through the cliffs above the river and had one of the best views of any I've ever hiked.
After a couple hours of hiking, we came to the campsite, and I could have sworn that is was straight out of a North Face ad.
It was a wonderful place to spend our last night.
As I was unpacking my tent, I saw a huge spider crawling around the inside. And since it wasn't unzipped between then and the time when I was in it...Ugh, I don't want to think about that.
A few minutes after we set up camp, a group of boaters came floating up to the river bank and asked if they could share the campsite. We agreed, and were especially happy to have done so once they took out their half keg of beer (one of four). They called themselve the PLRG--Puffy Liver Rafting Group--and were a hilarious bunch of guys.
While they were unpacking their 2 grills, overhead canopies and iPod speakers, us low-level campers were out picking blackberries. Believe me, that's way more manly than it sounds. The bushes (weeds in OR) posess spikes that could hold a shish-kabob. Or in my case, a whole lot of skin. [Fast forward: it was completely worth it once I had them in my oatmeal the next morning. Mmmm.]
We made it back to the campsite just in time for the PLRG's 3-course dinner, in which they happily let us partake. Over torillini and beer, we talked about the electric fenced area in the campsite. It was clearly to prevent Yogi and pals from partaking in our dehydrated niblets. One of the PLRG (a first-timer) paid particular interest to this device, or better yet, the need for it. He hadn't spent much time in the outdoors, and the thought of a two-ton hunk of furry muscle didn't sit too well. Of course, the other guys jumped on the opportunity to scare the shit out of one of their buddies. They all traded bear stories, and I laughed along with the old-timers. But I was crying on the inside. Here I am, a fairly well traveled adventurer-in-training, and I was crapping myself over a couple of bear tales. But in all fairness, my usual romps aren't too bear-friendly, so it was a relatively new concept for me. But a relatively scary one, also. (Looks like I'll get to use those bear jokes, after all.)
I didn't want to brave a trip to the outhouse that night, so I held everything. I didn't need much help staying awake the night, and that definitely didn't help. I went in and out of consciousness, jumping up everytime the wind rustled my tent ("That's a bear. No it's not. Yes it is. No it's not, stop crying."). Every time my campmates rolled over in their sleeping bags, and every time nature played another note in its evening symphony, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Every time I woke up, I'd peek out from under my tent to see if the Sun had made any progress (as if bears, like vampires, scurry at the first sight of morning rays). I've never been so happy as I was when I heard the PLRG getting started on breakfast.
That morning, I took one of the top 3 poops of my life.
The next day was spent hiking our way out of the park (with me cautiously peeking around every blind corner). But the view made my bear-scares disappear.
We did end up surviving, although there really wasn't much to be afraid of (except my imagination). After a quick stop in Eugene for some amazing ice cream, we collapsed into our Portland beds for some amazing shut-eye. The next day, we took another tour around Portland, stopping in the city's Chinese and Japanese gardens.
Despite the snow, spiders and bears (oh my), I had an amazing time. Travel takes on a whole new dimension when you're sleeping under the stars. The nature was wonderful, the company was better, and the tranquility was perfect. But it sure is nice to be back under a roof.
See you next trip.
Perhaps the most notable event that evening was stopping in Union Creek (in between Crater Lake and the Rogue). The little mountain town is home to Beckie's Cafe, home of what is quite possibly the best piece of pie I've ever had. The house special was Huckleberry, so we brought a few pieces back to the campsite. We couldn't eat them there, after all, we were roughing it.
This morning was spent hiking along the gorge carved out by the Rogue and the Lava streams before it. I was as amazing as what I've come to expect from the Oregon wilderness. Take a look:
One of the coolest parts of this region is a natural bridge carved out by Lava flowing underneath the surface rock. It was a big shortcut for getting back to our car, so we hopped the fence and put it to use.
Our next stop was the product of some logging executive's guilty conscience. The Boise Cascade company set aside some of its privately owned forest. It was a nature preserve containing the aptly named Avenue of the Giant Boulders:
and Mill Creek Falls:
We got back in the car and headed to the Whisky Creek portion of the Rogue river. We had found a great little place to hike to and camp in. It was pretty secluded--we had to take 15 winding miles of backcountry roads to get there (think Deliverance, plus trees, minus Ned Beatty). For a trip that was suppposed to be all backpacking, it was about time we left the car for a bit. The trail ran through the cliffs above the river and had one of the best views of any I've ever hiked.
After a couple hours of hiking, we came to the campsite, and I could have sworn that is was straight out of a North Face ad.
It was a wonderful place to spend our last night.
As I was unpacking my tent, I saw a huge spider crawling around the inside. And since it wasn't unzipped between then and the time when I was in it...Ugh, I don't want to think about that.
A few minutes after we set up camp, a group of boaters came floating up to the river bank and asked if they could share the campsite. We agreed, and were especially happy to have done so once they took out their half keg of beer (one of four). They called themselve the PLRG--Puffy Liver Rafting Group--and were a hilarious bunch of guys.
While they were unpacking their 2 grills, overhead canopies and iPod speakers, us low-level campers were out picking blackberries. Believe me, that's way more manly than it sounds. The bushes (weeds in OR) posess spikes that could hold a shish-kabob. Or in my case, a whole lot of skin. [Fast forward: it was completely worth it once I had them in my oatmeal the next morning. Mmmm.]
We made it back to the campsite just in time for the PLRG's 3-course dinner, in which they happily let us partake. Over torillini and beer, we talked about the electric fenced area in the campsite. It was clearly to prevent Yogi and pals from partaking in our dehydrated niblets. One of the PLRG (a first-timer) paid particular interest to this device, or better yet, the need for it. He hadn't spent much time in the outdoors, and the thought of a two-ton hunk of furry muscle didn't sit too well. Of course, the other guys jumped on the opportunity to scare the shit out of one of their buddies. They all traded bear stories, and I laughed along with the old-timers. But I was crying on the inside. Here I am, a fairly well traveled adventurer-in-training, and I was crapping myself over a couple of bear tales. But in all fairness, my usual romps aren't too bear-friendly, so it was a relatively new concept for me. But a relatively scary one, also. (Looks like I'll get to use those bear jokes, after all.)
I didn't want to brave a trip to the outhouse that night, so I held everything. I didn't need much help staying awake the night, and that definitely didn't help. I went in and out of consciousness, jumping up everytime the wind rustled my tent ("That's a bear. No it's not. Yes it is. No it's not, stop crying."). Every time my campmates rolled over in their sleeping bags, and every time nature played another note in its evening symphony, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Every time I woke up, I'd peek out from under my tent to see if the Sun had made any progress (as if bears, like vampires, scurry at the first sight of morning rays). I've never been so happy as I was when I heard the PLRG getting started on breakfast.
That morning, I took one of the top 3 poops of my life.
The next day was spent hiking our way out of the park (with me cautiously peeking around every blind corner). But the view made my bear-scares disappear.
We did end up surviving, although there really wasn't much to be afraid of (except my imagination). After a quick stop in Eugene for some amazing ice cream, we collapsed into our Portland beds for some amazing shut-eye. The next day, we took another tour around Portland, stopping in the city's Chinese and Japanese gardens.
Despite the snow, spiders and bears (oh my), I had an amazing time. Travel takes on a whole new dimension when you're sleeping under the stars. The nature was wonderful, the company was better, and the tranquility was perfect. But it sure is nice to be back under a roof.
See you next trip.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Caves, lava and craters
After another brisk night, we visited two lava-themed National Monuments. The first one was the generically named Lava Lands park in central Oregon. The entire Cascade mountain range is one long string of Volcanoes (think Mt. St. Helens), so it shouldn't be surprising that much of the nearby landscape has been carved by their activity. This park had one giant cinder cone (caused by explosions of volcanic dirt, as opposed to magma), surrounded by a moon-like rockscape.
After an hour or so of hiking along the paved trails, we headed over to Lava River Cave. This particular geologic feature was formed by an underground river of lava (long since cooled) that carved a tunnel through the Earth's upper crust. It emerges at the surface, allowing visitors to explore it (albeit with a lantern and a jacket), so we spent an hour checking the place out. Because of the pitch-black surroundings, the place wasn't very conducive to photography, but our next stop will more that make up for the lack of pictures.
We went back to the car and headed south, dropping in elevation as well ("Watch the thermometer fall")! An hour car ride (or so, I lost track of time between the z's) brought us to one of the most amazing natural features that I have seen in this country or any other.
Crater Lake National Park is one of the Wonders of the Natural World, and should be a requisite destination for any good American. (And I use that term with the purest of intentions, unlike the linguistic hijackers littering D.C.) Words don't begin to describe the view, and photos don't do much better, but here's an 8x10 glimpse into what needs to be seen in person.
After wiping up our drool, we headed for a two mile hike (straight up) to Garfield Peak for an even better view than the first.
We then hiked our way back to the lodge for a locally fermented treat (from Deschuttes brewery, worth tracking down). Refreshed, we headed back to the car and made our way south.
After an hour or so of hiking along the paved trails, we headed over to Lava River Cave. This particular geologic feature was formed by an underground river of lava (long since cooled) that carved a tunnel through the Earth's upper crust. It emerges at the surface, allowing visitors to explore it (albeit with a lantern and a jacket), so we spent an hour checking the place out. Because of the pitch-black surroundings, the place wasn't very conducive to photography, but our next stop will more that make up for the lack of pictures.
We went back to the car and headed south, dropping in elevation as well ("Watch the thermometer fall")! An hour car ride (or so, I lost track of time between the z's) brought us to one of the most amazing natural features that I have seen in this country or any other.
Crater Lake National Park is one of the Wonders of the Natural World, and should be a requisite destination for any good American. (And I use that term with the purest of intentions, unlike the linguistic hijackers littering D.C.) Words don't begin to describe the view, and photos don't do much better, but here's an 8x10 glimpse into what needs to be seen in person.
After wiping up our drool, we headed for a two mile hike (straight up) to Garfield Peak for an even better view than the first.
We then hiked our way back to the lodge for a locally fermented treat (from Deschuttes brewery, worth tracking down). Refreshed, we headed back to the car and made our way south.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Up, up, and away! (And then up some more.)
After a short drive (of which I saw only the back of my eyelids, you know what cars do to me), we arrived at the Mirror Lake trail head in Three Sisters. Looking up at the mountain tops, it had clearly snowed a lot over the last few days, but the trailhead was dry, and we thought that the campsite was at a lower altitude (and therefore warmer), so we set off with 50 pounds of gear and food strapped to our backs.
Don't we look adventurous? (And how cool is that hat hair of mine?)
As we hiked, we started noticing more and more snow on the ground. We were slowly ascending, which didn't make sense, since we thought that the campsite was below the trail head. But we trusted the map, maybe the trail went up before it went down. So we kept going.
And going.
And going.
At this point, we were getting a little worried (and a lot colder), so we double checked the map. What we had thought was an altitude reading of 5000 feet at the campsite was actually 6000 feet, well above the snow line. Oops. For the record, although I'm much more prone than most to clumsy travel slip-ups, the map reading error was comitted by my very well seasoned uncle. The guy's one click below park ranger, so if he's getting mixed up, there isn't much hope for the rest of us. But we had already traveled 3/4 of the way (and we're stubborn), so we trudged on, thinking that we'd evaluate things once we got to the campsite. As soon as we got there, the situation was obvious, we'd either have to pack back out or freeze our little tushies off. This is where we would have been sleeping (keep in mind, this photo was taken around 2pm, it was only going to get colder).
After a little pow-wow, we decided to throw in the towel. Better to swallow our pride than lose our testicles, after all they've already been in quite a lot of jeopardy on this trip. (Speaking of which, I'll take stale joke for 400, Alex.)
We hiked back down the mountain, thinking we'd camp out at a lower elevation. We saw a nice, secluded lake a couple miles back, so we were going to take our chances there. It was pretty and had some flat spots to put our tents.
We got there around 3, dropped our packs, and took it easy. Jeremy and I took a nap (some things never change), and Richard explored. When we woke up, he pointed out that it was 4pm--the hottest time of day--and still couldn't have been more than 45 degrees. We needed to keep going. We ended up leaving the park altogether, getting back to our car around 6. We had essentially taken the most geared-up day hike in the history of the sport.
So, we're again without a destination. Let's recap:
Glacier National Park
Marble Mountain, CA
Mirror Lake, Three Sisters, OR
Three Sisters, second try
As we drove away, the clouds broke, giving us our first view of the mountain that we had spent all day trying to climb.
Irony's a cruel mistress.
Driving off, we saw a little campsite just a couple of miles from the trailhead, and it was well below the snow line. We had initially stopped to check out the area, but we knew this was the place. Here's what convinced us.
The view only got better as the sun went down.
And then got back up.
It almost made us happy that we couldn't stay in Sisters. Almost.
Don't we look adventurous? (And how cool is that hat hair of mine?)
As we hiked, we started noticing more and more snow on the ground. We were slowly ascending, which didn't make sense, since we thought that the campsite was below the trail head. But we trusted the map, maybe the trail went up before it went down. So we kept going.
And going.
And going.
At this point, we were getting a little worried (and a lot colder), so we double checked the map. What we had thought was an altitude reading of 5000 feet at the campsite was actually 6000 feet, well above the snow line. Oops. For the record, although I'm much more prone than most to clumsy travel slip-ups, the map reading error was comitted by my very well seasoned uncle. The guy's one click below park ranger, so if he's getting mixed up, there isn't much hope for the rest of us. But we had already traveled 3/4 of the way (and we're stubborn), so we trudged on, thinking that we'd evaluate things once we got to the campsite. As soon as we got there, the situation was obvious, we'd either have to pack back out or freeze our little tushies off. This is where we would have been sleeping (keep in mind, this photo was taken around 2pm, it was only going to get colder).
After a little pow-wow, we decided to throw in the towel. Better to swallow our pride than lose our testicles, after all they've already been in quite a lot of jeopardy on this trip. (Speaking of which, I'll take stale joke for 400, Alex.)
We hiked back down the mountain, thinking we'd camp out at a lower elevation. We saw a nice, secluded lake a couple miles back, so we were going to take our chances there. It was pretty and had some flat spots to put our tents.
We got there around 3, dropped our packs, and took it easy. Jeremy and I took a nap (some things never change), and Richard explored. When we woke up, he pointed out that it was 4pm--the hottest time of day--and still couldn't have been more than 45 degrees. We needed to keep going. We ended up leaving the park altogether, getting back to our car around 6. We had essentially taken the most geared-up day hike in the history of the sport.
So, we're again without a destination. Let's recap:
As we drove away, the clouds broke, giving us our first view of the mountain that we had spent all day trying to climb.
Irony's a cruel mistress.
Driving off, we saw a little campsite just a couple of miles from the trailhead, and it was well below the snow line. We had initially stopped to check out the area, but we knew this was the place. Here's what convinced us.
The view only got better as the sun went down.
And then got back up.
It almost made us happy that we couldn't stay in Sisters. Almost.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Come back to me testicles
Well, we're crossing destinations off right and left. Not only was Marble Mountain's air fouled by a recent forest fire, hunting season opens today. And none of us were too keen on getting popped by an overzealous Bubba. I'm often mistaken for things that I'm not (smart, funny, a decent writer...), and I'd hate to add venison to the list. So yesterday we decided to head south to the Three Sisters widerness area near Bend, OR. We started the trip off right, taking the historic Columbia River Highway. The road bisects our country's only National Scenic Area, a title well deserved. Take a look:
Along the way we stopped at some little state park gems, Multinomah Falls and Smith Rock. The falls are just 30 minutes outside Portland, and are one of the state's top tourist destinations. Again, a picture is better than me yapping.
Smith Rock is, well, a rock. But a really cool, big rock. It's a popular climbing destination (in fact, we saw a few Peter Parkers doing their thing). Pic time:
Because of all the detours, we wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Three Sisters. We decided to spend the night at Turmalo State park, 25 miles outside of Bend. As the sun set, the temperature dropped. Fast. By the time we were ready to hit the sleeping bags, it had fallen to about 30 degrees. It was in the twentys overnight (hence the post's title). Now, I've spent several posts detailing the experience of an overnight deep freeze, so I won't belabor you with details. But let me tell you, the pull out maneuver that every guy employs before he goes #1 takes on a whole new level of difficulty when your fingers are popsicles with knuckles. I decided to hold it. Every time I woke up last night (and there were lots), I pulled the drawsring on my sleeping bag tighter and tighter until I could barely suck in air. I seriously considered sealing it shut altogehter, wondering how long I could live on the air in my sleeping bag. It wasn't long.
We woke up the next day to find the site just as cold as we left it. Comment of the day: "It's frozen!" says my uncle about the plate that we washed the night before. Brrr. Second place: "Look at the Sisters," says my uncle, "there sure is a lot of fresh snow up there."
"Oh shit."
(But we went anyway.)
Along the way we stopped at some little state park gems, Multinomah Falls and Smith Rock. The falls are just 30 minutes outside Portland, and are one of the state's top tourist destinations. Again, a picture is better than me yapping.
Smith Rock is, well, a rock. But a really cool, big rock. It's a popular climbing destination (in fact, we saw a few Peter Parkers doing their thing). Pic time:
Because of all the detours, we wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Three Sisters. We decided to spend the night at Turmalo State park, 25 miles outside of Bend. As the sun set, the temperature dropped. Fast. By the time we were ready to hit the sleeping bags, it had fallen to about 30 degrees. It was in the twentys overnight (hence the post's title). Now, I've spent several posts detailing the experience of an overnight deep freeze, so I won't belabor you with details. But let me tell you, the pull out maneuver that every guy employs before he goes #1 takes on a whole new level of difficulty when your fingers are popsicles with knuckles. I decided to hold it. Every time I woke up last night (and there were lots), I pulled the drawsring on my sleeping bag tighter and tighter until I could barely suck in air. I seriously considered sealing it shut altogehter, wondering how long I could live on the air in my sleeping bag. It wasn't long.
We woke up the next day to find the site just as cold as we left it. Comment of the day: "It's frozen!" says my uncle about the plate that we washed the night before. Brrr. Second place: "Look at the Sisters," says my uncle, "there sure is a lot of fresh snow up there."
"Oh shit."
(But we went anyway.)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
I'm tired, this'll be short
Alright, we've got a plan now: we're heading to the Marble Mountain wilderness in Northern California. It looks nice, it's not too far, and the weather's good. There are some wildfires nearby, so hopefully the air will be clear--we'll see how that goes. We're getting up early tomorrow, so I'm not going to chat here too long, but I did want to check in.
Portland is fast becomming one of my favorite US cities. Nice people, clean air, beautiful scenery, and plenty of parks. Here's one:
My aunt, cousin and I spent they day walking around and taking the FREE metro train. I'd probably gush more about the city if I didn't have to get up so early, but take my word, it's nice.
So, unless Bullwinkle's got himself an internet cafe, I don't think I'll be posting anytime soon. What I'll do is write down the inevitble wilderness hijinks in a paper journal (if they still make those), and put them online once I get back to civilization.
Talk to you all soon,
Myles
Portland is fast becomming one of my favorite US cities. Nice people, clean air, beautiful scenery, and plenty of parks. Here's one:
My aunt, cousin and I spent they day walking around and taking the FREE metro train. I'd probably gush more about the city if I didn't have to get up so early, but take my word, it's nice.
So, unless Bullwinkle's got himself an internet cafe, I don't think I'll be posting anytime soon. What I'll do is write down the inevitble wilderness hijinks in a paper journal (if they still make those), and put them online once I get back to civilization.
Talk to you all soon,
Myles
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
A summer twofer
I must have done something to tickle the travel god's fancy, because I'm 24 hours away from setting off on summer '06 trip number two (not counting the weekend romp in LA). This time it's with my cousin, Jeremy, and uncle, Richard. The plan was to meet them in Portland and head up to the soon-to-be-irrelevantly-named Glacier National Park. But the weather took a turn for the crappy and we decided to spare ourselves the weiner-sicle inducing stow storms. We're going to have to come up with a new plan tomorrow. (Which is too bad, because I lined up a pretty solid list of "I'm afraid of bears" jokes. Oh well.)
So, I had my first big dinner in a long time last night (I love going home). However, my body forgot how to handle that quantity of food and I woke up having to take quite a dump. Problem was that I kinda slept in today (getting up at 4:30 is no easy task for me), but I figured I'd just go at the airport. I had a soon to expire coupon for free admittance to the terminal VIP lounge, and I hear that they have toilets you can drink a smoothie out of (poothie?). An airline credit card that I signed up for came with complementary access to that mysterious set of double doors that swallows up executives by the dozen. However, a nasty bout of gridlock on the way to the airport knocked my schedule out of whack. I had only arrived at the airport by the time I was planning to be knee deep in complementary danishes. So I booked it to the gate sans-breakfast (and sans-pooing).
By this point, I was squirming pretty bad, but I couldn't bring myself to drop a deuce on the plane; those bathrooms are just way too public for me. Short version: as soon as we landed, I linebacked my way off the plane and headed for the first bathroom that I could find. No time to lay down the paper cowboy hat, this was an emergency.
I had stopped in San Diego so that I could buy a round trip out of there and not Phoenix (I get in the night before school starts). I was also switching airlines, so I had to pick up my luggage and recheck it. This meant another sprint to the gate, but the security line was longer than Wilt Chamberlain's...well...you know what. (List of records broken, what were you thinking?) So to avoid the mass of liquid-toting, line-slowing rookies, I took out my airline credit card and headed for the first class line. I told the ticket checker that the credit card was actually a membership card to the elite frequent flyer program (it's not), and that bypassing the security line was a bonus perk (it's not, either). It's amazing what people will believe if you sound like you know what you're talking about.
[Ouch, I just got my knees bashed in by the douchebag sitting in front of me--hang on a second, I think we're going to have a little chat.]
Much better.
As you've probably guessed, I'm sitting on the plane again, this time heading to Salt Lake City. It's like a flying Latter Day Saints conference here. A lot of blond hair and blue eyes on this flight. [I'm restraining myself because I happen to have some high school friends that prove not all Mormons are Warren Jeffs, but there's just so much humor potential there.]
By the way, I thought that there weren't anymore hot flight attendants these days. I was mistaken.
Alright, I'll check in again from Portland, I need to get some sleep. Ahh, the safety announcement, that should help.
M
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