Fish Lake

Back in 2004, I first hiked along Fish Lake Creek to Fish Lake via the Fish Lake Trail. It had been two years after the Tiller Complex Fire(s) had swept through the area, completely immolating the forest all along the trail, leaving behind an obstacle course of blackened and fallen trees to hike over, under, and around. For me, it has always been interesting to come hike here and observe the forest gradually heal itself after the fire.

Site of the 2002 Tiller Complex Fire

I'm not sure what happened to the piles of trees laying on the trail in 2004, for there is very little sign of the fire damage from twenty years ago. Presumably, they decomposed into the earth, but sheesh, there was about two solid miles of them! At any rate, the only tangible sign of the 2002 fire is a stand of dead trees high on a ridge, bleached by the sun, with new starts taking root beneath the bones of their still standing (but very dead) ancestors. 

Working our way over a woodpile

And speaking of ancient denizens of the forest, the Friends of the Umpqua hiked to Fish Lake on a late summer day. There had been subsequent fires in the area since the 2002 burn and we still had to negotiate our way past individual fallen trees and one rather large and formidable collection of them numbering maybe a dozen. Depending on the preference of individual hikers, we either scrambled over or bushwhacked around. Either way, it was work and tedium.

Queen Anne's Lace zealously
hoards this year's crop of seeds

It was technically summer but not for long. On the day of the hike, the temperature was autumnally cool and the sky overcast, in a clear harbinger of the coming fall season. Thimbleberry leaves were already turning yellow while dried seed heads of Queen Anne's lace were knotted up like so many bony arthritic fists. But it was poison oak that was all in for autumn, their bright red leaves serving as a warning flag to bare-legged hikers hiking in shorts.

The worms are gone but their tents remain

Another sign of autumn were the webby tents of fall webworms, a caterpillar that en masse, defoliates madrone trees and creates web nests on the branches for protection. The caterpillars had already left the nests to pupate but their webs remained on leafless madrone branches for hikers to look at and poke. An odd little factoid is that the caterpillars are social eaters, leaving the nest during the day to forage together in creepy-crawly companionship. Often seen heading to higher branches in large groups, they literally are true social climbers, minus the traits of overtly obsequious sycophants we all know and don't love.

Mike checks out the tall cliff

The trail initially followed Fish Lake Creek but about a mile into the hike, the path peeled away from the stream and headed uphill, inscribing a route around the headwaters of an unnamed side creek. Points of interest along the way were a massive cliff looming over the trail, the aforementioned dead forest from the 2002 fire, and an overlook of Fish Lake Creek's impressive canyon.

Beaver Swamp

Beaver Swamp is a marshy little pond that the trail fishhooks around. Often, turtles are spotted sunning themselves on mossy logs, but not on this overcast day. The waters were quiet, seemingly devoid of animal life, although there were game paths visible in the marsh grasses surrounding the swamp. The picturesque quality of the bucolic marsh almost made us forget we were hiking uphill as we hiked up and around.

Trail through a forest not yet touched by fire

The trail quickly climbed away from Beaver Swamp and entered a forest that was notable because it was the first forest on the day that had not yet been touched by fire, knock on live wood. The undergrowth was vibrant and moss covered most inanimate objects, present company excepted. The trees sported leaves and needles and it was almost jarring to see so much green color and hue after spending several miles and hours in burn zones old and new.

The tip of Highrock Mountain looms from up on high

The reason you slog uphill for four miles is Fish Lake itself. Ringed by mountains and forest, the large alpine lake is a most worthy destination. The massive wall of Rocky Rim, a meritorious hike in its own right, loomed at the other end of the lake. However, craggy Highrock Mountain commanded our attention, lording over the scene like a king's castle proudly surveying its domain. We were but mere vassals in the presence of such majesty, although we stopped just short of groveling at the mountain's feet.

Fish Lake, seen from the wrong side of its outlet

Missy had heard about a really cool campsite on the other side of the Fish Lake's outlet, so we walked across on the logs piled up at the creek's egress from the lake. And speaking of which, Fish Lake is the source of Fish Lake Creek and what were the odds of that amazing coincidence ever happening? At any rate, we did not find a really cool campsite but were nonetheless rewarded with a magnificent view of the lake reposing beneath its mountain friends and neighbors.

A gift for the birthday girl

At Fish Lake, while we lunched, we did engage in a bit of hijinkery. It was Missy's birthday and we all donned tin-foil cone hats and sang "Happy Birthday" before doing the four-mile downhill hike to the trailhead. At the trailhead, I caught a baby western racer snake and offered it to Missy as a birthday present. She politely declined, the snake crapped my hand, and those two things may be related.

Poison oak was easy to spot with its red leaves

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

Fall Creek Falls and Susan Creek Falls

 

At the trailhead and right next to our vehicle, somebody had spray-painted an outline of a human figure on the asphalt, like something right out of a homicide investigation. Somehow that was apt, for we had most definitely hiked in a mass casualty scene. You see, in 2020 the Archie Creek Fire had swept through this area, leaving behind charred carcasses of what once had been live trees. Because of the extensive fire damage, the Fall Creek Falls Trail had been closed for over a year, but on an overcast weekday morn, Rheo, Dianne, Jane, and I went out for a an investigative look-see at the newly reopened trail to the falls.

Fall Creek is a little worse for the wear

Prior to the fire, the walk to the falls had been the quintessential green hike. Back then, Fall Creek burbled next to the trail, nearby boulders were heavily mossed, and ferns ruled the creek banks. What a difference a catastrophic forest fire can make, for now the boulders were moss-free and bore the scorch marks of the rampaging conflagration. Tall and very dead trees flanked the trail, and debris choked Fall Creek.

Queen Anne's lace 

However, not all was lost, for beneath the many acres of dead trees, thrived a healthy population of sun-loving plants and late-season bloomers such as fireweed, pearly everlasting, thistles, and Queen Anne's lace. The vibe is not as green as in years prior, but these new vegetative populations are doing their best to prettify the trail.

Maple beetles are thriving in the burn area

Insect life has returned to the burn zone too, mostly in the form of numerous maple beetles crawling on the trail and on most of the aforementioned plants and flowers. Ladybugs were also spotted huddling together for shelter on the underside of common yarrow flower heads. 

Lower Fall Creek Falls

Because of the lack of foliage, we could actually now observe both upper and lower falls at the same time from a fair distance away. Even though the picturesque cascade was fully visible, it still was much cooler to admire the lower falls from the splash basin and the upper falls from a railed overlook, and we obliged both.

It was a berry nice hike

The hike to the falls is pretty short, which is one reason I haven't hiked there all that much. So, for some extra mileage we explored the forest road at the top of the cascade. The homes that had been here before had also been lost to the fire and the road was clearly sagging, ready to slide downhill at the slightest provocation, like hikers walking on it. The atmosphere up here among all the death and destruction was somewhat on the forlorn side, although the blackberries growing here were delicious.

The "forest" at Susan Creek

Susan Creek was likewise ravaged by Archie but it was conveniently located on the way home, so we stopped there for another short hike to another spectacular waterfall. Just like at Fall Creek, the hike took place among the charred skeletons of trees past. But at least there was no coroner's pictograph on the parking lot pavement.

Pretty to look at but common tansy is not welcome

There were the same type of wildflowers seen at Fall Creek but there were some different ones too. The yellow daisy-like flowers of common tansy were pretty to look at but are most unwelcome, since tansy is a prolific invasive species. Pale blue wild chicory and lavender-tinted aster were more abundant here than they had been at Fall Creek.

Susan Creek Falls

Susan Creek Falls tumbles over its rocky ledge in spectacular fashion, although it's still a bit odd for us old-timers to see the falls in bright daylight instead of in its former mossy and shady basin. Get used to it Richard, it's not going to change much during your remaining time on this planet. We lunched at the picnic area below the falls and enjoyed the scene as we ate our respective fruits, snacks, hot peppers, and gummy worms.

Stink bug gendarmes escort the St. John's wort beetle prisoner

As at Fall Creek, insect life abounded on the surrounding vegetation. Shiny black St. John's wort beetles thrived not on St. John's wort, but on fireweed instead. Stink bugs wandered among the St. John's wort beetles, trundling along like insectile armored tanks warring over the same patch of fireweed. Not willing to engage hostile bug forces in combat over fireweed apparently, maple beetles crawled all over thistle plants and not on maples as their name would suggest. 

Western tailed blue butterfly

Not all of the insects were of the beetle variety as numerous butterflies danced from flower to flower. Of note were some brilliant sulfur-colored butterflies that would not stay still long enough for stealthy photographers. Oh well, I had to settle for a photo of a gray butterfly thingy but the fun was all in the chase.

One small piece of Fall Creek Falls

All of us on this outing are long-time (also known as "old") hikers and are quite familiar with how things used to be along this section of the North Umpqua River. To keep sane, which is a relative term, one just needs to accept the basic fact that things will never be like they were, at least during our lifetime. However, it's not necessarily a bad thing and these two short hikes proved the point that there is still great beauty along the river post-fire, it's just a different kind of beauty than what used to be.

Upper Fall Creek Falls

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

Not the trail it used to be

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

Hemlock Creek

Sometimes, the forest is the hike and the hike is the forest. What I mean by that when you hike, there's usually a destination in mind, a place to go to, a particular something to see, as the reason for your being out on the trail in the first place. But then again, sometimes there is no raison d'etre for the day's venture, it's just about the being of it. Hemlock Creek was such a hike, because once I entered a forest sublime, it became all about the journey and not the destination.

Pink rhododendron flowered next to Lake in the Woods

This tree-centric hike began at smallish Lake in the Woods, ringed not only by campers trying to escape the heat cooking the Umpqua Valley, but also by flowering rhododendron bushes gracing both lake and woods. Not wanting to disturb sleeping campers, I grabbed a use trail that skirted around the camping spots along the semi-stagnant lake. This led to some momentary confusion when I egressed onto a gravel road and had to spend a few minutes searching for the resumption of the trail.  

A log spans Hemlock Creek and tempts the adventurous

From the aforementioned gravel road, the trail entered a thick forest and headed uphill at a moderate grade. But who cares about uphill hiking when the forest was so out-of-this-world beautiful? The shade was as refreshing and as cool as a waterfall's mist. Sunlight filtered through trees, limbs, branches, and leaves, winding up on the trail as dappled light and shade. Life was good here and I considered staying in this place for the remainder of my days, it was so pleasant. 

Elegant cat's ear with that fuzzy feeling

A diverse collection of wildflowers mostly shared the forest in a harmonious rainbow coalition of specie and color. However, Columbia windflower and elegant cat's ear each practiced a form of floral apartheid, staking their claim on a particular patch of ground, making sure that not one pistil or stamen belonging to the lower castes of flower rabble dared cross over their territory. They couldn't stop me from taking photographs, though.

Lower Hemlock Falls wasn't easy to get to

Hemlock Creek was seldom seen from its namesake trail but did provide a couple of notable waterfalls to gawk at. The first cascade was Lower Hemlock Falls, which was kind of hard to see, you have to bushwhack a bit to get a decent photo thereof. The second waterfall, encountered on a side creek, is Clover Falls and is a lot harder to see, seeing how it's effectively screened from view by trees and tree parts. In fact, I didn't even notice the cascade when I hiked past but caught it when I returned in the opposite direction. Such are my keen powers of observation.

Trail into the forest darkness

After the two waterfalls, the route temporarily departed from Hemlock Creek and inscribed what seemed like an endless amount of switchbacks but were probably only four. My GPS said I was about to cross another forest road but the back and forth through the dense vegetation made the road crossing seem a lot farther away. 

Stout bridges crossed and re-crossed Hemlock Creek

After crossing the forest road, the trail did provide some quality Hemlock Creek time and miles. The path crossed and re-crossed the pristine and clear-flowing creek passing underneath the stout footbridges. Initially, the bridges were sturdy and sound except for one span showing its age by sagging in the middle, just like some hikers do. The final creek crossing had no bridge at all and required an easy ankle-deep wade.

The forest was a pleasure to hike through

Once Hemlock Creek was forded, the route commenced a more rigorous climb through the forest in yet another series of switchbacks that seemingly went on forever but probably only numbered four. Orange and salmon-colored clumps of coral fungus pushed their way into existence along the trail, emerging from the dark depths of the earth below. Flowers bloomed in the forest undergrowth and always, there was that delightfully mottled light keeping things cooler than they would otherwise have been. 

The meadows at the Yellowjacket Loop junction

After a mile of slogging ever on upward, the trail grade eased up and the forest thinned out, providing views of intermittent meadows with willow thickets in the middle, where Hemlock Creek flowed somewhere within the small trees, hidden away from the prying eyes of passing hikers. And just like that, the forest ended and the trail spit me out into some large meadows near Hemlock Lake. 

A wasp enjoyed the shade, just like me

These meadows are part of the Yellowjacket Loop, a great hike in its own right if you like meadows (and who doesn't?), wildflowers, and yellowjackets. I briefly entertained a notion of hiking the full Yellowjacket Loop and turning this moderate eight mile hike into an exhausting fourteener. But it was a hot afternoon by now, giving me the perfect excuse to turn around and head back to Lake of the Woods. But you know I would have done the longer loop except for the heat, and quit your sniggering! 

Fern frozen in mid-furl

It was all downhill back to the opaque green waters of Lake of the Woods, through the same beautifully shaded forest I had so enjoyed when hiking up. But, the easy downhill walking allowed me to better appreciate the shade, rampant greenery, and tall trees just that much more. When the hike ended at the trailhead kiosk, I turned around and said out loud "Thanks, forest!" but not too loudly. No need to get the nearby campers wondering about the lone sweaty dude talking to trees.

Peace like a forest

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

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Trestle Creek Falls

 

It had been a while since I had visited either of Trestle Creek's two waterfalls. The last time I was here, it was right after a hernia surgery and it was really slow slogging uphill through the forest while simultaneously trying to keep my guts contained within my abdominal cavity, or so it felt like. Flash forward to 2022 and after two more hernia surgeries within the last year, I found myself slogging post-surgery uphill through the forest again. At least I'm mostly healed and my organs did not feel like they would leak out of the surgical incision this time out. You might say I had enough guts and intestinal fortitude to stomach hiking into the belly of the forest to satisfy my hiking appetite.

It was cold down at the bottom of Brice Creek's canyon

While it is a bit of a grind, the 4.5 mile hike around Trestle Creek and its pair of picturesque cascades is not particularly long or adventuresome. The adventure, however, was reserved for the drive to the trailhead on Brice Creek, for the road was hoary with frost and ice and I found myself driving slower and slower so as to avoid going straight when the road didn't. But all was well and the six of us made it to the trailhead without any mishap. Should have brought gloves though, as my fingers quickly went numb in the frozen air.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's up the hill we go

However, the cold was sort of welcome on the slog up. It kept body temperatures and energy fresh, which sure beats becoming a sweatier and smellier version of myself. The path departed Brice Creek and switchbacked to and fro, ever upward through a lush and ferny forest, eventually cresting a ridge before reaching Trestle Creek itself.

First snow queen I've seen this year

Winter had stopped by for a visit lately, as evidenced by the ice and frost to go along with isolated snow patches here and there. Plenty of trees had been knocked down too, like so many bowling pins of the gods, but trail crews had done a great job of clearing the trail. We only had to scramble over a fallen tree just a time or two. Spring is on the way though, and I spotted some snow queen blooming beneath some imposing rocky cliffs.

The trail was a bit of a cliff hugger here

All "good" uphill slogging comes to an end however, and as stated, the path dropped down into the Trestle Creek drainage. Here, the trail (and some hikers) hugged a rock wall while spectacular Upper Trestle Creek Falls commanded attention. Because of the winter storms and melting snow, the creek was carrying a fair amount of water, making the waterfall more boisterous than usual.

Little people(far right) hike
behind Upper Trestle Creek Falls

The cascade is quite the sight but as an added point of interest, the trail circled the canyon and then ducked behind the waterfall itself. We not only got to get an up-close look at the waterfall like so many green-skinned amphibians mating in the mist, but we also got to experience the wet spray on a cold day. Sarcasm intended, but we didn't really mind as we were still pretty warm from the hike to get up here.

It became a beautiful day in the forest

I had hiked this loop in the clockwise direction years ago and my recollection was that the trail had been very steep. Now after hiking in the reverse direction, I pretty much agreed with myself, which in itself is a rare and wondrous occasion. The trail dropped quickly and I retroactively pitied my younger fool self for daring to hike up this. However, the hike was eminently enjoyable, not only because it was downhill, but because the sun had come out, thawing frost, and hikers' fingers, noses, and ears alike. Not only was it a few degrees warmer but the mottled sunlight and long winter shadows is how a forest gives hugs.

Lower Trestle Creek Falls

After meeting up with the Brice Creek Trail, we grabbed the path leading to Lower Trestle Creek Falls. There was no walking around the lower falls, though. Here, the trail ends at a debris-clogged bowl with the lower cascade presiding over the watery honors. Two waterfalls on one hike is twice the fun as one waterfall on two hikes, so we stopped for a bit to merely enjoy the scene, sound, and poetic grace of a tumbling cascade on a winter day.

Brice Creek just looks cold

From the lower falls, it was a return to the trailhead via the Brice Creek Trail, a magnificent hike in its own right. The larger (when compared to Trestle Creek) creek was swollen with winter runoff at the bottom of its deep, dark, and icy canyon. As Brice Creek tumbled photogenically over and around large boulders and other immovable objects, we hiked past, moving quickly to stay warm. Fortunately, all that hoarfrost on the road heading out had melted off, making the drive less sketchy than it had been earlier in the day.

Some of that winter downfall

Reminiscing back on that memorable first hike after surgery, my hiking speed had been exceedingly slow and Mrs. O'Neill and I soon found ourselves way behind everybody else. Exasperated at hiking at the pace of a lethargic snail, Dollie rudely shouldered her way past me and charged ahead, eventually passing all other hikers in her perpetual zeal to end the hike as soon as possible. Good thing I was nowhere near as slow this time out!

Nice try sun but you need to work
on the warmth aspect of sunlight

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

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