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.

Fish Lake Creek

The dry stats for hiking to Fish Lake via Fish Lake Creek Trail were 8.7 round trip miles to and from the lake, 1,500 feet of elevation gain, 90+ degrees of heat, and 4,692 whiny snivels to myself. My dispirited legs felt every mile, every foot of climb, and every degree of heat. Maybe I should exercise in between hikes but then again, that would be exercise. Maybe I should make myself younger, too.

Just another beautiful day on the trail

But while the legs were noodly, the resolve was steely and this hike began with your merry blogster full of expectant anticipation of getting out onto the trail after a short layoff from the wonderful avocation that is hiking. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the forest growing along Fish Lake Creek was lush and well-shaded. Life was good indeed, at least until the hiking started.

A galaxy of vine maple leaves

My frame of reference for this trek is my very first visit here, occurring shortly after the 2002 Tiller Complex Fire(s) ravaged the forests along the trail. Back then, the hiking was hot, dusty, and totally shadeless. Most of that laborious epic was spent wading over, under, and around tons of dead trees lying on the trail. Flash forward sixteen years and those fallen trees are almost decayed out of existance, the surviving trees are all leafed out, and the undergrowth has been restored to its usual dense green jungle. Best of all, the path is clear of downfall for all of the distance to Fish Lake.

False Solomon's seal was just one of many
species of wildflowers beautifying the trail

For the first couple of miles, the trail is well shaded and joyously cool on a hot day. The grade was gentle so I was one happy hiker enjoying the rampant greenery and wildflowers blooming along the trail. Fish Lake Creek was nearby but mostly more heard than seen, due to the vegetation and forest surrounding the stream. My pace was relaxed and slow because of the scenery and photography thereof, and life was good.

It's just not a hike unless you
have to hike through poison oak

To be honest, life was also good when the trail broke out into the open burn zone and warm sunlight. It was just a warmer good. After about a mile and a half of hiking through the forest, the trail peeled away from Fish Lake Creek and headed uphill in the sun to contour up and around a nameless side creek. Poison oak was thriving happily here and I took care to avoid the oily red fronds of itching madness. Speaking of itching and given my last tick-infected hike, frequent tick-check stops were a thing because because I could just feel a veritable tick army marching with military precision on the parade ground of my skin. The final stats in that regard were just one tick found all day long, but it's still a mental condition.

Rocky cliffs loomed next to the trail

As the trail steadily gained elevation across drier south-facing slopes populated with dead trees and buckbrush, the views of Fish Lake Creek's forested canyon continually improved. The trail contoured the base of a prominent cliff and the poison oak was at its worst among the rocky soil and open sunlight. There was no western fence at this trailside locale but there were lots and lots of western fence lizards scuttling about on the rocky ramparts and battlements. Those lizards closer to the ground stirred up dead leaves, the dry rattle making sure to startle one certain incredibly handsome hiker with yet another mental condition, stemming from a rattlesnake encounter of several years ago.

Beaver Swamp in all its swampy glory

The trail rounded a ridge and Beaver Swamp made an appearance, the blue-green waters looking particularly swampy on this hike rendition. Normally, turtles are spotted sunning themselves on logs floating in the pond but not on this day, not sure what happened to them. In the middle of the pond there is a notable beaver lodge but it had that air of abandonment, particularly as there were no fresh animal paths tracking through the swamp grasses. A burbling inlet creek flowed into the pond and the vine maples were lush and profuse. A convenient log was sited next to the trickling stream and was the perfect place to eat lunch and generally just sit and ponder in the cool shade.

Highrock Mountain presides over Fish Lake

By now, the day was hot and yes, I am well aware it will get hotter yet. The trail angled steeply uphill  away from the swamp and a trudge now entered into what had previously been a joyful hiking rhythm. But Fish Lake was less than two miles away so really, there was no other manly option other than to determinedly plod to the lake. And when the lake was reached, the immediate reward was a magnificent vista of snowy Highrock Mountain presiding over beautiful Fish Lake, making all the toil and trouble to get there well worth the effort. Standoff Point standoffishly stood off at the northeast corner of Fish Lake, reminding me I'm overdue for a visit to Rocky Ridge (of which, Standoff Point is part of). Anyway, views like this are why we hike, boys and girls.

Trail, as the day cooled and shadows lengthened

It was nice to be walking downhill on the hike back to the trailhead, especially since my legs wanted to go on a sit-down strike. The forest became even more pleasant as the day cooled and afternoon shadows lengthened beneath the trees. The only occurrence of note was when a startled grouse exploded out of the brush next to trail in a flurry of feathers and whirring wings. A grouse won't kill me but the heart attack might, darn birds that wait until you almost step on them. anyway.

Fish Lake Creek was always heard but seldom seen

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

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Grasshopper Mountain Loop

I often joke that I hate hiking. But, really I don't, I just complain in my own humorous self-deprecating way about the travails of the trail. But on a recent hike to Grasshopper Mountain I was serious, I really did hate hiking and it wasn't much fun at all. It wasn't like I hadn't been warned: Lane had emailed me that this was a tedious hike. But then again, he shrieked like a little girl at a teensy-weensy gopher snake so how reliable was his warning, really? Very reliable, as it turned out.

Rhododendron was putting on a show

Southern Oregon was experiencing a heat wave and it was warmer than a tortilla fresh off the comal on a stove burner. In fact, I pretty much felt like spicy meat wrapped up in a tamale of heat as I sallied forth from Skimmerhorn Trailhead. Good thing the forest was shady! Underneath the trees, rhododendrons were blooming en masse and it was slow going due to rampant photography. Blooming closer to the ground, were woodland phlox, Columbia windflowers, and Oregon grape, just to name-drop a few.

The unusual snow plant

The first time I hiked on the Lakes Trail, many years ago, the rather unusual red snow plant was sprouting everywhere on the forest floor. In the intervening years, several forest fires had come to visit and, while not as plentiful as before, there were still several specimens of the bright scarlet saprophyte coloring up the otherwise drab forest in the burn zone.

Uphill in the burn zone

Where the fire had burned hottest, the trees did not survive and all that is left of the forest are acres of ghostly black snags. However, new trees are sprouting and growing rather vigorously, too. Despite the dead trees, the open slope is bursting with life. Unfortunately, some of the life had thorns and my shins were raked by brambles and gooseberries on more than one occasion as I hiked up the steep slope under the hot sun. Yes, I am complaining but have not yet gotten to the I-hate-hiking point.

Gotta love those vine maples

Once up and over the open burn zone, the path entered a forest where the vine maples were just leafing out. I swear, vine maple has to be one of the most photogenic trees around what with their numerous leaves catching what little sunlight makes it to the forest floor. The air was suffused with a soft green light due to the galaxies of lime-green leafy constellations  and stars overhead. Who could ever hate hiking when there are vine maples to hike under?

Cliff Lake, below Grasshopper Mountain's cliff

The trail passed by lakes Buckeye and Cliff in quick succession, each reposing below the massive cliff of Grasshopper Mountain. At a trail junction after Cliff Lake, a right turn got me onto the Grasshopper Trail and that was where the fun started. First of all, the trail went steep in the stultifying heat and dripping sweat made my eyes burn. Still, it was nothing out of the ordinary as I climbed up.

This was where I started to hate hiking

Then a fallen tree lay across the trail. No problem, I scrambled over it and continued on. Ten yards later, there was another tree. Ten yards later there was another...and another...and another. Eventually it was three to four trees in a pile every few yards or so. At times, the trail disappeared under the jumble of wood and it was getting harder and harder to resume the tread on the other side of the piles. My shins were bleeding and sore from barking them on the fallen timber. Progress was slow and nigh negligible.

It's official, I'm getting a hiking divorce

It was like some kind of exponential logarithmic thing in that the closer I got to the Grasshopper Mountain summit, the more trees there were in the way. Finally the trees pushed me off the trail altogether and I tried walking cross-country but there were fallen trees there too. I had enough and made a solemn vow to myself that if I encountered three more piles in the way, I would give up the quest for the summit, even though I was quite close. And sure enough the third pile had like ten trees involved and that was it for me.

Grasshopper Meadows

I had some sort of vain hope that the Acker Divide Trail would be more hiker friendly so rather than return the way I came, I continued forward for a 10'ish mile loop hike. It wasn't too bad dropping off the mountain to scenic Grasshopper Meadows but alas, the Acker Divide Trail was in worse shape than the Grasshopper Trail. And for an added factor of misery, the forest was full of mosquitoes. I just wanted to be someplace else other than here, somewhere where I didn't have to scramble over and around trees. Someplace with pavement, even. 

A trio of morels

This 9.9 mile hike took over 7 hours to complete and I was exhausted when it was over. To speed things up, at one point I stowed my camera in my pack and did not take any photos from Grasshopper Meadows on forward. You know it's bad when I put the camera away, that never happens! Lane may shriek like a little girl at snakes, but maybe I'll heed his warning next time. Assuming there will be a next time, because I hate hiking, you know.

Bridge over Cliff Lake's outlet creek

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

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Fish Lake

It had been over 7 years since the last time I hiked up to Fish Lake from the Lakes Trailhead. At the time, the area had been ravaged by a series of wildfires and the trail was nearly impassable due to all the dead trees laying across the trail. Because most of the erstwhile shady forest was strewn over the trail, it was hot and because it was hot, it seemed like it was a really long and steep slog up to Fish Lake. For some reason known only to my inner sadist, I volunteered to take the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club on a reprise of that challenging hike. So imagine my surprise when the first mile of the 2015 version took us through a pleasantly shaded forest with green undergrowth bursting forth in the usual spring exuberance with nary a log to step around, over, or under.

Shade? There's no shade in hiking!

The Forest Service had cut and/or removed the logs on the trail and the scraggly trees then struggling for survival are now thriving and providing welcome shade to erstwhile overheated hikers. What a change from seven years ago! It's safe to say the forest on Fish Lake Creek is in full recovery and the trail is in great shape. And because the trail was nicely shaded, hikers were cool, and the uphill grade didn't seem all that bad. I think the only person disappointed the hike wasn't tougher was my inner sadist.

A bee enjoys brambles because it
does not have to hike through them

Fish Lake Creek was coursing nearby but we mostly heard the creek as the rushing stream was hidden from view by all the vegetation. After a mile, the creek noise receded into the distance as the trail inscribed a climb up a side canyon. Here the scars of the fires were still visible as the forest was fairly thin and sparse. No complaints though, as we had nice views of the Fish Lake Creek canyon several hundred feet below. Periodically, the tip of Highrock Mountain peeked over the forested ridge immediately in front of us.

Feel the burn!

At about the halfway point, the route captured some of that previous hike-as-a-test-of-manhood (and womanhood, too) flavor. On the upper reaches of the Fish Lake Creek canyon rim, the "forest" was comprised of dead snags rising above the ceanothus and other brushy friends. During my 2008 visit here, the brush had encroached the trail and I continually plucked ticks off of my clothing for most of the latter half of the hike. But now, the trail had been cleared and was both brush and tick free. Despite the ample sunlight, temperatures were mild and my inner sadist uttered a dispirited "meh!" and went back to sleep.

Lane and Colby cruise past a cliff

Along the way to Fish Lake, the trail hugged the base of a massive cliff and hikers with shorts on had to step carefully around the poison oak growing along the path. That was pretty much the lone travail on this hike, darn it. Again, great views of the Fish Creek Valley abounded.  One last uphill pull from the rocky cliff then delivered us to Beaver Swamp.

Beaver Swamp

This time of year, the swamp is more lake than swamp and the trail made a U-turn around the small body of water. Fish were jumping, causing ripples to expand zen-like upon the tranquil surface. Small logs in the water were populated by turtles sunning themselves as they too enjoyed this fine spring day. A pile of branches indicated the location of a beaver nest and small beaver-made paths through the aquatic grasses showed Beaver Swamp is aptly named.

Fish Lake

The last mile was probably the toughest, hiking-wise, as the trail steepened on the final push up to Fish Lake, our most worthy destination. The large lake reposed lazily (as did we when we ate lunch) underneath the warm sun. Massive Highrock Mountain loomed overhead and further to the north we had a nice view of the ramparts of Rocky Rim. Such fantastic scenery requires an extended lunch-n-laze and we obliged.

Rhododendrons bloomed next to the lake

The nice thing about a moderate uphill hike is that it is moderately downhill on the way back, making for a relatively quick exit back to the trailhead. We got to partake of the shady and log-free (darn it) scenery all over again and everybody enjoyed the hike, except for my inner sadist.

Star-flowered Solomon seal

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

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Island Lake backpack

The 4th of July weekend is all about the red, white, and blue.  Red is the color of the the Belgian national soccer team uniform. White is the color of my legs. And blue was my mood after a World Cup loss by the U.S. team to Belgium. There had to be some kind of supernatural intervention involved in that loss. How else to explain Chris Wondolowski missing an open goal from yards away? How could one of the world's great superpowers lose to a country famed for waffles? What else can one expect from a team named the Red Devils?

Let's go hiking!

Despondent, I went to lose myself in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. Plus, I also really like to hike, but that's beside the point, just let me wallow in my mire. The mire-wallowing began at Fourmile Lake, situated at the foot of Mount McLaughlin. As I laced up my boots at the trailhead, it was quiet...too quiet. Despite it being early summer, there were no mosquitoes and I was suddenly a little less despondent.

Junction in a lodgepole forest

Of course, the mosquitoes were waiting for me in the lodgepole forest but I didn't really feel the need for Deet until a little over a mile, the mosquitoes weren't really bad at all...yet. The first mile of trail was a rather utilitarian bypass around the Fourmile Lake Campground in a thin lodgepole pine forest. I could not see the campground or lake but I could hear the happy hordes and car motors as I walked by.

Let the oohing and aahing begin!

After crossing the Cascade Canal, the "real" hike started. The trail was basically following the Fourmile Lake shore, although the lake remained mostly hidden behind the forest. Huckleberry grew everywhere and this has got to be a royally fruity hike come September. At a viewpoint by the lake, there was a postcard view of Mount McLaughlin's perfect snow cone rising over the lake's sapphire blue waters.

Badger Lake

Next up on this lake tour-de-force hike, was Woodpecker Lake. A short climb took me to this small but pretty (just like me!) lake. And after a relative hop, skip, and jump, hikingwise, up came larger Badger Lake. Every time I see the word "badger" I am reminded of a certain coworker whose office nickname is "The Badger", but I saw no real badgers or coworkers at the lake. I did see and hear woodpeckers throughout the hike, though.

Columbines graced the trail

After Badger Lake came Lily Pond, a brown wet spot in the middle of a marshy meadow. Wildflowers were blooming in numbers at the meadow and I put down the pack for a bit and engaged in a happy photo shoot. Plumes of white bog orchid grew uncoincidentally in the middle of the bog. Monkshood, delphinium, columbine, aster, and showy Jacob's ladder each had a turn at keeping my camera busy. Life is good in a meadow in early summer.

Life is hard on trees

Life is hard on trees up here and the trail between Lily Pond and Long Lake was through a forest of trees that had been snapped off at the top. The broken tops were strewn all over the trail and it was a little bit of work to wade through the debris. However, it was easier for me than it was for a couple of horse riders I exchanged pleasantries with.

Long Lake below Lost Peak

Long Lake was indeed long, lying in skinny slender repose below Lost Peak. A nice little rest stop in the shade was enjoyed and a hiking couple jumped into the lake to cool off while I was there. From there it was on to and across the Pacific Crest Trail into a forest with a lush carpet of huckleberry bushes where a side trail delivered me to Island Lake, my home for the night.

Island Lake in the late afternoon

It was late afternoon, and I set up camp next to the Judge Waldo Tree, famed because the noted conservationist Judge Waldo defaced the tree by carving his initials on it in the 1800's. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight burnished the lake with a soft golden glow. Dragonflies flitted by and fish jumped, their splashings marking the passage of the afternoon. Suddenly, there was a rumble like a large landslide that culminated with a thud, a falling tree does indeed make noise when a man is there to hear it.

The innocent victim's home

My lakeside reverie was further interrupted by a noise that sounded like a combination snort/cough/growl, the sound emanating from the forest about 50 yards in back of me or "my campsite" as I like to call it. I made a mad dash to the camp but there was nary a creature around.  It was about then I had the feeling I was going to spend yet another night in the woods defending my territory from invading marauders of uncertain specie.

Island Lake sunset

Sure enough, in the middle of the night I abruptly awoke, senses on full intruder alert. Just outside of my tent, something breathed heavily, close enough to ripple my tent fly with it's hot and presumably fetid breath. "Get thee gone you four-legged spawn of Satan!" I yelled, or some facsimile thereof. Startled, a large animal took off running in panic, I could feel the vibration of the footsteps in the ground I was laying on. I have no idea what animal it was but I'm thinking deer because deer are the four-legged hiking-pole stealing spawn of Satan. At any rate, it was no more sleep for Richard as there were several more nighttime confrontations, my invective increasing in saltiness with each new raid.

The spirit of Judge Waldo haunts the campsite

At one point, I arose to check upon the welfare of the camp and bats swarmed to the headlamp located disconcertingly on my forehead. I'm not sure what was worse: getting stalked by unknown creatures of the night or having bats by the buckets flitting in my face with their leathery wings. This hike was beginning to feel a lot like Halloween.

Morning reflection

I'd like to say I woke up at the crack of dawn but actually I arose before the crack of dawn since I'd long been awake anyway. Heeding the call of nature, I approached a bush with the intent of relieving myself. When the first molecule of pee stream hit the bush, a black humming cloud erupted forth and swarmed towards the only patch of skin within 5 parsecs that was not protected by Deet. MOSQUITOES! I had to use all my formidable athletic skills to hop and dance around and finish the business I had started, waving my hand frantically to ward off the predatory insect vampires while simultaneously keeping the waving hand safely out of the jet stream, so to speak.

Man, the mosquitoes are huge!

The mosquitoes the day before had been tolerable, overnight they had tripled in quantity and quintupled in ferocity. I wore an inch-thick layer of Deet but the mosquitoes were like a collective swarm of invertebrate Admiral Farraguts, each quoting "Damn the Deet and full speed ahead!" in wing-speak as they dive-bombed me.

Pretty but hot, just like me!

Also tripling in quantity and ferocity was the temperature. This had been a fully sunny weekend but on the hike out, it was hot, so hot I couldn't come up with a simile to amuse my readers. So I'll just say it was hot as heat. So, this hike had heat, mosquitoes, falling trees, mosquitoes, fearsome camp raiding creatures, and more mosquitoes. However, it also offered mosquitoes, pristine lakes, wildflowers, mosquitoes, green meadows, a venerated tree, and mosquitoes. That makes it a great hike in my book and my World Cup despondency was cured, at least until I found out it was a Germany vs Argentina final. I may have to go out for another curative hike!

Where mosquitoes come from

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