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.
