Upper Rogue River (Hamaker Meadow)

I was cruising through the Internet the other evening and came across a boastful blurb stating the Siskiyou Mountain Club had cleared the Upper Rogue River Trail (URRT) to Rough Rider Falls. Whoops of joy then filled the exalted air of my man cave, for several years ago I had tried to hike to the cascade but had been thoroughly repelled by tonnages of fallen trees laying across the trail. As an added degree of excitement on that particular hike, I also had a close encounter with a mama bear and her two cubs when returning from said piles of fallen trees. Rough Rider Falls wasn't very user-friendly to me that day but since the trail allegedly had been cleared of piles of fallen trees (and hopefully of bears, too), it was time for another attempt to reach the ever so elusive Rough Rider Falls. 

Just beautiful weather for hiking in

It was a perfect day for hiking this more recent time out. The sun made an appearance but the temperature remained mild, part of a recent cool-weather trend that was hopefully aiding and abetting the fire crews doing battle with the Cedar Creek Fire. That in turn, might also hopefully ease the smoke befouling the air in the McKenzie and Umpqua Valleys. At any rate, I was happy to be out hiking in cooler weather.

Got plenty of quality forest time in

Beginning from the trailhead, the path wandered north on an up and down route next to the Rogue River. Sometimes above the river on a forested bench, sometimes down in the riverside brush, the trail clearly could not make up its mind as whether to stay high or low. My legs appreciated the mild exercise though, as the ups were not all that challenging or daunting.

The river is amazingly clear

When the trail ambled down by the river, the water was remarkably clear, which stood to reason seeing as how we (my imaginary friend and I) were only about five miles from Boundary Springs, the fountainhead of the mighty Rogue. Occasionally, green meadows were spotted on the other side of the river. I say occasionally, for the brush and forest really made it hard to see down to the river in the first place, much less to any surrounding landscape or meadows.

No-Name Falls labors in anonymity 

About a mile into the hike, a roar emanating from the river announced the presence of No-Name Falls. Officially, the cascade does not have a name but is referred to by regulars as No-Name Falls, which is almost like a name. I scrambled down to the cascade for a better look and spent a few minutes simply appreciating the sight and might of the Rogue River rumbling and tumbling down the cascade's narrow chute.

At times, the trail went sketchy on me

Despite the claim that the trail had been maintained, signs of trail love were in short supply. The track was littered with small branches and storm debris and where the vegetative growth was vigorous and robust, the trail was faint and a little hard to follow, especially where knee-high bracken fern encroached the trail. Unless an intervention soon occurs, the ferns will win out and claim the trail wholly for themselves.

Time to admit defeat, again

Just short of three miles of hiking fun, a large tree lay across the trail. I swear it was the same tree from when I had hiked this trail several years ago. And sure enough, then there was another fallen tree sprawling on the trail much like an somnolent guest at a Nyquil convention. And then there was another fallen tree, and another, and another, etc. I literally crawled under or over the first eight or ten to get by but when a large Empire State Building of logs blocked further progress north, it was deja vu all over again. 

Sunlight slants through the forest in the afternoon

Soundly defeated, it was a turnaround hike back to the trailhead where I then crossed Forest Road 6530 and picked up the resumption of the Upper Rogue River Trail heading south. This section of the URRT had its tree issues too, but there were none as formidable as the daunting piles blocking the way to Roughrider Falls, and I was able to make acceptable progress along the trail.

A brief glimpse of very large Hamaker Meadows

Basically, the route contoured along the edge of massive Hamaker Meadows, although it was hard to tell as the path stayed in mostly viewless forest above the meadows. Periodic openings in the forest provided brief peeks at the grassy expanse below and on one occasion, I bushwhacked down into the meadows proper. It didn't take long for boots to start sinking into the boggy soil so I didn't get all that far into the scenic greenery reposing below forested Hamaker Butte. After a mile and a half contouring above Hamaker Meadows, the trail crossed the river on a stout footbridge at Hamaker Camp and that was my cue to turn around and leave all things Hamaker behind.

The Rogue kept me company throughout the day

Even when you don't reach your destination, it's still a good hike and this venture was no exception. I got to spend all day in beautiful forest with a clear-running river flowing below the trail and there's nothing wrong with that at all, especially when there's no scary bear encounter involved. However, Roughrider Falls still remains as elusive as ever and my next plan to get there will involve hiking the Upper Rogue River Trail from the Crater Rim Trailhead. We'll see if I'll be more successful or not.

Hamaker Meadows, from Hamaker Camp

For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

Elk Creek Trail

In hiking, weather is a much considered, oft-discussed topic. Generally, we hikers carefully parse the weather forecast before deciding when or if we get out on the trail. Failure to do so can mean enduring a wet or wintry hike without proper gear. Now, some wags will point out that we often hike in wet or wintry weather anyway, but at least it's an informed decision when we do. Usually, the forecasts are reasonably accurate but then again, there are hikes like this one at Elk Creek, where no deliberate or measured prediction could ever accurately foretell the chaotic nature of the day's weather.

Escapees from the facility

When we parked at the upper Elk Creek trailhead, the weather was a combo of sleet, snow, and rain that had us all hurriedly putting on rain gear right at the start. This was a Friends of the Umpqua venture that yours truly was leading and the weather's poor outlook meant I had only four friends on this day. This was about four more friends than I normally get and our meager party set out on the paved trail next to a very full Elk Creek, scrunching our necks down into our shoulders in a vain effort to keep dry.

On the trail to Sevenmile Swimming Hole, in the rain

After a mile or so, we traded in the old historical paved roadway for a dirt path that traversed through a pasture to a local landmark known as Sevenmile Swimming Hole. There was no need for us to go swimming today for there was more than enough water (in all its forms) in the air to satisfy any urge to become completely wet. Besides which, it was pretty cold, the falling inclement being just this side of actual snowfall. 

Elk Creek did not entice us to go swimming

Elk Creek was rain-swollen and in a semi-flooding state, the noisy creek running rampant through stands of maple and alder trees that would normally be on dry banks overlooking the stream. The creek curved past some mossy cliffs and entered the deep and silty waters of Sevenmile Swimming Hole that none of us took the opportunity to jump into. We found out Shannon likes rocks as she combed the banks and stuffed her coat pockets with souvenirs just like my daughters used to do when they were very young. Rocks in the pockets would be another pretty good reason not to jump into the swimming hole.

It was colder up there

As we departed from our little side trip to Sevenmile Swimming Hole, the heavy cloud cover began to lift, offering tantalizing peeks at the mountains flanking either side of Elk Creek's pronounced valley. Clearly and quite obviously, all had been well dusted by snow during the storm's wintry visit. But hey, if the clouds are lifting, then sunny weather can't be far behind, can it?

The trail is an old decommissioned roadway

The answer to that question was answered by a vigorous hailstorm. Apparently, it can hail quite heartily from lifting cloud cover. I can also say, from personal experience, that hail on a hat brim makes quite a racket, rendering any would-be conversation futile, not that any one of my companions wanted to talk to me anyway, seeing how this was all my fault. This ten-minute squall was the first of three notable hailstorms on the day.

Shadow Man came to visit us like every five
minutes or so, and he did not stay very long, either

We stoically endured our pelting by millions of high-velocity ice pellets and after a bit, the clouds really did begin to break apart, with blue sky leaking through the seams. Eventually, the sun shone and the day became hot enough to get us removing coats and sweatshirts. But then after that ten-minute heat wave, another hailstorm had us putting them back on to stave off the cold. Sheesh, would you make up your weather mind? You could almost hear sardonic chuckles from capricious weather gods as we geared up or down, depending on the climate of the moment and the whims of the deities.

Jan and Shannon hike past a peace
offering to the weather gods

We turned back at the five-mile mark, making for a nice little ten-mile round-trip hike. On the return leg, the clouds generally stayed high and we enjoyed brief sunny interludes between rain and heavy cloud cover, the weather changing like every two minutes. A highlight of the trip was a short visit to some homestead ruins, adorned with occult spray-painted runes that just might explain the manic weather.

This last hail storm was the nastiest one

About a half-mile from the finish, the day darkened once again, the wind picked up, and horizontal rain became horizontal hail. Apparently Elk Creek wanted to give us a pneumonia diagnosis to remember it by. As we leaned into the sheets of hail coming at us, the trailhead seemed so far away. But then, to no surprise, the wind died down, the hail changed to rain, and then the rain died out. By the time, we reached the trailhead about fifteen minutes later, the sun was out again. Go figure!

Nearby mountains disappear behind the hail

The story of this hike was all about the wild and ever changing weather we had walked in. If you noticed, I haven't really talked about the scenery, which is a shame for Elk Creek and its valley are quite scenic. But then again, it's going to be all about the weather when the day is either sunny, cloudy, snowy, rainy, cold, warm, hailing, windy, or all of the above and sometimes all at once!

Don't like the weather?
Just wait a minute!

For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

More Details

Rainie Falls

It's February already, yet this is only my second hike of 2021. At this rate, I'm on pace to wind up with 48 miles on 12 hikes this year. I'd hiked so little recently my knees were oxidizing and in sore need of some life-giving hiking oil. Accordingly, younger brother Don and I set up a hike at Takelma Gorge but snowy weather caused us to postpone that little venture for a later date. The Rogue River was nearby though, and situated below snowy weather elevation, thereby making the Rogue our impromptu Plan B. And because I felt as rusted over as the Tin Man, Rainie Falls was chosen simply because it was not as rigorous as the up-and-down Rogue River Trail on the opposite side of the river from the Rainie Falls Trail.

    

A cold day all around

Despite being shorter though, the Rainie Falls Trail is a lot more rugged. The trail is crudely chiseled into cliff faces above the river and the tread is rough and rocky in a lot of places, rendering both of our inner mountain goats ecstatic. Although we'd get neither snow nor rain on this day, it was frosty cold and was all that was needed for actual snowfall was just some precipitation. The surrounding mountains disappeared into a low cloud cover on a gray day and no doubt the mountains did have snow higher up.

Numerous seasonal creeks ran across the trail

It was readily made apparent that this hike would be all about water. Of course, the rain-swollen Rogue River coursed below the trail and was eminently visible for virtually the entire hike. But weeks of rain and snow created new creeks and runoffs while replenishing and rejuvenating old ones. Don likes to take videos and I like to photograph, so we basically hiked in same style, which consisted of frequent stops to take photos or videos or all of the above.

Not the smoothest trail in the world

There was a duality to this hike in that the time and miles were equally split between trail etched into exposed rocky cliffs and lush forest green and vibrant; one or the other with no in-between. The forest was that odd Siskiyou mix we know and love, being comprised of strange tree-fellows madrone, myrtlewood, cedar, oak, and fir. Don and I crumpled up myrtlewood leaves between our fingers, enjoying the sweet intoxicating aroma emanating from the bruised leaves.

Don hikes through the ferns and Oregon myrtle

A fellow Pacific Northwest nature geek once admonished me "Do NOT call it bay laurel, it is Oregon myrtle!" Yes sir, and I dutifully obeyed so as not to be unfriended or written out of the will. However, if you look up "Oregon myrtle", you will find it also called "California bay laurel" and please don't hit me. All this discussion of laurel vs. myrtlewood is because Don speculated myrtlewood is a true bay laurel endemic to northern California and southern Oregon. That sent me to some online research where I found out: a) it is not a true laurel although the fragrant leaves smell as such and b) the range is the entire California coast and about half of the Oregon coast and c) I am the smarter and better looking brother.

Some madrone orangery among all the greenery

We had a similar discussion about the range of madrone, he thought it was likewise limited to Oregon and northern California. Actually, madrone can be found the world over but our particular madrone species, the Pacific madrone, grows only on the west coast from San Diego to the Vancouver Island area in British Columbia. Good thing Don and I did not discuss any other species of flora or fauna because otherwise I'd still be immersed in this research project, but I spare no effort to prove to my readers that I am always right. 

Good thing the river gods aren't hungry

This time of year, the winter rains and snows fill up the Rogue River and naturally, the river was silty, fast, and wide. The extra water just overwhelms Rainie Falls, making it seem more like a watery speed bump for the rafting and kayaking crowd instead of the feared river obstacle it is. However, the strong and powerful current is still plenty capable of chewing up careless boaters and spitting out the husks like so many used-up sunflower seed hulls. The inherent danger didn't necessarily stop us from standing right at the edge but on the other hand, we both have cool photos and videos of the falls. Maybe neither one of us is the smarter brother.

It was cliffy and we liked it

After a nice little lollygag, it was back the way we came and we got to experience the awesome Rogue River Scenery all over again. The ponderous bulk of the greenish-brown river flowed in the bottom of its canyon and we observed many creeks waterfalling down the mountainsides before splashing into or onto the river. This was Don's first visit to the Rogue River and much like all newbies I have brought here in years past, he was reliably awed. Mission accomplished, especially since I didn't hurt any more body parts on the hike, which is something you say when you are the older brother.

Don saw the Rogue River, and
he smiled and said it was good

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Boundary Springs

The Great Oregon Burn Zone Tour of 2020 continued on a bright summer day in early September with this hike to Boundary Springs. The lodgepole forest surrounding Boundary Springs had perished in the same fire that had immolated the Red Cone area, the locale of my prior hike. But hey, I often say there is great beauty in a burn zone so apparently this has been one especially beautiful summer!

A new forest sprouts under the bones of the old one

The thin lodgepole forest surrounding the Boundary Springs Trail was absolutely decimated in 2015's Crescent Fire. No tree survived, the destruction was utter and complete and all that remains of the forest are countless acres of ghostly white snags standing upright, resembling on a larger basis so many porcupine quills in a dog's snout. I still can't fathom how fire can irrevocably and completely destroy an entire forest, yet spare all the mosquitoes. The adult trees were left lifeless as a statue but life always finds a way and hundreds of little lodgepole seedlings were already taking root at the feet of their deceased parents. 

A mid-hike regroup at a trail junction

Life also abounds in the form of a hiking club and eleven of us set foot on the Boundary Springs Trail, mouths collectively agape at the terrible yet awesome sight of a totally destroyed forest. Also in keeping with this summer's theme of hiking in lodgepole forests (be they dead or alive) in volcanic soils, those of us at the tail end of the hiking line ate everybody else's dust kicked up by scuffing boots.

We cross a creek flowing on the bottom of a ravine

It didn't take long for a ravine to appear on the left side of the trail with a small creek coursing at the bottom. Soft soils are no match for moving water and this small creek was eagerly engaged on its short journey to join up with the nearby Rogue River. Be it small, nonetheless the creek had cut a sizeable canyon in all the soft pumice and volcanic ash that surrounds nearby Crater Lake. 

Boundary marker as we entered the National Park

Without preamble or ceremony,  the trail dove down into yet another canyon, crossed the adolescent Rogue River, and then climbed up to the opposite side of the canyon. Boundary Springs is so named for its proximity to the north boundary of Crater Lake National Park and before long, we passed a sign commemorating entry into the park, but we had no issues getting past customs. 

Lush pastures thrived next to the Rogue River

Because the moist air next to the river offered some protection from the wildfire, there is ample greenery flourishing right next to the Rogue. Small grassy meadows were interspersed between tall healthy trees sporting green leaves and needles, the vegetation being most alluring to hikers slogging away in the hot and dusty environs above the canyon. Good thing then, that the trail began a steady descent down to river level and subsequently, to Boundary Springs itself. 

This waterfall is hard to get close to

The river was shallow and a multitude of fallen trees and logs clogged the flowing water, creating a series of natural fish weirs. I'd be tempted to say the logs fell into the river because of the fire, but the river channel has been log-littered since long before my first pre-fire hike here, so maybe it's just a Rogue River thing that occurs naturally. Despite the relative shallowness of the river, there are a few places where the river had to funnel into a narrow chute, giving rise to several photogenic cascades and waterfalls. As a precursor to Boundary Springs, all manner of seeps and springs began to gush forth next to the trail with ever increasing frequency. Moss and other assorted greenery flourished next to all the seeps, taking full advantage of the free water available just for the taking. 

Boundary Springs gushes forth

Boundary Springs is a special place because it's just not every day where a full flowing river emerges from the ground. You can stand on top of the springs, look downstream, and the Rogue River will look just like a genuine river should. Turn around and look upstream though, it's a different story: nothing but dry ground and burned forest with nary a drop of water to be seen. Apparently there's no stream in upstream! Because the water has been filtered clean during its long underground journey, there is nothing like a gulp of fresh Boundary Springs water. All life should be just like that drink of water.

The Rogue begins here

While the Boundary Springs Trail continues deeper into Crater Lake Park, becoming part of the Bald Crater Loop (described in the previous blog about Red Cone Spring), our business here was finished for the most part. Some of us went to visit West Lake while others just hiked straight back but all wound up eventually at the Boundary Springs Trailhead. The parking lot was full because apparently everybody wants to be outdoors during a pandemic and the trail had been noticeably busier than normal. Evidently we were not the only people out and about on a Great Oregon Burn Zone Tour. 

First comes fire, then comes fireweed

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Lower Table Rock

"Wow. Just wow." That rather succinct and terse statement from Jay was entirely accurate, though. The Rogue Valley spread out at our feet like a gigantic picnic blanket thrown out from the top of Lower Table Rock, and the clouds were creating all sorts of sun-and-sky drama as a storm dissipated, making for a stunning diorama that mere words could never convey. Just wow, indeed.

A zen moment in a vernal pool on top of Lower Table Rock

Eons ago, the Rogue River used to flow atop a volcanic plateau about 800 feet higher than the river's current elevation. Seismic events cracked the hardened lava flow and the river subsequently wormed its way through the cracks into flow's soft underbelly, thus beginning the process of eroding the plateau and creating the Rogue Valley, which nowadays contains the city of Medford and surrounding towns and communities. Remnants of the ancient river banks still exist today, chiefly being the prominent flat-topped U-shaped mesas of Upper and Lower Table Rocks. Currently, the rocks are jointly administered by the BLM and Nature Conservancy, and a trail to the summit of each of the locally renown landmarks are heavily hiked by Medfordians, and with good reason.

Jay...come back!

When we arrived at the Lower Table Rock Trailhead, the parking lot was uncharacteristically empty. The morning rain may have had something to do with that but the rain had stopped when Jay and I set out upon the trail. Immediately upon setting out, a sign warned us to stay on trail to avoid rattlesnakes. I had to explain to Jay (who is from rattlesnake-free India) what a rattlesnake was and then had to persuade him to continue hiking instead of hopping back into the car with the windows rolled up and the doors locked for protection.

Dreary trees against a dreary sky

Actually, I exaggerate of course, he only expressed mild concern about the snakes, and we commenced hiking with no girly screams of terror from either one of us. During the course of the hike, I pointed out poison oak and explained all about ticks and he began to wonder why he had come. Mistletoe hung in the oak trees and I told him since we were standing under the mistletoe he now had to kiss me, I do believe I may have heard a girly scream of terror about then.

Tree speaks with forked branch

The hike to the top of either rock is not very long so for a little additional mileage, we added to our itinerary a short nature trail that looped through an oak savanna. There was movement underneath the trees as a flock of turkeys frantically fled our arrival. The oaks were all leafless and stark against the gray sky while lichen hanging from the branches swayed with each movement of air. Water drops hung off the end of every twig and lichen beard, explaining the copious amounts of moss growing on tree trunks and limbs.

We could see our destination above the wet path

Once the loop hike was completed, it was all uphill on the trail to the summit, the path still covered in places by puddles from the rain. As we gained elevation, bits and pieces of the surrounding farm valleys appeared here and there, depending on the whims and caprices of the cloud cover. However, in a hopeful sign for our hiking future, small but temporary holes of blue sky appeared in the cloud cover as we labored up the trail.

Sam's Valley gets some intermittent sunlight

Clearly, the morning rainstorm was dissipating. When had we first started hiking, neighboring Upper Table Rock was hidden in the clouds but now we could see the massive plateau in all its entirety. The neighboring community known as Sam's Valley was eminently visible and was off-and-on bathed in sunlight. Visible on the slopes well above us, were the massive cliffs of the actual rim of Lower Table Rock, giving us a good way to gauge our progress, or lack thereof. We stopped frequently to simultaneously admire the ever increasing view and catch our breath, not necessarily stated in order of importance.

Peek-a-boo!

The hike had begun in oak savanna and manzanita chaparral but as we gained elevation, the trail took us into several dense stands of spindly madrone trees. This was a young forest, to judge by the relative lack of size in the trees, and we did stop to eat lunch among them. After exiting the madrones, one last push up a steep stretch of trail spit us out onto the flat top of Lower Table Rock and the wowiness began.

Wet trail atop Lower Table Rock

Table Rock used to be a lava flow and the rock here is still solid and impermeable. Accordingly, no trees grow on top and rainwater does not soak into the ground but instead collects in a series of vernal pools. The terrain on Lower Table Rock is as flat as...well, as flat as a table, and a trail runs from one end to the other. The trail was originally constructed as an airstrip in the 1940s and in keeping with the austere tabletop geometry, is as straight as the table is flat.

Clouds added their own element of drama to the scene

In addition to the alien-looking landscape, dark clouds hovering above the volcanic plateau were particularly dramatic and foreboding as we hiked the mile-long trail on top. Despite the seeming black and gray menace, the clouds really were in the process of breaking up and apart from an occasional weak sprinkle, we really had no weather concerns.

One of several vernal pools atop
the plateau of Lower Table Rock

The vernal pools support a population of rare and endangered meadowfoam (a small flowering plant) and equally rare and endangered fairy shrimp. Accordingly, hikers are admonished to look but don't touch when it comes to the idyllic pools. The clouds and small patches of blue sky reflected nicely in the still ponds, although the clouds prevented the photogenic reflections of Mount McLaughlin and other Cascades Range mountain friends.

Amazing view from the rim

The view of the valley below was what was stunning, though, triggering Jay's not so eloquent but entirely accurate wow statement. The Rogue River snaked to and fro like a large aqueous anaconda through the farmland fields and pastures below the two Table Rocks. Man-made wetlands flanked either side of the river and the collective marshes and ponds support a healthy population of waterfowl, many of whose honks, quacks, and cackles floated up to hikers perched on the rocky rim of the plateau.

An unerringly straight trail

We actually stayed there quite a bit, soaking up the amazing and stunning vista while the clouds burned off in the late afternoon.  The day turned from gray to mostly sunny while cloud shadows moved ever so slowly across the landscape. But we couldn't stay there forever, as much as we would have liked to, so we headed back across the plateau, greeting parties of hikers arriving in time to catch the sunset show. I know that back in the day I used to make the ladies swoon but since I've gotten older, I just get them to slip in the mud apparently. Two ladies did that very thing upon my greeting them, and I'm not sure if I should or should not be honored to have that awesome power.

Jay is impressed

Wow, just wow, indeed. For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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