Rosary Lakes

Lane brought a new toy to this hike. It was a brand new GPS with a screen large enough for a Super Bowl party in a Las Vegas sports bar. Suddenly, my own humble GPS seemed woefully inadequate and while I congratulated Lane, deep down inside I may have been envious. However, Lane made the mistake of showing Edwin the new GPS and that in turn, wound up interjecting three bushwhack side-trips into this otherwise staid hike on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).

The Rosary Beads

A bunch of us were camping at nearby Odell Lake and our original plan was to hike in the Waldo Lake area. However, the Cedar Creek Fire had rendered the Waldo Lake Wilderness trail system off limits, and wisely so. The nearby Diamond Peak Wilderness was off limits too, due to a different fire, and the two closures didn't really leave a lot of open trails to choose from. But lucky us, a small section of the Pacific Crest Trail between the two wilderness areas remained open and was just minutes away from Odell Lake and that's the story of how we wound up hiking to the Rosary Lakes.

The first several miles were well forested

A light rain fell off and on during the entire hike and the forest was filled with the hissing sound of rainfall to go along with the noisy chattering of our little group. We may have numbered few, but our voices were mighty. The PCT gently climbed through a forest comprised of uniformly sized trees, which were also uniformly fuzzy with a light green coat of lichen and moss. 

Lower Rosary Lakes is the epitome of stillness

In short order, the trail crested and then dropped into the basin of Lower Rosary Lake. The rain had temporarily abated and the lake was like polished onyx, the dark waters reflecting the surrounding forest, mountains, and gray sky above. The craggy spire of Pulpit Rock dominated the view here, as it did at all three Rosary Lakes. The stillness of the water was preternatural and we spoke in hushed reverential tones for fear the sound waves from our voices would rend the serenity asunder. As we gazed in wonder at the idyllic scene, the spell was broken by a brazen doe coming to join us. Clearly, she was quite habituated to the presence of humans.

Edwin Lake

Our next stop would have been Middle Rosary Lake but Edwin espied a marshy pond off-trail and before you could say "no, Edwin, no!" we were all following the madman as he tromped through a mild tangle of woods and vegetation to reach the body of water. The pond was somewhat inaccessible in that a shallow marsh of water, mud, grass, and maybe a bog orchid or two kept us away from the main body, not that we wanted to swim on this semi-rainy day anyway.

Pulpit Rock is nearest to Middle Rosary Lake

Once we were able to pry Edwin away from his discovery of a small lake (we'll have to petition the Oregon Geographic Names Board to name it Edwin Lake) we resumed hiking on the PCT up to Middle Rosary Lake. The craggy spire of Pulpit Rock again dominated the view, being closest to the trail at Middle Rosary Lake. Accordingly, we stopped for a bit to gawk at the sight of the imposing pinnacle reflecting upon a quiet and serene lake.

Penny excels at the balance beam

At Upper Rosary Lake, the last bead in the rosary, so to speak, we decided to leave the PCT and take a use-path around the back side of the lake. After crossing a grassy marsh on fallen logs, we followed a faint track which didn't take long to go sketchy and disappear altogether. However, navigation was simple, all we had to do was keep the lake on the right, and eventually we'd rejoin the PCT, which is exactly what happened.

Backpacker's digs at Lower Rosary Lake

"What's that?" Lane was consulting his new GPS and sharp-eyed Edwin spotted another small lake on the GPS screen. And before you could say "oh no, not again!" we were all following Edwin to a backpacker's campsite. Here PCT through-hikers had fashioned a living room set out of rocks from Pulpit Rock's avalanche basin but Edwin had his eyes set on the small pond in back of the campsite.

A nameless pond full of ripples from the rain

We hatched a plan to walk around the pond, expecting to find another sketchy path going round. Nope, the faint track we had set out on soon "dissipated" (quoting Terry, here) and we were soon fighting the brush, which was in turn doing a fine job of fighting back. It was much easier to head downhill away from the pond through a forest, where presumably we'd eventually run into Lower Rosary Lake and that is exactly what happened. 

Literally can't see the forest for the trees

Edwin wasn't done though, he again studied the screen on Lane's GPS and figured out the first pond we had bushwhacked to, was the source of Rosary Creek. That creek then plunged steeply down the mountainside before emptying into Odell Lake, right near our campground. Before you could say "bushwhack thrice", Edwin and Terry were off into the forest to shortcut the route home. The remainder of our group, being averse to getting lost, nifty widescreen hi-def GPS notwithstanding, returned to the trailhead. I'm both happy and sad to report Edwin and Terry beat us back to camp. In the meantime we have a new rule: don't let Edwin look at your GPS!

Late summer is the season for pinesap

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

Fawn Lake

I really detest deer, I've had my hiking poles stolen one too many times and have suffered through about 40 too many camp raids at 2 A.M. to feel anything but hate in my heart for the cervine larcenists. My antipathy towards the antlered devils even triggers involuntary conniption fits whenever I hear the phrase "North Bank Deer Habitat", even though I hike there often. 

Gnome plant emerges 

"But fawns are cute" I am told. Well, you shouldn't have kittens if you don't like cats. As a person who regularly gets tormented by a singularly annoying cat that I can't hurt because it belongs to my wife, I don't have kittens. And following that same logic, I don't have fawns, either, because they are sure to grow up to be hiking-pole stealing adult deer. So deep is my loathing of all things deer, that I nearly didn't want to ever hike to Fawn Lake ever, just because of the name.

Wispy clouds foretold the arrival of a thunderstorm

But what's in a name, anyway? Not much, in the case of Fawn Lake. The lake is an absolute gem of a lake sparkling in the midst of all the scrawny lodgepole trees and dusty pumice soil so prevalent on the east side of the Cascades. I'd even go there again, in spite of its titular homage to baby deer.

Most of the hike was inside the wilderness

Starting at the Crescent Lake boat ramp parking lot, the trail went dusty at the outset as it wandered through sparse woods before crossing paved Forest Road 60. Once across the road, the trail entered the Diamond Peak Wilderness and became a real hike, with mosquitoes and everything. Deet was quickly slathered on to ward off the airborne school of six-legged piranhas.

Yup, my view for nearly 4 miles

Angling gently uphill for all of its 3.7 miles, the trail passed through viewless forest consisting of mostly spindly lodgepole pine trees. At just under the one mile mark, the Fawn Lake Trail intersected with the Pretty Lake Trail. My guidebook said the Pretty Lake Trail was unmaintained and sketchy but it looked like it's seen the love lately as it was wide, clear of fallen trees and brush, and with trail tread well tromped out by lots of hiker boots. I think I just found my return route back from Fawn Lake!

Lodgepole trees in all their scrawny glory

There wasn't a lot to see on the way up. It was hot and the forest was full of mosquitoes so mostly, I kept my head down and just trudged uphill. It was quite jarring when the trail, without warning or preamble, just bumped into Fawn Lake, where I plopped down to enjoy the view and eat lunch while slapping at mosquitoes brave enough to drill past the thick layer of Deet on my skin.

Time to ooh and aah at Fawn Lake

This lake really is a jewel. At the far end of the lake, rose the scenic and craggy twin peaks of aptly named Lakeview Mountain and generically named Peak 6892. To the left, was cliffy Redtop Mountain. A soft breeze blew and sunlight sparkled on the on the rippled surface. Dragonflies and butterflies flitted to and fro, alighting occasionally on the shoreline vegetation. The cold water was amazingly clear and a myriad of water boatmen (a small aquatic bug) paddled their oars just underneath the lake's surface. Unbelievable that such a pretty lake could actually be named after devil deer spawn.

Peak 6892 and Lakeview Mountain

Speaking of pretty lakes, after lunch I resumed hiking along Fawn Lake's southern shore with the intent of hiking to nearby Pretty Lake and then returning on the steep, but downhill, Pretty Lake Trail back to the Fawn Lake Trail. Hiking was slow along Fawn Lake because each new bend in the trail provided yet another different look at the lake and each time, I just had to bushwhack down to the lake for a look-see.

Clouds form as the storm arrives

The far end of Fawn Lake was particular scenic, providing a closer look at Lakeview Mountain. Fawn Lake was visible in its entirety, and puffy white clouds formed in a blue sky above the lake. Much photography ensued.

The day went dark in about 15 minutes 

Boom! A loud clap of thunder got my immediate attention. Seems those puffy white clouds were the precursors to thunderheads that were blowing in from behind me while I had been distracted by Fawn Lake. It took like only 10 minutes for the day to switch from hot and sunny, to hot and stormy. The rumbling of thunder was now a constant and it was like hiking in the bowling alley of the gods. I'm not sure who Prudence is but prudence dictated I seek lower elevation immediately. Since Pretty Lake was higher in elevation than Fawn Lake, rather than loop it back on the Pretty Lake Trail, it was back the way I came on the Fawn Lake Trail. There's no real upside, that I can think of, to getting pretty electrocuted at Pretty Lake.

Trail, through the lodgepole forest

Lodgepole forest is not particularly scenic. Lodgepole trees tend to grow in poor soils where no other tree will grow, so a lodgepole forest will invariably consist of trees that are thin, scrawny, and spindly. Because of the poor soil, there generally is not a lot of undergrowth. I didn't take a lot of pictures of the forest because there really isn't much to take pictures of in a lodgepole forest. Plus. coming up the trail I had mostly focused on trudging uphill while sweat, sunscreen, and Deet dripped onto my stinging eyes as I cursed mosquitoes. But on the easier hike downhill, I discovered there really was a lot to see.

A healthy clump of pinesap

The heterotrophic plant community was having a heyday, emerging from the pumice soils in abundance. Pinesap was everywhere, sprouting in dense clumps while less common pinedrops were scattered here and there in comparatively more stately and elegant stalks. Much rarer were the seldom-seen gnome plant and I was fortunate to find a couple of clumps flowering pretty much upon emergence from below. In all my years of hiking, I had never seen gnome plants and now this was the second summer in a row I've run into these little oddities.

Help meeeeee.....!

"What is a heterotroph?" you ask? Well, maybe you didn't ask, but I'll tell you anyway. Heterotrophs are plants that lack chlorophyll and hence, are unable to make food from sunlight. Therefore, they must obtain nutrients by parasitizing upon nearby tree roots, probably lodgepole trees in this case. Anyway, I spent a lot of time at ground level, taking pictures of pinesap, pinedrops, gnome plants, and candystick. On one candystick, a crab spider had ambushed a bee and I got a cool picture of the insectile murder. The bee didn't think it was all that cool, though.

Mammatus clouds

Boom! Dang thunder interrupted my photo shoot! The rumbling was getting louder and louder so I walked pretty fast down through the forest. Fairly often, I'd stop to take a photo of something and the electricity gods let me know their displeasure by startling me with a loud clap of thunder. But at least they weren't hurling thunderbolts...yet. At the parking lot, the cloud formations were truly spectacular.

The lighting and clouds were on the eery side

Mammatus clouds are, according to Wikipedia, "sagging pouch structures" on a cloud. Basically, mammatus clouds are the soft dark sagging underbelly pouch-structure of a thunderhead cloud. My thought, on seeing these clouds, were that they were less sagging pouch structures (I have a few of those too, by the way) and more like celestial bubble wrap. That would explain how thunder gets made, too: Thunder is merely the sound of gods popping bubble wrap.

A stalk of pinedrops gets ready to flower

At any rate, this was a nice little hike in spite of the deer-based name. For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Maiden Peak

One recent hot summer day, Lane and I went off in search of a fair Maiden. No, that's not what it sounds like, the object of our affection on this particular day was 7,818 foot high Maiden Peak. Neither one of us had ever been to the top of Maiden Peak before so you might say this was a maiden hike to Maiden Peak for us Maiden maidens. 

Lush forest surrounded the trail

Starting at the Maiden Peak Trailhead, which is near Gold Lake which in turn is near Willamette Pass, our first impression was that of walking uphill. Stands to reason, since the trail would gain about 2,800 feet of elevation in nearly 6 miles, most of it seemingly in the last mile. While the grade was never overwhelming (except for the last mile), it was constant. And the the last mile?  Lane said it was like falling because it only hurts at the end. You could say the same thing about hot salsa, too. My own wry observation is that spending all day with the Maiden left me with tired legs and sore feet, plus I was covered in sweat, dust, and itchy mosquito bites which is pretty much what you deserve when you go wandering off in search of fair maidens.

Pinesap emerges

My preconceived notion about the Maiden Peak Trail was that it was a dry and dusty hike. Not true at all, for the trail was green and lush for all but the last mile of the hike. The trail ambled through a thick fir forest and we were grateful for the shade as it has been fairly warm lately. The understory was carpeted with low-growing Cascade huckleberry, some of which had the small but delicious red berries on them. Little prince's pine was flowering still and the pale orange stalks of pinesap were pushing through the soil.

We grazed next to Skyline Creek

Before the days of the Pacific Crest Trail, Oregon boasted the Oregon Skyline Trail which essentially did what the Pacific Crest Trail does now. However, the Skyline Trail was much more sensible than the PCT because the OST made sure to hit all the creeks and lakes on the way, keeping long distance hikers well watered. The PCT builders insisted the new trail needed to stay high on the Cascade crest and eventually, the Skyline Trail sort of disappeared from sight when the PCT received all the hiking love after construction. I was reminded of all this because the Maiden Peak Trail below the PCT was part of the old Skyline Trail and it crossed Skyline Creek, still flowing fast and fresh in late summer. Blueberries were in season along the creek and I'm glad to report many blueberries were harmed in the hiking of this hike.

Hiking uphill for 6 miles makes Lane sad

I keep citing that last mile because it was pretty sleep but the mile from Skyline Creek to the Pacific Crest Trail was also pretty sleep, climbing 600 feet in a warm-up for the upcoming summit slog. We stopped for a brief rest and sandwich stop after crossing the PCT and met a very fit pair of age fifty-something gentlemen running (yes, I said "running") to the top of Maiden Peak. We ran into them again on their way down and they told us they were training for "The Waldo", a 62-mile trail run in the Waldo Lake area that also summits three peaks along the way. Lane and I felt like little girls (or maybe old maids), compared to their level of fitness and trail derring-do.

Toad had to hike uphill, too

There really isn't a lot to report about the middle portion of the hike as the trail steadily climbed up through the viewless forest. Periodically, stagnant ponds lay next to the trail and that explained the mosquitoes. Polliwogs swam in the turbid waters and the occasional toad was spotted hopping away in panic. And just as Lane and I both became complacent about the relatively gentle grade: Wham!

Did I mention the trail was steep?

The trail went steep and didn't even pretend to switchback and our progress became as slow and painful as a constipatory turd making its way out into the world. The trees began to thin out, rockpiles showed up here and there, and the trail went from normal dirt to dusty pumice. At a cairn marking the intersection with the "Leap of Faith" trail (a steep and faint track dropping down to Maiden Lake), we made a left turn and for the first time all day, we felt like the actual summit of Maiden Peak was imminent.

First view from the top of Maiden Peak

Sure enough, the trees thinned out altogether and we strolled out onto the barren summit of Maiden Peak. Wow! Mountains and lakes everywhere and views all the way to Inner Mongolia. Ok, I'm exaggerating, maybe Outer Mongolia. Actually, we could see South Sister, her head hiding in the clouds and just beyond, the spire of Mount Washington, looking all the world like Sauron's redoubt in Mordor. At Maiden's feet lay bright blue Bobby Lake with Maiden's nearest mountain neighbor The Twins rising just beyond the lake.

View to Davis Lake and Wickiup Reservoir 

Waldo Lake is Oregon's second largest natural lake and we could see pretty much all of it. To the south were lakes Odell, Crescent, and Lower Rosary. Diamond Peak had plenty of snow and clouds surrrounding it and further beyond was the pinnacle of Mount Thielsen. A small little mound near Thielsen was Tipsoo Peak, where I had hiked the day prior. To the east lay semi-dry Wickiup Reservoir and Davis Lake on a forested plain with central Oregon stretching out further beyond all the way to Outer Mongolia.

Old maid on Maiden Peak

Clouds were forming on the west side of Maiden Peak and the resultant shadows mottled the forested topography below. A chill wind was blowing on the summit and it nearly felt like winter. Windbreakers were quickly donned for protection from the wind. After sandwiches were consumed and all the possible photographs were taken, it was time to head back as after all, we still had a six-mile hike back to the car.

The Twins, with the Three Sisters further beyond

As we descended, shadows lengthened in the forest while sunbeams slanted through the trees. We noticed several miles of old wire abandoned along the trail and armed with that knowledge, we became quite adept at picking out the ceramic insulators from the "good old days" tacked onto trees. It had been a long hike and we arrived at the trailhead at 8 o'clock, pretty much at sunset. Tack on dinner in Cottage Grove and a three-plus hour drive to Roseburg, we arrived at our hometown a few clock ticks before midnight. But hey, that'll happen when you chase fair Maidens!  

Little prince's pine

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

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Rosary Lakes

The Rosary Lakes are one of my favorite hiking destinations in the Willamette Pass area. As the story has it, the three lakes all lined up in a row resemble beads on a rosary; ergo, the Rosary Lakes. The lakes would not have suggested rosary beads to me as I'm not a particularly religious person,. I probably would have given the lakes a name more closer to my particular world view, like Fart Bubbles in a Tub Lakes, since in my mind the lakes more resemble a stream of bubbles of dubious origin than a string of rosary beads. That's probably why I'm not allowed to name things and besides which, it'd be too long of a name to fit on the topo maps.

Warming fingers by the fire

At any rate, it was a nice cool autumn morning and I eagerly sallied forth onto the Pacific Crest Trail for a moderate hike before winter's arrival shuts down the trails. The trail angled away from busy Highway 58, steadily climbing upwards through the forest as the car noises gradually faded away. So uniform was the trail at this point, it was quite jarring when the trail passed through a small opening in the forest with bright blue sky above, sunlight touched my skin and I'm glad to report I didn't burst into flames...this time.

Lower Rosary Lake

After a couple of miles of sidehilling across the slopes of Peak 6693 (I think the Willamette Pass ski-place calls the peak Eagle Mountain or some facsimile thereof) the Pacific Crest made a left turn to the north as it surmounted a forested bench with some lava flows on it. A short and relatively level walk on the bench then delivered me to to Lower Rosary Lake. 

Pulpit Rock

Any discussion about the Rosary Lakes must mention Pulpit Rock. The prominent point does indeed look like a pulpit from where a messianic zealot can preach to the faithful. It doesn't matter from which of the three lakes the pulpit is viewed, it dominates the scenery above the lakes; no matter where you go, there it is.

View to Maiden Peak

So back to my arriving at Lower Rosary Lake: mountain ash was all yellow leaved around the banks and Pulpit Rock loomed overhead. To the north was the symmetrical cone of Maiden Peak, whose summit I WILL hike to someday. In the middle of the pond was a large flock of ducks that probably numbered in the thousands, if not millions. As I hiked around the lake, the flock rotated around so as to be as far away from me as possible; but that's OK, it sort of reminded me of work.

Middle Rosary Lake

Middle Rosary Lake was next and the lake's main distinction is that it is the closest lake to Pulpit Rock, forever kneeling at the rock's base like a brainwashed devotee. I'll always remember the middle lake for a memorable snowshoe trip that Ray and I did one Valentine's Day (...and don't read too much into that!), the lake was frozen solid and we ate lunch on Middle Rosary Lake's middle.

A fellow hiker out on the trail

A small isthmus separates Middle and Upper Rosary Lakes and at the upper lake it was decision time. I was really feeling walky and it felt like I had arrived at the lakes in mere minutes, so what is an unfulfilled hiker ever to do? Why, continue hiking northward on the Pacific Crest Trail, of course.

My only picture of Maiden Lake

At an intersection with the Maiden Lake Trail, I so wanted to continue on to the lake. However, it was about 3 miles away and the round trip hike would wind up being 14 to 15 miles. I was OK with the distance but the timing would have put me back at the trailhead past sunset and my headlamp was where it didn't belong, namely in the trunk of my car. 

I'm likin' the lichen

I then entertained a notion of hiking to the Maiden Peak Shelter but once I measured the distance from Maiden Peak Saddle (where I had hiked to) it still was going to wind up being the same kind of mileage as presented with the Maiden Lake option. So at that point, I bid farewell to all the unrequited Maiden destinations and returned back the way I came, happy with my nine mile hike.

A sign winter is coming, darn it

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

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