Tam McArthur Rim

Several weeks ago, the Seattle Sounders had their way with my beloved Portland Timbers on the soccer pitch. After the game, while the salty tears on my cheeks were still wet, I read an online recap about this terrible tragedy and the headline put it thusly: "Seattle Mollywhops Portland". Now, if you peruse your Oxford English Dictionary to find the meaning of "mollywhop", your inner lexicologist will be unrequited, for "mollywhop" is more than likely a totally made up word. I'd love to create a catchy word like that myself, but it's no easy feat to meld two unrelated words into a single word that upon the first hearing, the meaning is nonetheless immediately clear. When you can pull that off my friends, you have reached the pinnacle of word nerdvana. The rest of us mere blogsters can only wish we could be that inventive. 

Lane leads the mad charge uphill

Speaking of words, how about some real words about our hike? I'd been only one other time on Tam MacArthur Rim (about 15 years ago) and back then, everything was covered with snow. Flash forward to present time and this latest rendition of the hike was arid, dry, and stultifyingly hot. There was no snow to be found anywhere on the rim and while you could legitimately blame climate change, the real culprit was the inherent difference between hiking in November and hiking in July. 

Short life expectancy for trees on Tam McArthur Rim

What was unchanged between now and then was the grade of the trail as it departed the shoreline of beautiful Three Creeks Lake. The path inscribed a switchbacking course to and fro through a thin and sparse forest where at least half of the trees were lying prone on the ground, right where they fell. Fortunately, the trail had been cleared by a trail crew so there was very little scrambling over downed trees which was fine with me anyway, for the grade of the trail was mollywhoppery enough to get me considering lying prone next to the trees myself.

The trail hugged the edge of the Tam McArthur world

It was kind of hard to tell what with the forest surrounding the path, but we were basically contouring up Tam McArthur Rim itself. Occasional breaks in the forest cover did serve up some stunning scenery. Directly below the abrupt edge of the rim's escarpment, reposed the azure waters of Three Creeks Lake with the surrounding fire-scarred terrain sloping steadily all the way down to central Oregon. A thin haze of smoke from the Bootleg Fire limited the visibility somewhat, otherwise I daresay we could have seen Chicago skyscrapers on the distant horizon.

Oof!

Judging by all the dead tree skeletons on the rim, life is tough on trees up here. Accordingly, they were sparsely bunched. The soil was dry pumice, and our boots kicked up dust clouds that lazily floated above the trail as we scuffed along. But at least you could see the scenery in front of you as you hiked, and while I may have, given the right frame of mind, appreciated the scenery and geologic wonders we were hiking through, all I could see and focus on was the trail madly charging straight up a slope underneath the hot sun. Oof!

Psst, buddy! Spare some peanuts for a friend?

All the bad uphill stopped, officially at least, when the trail ended at a viewpoint. There is an ad hoc use path leading to Broken Hand that delivers plenty more uphill hiking but I was going to keep my promise to my surgical scars and limit my hikes to about 5 miles or so for the time being. So, my comrades abandoned me but that's ok, for I made new friends with numerous ground squirrels begging for peanuts at the overlook.

Broken Top and the Three Sisters rise above the escarpment

The untrammeled views here were astounding. To the east sprawled central Oregon and discerning hikers (like me!) could pick out the crater of Fort Rock just north of Hager Mountain. Yamsay Mountain was south of Hager and lay in the Bootleg Fire's red evacuation zone, yet there was no smoke to be seen other than a thin hazy layer floating on the distant skyline. Mount Jefferson was nearby with faraway Mount Hood coyly peeking over Jefferson's shoulder. In the forested basin immediately below the rim, sprawled sapphire-colored Three Creeks Lake and Little Three Creeks Lakes (there are several). A massive escarpment blocked most of the view of the Three Sisters although the tips of Broken Top and all Three Sisters loomed above the imposing rock wall. Way cool and it was a pleasure to just sit and take it all in.

Cobwebby paintbrush (castilleja arachnoidea)

All good things come to an end though, and eventually I packed up my gear and headed back down the trail. It was a lazy walk back, primarily because I'm lazy, but also because I spent a lot of time photographing the low growing rainbow of cobwebby paintbrush flowers populating the pumice plains on the rim. On the descent, I startled a pine marten, a seldom seen member of the weasel family, and that was also pretty cool. I also lightly rolled my ankle and took what I presume to be a spectacular tumble down a rock staircase, which was not nearly as cool as running into a pine marten. I think I just got mollywhopped by the trail.

One of the dearly departed

Now, I have spent more time than is advisable in pursuit of a word that could mollywhop "mollywhop". I've come up with sarahslapped, lanelurched, and in keeping with my header on the trail, tamthwacked. But apart from my feeble alliterative attempts, a fresh scab on my knee, and mostly pleasant memories of this spectacular hike, I've got nothing.

Little Three Creek Lakes, from the Tam McArthur overlook

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

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Sisters Mirror Lake

It had been two years, two months, four days, three hours, one minute, and twenty-three seconds between my last backpack trip and this humble trek into the Three Sisters Wilderness. And the backpack trip prior to that occurred so long ago that only Two Sisters existed back then because the Third Sister had not been born yet. It had certainly been a while, for sure. Yet, for some odd reason, I'd been hankering to make myself miserable by carrying a heavy pack for miles and miles. Consequently, I  decided to do an easy hike just to make sure all the right gear was in working order and mostly, just to see if I still remembered how. 

It was blue sky overhead, on the hike out

Because I wasn't trying to challenge myself with an epic test-of-manhood trek, Sisters Mirror Lake became the destination of choice because it wasn't that hard and because the scenery in nearby Wickiup Plain is world class stunning. However, my paper map, a trail sign, and the map on my GPS were not in complete synchronous agreement about the network of trails in the area, causing me to miss the world class scenery part.

Just another dismal day in paradise!

This is the age of Covid-19 and since restaurants, bars, concerts, and other fun mass-gathering diversions are off limits, the next best thing for entertainment is the outdoors. Accordingly, it was with some dismay that I approached Sisters Mirror Lake Trailhead, passing over a mile's worth of cars parked along the roadway. On the fly, I mentally readjusted my intended route and parked at Devils Lake instead, where I was fortunate enough to find a parking spot. It was at this time that I became a proponent of next year's looming expensive permit system designed to limit visitors, as it was just a veritable zoo at every trailhead along the scenic Cascade Lakes Highway. 

The dusty trail beckons

The dusty trail angled steadily uphill as I made my escape from the civilization and cars all wadded up and crammed together in trailhead parking lots. My backpacking muscles, well atrophied from the two-year layoff, were soon complaining. The good news though, was there were little or no mosquitoes in the forest and the temperature was fairly cool with rain predicted for the late afternoon and most of the evening. Nevertheless, the cool temperature did not stop me from becoming as sweaty and smelly as a sock after an evening of racquetball. 

You lie!

The aforementioned trail issue arose at an intersection with (according to the sign) Trail 12.1, the Wickiup Plains Trail. On the map I had printed, Trail 12.1 continued on into Wickiup Plain proper, an amazing barren pumice plain with an up close and personal face-to-face stare-down with South Sister. There was also (on the map) a Trail 12.2 which ran further south but not in Wickiup Plain. However, putting some misplaced faith in the trail sign which clearly said "Wickiup Plains Trail" and "Trail 12.1" both, I grabbed the first path peeling off to the left. 

The view from my campsite

Wrong. The sign had been as wrong as a giraffe with a stiff neck, a fact divined after a couple of miles of hiking in viewless forest with no spectacular volcanic wonders of Wickiup Plain to be seen. I should have heeded the advice of my GPS. As it turned out, I was on the rather nondescript Trail 12.2 instead, which was later confirmed when I ran into the Pacific Crest Trail. At least I was on the right path to Sisters Mirror Lake and after a short walk through forest transitioning to grassy meadows, I arrived at the small lake on a distinctly overcast and darkening afternoon. Camp was set up on a secluded isthmus strategically situated between Sisters Mirror Lake and a small nameless pond. 

Some of the evening's rain collected on a spider web

The rain arrived in the middle of the night and I was toasty warm, all snuggled up in my sleeping bag, falling asleep to the soothing sound of rain falling on my tent fly. The next morning it was a pleasant surprise to find the rainstorm had packed up and left after completing its wet business at Sisters Mirror Lake. And speaking of completing wet business at Sisters Mirror Lake, I may have done some of that too, TMI. 

Mornings like this are why I backpack

Sisters Mirror Lake was eminently tranquil and quiet, mirrorlike even, and the tip of South Sister did reflect nicely on the lake’s perfectly still and glassy surface. Small clouds of steam hovered over the lake in places, and sunbeams lit up the misty clouds in a scene that only a poet could adequately describe. Me, I just said "Ooh, wow!" and just let my camera do the talking for me.

South Sister would have been cooler from Wickiup Plain, just sayin'

After a hearty breakfast, it was back the way I came, the only change from the day before being that the sky was clear instead of overcast with dark and moody clouds. Accordingly, on the way out I could actually see some of South Sister here and there along with House Rock, a prominent landmark off to one side of Wickiup Plain. I'm glad to report I don't feel like any gear had been forgotten so obviously I still remember how to pack a backpack. While the hike was not particularly challenging, I wasn't overly tired so my legs are still capable of moving His Flabbiness along the trail for a moderate trek, meaning there’s a distinct probability of more backpack trips in my future. But for now, it was mission accomplished, over and out!

A small pond next to my campsite

For more photos of this weekend backpack trip, please visit the Flickr album.

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