Upper Rogue River Trail (Big Bend Trailhead, north)

 

A couple of summers ago, I attempted a hike on the Upper Rogue River Trail (URRT), beginning from Foster Creek Trailhead. There, a well-defined trail led from the trailhead down to the fast moving creek. And from there...? After a wet ford of the creek and some mortal combat against head-high thickets of willow, I could not find the resumption of the trail on the other side of Foster Creek. One's chances are better for finding a Sasquatch nest than locating the trail in that mess of vegetation. At any rate, this time out I figured I'd try to reach Foster Creek from Big Bend Trailhead, simply because I had never been on that section of trail.

This way to glory

This hike began where the URRT crosses gravel Hershberger Mountain Road. You really have to watch for the trail to find it and the same level of alertness was required to watch for trail markers once on the trail, for there were several dirt roads and confusing trail intersections to contend with. Fortunately, markers with tiny words but large arrows kept me headed in the right direction before the "real" trail made a short drop down to the river and commenced the "real" hike.

The first step in plant-to-pants water transfer

It was a cold and nipply morning and all the encroaching vegetation was damp with morning dew that soaked pant legs as I brushed by. I can honestly say I wet my pants, something I hope to never have to say again as I enter my elder years. Not all the vegetation was wet and dewy, for clusters of bright red wild rose hips were lightly frosted in a subtle reminder that winter cometh.

How alder does autumn

The Rogue Gorge, site of my last hike, was only 6.5 miles downstream but it was worlds apart when it came to fall colors. Here, there was a noticeable dearth of vine maples, so it was incumbent upon the alders to hold up the autumn flag. They tried, but alders just don't glow as bright or as multicolored as their vine maple brethren. So, the autumn colors tended towards light yellow and paled (color pun intended) in comparison to the vine maple carnival found further downstream.

The Rogue River, all hike long

Generally, the Rogue River was always nearby but in these parts, the river coursed slowly at the bottom of its forested canyon in a series of graceful curves and bends. There was none of that wild gorge stuff that is so prevalent downstream. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and sun, sky, and forest all reflected on the ponderous river seemingly in no hurry to reach the Rogue Gorge. The water was crystalline and clear, and boulders and small rocks were eminently visible on the river bottom from various trail overlooks.

Tall cliffs, courtesy of Mount Mazama

Something like 7,000 years ago, Mount Mazama erupted and buried the surrounding countryside in volcanic ash. Nowadays, the scars from that cataclysmic eruption are still visible across the river, mostly in the form of tall cliffs clearly comprised of volcanic ash. On the trail side of the Rogue, you could not see the cliffs because you were actually standing on top of them, and the rim thereof provided some nice scenic overlooks of the tranquil river flowing below.

 

Where there are ferns, there is almost no trail

Periodically, the trail would peel away from the river and duck into a forest sublime and beautiful. The map said there were footbridges on this part of the trail but I only found one, the others having been washed out long ago. Fortunately, the creeks that did the washing out were dry during my visit. Lush vegetation carpeted the forest floor, and thigh-high bracken fern were doing a mighty fine job of fading the trail into oblivion beneath their yellowing fronds. 

The meadows along the river were incredibly scenic

After traversing a dark and shady forest with faint sunbeams illuminating lucky seedlings, the trail entered an extensive meadow that flanked both sides of the Rogue. The lazy river curved around a bend and disappeared under a ginormous log jam; apparently, this is where logs come to die. Equally slow moving creeks drained marshes pooling in the tall grasses and reeds but the one footbridge I encountered allowed for boots to remain dry, unlike my pants. However, the tall grasses made the trail faint and a little hard to follow.

The trail went sketchy in the vegetation

Once past the stunning scenery at the meadows, the path ducked into the forest and then just basically melted away underneath the trees, the path becoming indistinguishable from the forest floor. I sort of could see where it might go but trying to follow would dramatically increase the probability of getting Search and Rescue involved at some point, so I called it good and returned the way I had come.

A dogwood leaf adds to the fall fun

The turnaround point was only about two miles south of elusive Foster Creek and I'd like to come back and finish off this section. Safety first, though, and I'll bring some friend or friends with me, provided I can find any willing to risk getting lost with me. Also useful would be a roll of orange flagging tape (pink, if Lane comes), so we can backtrack without getting lost. While the unexpected turnaround was slightly disappointing, I don't think I'm quite done with the URRT yet.

The forested bits of trail were just gorgeous

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

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Rogue Gorge Loop

"A fallen leaf is nothing more than a summer's wave good-bye" - Unknown

A wall of yellow leaves

If that's true then then this last hike was a thundering round of applause from an appreciative crowd stomping their feet, shouting "Encore! Encore!" at the top of their lungs, hoisting in tribute thousands of lit cigarette lighters that twinkled in the dark auditorium like so many stars against a night sky on a summer campout. I may be dating myself because I don't think they light lighters at the end of concerts anymore, it's probably cell phones nowadays. But at any rate, the autumn's concert was a wonder to behold on the Upper Rogue River Trail.

The trail was oft multi-colored

And speaking of art and artists, I was Supreme Commander of this hike today. Actually Edwin was supposed to lead the charge on this Friends of the Umpqua venture but an injured foot (he'll be ok) put paid to that idea. Additionally, the Jack Fire had overrun the South Umpqua River Road, rendering his hike inaccessible anyway. All that left me free to choose where and how and maybe even why we were going. Since I so enjoyed the autumnal aspects of my last hike at Suttle Lake and was left wanting more of the colored same, it was time for yet another reprise of the Rogue Gorge loop, arguably the best autumn hike in all of southern Oregon.

It's autumn time along the Rogue River

Setting out from the Rogue Gorge Viewpoint, our first little item of interest was the Rogue Gorge itself. The gorge used to be a lava tube but became a gorge when the roof caved in. Whether tube or gorge, the mighty Rogue was not at all happy about being squeezed into the tube, and makes its opinion known in a frothing and roaring diatribe from the bottom of the narrow defile. But tell it to the rock, because rock don't care, and the immovable lava walls do what they have done for epochs, which is to guide the river out of the gorge and into a more benign canyon.

Figurative forest fire!
Someone, call figurative 9-1-1!

Almost immediately after hiking away from the gorge, this hike became mostly all about the fall colors. We were on the shady side of the river so the vegetation was still primarily green in color, but there were plenty of reds and yellows scattered throughout to hint at the upcoming show. But on the other side of the river, where it was sunny and bright, the vine maple leaves had already burst into bright reds that had us putting on sunglasses so as to prevent further retinal damage. 

Autumn reflects on the Rogue

Once the trail made a pronounced turn to the south, we hiked in bright colors for the remainder of the hike. Each vine maple tree was an explosion of color and light next to the river. The Rogue was running slow and ponderous while small whirlpools and eddies made for interesting textures on the surface. The bright colors reflected poetically and it seemed like a whole blurry and colorful world lay just beneath the river’s surface.

A small cascade on an angry river

Most of my charges had not been here before so I communicated that when the trail reached the bridge crossing the river, we were all to stop and regather. Naturally, Lane stopped at the first bridge he saw which happened to be at Union Creek so we regathered twice. No harm, no foul though, and after a quick bridgeside confab at the correct bridge, we all decided to cross the river and follow the Upper Rogue River Trail, if only for the reason I told everybody that's what we were doing.

The forest near Natural Bridge was simply sublime

The river at the bridge seethed and roiled as it was confined in yet another narrow gorge but we traded in all that sound and fury for woods peaceful and quiet, excepting the huffing and puffing sounds of hikers attacking the only uphill section of trail on this hike. The woods were eminently beautiful with colors slightly muted as this side of the hill was fairly well shaded.

The Rogue, as it approaches Natural Bridge

Once we hiked up and over that lushly wooded ridge, it was back to a level hike next to the river as we approached Natural Bridge. Natural Bridge was formed when the roof of lava tube that swallowed the Rogue in its entirety collapsed, except for one 25 yard section. As the river pours into all that remains of the lava tube, the visual effect is that the Rogue River mysteriously disappears from sight only to emerge a short distance later in a geologic game of hide-and-seek. For some reason, you never see kayakers here, probably something to do with that brief underground journey.

Why we hike

After a nice little lunch 'n laze next to a busy parking lot, we returned by way of the Rogue Gorge Trail. The afternoon sun shone brightly on an amazingly colorful trail and my inner photographer ran amok. So many leaves and so many colors and so many reflections on the river. Despite the bright sun ostensibly baking the trail, the temperature was mild so sun stroke was not an option today. The day was perfect, as was this hike.

Local color

So, just like my walk at Suttle Lake, I really enjoyed the whole autumn color thing and was left wanting more. They say that too much of a good thing is a bad thing but I disagree, I could do this again and again and again and....

Every leaf a work of art unto itself

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

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Takelma Gorge

Squeeze the atoms and they get excited. And when atoms get excited, great things can happen. For instance, expanding gases within the narrow confines of a piston cylinder can move a car to a trailhead. Pinching atoms through a narrow nozzle can propel a rocket into the upper atmosphere and in the unfortunate case of Space-X, the same overly excited atoms can blow the whole thing up upon landing. Watch Cousin Fred stuff himself into his cycling shorts and you realize some excited atoms are much more useful than others. And moving on from poor Cousin Fred, force a placid river into a narrow defile and you get a seething white-watered maelstrom of riverine ire. And that leads us to today's topic about hiking along the Rogue River and Takelma Gorge, and here you were all hoping I'd spew more prose about Cousin Fred and the miracle fabric that is Spandex!

British soldiers stand at attention

You'd never know an angry river would be part of this hike, judging by the scene at the Woodruff Bridge Trailhead. Initially the river was as serene as a contemplative monk in a state of bliss. The surface was smooth and if we weren't in the shadows and if the day hadn't been cloudy, the river would have reflected the scenery back at us with all the aplomb of a master painter. So much peace and tranquility reigned in the bucolic woods, I nearly wanted to fold my legs up into the lotus position and meditate, but then I'd have to call 911 to come unfold me. Besides which, a sudden explosion of fur and hooves from a stampeding elk rudely disrupted my harmonious ponderings about peace and tranquility in the forest. The atoms in my lower intestinal tract became "elk-cited" too, like a poor man's version of a SpaceX rocket but without the subsequent explosion upon touchdown.

Newborns

I've hiked on this trail many times and always, the vine maples have been one of the main attractions apart from the river and gorge. In spring or summer, the galaxy of leaves overhead imbue the very air with a soft green glow. In autumn, forget the green because it's all brilliant orange, gold, and red when the foliage set off their annual arboreal fireworks show of autumnal color. But in late April, the vine maples just kind of look at me, yawn a disinterested "Meh!", and go back to sleep. Although a few leaves were emerging, the pleated folds somewhat resembling a Spanish fan, mostly the trees were twiggy, bare, and bereft of any leaves.

Trillium matriarch (or patriarch)

So, while the vine maples said it was still winter, the trilliums were not in agreement. A healthy population of the elegant tri-petaled flowers were profusely abloom on the forest floor. Beetles and flies were happily bathing in pollen contained within the flowers, their legs and antennae coated with fine yellow dust. The older and more mature trilliums were turning various shades of pink, maroon, or magenta. So, according to the vine maples and trillium it was neither winter nor spring but somewhere in between or both at the same time,

The Rogue undergoes a personality change here

After a mile or so of a relaxing hike alongside the languid river, things began to change. The river picked up speed, practicing for its upcoming gorge run. Rapids formed with increasing rapidity and the river was now making noise. I too may have been making some noise but definitely was not picking up speed. There were a number of large fallen trees spanning the river as well as several others stranded on small islands or shoals in the current, all in mute testimony that the river (just like me!) is not always as easygoing as it likes to make itself out to be.

Entrance into Takelma Gorge

Takelma Gorge was formed eons ago when lava flowed across the landscape. A river is not to be denied and after patient probing, the persistent Rogue River found a small crack in the lava and then wormed itself into the soft ashy underbelly beneath. The volcanic ash was then easily eroded until the small crack became much larger Takelma Gorge, where the differing strata of lava and ash are clearly visible on the gorge's walls. The gorge begins where the river makes a sharp turn at a rock formation I call "The Fishhook" and from a clifftop vantage point, one can stare straight down a hundred-yard length of the gorge itself.

The river eventually disappears from sight in the gorge

The trail generally stays level while the river loses elevation so the net effect is that the river drops out of sight somewhere down in the bottom of the chasm. It can still be heard though, complaining vociferously about the claustrophobic conditions in the gorge. For the next mile or so, the canyon scenery was stunning and I periodically left the trail to photograph things from the edge (but not too near the edge, I do want to see my 65th birthday, after all!). And after that display of geologic awesomeness mixed with self-righteous hydrologic fury, the Rogue River exited the gorge and returned to its natural peaceable state of enlightened contemplation.

Newly minted dogwood blossom

On the hike's return leg, my own little enlightened contemplation was rent asunder when a startled deer, no doubt surprised by my incredibly handsome arrival, burst out across the trail and got my intestinal atoms agitated all over again. While the deer disturbed my commune with the overtly calm environs of the Rogue River flowing above the gorge, the deer was still a more preferable sight than Cousin Fred and his cycling shorts.

It's all a matter of perspective

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

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Rogue Gorge - Upper Rogue River Trail Loop

The genesis of this hike began when younger brother Don prostrated himself at my feet, begging "O wise and wonderful Older Brother, I am but a mere gnat caught in the glittering web of your awesomeness, Please o please, can you take me on one of your hikes and render me worthy as I bask in the golden glow of your presence?" Now, if you run into Don out on the street somewhere and question him as to the veracity of my account, he may vehemently deny that such a conversation ever took place. But, my rejoinder is that my blog is part of the Internet and if it's on the Internet, then it must be true.

Just a beautiful day for a hike!

The Cascade Mountain Range in Oregon are a chain of tall peaks covered with countless acres of tall conifers. Being evergreens, the conifers tend to ignore that autumn foo-foo stuff of bright colors and all that nonsense. What's wrong with being tall and dark green, anyway? Nothing, but autumn can be so much fun when leaves of trees so inclined celebrate winter's impending arrival with a burst of leafy color. So what's a hiker to do in order to enjoy the autumn plumage? Why, you must go where the vine maples grow, and that's how younger brother Don and I found ourselves on the Rogue Gorge Trail once the proper amount of groveling had taken place.

The Rogue River churns in its namesake gorge

Don had never been to the Upper Rogue River so I was able to hike vicariously, seeing the hike anew through his eyes. Our hike began at the Rogue Gorge which is a geologic marvel in its own right. Here, the Rogue River flows through an ancient lava tube whose roof had collapsed millenia ago. The river is all white water as it angrily seethes at the bottom of the narrow gorge and the view thereof was a great way to begin the day's venture.

The river reflects

After gawking at the gorge, we set foot on the Rogue Gorge Trail which follows the river to touristy Natural Bridge. It didn't take long for this to become the quintessential autumn hike. The riverbanks were bathed in warm sunlight and the vine maples were in bright orange, red, and yellow form. Dogwood likewise went colorful but tended more toward a pinkish hue. The river was tranquil and serene here and the surrounding colorful foliage and trees painted watercolor reflections on the river's surface.

Colorful leaves were one of the stories of this hike

The next few miles were mostly a level walk underneath either a deep blue sky or vine maple leaves illuminated by the bright sun like so many millions of colored lights. Don also had a camera so he wasn't any more annoyed than usual with his wiser and more handsome big brother when much mutual photography ensued. 

Much photography ensued

The basic calm tenor of the river changed when the river used the readily available slot of yet another collapsed lave tube to funnel into, raging and frothing with angry white water as it did so. A picturesque footbridge crosses the river here and the bridge makes a convenient place to stop and take photographs of the scenic river constrained by unyielding black and gray lava.

The river divides around a large boulder

More geological and/or riverine delights awaited us at Natural Bridge after another mile and a half of riverside walking. Natural Bridge is where a lava tube did not collapse and the Rogue River enters the tube and disappears completely from sight like a child playing hide-and-seek, only to emerge about 75 yards downstream, ready to resume its long above-ground journey to the Pacific Ocean. Don was suitably impressed, gushing "Gee whillikers Totally Awesome Big Brother, this is amazing!" while I, as a jaded and faded Upper Rogue River veteran, stifled a yawn and replied. "What, that old thing?"

Just follow the Yellow Leaf Road!

Actually, the bridge part of Natural Bridge was the least visually interesting thing at this popular tourist spot. More fun was the river thundering in its narrow defile in a series of thundering cascades and roaring falls. Much photography (times two) ensued. And from there, we decided to return via the Upper Rogue River Trail for variety's sake.

Vine maple, putting on its usual autumn show

The Upper Rogue River Trail was initially a pleasantly level stroll along a fairly well-behaved river among some old-growth tree giants. Don stopped to gawk at a couple of them in suitably awestruck fashion. Nowhere near as tall, vine maples thrived in happy profusion and because they were on the mostly sunny side of the river, their leaves were as flamboyantly colorful as a Carnaval parade float in Río. 

Kindred spirit in Don, at least when it comes to photography

The return on the opposite side of the river did provide the only uphill stretch of this hike and my legs complained while Don and his much younger legs had no trouble at all. Continually beseeching him to wait for me, I may have even groveled a bit myself on the uphill slog. Once we crossed back over the river, the remainder of the walk was pleasantly level next to a soothingly calm and placid river as we hiked in easy brotherly companionship, if only for the reason Don had not yet read what I said about him in my blog. 

Watercolor painting

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

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Knob Falls

Talk about sending mixed signals! Right there on their Facebook page, the Umpqua National Forest clarified their position on the pandemic related trail closures, clearly stating that the trails are open, you can hike on them, it's just the trailhead parking lots that are off limits. Sounded good to me, so I drove up the North Umpqua Highway in search of a secluded trailhead on the North Umpqua Trail. However, the reality on the ground was that every trail had crowd control tape stretched across it with signs stating in no uncertain terms that this area was closed. WTF?

No habrá caminata hoy!

Well, what's a confused and uncertain hiker to do? I had talked to the Rogue River - Siskiyou National Forest office when the pandemic closure order first came about and was told it was OK to hike on the trails but they had closed and gated all the trailheads. In fact, I was advised just to park my vehicle on the road, hop over the gate, and walk to the trailhead. Since that particular office was so clear over the phone, I just continued driving up the North Umpqua Highway to the Upper Rogue River area and found the developed sites closed but trails open, no mixed signals at all.

Every hike should start like this

I parked the car at Woodruff Bridge, exchanged socially distant waves with a fisherman standing on the rocky banks, and commenced hiking. When I last hiked a couple of weeks ago at the North Bank, spring had been well under way but not so much here. This area had just, and only just, freed itself from winter's wintry embrace and there still was a noticeable chill on this on again, off again sunny or cloudy day, depending on the weather mood of the moment. Small patches of snow lay across the trail in shady places but were only an inch or so thick, so trail navigation was never at issue.

Flies squabble over a trillium

I've previously hiked here in spring and the lush greenery was amazing. However, being just this closely removed from winter, the vine maple, alder, and dogwood trees had not yet leafed out, although all sported leaf and flower buds except for the alder, which sends out dangling blossoms well ahead of its leaves. On the forest floor, trillium was just starting to bloom in a harbinger of that rampant spring greenery I just mentioned earlier.

Rock garden, Rogue River style

The upper Rogue River was a constant companion on this hike as the trail followed the river banks which in many cases, was comprised of hardened lava flows. Where the river was beachy, the sand was not true sand at all but volcanic ash, a legacy inherited from a Mount Mazama eruption an epoch or two ago. At any rate, the river immediately upstream of Woodruff Bridge was a noisy place as it roared, whether diving into rocky chutes or tumbling over a series of stair-step cascades. Small social trails braided off the main trail to service the photography crowd, and I partook thereof on many occasions.

What the world looks like without my glasses

At about the mile mark, the river calmed down where it flowed in languid pools with mirrorlike surfaces. Reflections were a thing and I partook some more of those social trails to admire the various impressionistic artwork of upside-down forests and trees painted upon the river.

Trail through a sparsely vegetated forest

After the calm river portion of this hike, the trail peeled away from the river a bit and headed uphill through a forest that was "going commando", seeing how it was clad with plenty of trees but little or no undergrowth. The reward for the uphill hiking was a rickety trail heading downhill on a narrow ridge for a front row seat of all the action at Knob Falls.

Knob Falls from my rocky perch

Knob Falls isn't very easy to see in its entirety but the sub-woofer basso profundo, whose basso and profundo reverberated through the forest like the bass solo reverberating through an adoring crowd at an AC/DC concert, advertised the presence of the thundering cascade tucked into a narrow chasm. The path lets you get as close as you dare to the falls and I did not dare as much as I could, because a misstep here would be fatal as the falls would chew you up into little pieces.

The river takes the Knob Falls plunge

Knob Falls is not one cascade, per se, but a series of booming cascades tumbling from pool to pool, The river has only one color and that is white as the driven snow, which makes sense, because the high volume of water this time of year is a direct result of snow melt in the higher elevations. After a lengthy but appreciative contemplation of the unbridled power and rage of a river seething in a slot canyon, I picked my way up the rickety path and continued my hike on the Upper Rogue River Trail.

Some of that Upper Rogue scenery

Fallen trees began to appear on the trail with ever increasing frequency and while tedious and annoying, getting around the trees remained doable. At this point, the trail was unwilling to give up its hard won elevation gain, so the path would stay up high above the river. On the opposite side of the river was an imposing cliff with a lava dike extruding from the middle of it, and the river tumbled noisily over the rocks deposited there over the ages. Here, it was hard to imagine the the river ever pacifying itself long enough to allow for artistic reflections on the surface.

Thundering waters at Natural Bridge

The scenic area at Natural Bridge was one of those developed sites that had been gated shut at the highway and it was eerie to have the entire place to myself, something that never happens at this popular place always overrun with tourists. At least I didn't have to jostle anybody to get a camera-worthy spot along the fence railings keeping said tourists out of the angry river. 

The Rogue pours over a cascade

The actual bridge of Natural Bridge is a lava tube where the Rogue River disappears from sight when it flows through the underground conduit. When the river is running full, like on this day, the bridge is underwater and not at all visible. To be honest, I prefer the river in its raging glory instead of seeing the river disappear completely from sight. I was rewarded today as the river thundered through a narrow channel created when a lava tube collapsed. Natural Bridge made for a logical turnaround point, so it was back the way I had come after an appreciative lollygag at the combination of geologic and hydrologic wonders.

Mixed signals of a different sort

When I got home, I sent a message to the Forest Service, asking for clarification about the trail closures noted on the North Umpqua Trail. They did respond with apologies, stating that the trails had been closed in error and they would be removing the barriers within the next few days. Glad to have those mixed signals get unmixed!

Peace like a river

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

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