Pine Bench

Back in the day, when I used to be gainfully employed and not slothfully retired, Jay was a co-worker and (still is) a friend and on occasion, he joined me on a hike or two. Regretfully, his time here in the United States is coming to a close and he will be returning to Gujurat (in India) in a few months time. That leaves us just a narrow window of opportunity to get some more hikes in and we availed ourselves of that very thing on a sunny weekend day,  heading up to Pine Bench for Jay's first official wilderness hike, seeing as how Pine Bench is sited squarely in the middle of the Boulder Creek Wilderness.

Can't say we weren't warned

Last time I was in this area, the Bradley Trail had been heavily infested with vile and loathsome ticks. Naturally, a different and more civilized route was called for and that would be on the Soda Springs Trail. However, the road to Soda Springs was gated shut so by default, we were going to hike on our old overpopulated-with-ticks friend, the Bradley Trail. 

You could just feel the ticks hiding in the brush

Apparently, they don't have ticks in Gujurat, for Jay was asking what they looked like. I took a look at the Bradley Trail stretching in front of us and if anything, it was about 200% more overgrown with brush than a month prior, when I had last set foot on the Bradley. "Don't worry" I replied "I'll show you one when we stop for one of our frequent tick checks". It was a foregone conclusion that we would be plucking off hundreds, if not thousands, of the accursed eight-legged blood-sucking fiends.

Candystick adds a bit of sweetness to the hike

If having to worry about a veritable universe of biting ticks wasn't attraction enough, the trail was not only encroached with tick-friendly buckbrush, but with poison oak as well. Shoot, all we needed to complete the trifecta of itchy misery would be dense swarms of mosquitoes, but fortunately we were still a bit early for mosquito season. I've trained Jay well, and he was able to readily discern and avoid the itchy fronds of oily poison oak leaves as we hiked.

Moss claims all that does not move,
ticks claim everything else

Besides being brushy, the Bradley Trail was rough in tread as we sidehilled across like-named Bradley Ridge, testing the mettle of both sets of ankles. Basically we were heading downhill to an intersection with the Soda Springs Trail. And when we espied the orange waters of the springs gushing in the woods below the rough tread, the two trails met, right on cue.

Rock formations in the forest

So, we had been dealing with ticks, poison oak, and rough trail, what other element of a Richard Hike was missing? Hmm..."Oh I know!" he said, snapping his fingers for emphasis.  Yup, we hadn't hiked uphill yet, it was time to remedy that. The trail is pretty steep as it climbs away from Soda Springs and before long, legs and their respective owners were soon complaining about the grade. Some would say legs and their respective owners were whining, even. 

This area sees frequent fires

This area has been ravaged by at least three large forest fires in the last twenty years or so and fat chance of any forest growing in the basin below Pine Bench. So, no shady succor for us as we trudged steadily uphill in the warm sun that we had been ignoring during our forest time. Despite all the dead trees standing ghostlike on the rocky slope, there was plenty of life as the land attempts a recovery from fire. Sun-loving vegetation flourished on the open slopes on either side of the trail with enough enthusiasm to severely encroach the trail. And regrettably, the vegetation was dominated by the tick-friendly buckbrush and requisite tick checks were performed every fifteen minutes or so.

The parklike setting of Pine Bench

Pine Bench is a beautiful place and it's pleasantly flat, a genuine plus after the rigorous uphill pull to get there. The frequent fires have cleared out the underbrush and the mixed stand of ponderoas pines and Douglas fir generally survived the wildfires. So basically, you have a shady forest standing in a parklike setting of green vegetation and tall trees.

Sadly and truly, this is the Pine Bench Trail

I must say, I was really disappointed in the condition of the trail. In keeping with the theme of the day, the trail was heavily overgrown with tall grass and more tick checks ensued. It's too bad, because when the trail was kept up, Pine Bench was such a great hike in the Boulder Creek Wilderness. Despite our grousing about all the itchy travails of the hike, Pine Bench did still retain its beauty but it would have been nice to hike on a trail that was much easier to follow than this one.

Ticks can cause dementia

We ate lunch on the rim of Boulder Creek's formidable fire-ravaged gorge and appreciated the scenery as we ate. Across the gorge rose Spring Mountain, Harding Butte, and Illahee Rock, with a lookout tower perched atop like a fez on an Ottoman soldier's head. But we couldn't stay there forever and besides which, ticks were patiently waiting for us on the four miles or so of trail between us and the car. Don't want to disappoint our fans, do we?

Pine Bench overlooks the North Umpqua River canyon

We had been both lucky and vigilant so far, managing to pluck off ticks before they did any damage. But on the long climb on the Bradley Trail, maybe about a half-mile from the finish, I heard a keening wail behind me. Seems Jay had found a tick on him. Worse, said tick was embedded head first in his abdomen and I think Jay thought the wound was fatal, to judge by his panicked hyperventilations. No big problem though, the tick was promptly removed, and all was well again except for maybe the deep-rooted lifelong mental scarring from the experience. 

Survived his one and only tick bite

My philosophical take of this little incident is that during its short stay underneath Jay's skin, the tick no doubt drank some of Jay's blood. After the odious creature was extracted, it was unceremoniously hurled down a steep slope off trail. Eventually this particular tick will die and like all things do in the end, will gradually decompose into the ground. Part of the molecular structure of the tick will include the small bellyful of blood, so it's like Jay can never leave Oregon. In a way, the tick bite was a good thing but I doubt Jay agrees with me on this last point.

Beautiful section of trail untouched by fire

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

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South Slough

It had been a while since I'd been out to the Oregon coast. Thanks to Covid-19, pretty much the entire coast had been shut down and declared off limits. The closure orders included coastal state parks and national forests with said closure being enforced via tickets and painful fines; besides which, local governments also made it known visitors from out of town were not welcome during this time. Accordingly, hikers such as myself found more hospitable places to go. However, Oregon began a phased reopening and some of the previously forbidden coast was rendered conditionally accessible, as long as people behaved and followed the guidelines. I wasn't sure if some of the state parks in Bandon and Coos Bay were open or not, but certainly the small park with the unwieldy name of South Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve was open as far as the trails were concerned.

The Ten-Minute Loop was well manicured 

Thinking "It's not ten minutes when I walk it!", I grabbed the Ten-Minute Loop Trail, which basically provides access from the parking lot to some of the longer hiking routes in the reserve. Initially, the trail was quite civilized, firmly packed with hard gravel, and with tunnels cut through the dense vegetation consisting of coastal huckleberry, rhododendrons, and salal. After maybe three minutes of the Ten-Minute Trail, an intersection with the North Creek Trail came up and now the hiking would be on real trail tread.

A salal gets ready to wet a hiker's pants leg

Southern Oregon had been experiencing a fairly sustained run of wet and rainy weather and accordingly the lush coastal jungle in the reserve was sopping wet. However, the trails in the reserve are well maintained and the ever encroaching brush was mostly kept at bay, although there were places where my pants legs were soaked from contact with the moist vegetation. At this point, North Creek was mostly a series of small random runoffs heading downhill to where they would eventually organize and coalesce into an actual creek. Lots of numbered bridges kept me out of creek wades and boots were grateful.

It's a jungle out there

The dense coastal jungle was the star of the show next to the tinkling stream of North Creek, and the rampant greenery was overwhelming and eminently beautiful. Thimbleberries bloomed, ferns were everywhere, and periodically the sun would break through the clouds, although not much sunlight actually made it all the way down to the forest floor. The trail dropped steadily down the North Creek drainage and the sound of trickling water was ever present.

Skunk cabbage is king here

Eventually, the trail bottomed out, the creek became more defined, and skunk cabbage took over North Creek in that transition area from coastal creek to tidal slough. It was well past skunk cabbage flowering time so I was thankfully spared that rubbery skunky odor emanating from the large smelly plants. 

First look at the marshes surrounding South Slough

The unimaginatively named North Creek Spur Trail is a dead end path that provided the first overlook of South Slough. Here, little North Creek widens considerably, carving a broad valley filled with marsh grass and standing water. In the middle of the scenic valley was a small channel of creek water that stealthily snaked to and fro in the waving grass like a deer stalking backpackers. 

Low tide at South Slough

A stout footbridge crossed the narrow inlet separating Rhodes Marsh from much larger Sloughside Marsh and it was all slough scenery at this point. Despite the whole freshwater surrounded by trees vibe, the still water was brackish and subject to the fluctuating ocean tides. Obviously, the tide was out as the slough channels were basically exposed ditches of pungent mud. However, a hike on an old and crumbling berm did provide a nice view of the slough as it opened up in the direction of Coos Bay.

That way to Coos Bay

There is a short spur trail that follows the edge of South Slough for a bit before it degenerates into a brushy game path that peters out altogether in the forest. Along the trail are some well constructed observation decks for bird watching, wildlife viewing, and general all-around contemplation of nature. Plus, the decks make a nice spot to enjoy lunch while engaging in one or all of the preceding activities. 

I'm not quite sure why it's called the Tunnel Trail

After an obligatory lunch 'n laze at an observation deck, I retreated to a four-way intersection. My route would follow a peninsula to the south where either the Railroad Trail or the Tunnel Trail would take me to the other end of the peninsula. The Tunnel Trail sounded way more interesting and while I can't compare it to the Railroad Trail because I didn't hike on it, I can say the Tunnel Trail was indeed very interesting.

Always a pleasure to see a gnome plant

The Tunnel Trail is aptly named, for it does actually tunnel through the rampant vegetation. Tall rhododendrons were in bloom and the ground was covered by a healthy population of the fairly rare gnome plant emerging from the mysterious depths of the earth. You rarely see gnome plants but they were a common sight here at the slough.

Skunk cabbage takes over a boardwalk

The coolest part of this hike, in my view, was the boardwalk through the marsh where Hidden Creek met South Slough. The boardwalk wove to and fro above the marsh as grassy wetland gradually morphed to skunk cabbage bog. The large leaves of the skunk cabbage encroached over the boardwalk and you had to make sure you stepped on the hidden boards instead of inadvertently stepping off into the swamp.

Hidden Creek was hiding in plain sight

Eventually, the bog transitioned to Hidden Creek, which was mostly hidden, although glimpses of the clear creek waters could be had here and there. And after a brisk uphill walk of a mile or two up and away from both creek and slough, capped off by the remaining few minutes of the Ten-Minute Loop, this loop hike came full circle at the reserve's visitor center, currently shuttered due to the pandemic. At any rate, this relatively short hike did scratch my coastal itch and I went home satisfied.

Salmonberry, not quite ready to eat

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

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Lookout Mountain

I'm absent-minded, I'll admit it. If there was such an award, I'd probably win the "Most Likely to Forget to Hike With Pants On" trophy. On occasion, I've been known to forget things like food, camera, boots, and hiking pants. But on that last one, let it be known I did not hike pants-less, I just had to hike with the wrong kind of pants. Anyway, I don't need help forgetting things and if life were to inadvertently misplace my gear somehow, my first thought would be that it was my own fault; especially when I'm hiking alone, like on this camping trip in the Ochoco Mountains in central Oregon.

A waving plum of baneberry blooms

The first mile or so of the Lookout Mountain Trail angled uphill and while the day sort of wavered between overcast and sunny, the overall feel was muggy and warm. Naturally, I worked up a thirst but when I pulled on my drinking tube, a mix of mostly air and very little water came through. What the...? I KNOW I filled up my hydration bladder with water before driving to the trailhead, so some more nefarious force was at work here. I sat down on the trail and pulled my bladder out for further inspection. There was about a half-cup cup of water contained within but there was nary a sign of leakage, tear, hole or any other explanation of why I was out of water. Likewise, my pack was dry so it could not have dripped empty while stowed inside the pack. I mean, I just KNOW I filled it up at the campground this morning, but in the absence of any logical explanation for the parched desert that was now my hydration bladder, it must have been my fault again. But dammit, I KNOW I filled it!

The trail provided plenty of quality meadow time

At any rate, I needed to deal with the dry reality of my situation and figure out what to do with this hike. Currently I was in a shady forest and per my GPS, there were springs and creeks nearby. However, there are also abandoned mines nearby and hikers are warned to look and not touch the historical tunnels, buildings, and equipment lying around the vicinity. The reason for the warn-off has something to do with mercury poisoning. So, the first decision made was to avoid refilling from the creeks and springs running across the trail, I wasn't desperate enough to want to risk drinking mercury or any other heavy metals that may have been contained in the water. The second decision was to curtail the full loop hike and just to walk until I was out of water. The lesser decision involved with that was to nurse the remaining water and try to stretch out its lifetime and as a result, the amount of mileage I could get in on this hike.

A small ball of ballhead waterleaf

So, continuing on uphill through the forest it was, while I kept analyzing and reanalyzing the bladder mystery and replaying in my head in an endless loop, my filling up the water bladder this morning. The forest was a bit drier than what I'm customarily used to in the Cascades and the trees tended toward ponderosa pines instead of Douglas fir. However, the wildflower species were friendly and familiar, consisting of old friends such as larkspur, balsamroot, baneberry, star-flowered Solomon's seal, and paintbrush. Less familar were profuse quantities of a low-growing bluebell and balls of ballhead waterleaf, which has a rather unique habit of blooming in small globes at the base of the plant.

One of the larger meadows on the trail

The trail was at this point, angling up and across a forested ridge when the forest disappeared completely while the trail skirted a large meadow consisting of knee-high hellebore plants, a.k.a. corn lily, Off in the distance, were a series of higher mountains without any particular distinctive or dominant peak on the skyline, so we'll just call them by the rather generic term of Ochoco Mountains. I probably would have enjoyed the scene a lot more without the worry about water.

Just gotta love a level trail in sagebrush

Shortly after leaving the meadow behind, the path made a sharp switchback and attained the ridge crest. The back side of the crest was more like a plateau, although it did slope gently downhill away from the trail. Most of that forest I'd been hiking through was now gone, supplanted instead by dense growths of knee-high sagebrush punctuated with the occasional juniper tree. Wow, that was a sudden and abrupt change in vegetation, clime, and overall vibe! I briefly entertained a notion of walking to what I perceived to be the edge of the plateau so see what I could see, but the sagebrush stretched out for a half-mile from the trail or more and that would have been a whole lot of leg scratching as a result. Best to stay on trail, Richard.

Mount Jefferson looms ghostly on the skyline

Ah, the trail. All trails should be like this. The trail was flat and just sort of wandered aimlessly though the low brush, generally hugging the abrupt eastern rim of the plateau. So while I didn't get to see much to the west, openings on the east side provided views of the surrounding Ochoco Mountains. Can't diss the west-side view too much though, because snowy Mount Jefferson was visible throughout, with occasional glimpses of distant Mount Hood and the Three Sisters, depending on the orientation of the trail at that particular moment.

Western peony was yet another sign I was not in my Cascades

But really, this hike was all about the rock gardens atop the plateau, which was part of Lookout Mountain, if not the actual summit thereof. The clay soil had baked to the consistency of hardened rock and besides which, there was plenty of actual hardened rock strewn about too. The wildflowers were putting on an impressive multi-hued display, although a passing hiker told me that this was nothing, the flowers would "really" start blooming about two weeks hence.  

This balsamroot protected by guard spider

At any rate, serious hiking came to a screeching halt and a lot of my trail time was now spent lying prone on the ground, staring at wildflowers and insects through the viewfinder. As is customary during wildflower season, the blooms were well populated by buzzing bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, flies, and plenty of spiders eating and munching on said bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, and flies. 

Dwarf hesperochiron abounded in the rock gardens

Alas, I was now out of water, so I turned around at a muddy spring at a little over three miles in, and headed back the way I had come. Because I was getting thirsty (the lack of water becomes a mental condition, too) by the time I reached the cluster of trail junctions leading to some of the historical mines, I bypassed the mines and just charged downhill to the car, which had a jug of warm water in it waiting for me.

View to nearby Duncan Butte from the trail

When I arrived at the car and began divesting myself of some of my hiking equipment, the water mystery was solved. The back end of the Jeep was sopping wet, leading me to conclude that a suitcase or container of camping equipment had sat on the bite valve of the bladder, leading it to empty its liquid contents into the carpet. So, I'm still certifiably sane, I just knew I had filled it up!

A beetle in its tiny home

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

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Twin Pillars

After several miles of hiking up and over a wooded ridge, Twin Pillars came into view through the trees. Yup, there were two pillars all right, but after hiking through the magnificent alpine meadows at Bingham Prairie, the twin towers just could not compare. In the end, they were just rock while the humongous meadows were world class scenery.

A lichen finds a home on the end of a branch

The Twin Pillars Trail basically bisects Mill Creek Wilderness, located in central Oregon's Ochoco Mountains, and this hike began at Bingham Prairie at the top end, meaning the hike would be basically downhill to the Pillars with the unfortunate opposite effect on the return to the trailhead. There is a primitive campground at Bingham Prairie but a wooden barrier in front of the campsites indicated the campground is currently closed. The road to the campground is also primitive, full of ruts, rocks, and deep water-filled potholes that made me cringe when I made the turn onto the "road", if you can dignify that mess by calling it a road. The "main road" to the campground turnoff wasn't much better, and I began to yearn for the civilized gravel roads of our Umpqua National Forest back home. My Jeep certainly got a workout today!

Bingham Prairie was as large as Maryland

Anyway, from the main road I hiked in to the campground and immediately got sidetracked by the grassy scenery. The meadows were huge, at least as big as two Portlands, consisting of acres and acres of luxuriant grass basking underneath a like amount of blue sky. There is just something about the green and blue color combination that inherently recalls some pleasant ancestral memory, tickling the fancy of the  brain's nucleus accumbens (the brain's pleasure center). Next time Mrs. O'Neill goes to visit family in Spokane, I'm having the living room redone with green shag carpet and deep blue walls and ceiling. Don't tell her that, though, it'll be a surprise! Actually, the real surprise would be if I did anything around the house, but I digress.

The trail passed through a series of meadows

Bingham Prairie and more specifically Bingham Springs, is where the small creek that carved out rugged and inhospitable Desolation Canyon enters into this world. The springs and moisture in the ground are what aids and abets the natural groundskeeping in the meadows, too. The first mile to a mile and a half of hiking wandered to and fro through a series of lush and verdant meadows and in my view, was the best part of this hike. 

Let's play Pick-Up Sticks!

In the year 2000, the Hash Rock Fire (a name which would appeal to certain high school friends of mine from a particular demographic) just scoured the hillsides clean of the forests that once flourished here before that impactful conflagration. Now, a forest of uniform six-foot high baby trees cover the hillsides, apart from small isolated knots of tall trees that survived the fire. Most of the snags have long since toppled over although a few still remain standing proud and upright here and there.  The new forest literally has to grow through a layer of dead trees to get to open air and sunlight.

Much of the route ambled through a new forest

From a hiking standpoint, it was kind of like walking in one of those garden hedge mazes, as I could not see any scenery, landmarks, or other points of interest while hiking in the new growth: just me, the trees, and a trail to follow. Periodically, near various forks of the Desolation Canyon creek, which shall remain nameless because it really has no name, the forest would thin out and the path would disappear into a boggy meadow, only to resume somewhere on the other side. Enterprising hikers had lain dead trees across the creeks as part of an ad hoc bridge system for getting past the creeks relatively dry-footed.

The lonely desolation of Desolation Canyon 

Eventually, the creek and trail parted ways. The creek went on to carve Desolation Canyon and the trail went to observe the creek's handiwork from the canyon rim. The topography of the canyon is extremely rugged, maybe even visually more so after the 2000 fire removed the trees and left just a deep canyon and craggy rimrock. No trail dares to enter this part of the Mill Creek Wilderness and it is easy to see why. I'm speculating here, but the inhospitable terrain probably aided and abetted the wildfire's spread and hindered the hard work of firefighting.

Peak 5682 fooled me into thinking
it might have been Twin Pillars

From Desolation Canyon, the trail continued up and over a ridge wooded with the ever ubiquitous baby forest. At the crest, the path entered a forest of large adult ponderosa pines that had survived the fire alive, but bore scars consisting of blackened trunks at the base of each tree. Partially visible through the trees to the west was craggy orangish colored Peak 5682, which I mistakenly thought might have been Twin Pillars, leaving me temporarrily wondering how I could ever get possibly closer without having to bushwhack through the dense pile of dead tree debris still covering the terrain. Fortunately, after a short on-trail descent through a tangle of forest fire debris, the tip of Twin Pillars decided to make itself known, appearing between trees both live and dead.

You just don't see larch on the west side of the Cascades

Speaking of trees, what manner of odd tree was I looking at? It was larch! Larch, an evergreen conifer that sheds its needles in winter, is not a denizen of southern Oregon. I didn't think it grew elsewhere in Oregon other than the higher reaches of the Columbia Gorge area and maybe the Wallowa Mountains tucked up in the remote northeastern corner of Oregon. Well, add the Ochoco Mountains to the list, for here was a small stand of the rare and seldom seen (by me, at least) tree.

Twin Pillars, in all its two-pronged glory

Also seldom seen by me is Twin Pillars, and I got a pretty good eyeful of the two rocky towers as the trail contoured around the base thereof. I think the taller pillar should be named "Arnold Schwarzzenegger" and the shorter pillar "Danny DeVito" which is a random reference to the movie "Twins", which deservedly did not win an Oscar that year.

The Mill Creek Wilderness also had its share of desolation

The Hash Rock Fire had done its worst here. I had been hiking through either a forest of baby trees, or old trees with blackened trunks. In either case, the fire scars were clear and obvious throughout the hike, being tattooed as it were, on the skin of the trees. But here, from a rocky overlook at the base of Twin Pillars, the rugged terrain of the Mill Creek Wilderness was on full display, for the wilderness had no clothes, so to speak. The hills had been and still are stripped bare, the roaring fire virtually denuding the terrain of any and all trees. There were a few lone survivors scattered on the hillsides but you could count them on one hand. White tree trunks, the skeletal remains of the once and former forest, were strewn pell-mell on the rough slopes throughout the wilderness area in accusatory testimony to the conflagration's savagery. Also in testament to the apocalyptic nature of the scenery, was a complete and utter dearth of any new trees to replace the old. Apparently the fire burned hot enough to cook all the seeds stored in what were ostensibly fire resistant pine cones. which would explain why the forest did not reseed itself in the years after the fire.

The trail skirts the edge of a large meadow

Despite the awesome devastation of the fire, the view of the Mill Creek Wilderness was stunning in its breadth and scope and well worth the labor to hike there. But, you can't stay all day unless you brought a backpack and I did not, so back up the forested ridge I went. At least the hike was uphill both ways! One good thing about hiking an out-and-back is you get to see the same awesome scenery all over again and accordingly, I repartook the desolate ambience of Desolation Canyon and the expansive meadows at Bingham Prairie. Life is good, and so was this hike in the Ochoco Mountains!

Hard to believe this small creek would
wind up carving out Desolation Canyon

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

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