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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Deer Leap - Bradley Trail Loop

The trail stretched out before me, cutting a swath through the brush high above the North Umpqua River. The tension was palpable as I stood there, paralyzed with fear, struggling to convince myself to push forward. Seconds, and then minutes began to tally, amassing in some unseen ledger of time: tick...tick...tick. But this was not the ticking of a clock. Nope, these were actual ticks. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of them, each patiently waiting on branches, twigs, flowers, and leaves, ever ready to bury their heads under the skin of their one true Tick King. I couldn't stand here dithering forever so with a philosophical "Oh well, Lyme waits for no one", I stepped forward and waded into the tick-infested shrubbery of the North Umpqua Trail. 

What could ever go wrong on such a beautiful trail?

This short hike was memorable for all kinds of obstacles, some bigger than others, and not all of them were tick related. Of course, none of the obstacles were anticipated when putting together the original plan for an elegantly simple out-and-back hike on the North Umpqua Trail's Deer Leap Segment. Hiking the entire segment was not a realistic option, for that would have made for a longish sixteen mile hike from Medicine Creek Road to Toketee Lake and back. However, the idea of hiking just four or five miles before turning around sounded appealing on an overcast spring day. Ah, but the best laid plans of mice and hikers often go awry, and some on-trail mayhem forced me into an ad lib route through a veritable gauntlet of blood-sucking ticks.

A pile of trees lay across the trail

In a harbinger of things to come, just a mere hundred yards into the hike, a jumbled pile of trees lay across the trail. A pain in the derriere to scramble over but based on past experience, winter downfall would more than likely get worse as the hike continued. However, I would never know how much more trail was covered with tree wreckage because in less than a half-mile of hiking, the bridge spanning burbling Medicine Creek was in sore need of some healing medicine itself.

Bridge with some back trouble

Seems a huge house-sized slab of rock had tumbled down from the slopes above and the sheer ponderousness of its bulk leveraged a large tree to effectively karate chop the bridge in two. I scrambled partway down the bridge and debated scrambling over to the other side but really, that looked kind of dangerous. The other option was to bushwhack down to the rushing creek, wade across it, and then bushwhack back up to the trail, with the opposite effect on the hike back out if one was so inclined. One was not.

Oregon grape, putting on a yellow show

So it was a walk back to the trailhead at Medicine Creek Road, with yours truly barely warmed up from just 0.8 miles of hiking. Fortunately, the North Umpqua Trail is seventy-eight miles long and there were still plenty of those miles available for hiking in the opposite direction, provided no other rocks, trees, or slides had taken out the route. As it turned out, a fallen tree had taken a pretty good bite out of the trail when its root ball was upended but other than that, the path was in pretty good shape and not in need of any medicine at all. Bug repellent might have been required, but more on that later.

An empty bird's nest fungus on a decaying log

The trail headed steadily downhill for a couple of miles through forest lush and green from the winter weather. Oregon grape and wild strawberry were blooming all throughout the verdant forest while plenty of seasonal creeks splashed over the footpath. On the arboreal side of things, dogwood trees were putting on a show with copious amounts of elegant and stately flowers twinkling like so many little white stars. In a hint of things to come, curious mosquitoes stopped by to visit and inquire as to how I was doing, but they weren't yet biting as it's still a bit early in the year for that wonderful experience.

Candystick sweetens up the hike

The North Umpqua River  was mostly hidden from view because the trail starts out fairly high and well inland from the river, with a whole lot of forest between trail and river to effectively block the view. Eventually, the river did make a token appearance when the route neared the impound area of Soda Springs Reservoir where the river pooled behind the like-named Soda Springs Dam. The air was still and the lake's surface was as smooth as glass just for a moment, until rain started roughing up the waters. The day had been cloudy when hiking activities commenced in the morning, but now the clouds were making good on their promise of inclement weather. Fortunately, the squall lasted only a few minutes and that was the worst of it for the day. 

Fish and human ladders at Soda Springs Dam

After taking in impressive Soda Springs dam with its maze of fish ladders, catwalks, and human ladders, I continued hiking toward Soda Springs Trailhead. As the dam receded behind, an alarm intermittently buzzed, always a disconcerting sound when hiking below a dam doing its level best to restrain thousands of cubic feet of water. However, apart from the sound, nothing untoward happened riverwise to further worry a certain lone and incredibly handsome hiker making his way along the North Umpqua Trail.

Tick tock, the tick crawled up my sock!

As the trail neared the trailhead, it began to go in and out of grassy meadows and ticks live for moments such as this. After negotiating the first fifteen yards of knee-high grass, a perfunctory tick-check revealed two tick interlopers crawling on my calves. I just knew it! And that was the pattern for the grassy patches of trail: I'd hike through the grass and then stop to remove the ticks crawling on my calves (maybe long pants should have been worn, instead of shorts). And after finding the first couple of eight-legged vampires, my creeped-out imagination could just feel the legs of millions more crawling all over me. At some point, it becomes a bona fide mental condition.

The Soda Springs "spa"

At any rate, it had been a fairly short hike down to Soda Springs Trailhead and this was a hike that needed a destination and a few more miles. Soda Springs is always an interesting visit so I headed up the trail to the rust-colored springs. I'm not sure how salubrious the waters of Soda Springs are, seeing as how the mud is colored an unappealing orange-brown hue, but the meadow surrounding the springs is incredibly lush, vibrant, and healthy. Where the water flowed, it was crystal clear but just the same, no need to risk good health by drinking the water.

The tick-harboring brush on the Bradley Trail

Since I had gone to the trouble of hiking to the springs, it seemed like the thing to do was to continue uphill for another quarter mile and grab the Bradley Trail to turn this hike into a loop. The Bradley Trail basically parallels the North Umpqua Trail but at a higher elevation. The terrain is somewhat drier in places, particularly as the area has undergone several wildfires in the last decade or so. Replacing the trees were dense thickets of twiggy buckbrush, tick-laden enough to make hikers pine nostalgic for the tick-infested grasses encountered earlier. The ticks were so pervasive that the numerous oily red-leafed poison oak fronds waving across the trail barely registered. Many scuttling ticks were frantically plucked from my precious body, giving rise to speculation that the reason it's called Deer Leap is because the deer leaped in desperation to get away from those nasty little arachnids.

A small earwig hangs out on an iris

In the open areas were lots of yellowleaf iris, blooming profusely in low ground-hugging mats. My wildflower guidebook says these flowers are uncommon but obviously the book's author has not seen the densely packed iris displays on the Bradley Trail, for they were everywhere.

A smaller sibling of Soda Springs

On either side of the trail, numerous springs (some were orange colored à la Soda Springs) seeped down the hillside, creating thick beds of moss that covered rocks and logs alike; the moss beds being interspersed with healthy patches of tall tick-harboring grass. More tick removal operations ensued. I was grateful to get out of that brushy area and into a tick-free forest where all my only worry was giant sized boulders rolling down the hill.

I like dogwood, there's no ticks on them!

No official score was kept but the final tally must have been up to two dozen of the creepy crawlies, but it's the ones you don't find that you have to worry about. Hours after arrival at home, two more of the little buggers were found stealthily crawling on me. Despite the imagined sensation of thousands of phantom tick feet doing parade maneuvers on me, apparently all of the arachnid marauders had been interdicted before any burrowed under my skin...at least that I know of. However, it had been a good hike, despite the tickitude. It's always nice to get out and commune with nature, even though it's not always as nice when nature communes back.

The forest has loose morels

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

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North Bank Habitat - Thistle Ridge/North Gate Loop

I'm actually OK with this socially distant hiking, it melds well with my personality. Or maybe I'm confusing "socially distant" with "socially awkward". At any rate, I spend enough time walking in the woods by myself that I really don't have to make any major adjustments to my hiking style other than frantically bailing off the trail in terror when another hiker appears on the trail, accidentally getting within my social nearness boundary. Come to think of it, that's not all that abnormal a hiking behavior for me, either.

Wild iris purpled up the hike

Staying at home these days has been fairly easy as I'm retired and there's always yard work or no work to entertain me. Besides which, Mrs. O'Neill is working from home so there's always company even though that requires me to mimic socially acceptable behavior. But it's a different story for my friend Jay, however. He too is working from home and he's a programmer so it's just him and the computer screen all day long. Apparently, he's getting cabin fever, for he asked if I could take him hiking, socially-distant style. So off to the North Bank Habitat we went (in separate vehicles) and when I picked up a gopher snake slithering across the trail, we became extremely socially distant when he fled screaming for the next time zone to the east.

Panoramal activity

The original plan percolating in my brain was a loop involving the Middle Ridge Road from the western trailhead. However, the trailhead parking lot was full of vehicles so I made a spur of the moment decision to continue to the eastern trailhead. The Habitat's gate was locked of course, and we added our vehicles to the cars parked outside the gate. The developed trailheads are closed these days to prevent cars and people from congregating in the parking lots but all that happens is people congregate at the point of closure anyway, but there we are.

It it's in the North Bank, it goes uphill

Anyway, to avoid coming into contact with would-be virus spreading people-type persons, we grabbed the Thistle Ridge Road instead of taking the well-used gravel road to the Comstock Day Use Area. Immediately, the trail angled uphill and that was Jay's first exposure (from a socially distant distance of ten to fifteen feet behind me) to what is typical hiking in the North Bank. Initially, the scenery wasn't particularly awesome as we hiked under some buzzing power lines but once we left those behind us, it was all good for the rest of the day.

Blazing star blazes away

After a short and rather utilitarian climb away from the power lines, the junction with the Deer Hollow Tie Trail was reached and I was back on familiar territory, seeing as how I had hiked this same trail just several weeks ago. But what a difference a few weeks can make! On this day, the grass was green and lush instead of just sprouting like a couple of weeks ago, and wildflowers were blooming in rampant profusion.

The prettiest evilest leaf ever

Also growing rampantly but not green, were thick patches of poison oak bushes. I tested Jay quickly, because he is a both a hiking and Oregon neophyte, and I'm proud to say my student passed the exam each and every time by correctly pointing out the poison oak when asked. In the sunny patches of trail, which was about 90% of the hike, the leaves were coming out in shades of dark red, burgundy, and sometimes nearly black in color. I generally try to stay away from Satan's favorite shrub but in this case, I made an exception as I was quite struck by the beauty of the oily itch-spreading leaves. Anyway, I got within the plant's personal space to take some photos of the colorful foliage. Normally, I try to stay at least two miles away from the accursed itch disseminating bushes.

Parallel lines

The trail headed uphill across grassy slopes before ducking into a forest on a relatively level trail. Where I had struggled with the muddy track several weeks ago, the trail was now dry and hard-packed, just like me! And after walking out of the forest, it was time to soak in the totally awesome view down to Whistlers Bend.

The view to Whistlers Bend never gets old

Rain and clouds had been an issue on my prior hike but not today. The sky was a deep blue and there were just a handful of small clouds floating in the sky. While the sun was out, the breeze upwelling from the creek valleys kept us cool and the air had that clarity and crispness normally reserved for a clear day in winter. And below the aforementioned deep blue sky, the North Umpqua River idly circled the peninsula of Whistlers Bend. Surrounding farms greened up the valley with pastures, and the terrain was dotted with farm ponds. Just a magnificent scene and we took a short break just to take it all in for a few minutes.

The Thistle Ridge trail goes through a thicket of oak trees

The kind and gentle grade at the overlook soon became just a distant memory, driven out of our thoughts by burning quad muscles as we continually headed uphill on Thistle Ridge first, then Middle Ridge next, both bereft of shade of any sort. Our leg pain was assuaged somewhat by fantastic views of the North Umpqua River and windblown Middle Ridge looming in front of us. The terrain was all covered in grass, which was well-populated with flowering blue-eyed grass which is in fact, yellow-eyed and not actually a grass. Who names these things, anyway?

Ugh!

At the intersection with the North Gate Road, we availed ourselves of the facilities which consisted of just a picnic table and an awesome view. We spent a little bit of time there to eat lunch, rest, and relax. I had a notion of continuing up to the North Boundary Ridge but once we started up yet another steep section of trail, the whining started and not necessarily from Jay, either! No problem, it was still a beautiful day and hike, so we backtracked and headed down the steep North Gate Road.

A gopher snake on the trail and Jay was nowhere to be seen

Wild iris was in bloom all around the trail and as I was photographing several, I noticed a large gopher snake basking in the warm sunlight. Seconds later, the snake was in my hands hissing and showing its teeth and that's how I found out that not only does Jay really not like snakes, he doesn't even like people picking them up either. I also found out his voice could squeal high enough to drop stunned squirrels out of trees. We were able to resume both hiking and our friendship once the snake was returned to its grassy habitat.  

Blue-eyed grass is yellow-eyed and not really a grass

By this time, we were down in Soggy Bottom, which was no longer soggy, and a short walk on the gravel road returned us to our vehicles. Most of the vehicles were gone and despite all the cars parked there in the morning, we only saw only one other hiker all day, a woman out hiking with her children (candidate for Mom of the Year, in my opinion) on Middle Ridge. Generally, most people probably avoid the steep trails and do the easier hikes to either Soggy Bottom or Blacktail Basin. Me, I'll probably keep going on the steeper routes to maintain that social distancing protocol and avoid people like the socially awkward hiker person that I am.

Just a gorgeous day in the North Bank

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

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Riverview Trail

The North Umpqua Trail is to the Riverview Trail what the cruel stepsisters were to Cinderella. While the North Umpqua Trail gets the all the recognition, glory, and a prince's love on the south side of the North Umpqua River, the Riverview languishes on the north side, as forlorn and unappreciated as a sooty scullery maid taking out the kitchen swill. Nonetheless, there are several compelling reasons for hiking on the Riverview and I can't think of a single one. And yes, I'm joking, there really are some good reasons to hike on the Riverview, just give me minute to come up with one.

Dogwood lights up the forest

When the weather is sunny but cold, like in winter, then the Riverview is on the sunny side of the river I'm always so envious about when hiking on the North Umpqua Trail. And while the North Umpqua Trail tends to be closer to the river than the Riverview, the Riverview Trail actually does live up to its name, providing much better vistas of both canyon and river from several hundred feet above.

The Riverview Trail, in all its well-shaded glory

I've generally hiked on the Riverview Trail in winter only, and my general impression was that the trail's only purpose in life was to provide year-round hikers a rather utilitarian hike along the North Umpqua River in winter, when snow debars hiking in the higher elevations. There's not as much wow in the views and the trail when compared to other epic hikes, or at least enough to zazz up jaded hikers like myself. On a positive note though, the trail is relatively flat and the hiking easy, what with the level grade and wide trail tread. And I must say that, after hiking this trail in the middle of spring, well I'll just have to concede the trail itself can be exceedingly beautiful given the right time of the year. 

Maple trees conduct a floral symphony

I got off to a late start just because I'm retired and I can. The day had already warmed up to the 80's by the time I began my hike, the trail stair-stepping past a series of rocky cliffs looming over the trail like some unassailable castle redoubt. Big leaf maple was in full flowering song, its dangling clusters of yellow-green flowers contrasting quite nicely against the deep blue sky above. Blue-belly lizards skittered in the dead leaves underneath the trees, the sound of which never fails to startle me in what is a vestigial response from all my rattlesnake encounters over the years.

The walls of the castle

The initial climb was brisk but short before the path ducked into the forest proper. The Riverview Trail in its former incarnation, was the old highway to Diamond Lake, and accordingly remains a wide double-track path through the trees above the river. Because it was spring, everything was green and I did not tire of seeing grass growing on the old roadbed.  While birds twittered and flittered in the forest undergrowth, and brooks (and me) babbled across the trail, the green and shady trail was the real star of the show on this day.

All hail our state flower!

Once the trail crested at the high point attained within the first half-mile of hiking, it gradually descended down to Bogus Creek. Periodically, the trail would break out into the open, contouring through arid patches of scratchy ceanothus perfuming the air under a baking hot sun. Sun loving plant species such as deep purple-blue larkspur, white coastal manroot, and wee-sized pink baby star, were all happily flowering in the open sunlight while bees buzzed from from flower to flower. It was warm out in the open sunlight and a ground beetle trudged wearily in the heat and I knew just how that beetle felt. 

The ever so smooth Mr. Madrone

Good thing for me then, that the trail was mostly shaded. The majority of the hike was done in mottled light and shade, thanks to all the surrounding conifer, big-leaf maple, and smooth-trunked madrone trees. The jungly vegetation was an indicator that things can get fairly moist here and several creeks crossed the trail with Alder Creek being the most picturesque, as the stream seeped down the face of a mossy rock before tumbling into a small pool.

Shadow play upon Williams Creek

Williams Creek was the largest creek of the bunch, requiring a stout footbridge to get across. Just after Williams Creek, the Williams Creek Trail made an appearance, commencing its mad charge straight uphill for virtually all of its four miles of existence. I've hiked that trail just once and once was enough as it was steep with thick stands of poison oak encroaching over the trail. It provided no views of any creeks or any Williams and has no reason to exist at all. If I ever say something like "Hey, I want to hike the Williams Creek Trail!", a sharp rap right on the forehead with a stout hiking pole should do the trick.

Fire is very much a part of this area

Anyway, I hiked past the trail junction on a rare uphill section of trail. This area of the Riverview has seen plenty of forest fires in the recent past and there was plenty of evidence of wildfire damage, both old and recent. Many of the trees were charred but still well alive, while in other places, thick brush grew at the feet of ghostly snags completely devoid of any life whatsoever. 

A river view from the Riverview

After about four and a half miles of hiking, it was beginning to feel like it was getting on to late afternoon, so I turned around just about a half mile short of Bogus Creek. It was the same old attractive forest on the way back but the walk was generally level with the odd uphill part every now and then. Periodic openings in the forest on the trail's downhill side provided great views of the North Umpqua River coursing at the bottom of its well-forested canyon. A roar louder than the usual river noise reaching my ears up on high advertised the presence of Steamboat Falls, although I couldn't ever get a real good look at the noisy cascade.

Left over from a cougar's dinner

Near the end of the hike, I spotted a deer skull lying next to the rest of its skeleton at what had been the obvious site of a cougar kill. As I walked just a little bit faster past the grisly scene of that crime, I still couldn't help but feel that it had been a great hike on what really was a beautiful trail. The near constant greenery, forest, flowers, and shade made the Riverview Trail a most gracious host. The deer probably would disagree with me on that, though.

Mossy maple tree

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

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