Sam Brown Meadow

Not every hike gets to be epic. This hike wasn't even the planned activity for the day but when Cathedral Hills didn't work out as planned, a quick ad-lib hike in idyllic Briggs Valley became the stopgap Plan B destination. Once on the trail there, things didn't work out as planned, either. "Oh well" he said, sighing resignedly and loudly for theatrical effect.

An old-growth Douglas fir tree
dwarfed all the neighboring trees

So we have this pandemic thing going on and Oregon did not have a mandatory stay-at-home order...yet. But based on what I observed at Cathedral Hills, the governor will have no choice but to issue one because our state is populated with idiots. Because of the coronavirus, we really need to stay apart from each other. From my little corner in the Oregon sandbox, it seems like hiking would be a good way to stay healthy while simultaneously avoiding large groups of virus spreaders, also known as "people". But when I arrived at the Cathedral Hills trailhead in Grants Pass, I was horrified to see the parking lot full, with an overflow of dozens of cars parked along the roadway. In the parking lot there was, and this is no exaggeration, at least thirty people congregating in the small lot, made smaller by the throngs who feel that social distancing does not apply to them. These idiots will kill people with their stupidity and selfishness.

A mossy bed fit for leprechauns

Horrified and scared, I quickly drove away from the trailhead and began thinking about what else to do, since I had driven all the way to Grants Pass. The Rogue River Trail and Rainie Falls were ruled out since it was doubtful that Cathedral Hills had a monopoly on attracting knuckleheads who don't care about public welfare; the Rogue River area was probably a popular place this weekend too. Taylor Creek was ruled out because I'd been there twice last year. So, a hike in Briggs Valley it was, simply because I hadn't been since I hiked there like fifteen years ago.

Never did make it to Elkhorn Mine

I found the trailhead just fine, so I decamped from the car and got ready to set out upon the trail. Because this was not a planned hike, there inherently were a few problems with making a spur-of-the-moment decision to hike here. First, I had no map with me. Well, that's not quite true, I did have a really good map of the Cathedral Hills trail system but that wasn't going to help me with the Briggs Creek Trail. Second, the batteries in my GPS gave up the ghost and I had no spares, so I'd be geographically clueless in terms of where on the trail I was. Third, although I'd hiked this years before, it was so long ago I retained no knowledge of where the trail went, which junctions to turn at, etc. Looks like I'd be hiking blind, and what could possibly go wrong?

Briggs Creek at one of several wet fords

Well, a lot could go wrong so to prevent my getting lost or misplaced in the woods, I decided to stay on a well-defined trail and if I ran into intersections, I photographed them for future reference, just in case. As far as which way to go should there be any trail junctions, I would choose the trail that stayed closest to Briggs Creek. If things got confusing, then I'd turn around instead of blundering on forward. Armed with these precautions and a healthy dose of inconfidence, I set out upon the trail.

The scars from the Taylor Creek
Fire were everywhere to be seen

The Briggs Valley area was right in the middle of the Taylor Creek Fire burn area from a couple of summers ago and while there were plenty of live trees still standing, the fire scars in the form of dead or singed trees were visible throughout the hike. The trail initially was a forest road with a stand of dead trees on the right side and a lush and verdant stand on the left.

Trail through the shade and vegetation

It didn't take long before I had to make a decision. After about a quarter-mile of hiking, the Briggs Creek Trail crossed the road and now do I go left or right? Left was toward the campground area, so right it was where I got to make the first of a couple of fords of Briggs Creek. Once across the creek, the trail basically followed the rushing stream through some lush and shady woods comprised of yew, fir, cedar, pine, laurel, madrone, and oak in what is a typical Siskiyou Mountains mish-mash of tree species.

Oaks toothwort was plentiful along the path

After a half-mile or so of enjoyable walking, the trail exited the woods on a forest road that looked like it hadn't been used much. Again, left or right? I did both, walking on the road in either direction, searching for a continuation of the trail. Never did find it, so it was time to be smart and go back the way I came. After looking on a map later at home, I had needed to go left and walk a little bit further than I did, but that's what happens when you have no map, GPS, or knowledge.

The trees watch me make good choices in the woods

After recrossing Briggs Creek, I took the trail that rambled in back of the campground area. I also ran into another trail junction with the same ongoing right-left choice of trails. I went right and a short walk later, the trail ended at a log jam in Briggs Creek. Behind the log jam, the creek pooled and reflected the surrounding woods nicely. I suppose I could have waded and searched for a continuation of this trail but I'll refer you to my previous comments about making smart choices in the woods.

Sam Brown's Meadow

So back I go, taking the left trail this time and that path led to Sam Brown Meadow. After all this shady forest time, the bright sun and blue sky over the large meadow was a welcome sight. At a large picnic pavilion off to one side of the meadow were a couple of informative signboards. Apparently, when gold was discovered in Briggs Creek in the early 1870's, the boomtown of Briggs sprung up complete with saloons, a hotel, and at least one brothel. Sam Brown was a bartender at the hotel and unfortunately met an early demise when he was shot for getting with the miners' women. No doubt his race (African-American) played a large part in this tragic play, and according to the signboard, he was buried somewhere in this meadow.

Rest in peace, my friend

Intrigued, I went into the grassy expanse to search for his grave and found it under a small tree. Where I had been admiring the natural beauty of the meadow, now it was a wistfully sad place, forever tainted by tragedy, especially since so little is known about the life of Sam Brown, like where he came from, who his parents were, etc. We know more about how he died and where he is buried than how he lived, the only consolation being that he is buried in beautiful Briggs Valley in a meadow that bears his name.

Moss obeys the stay-at-home order

Anyway, after all this effort spent into going out for a hike, I managed to get only a mere two miles of hiking in. But going forward, I'll be back but properly armed with knowledge and maps next time. And as far as all the goobers at Cathedral Hills go, our governor issued a stay-at-home order as I was writing this blog post. As my cousin Monica said about a similar order in her state, "I feel like a kindergartner that got recess taken away because the rest of the class would not stop talking". Fortunately, the order specifically classified hiking as an "essential" activity, something that I agree with even when there is not a pandemic. However, no hiking in groups is allowed so I'll be hiking solo from here on in. The Siuslaw National Forest, who oversee the coastal forests and dunes, has closed all their trailheads because of the insane crush of morons that headed out to the coast this last weekend. Likewise, state and county parks are closed too. Looks like I'll be hiking away from the coast and on the more remote trails for the time being. Wish me luck and in the meantime, may everybody stay safe.

Crystal clear (ultraoligotrophic, even!) Briggs Creek

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

Taylor Creek

In the summer of 2018, a wildfire broke out close enough to Taylor Creek to acquire the name of Taylor Creek Fire. Twenty miles away and in the vicinity of Klondike Creek, located within the Kalmiopsis Wilderness, the Klondike Fire birthed into flaming existence. In the rugged topography of this area, fire crews had no real chance of extinguishing either fire and eventually the two wildfires merged into one humongous conflagration which eventually consumed 228,097 acres of forest, making it Oregon's second largest fire ever. "If you're going to go, go big" says the old adage, but wildfires and deer should really be an exception to that rule.

All that hard was not for naught

Needless to say, that summer I didn't hike at Taylor Creek once the fires began. But, an entire year had elapsed since the fires raged, and I was curious to see what was left of what had been a gorgeous forest, creek,  and trail. Also, my friends at the Siskiyou Mountain Club had refurbished the trail before the fire and had replaced the decaying and teetering footbridges with some of the more well-constructed bridges you will ever find on a trail. The thought of all that hard work being turned into acrid ash and brown smoke filled me with dismay but word was out this summer that all seven of the new bridges had survived the fire intact. Additionally, the Siskiyou Mountain Club had recently returned to Taylor Creek and cleared the trail which had a fair amount of fire debris on it. A well-deserved tip of the hat to those guys for all the fine trail work they do.

Beetles honeymoon in a farewell-to-spring flower

At English Flat Trailhead, the fire damage was readily apparent in the form of charred trees with dead leaves attached to blackened branches. You could almost still smell the smoke a full year after the immolating fire. Despite the rampant death and destruction, there nonetheless was plenty of life growing in effuse abundance in the burn zone. Greenery was plenteous under and around the charred trees while wildflowers put on a show as if the fire had never happened at all. Birds twittered in the forest and flying insects buzzed noisily as they commuted from flower to flower. I generally sort of pull for wildfires to completely vaporize poison oak and ticks but alas, I was disappointed on both counts, having to pluck off several ticks found crawling on me and then winding up with a small itchy poison oak rash on my calf. 

There was a fire here?

Anyway, the trail descended through the forest down to Taylor Creek itself, flowing fast and clear as it always does. At the bottom of the canyon, it appeared as if the humid air of the creek had offered some protection from the fire, for at  the English Flat homestead site, the meadow was full of green grass as if to demonstrate a seeming imperviousness to the ravages of wildfire.

Aftermath

After crossing Taylor Creek on one of the aforementioned bridges, the trail headed uphill in earnest, eventually settling on sidehilling through the burned woods roughly about 150 feet higher than Taylor Creek flowing on the canyon floor. It was not as green here, for the fire damage was pretty severe and pervasive as the trail contoured its way through the dead forest. Plenty of fallen trees were randomly scattered both above and below the trail, but fortunately the path was mostly clear of any fire-caused downfall. 

Waterfall on Burned Timber Creek

There wasn't much of interest at this point as the forest was monotonously charred and mostly dead, until a clear stream with the unfortunate but apt name of Burned Timber Creek flowed across the trail. Shortly after the trail crossing, the creek plunged over a cliff in one of the prettier waterfalls you can find on any trail. At least, the cascade is a little easier to see now that the forest doesn't block the view like it used to before the fire.

No more rails for you, trail!

After crossing a forest road near the falls, the trail re-entered the burned forest and where there used to be a fence railing to keep hikers on trail for some undiscerned reason, there now existed only the charred nubs of the former fence posts, each blackened nub being only about a foot tall. Wow, now that the railed fence is not there any more, hikers will surely wander lost in the woods, how will we ever survive? After a protracted climb and equally protracted descent, I stopped at a rocky overlook of some nice swimming holes on Taylor Creek. Here, the slopes were open and exposed to direct sunlight, and sun-loving wildflowers were expressing their gratitude by blooming profusely.

Hey, this flower's taken!

A brodiaea that goes by the name of "pretty face" was blooming in spherical onion-type ball-head formation which only makes sense because brodiaea, like onion, is a charter member of the allium family. I think that when I die, I will return as a pretty face, which would only be fitting. Ookow, luina, and angelica were also blooming away in the sun, the angelica providing rafts of white flowers dotted with all kinds of beetle species ranging from longhorns to ladybugs. 

Some trees survived the fire

After a lunch and laze at the charred and sooty rocky point overlooking the creek, I decided to turn back instead of continuing on to the next set of trailheads. With nothing but a dead forest surrounding the trail, it was getting to be downright hot in the rocky canyon and shady succor was in short supply. Not only was it hot, it was also humid and I dripped enough sweat to start a new forest were it not for the salt contained in perspiration. 

A crab spider lurks

Walking head down as I focused on returning to the trailhead, I wound up on a path that was rapidly getting sketchier and sketchier. Darn game trails do it to me every time, and I had to backtrack to the real trail, but it wasn't all bad for I did get a nice extended visit to some rare green forest next to Taylor Creek. 

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

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Taylor Creek

Hmmm...getting a feeling of deja vu about Taylor Creek, but with reason. A month prior, I had taken an exploratory scouting trip in advance of a scheduled hike with the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club which was to be led by your merry blogster. But now it was show time, so to speak, and  it would be interesting to see the difference from a month ago.

The ever ubiquitous larkspur

The first different thing was that we could not park at the trailhead as there were a ton of vehicles occupying the small parking lot. Turned out that this was the day of the Sasquatch 50k and Relay Run and the parking lot was full of Sasquatchresses manning a rest stop for the trail runners. Sheesh, us hikers never get anyone to handout snacks and refreshments but then again, these guys and gals were running 31 miles on uneven trail so I'll quit sniveling and bow down to their athletic prowess.

My namesake flower

So down the Taylor Creek Trail we went, "down" being the operative word here. The trail began high above the creek's deep canyon and we dropped down to creek level, losing elevation in the process. Already, I could see the difference from a month ago. The vegetation was more lush and encroached the trail in many places. Gone were the trillium, calypso orchids, and snow queen, supplanted by later-blooming stalwarts such as Siskiyou iris, false Solomon's seal, and the ever present larkspur. Also fairly profuse in sunny open areas, was a dainty six-petaled flower known as Pretty Face, which I swear is named after me. 

We had to share the trail, or vise versa

It didn't take long for us to meet the runners running up the trail, and they seemed to be a fairly congenial bunch, despite having already run for many miles. I know what my disposition would be were I to attempt such a venture and I certainly wouldn't be wishing hikers a cheery "Good morning" and I probably wouldn't say "Thank you" when they stepped aside, either. However, I did make the observation that the latter half of the runner contingent were less talkative and seemingly less happy about running 31 miles in the woods, than the front half.

Golden iris

The hike quickly degenerated into more photo-shoot than hike since I had done this a month ago, and also because I had hiked 10 miles the day before. Legs were tired and bored, apparently. But that's OK, because there were plenty of things to take pictures of, mostly of the floral variety.

A moth basks in the sun

Spring was in full song. I know that's what I said last month but it was definitely more songier on this May rendition of the Taylor Creek hike. A whole new cast of floral characters were blooming away, dominated by the irises, and I think I got a photo of every single one! Most photos were taken while standing erect on the trail, for the poison oak was exuberantly waving newly leafed fronds and branches everywhere, just daring hikers and photographers to take an itchy step off-trail.

Fairy moths are apparently impervious to poison oak rash

Naturally, I soon was walking alone and far behind as my non-camera toting friends power-walked somewhere far ahead of me. Where the trail left nearby Taylor Creek and hied it uphill for a bit, that seemed like a good place to turn around. On the way back, I got to meet and greet the trail runners all over again as they were on the return leg of their run, and they seemed more amicable after having enjoyed the fruits and refreshments at the rest stop. Unfortunately for me, the rest stop was all packed up by the time I arrived at the trailhead, so I couldn't mooch a snack or two.

A beautiful day on the Taylor Creek Trail

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

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Taylor Creek

Spring has arrived, putting a spring in my step! Oh, there'd been hints, whispers, and innuendos that spring was on its way but this hike on the Taylor Creek Trail was the first hike this year where I could just smile and say "It's spring!" And accordingly, I spent much of my trail time lying prone, photographing the many wildflowers growing along the trail. Still had be careful about where I lay though, due to the many fronds of poison oak likewise growing along the trail and keeping the wildflowers itchy company. Not all of spring is good, apparently.

A tale of five bridges

The last time I had hiked on the Taylor Creek Trail, the many bridges crossing and recrossing the creek were rotting and you crossed at your own risk. The mountain biking crowd had given up on the bridges altogether and had blazed their own trails and wet fords next to the sagging spans. However, according to the U.S. Forest website, our fine friends at the Siskiyou Mountain Club had recently replaced the treacherous bridges, and I just had to go see for myself; especially since I am leading a hike here in a few weeks.

Unerringly straight through the forest

Taylor Creek may be just a small creek, but it has carved a massive canyon in the short run from its headwaters to the Rogue River. In fact, I often say Taylor Creek is like the Rogue River Jr. Well, that's not factually correct as I really don't say that often at all. In fact, I hardly ever talk about Taylor Creek but I have been known to make that observation after past visits to Taylor Creek.

Pasture at English Flat

Anyway, since the road stays high above the canyon, hikers get to warm up by hiking downhill. That's a nice feature, although its not as nice coming back after nearly 10 miles of hiking. No matter how great the hike was, it's just wrong to have to hike uphill to the car. As the trail lost elevation, the surrounding forest had that typical Siskiyou vibe of tan oak, madrone, and conifer trees all mixed together. After the quick downhill walk to reach Taylor Creek reposing at the bottom of the canyon, the trail spit us (me and my imaginary friend) out onto the grassy meadow at English Flat.

Stately trillium

I don't know much about the history of English Flat but it had obviously been a homestead back in the day. The grassy pasture and rogue fruit trees blooming next to the creek were a clue that this site had been settled, probably by an English family or by a family named English. The English may have even been English, for all I know. Blooming maple trees surrounded the once and former homestead, and the ground underneath the trees was carpeted with elegant tri-petaled trillium blooming away in glorious profusion. 

Taylor Creek flows under a bridge

The first bridge crossing of Taylor Creek was a beauty, nearly a work of art. Sporting brand new unweathered wood, rising high above the creek, with graveled on-ramps, the well constructed bridge merits a grateful tip of the hat to the crews that built the bridge. It sure beats wading across, and I speak from personal experience, having deemed some of the former rotting bridges too dangerous to cross on foot.

Fawn lily was everywhere

Once across the creek and back into the forest, the trail headed uphill for a rather brisk and protracted climb up and away from the canyon floor. I was feeling pretty walky and actually enjoyed the uphill hiking, ignoring the screams and shouts from protesting leg muscles. Despite the relative speed of my hoofing it up the trail, I still found some time to take photos of the myriad flowers blooming next to the path,

Exotic looking calypso orchid

The forest was carpeted with snow queen, trillium, hound's tongue, and woodland violet, just to name a few of the usual suspects. However it was fawn lily that rightly earned the Most-Profuse-Flower Award, as their distinctive nodding blooms made their presence known nearly everywhere on this hike. I also spotted my first calypso orchid of this year, the wildly festive bloom in the relatively drab forest seemingly as incongruous as a Rio carnaval dancer at a Puritan quilting bee.

Burned Timber Creek flows through
a tangle of unburned timber

With all the rain we'd been receiving in the buildup to spring, it stood to reason that there'd be creeks running across the trail. A few of them were ankle-splashers on the wade across while the larger streams had boardwalks thoughtfully provided to keep hiker's boots relatively dry. Most of the creeks were unnamed with the notable exception of Burned Timber Creek.

Picturesque waterfall on Burned Timber Creek

Burned Timber Creek is one of the star attractions of this hike as it joins up with Taylor Creek in a spectacular and camera-friendly waterfall. The cascade is not all that visible from the trail so a brief off-trail excursion to an overlook is required, and is well worth the relatively minimal effort.

Trail, as it hugs a rock face

Taylor Creek was not always visible but was always heard from the trail, except for one particular stretch of trail. For some strange reason, the path peeled away from the creek and charged uphill, causing me to curse trail designers all over again. After cresting a dry ridge, the trail then dropped back to Taylor Creek in what was a senseless and gratuitous abuse of quad muscles.

Where two creeks collide

After walking on a cliff edge, crossing two gravel roads, and experiencing a whole lot more ups and downs on a forested trail, the way straight across was blocked by two creeks running into each other. I had always thought that because the road next to the twin streams is Minnow Creek Road, that surely must mean this was Minnow Creek running in front of me. Wrong again, sardine! A quick perusal of the map divined that Taylor Creek and the South Fork Taylor Creek were the two creeks colliding in the middle of all the twiggy branches overhanging the twin creeks.

Oak toothwort

After crossing the two creeks on yet another pair of brand new, beautifully constructed bridges, I reached my turnaround point, another bridged re-crossing of the South Fork. A bear had shown great disrespect to the bridge builders's work by crapping right in the middle of the graceful span. On a prior Taylor Creek Trail ramble, when I was feeling amazingly walky, I had continued on past this point, climbing a steep trail to Lone Tree Pass, a nondescript trailhead on a forest road. As I climbed up to the pass, as the South Fork grew smaller and smaller, eventually dwindling to nothingness like that little point of light on an ancient TV monitor. I'm dating myself here but those of you who remember TV's before color, cable, and solid-state electronics will understand.

Moss creeps on a rock

Anyway, that climb to Lone Tree Pass was tough and not particularly scenic, and the hike up to the pass and back wound up being something like 14 miles long. By turning around at this particular bridge, today's hike wound up being just under 10 miles, a totally respectable distance. On the way back, the downs became ups and vise versa, through the same pleasant woods I had hiked through. On the way back, I took less pictures, simply happy to be fast-walking (on the Taylor Swift Creek Trail?) in the woods, until the last uphill push to the car. Wasn't so happy about that, nosiree. But up until then, this spring walk had definitely put a spring in my step.

Candy flower

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

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