Tipsoo Peak

Earlier this year, I was contacted by the Umpqua Watersheds (a local conservation group) about leading a hike for their organization. I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into but since they threw in phrases like "...love your newspaper articles", "...great blog", and "...so incredibly handsome" I had no choice but to accept their request. Flattery usually gets you nowhere but it can get you a vain hike leader!

On the dusty slog up

In discussing the hike with Alan of the Watersheds, I told him the road was very doable for small cars as I had taken my KIA Rio up there several years ago.  Oops. The road has really deteriorated and was badly overgrown with deep ruts in it. There was a lot of bottom scraping by the Prius contingent of our little motorcade. This might just be the last time I get asked to lead a hike!

Hey Tipsoo, I see you!

It has been said about journeys in general (and applicable to hikes too) that it's oft about the journey and not the destination. Having said that, Tipsoo Peak is only about the destination. The rather mundane Tipsoo Peak Trail climbs up through a viewless forest for several miles before delivering hikers to a jaw-dropping view atop the relatively inconsequential 8,034 volcanic cone. No technical climbing is required to attain the summit and Tipsoo Peak is probably the easiest climb ever to a peak over 8,000 feet.

Pinesap emerges zombie-like, from the earth

So, after apologizing to the Prius drivers, we headed up the Tipsoo Peak Trail. It was a pretty brisk climb through the viewless forest but at least there was plenty of pinseap sprouting from the earth in a sure sign summer is coming to a close. Pinesap also allows gasping hikers with cameras to surreptitiously sneak in a rest stop or two, just saying.

All about the destination

After a zigzagging climb for a couple of miles up the forested slope of Tipsoo Peak, the forest began to thin out a bit along the path, offering teasing views to the tips of Mount Thielsen and Mount Bailey. As one would expect hiking on a volcano, the soil was pumice based and clouds of dust scuffed up by our boots hung limply in the still air. The trees became somewhat stunted, directly attributable to the winter winds and snow that regularly pummel Tipsoo Peak and neighboring peaks over 8,000 feet.

We should all enjoy hikes as much as a dog does

Eventually, the summit proper of Tipsoo came into view as the trail neared our destination. A large snow drift lay right below the rocky summit and there was a nice view to the lesser twin of Tipsoo's two peaks. And after the short scramble to the summit, it was time to sit down and gawk at one of the world's best views, no other response would be appropriate.

Diamond Lake and Mount Bailey

To the south rose up the pointed spire of Mount Thielsen, seemingly intent on poking a hole in the cloudless sky. In front of Thielsen were a jumble of rocks and peaks that in combination, comprised Howlock Mountain and Sawtooth Ridge. It was hard to distinguish the mountain from the high points on the serrated ridge and vise versa. The round mound of Mount Bailey rivaled Mount Thielsen in stature while sapphire-blue Diamond Lake serenely reposed in between. Behind all this and on the horizon, were some of the peaks of Crater Lake rim. Directly below, a tan colored pumice plain dotted with a sparse forest lay between us and Sawtooth Ridge and we could make out the thin ribbon of the Pacific Crest Trail weaving its way across the plain.

Photo ops

On the horizon to the north, were the huge snow-covered peaks of the Three Sisters with massive Diamond Peak in between. Because all my charges were new (except for one other hiker) to Tipsoo Peak, I showed off my incredible wealth of knowledge by naming all the lesser peaks in the area: Cowhorn Mountain, Sawtooth Peak, Tenas Peak, Tolo Mountain, and Maiden Peak (I'd be hiking there the very next day).

Howlock Mountain

As if the mountain scenery was not enough, there were also lakes to contemplate. Besides the aforementioned Diamond Lake, we spotted Lake Lucille and Maidu Lake, both on the North Umpqua River. In fact, greenish Maidu Lake is the source of the North Umpqua. On the east side of the Cascade Mountains was large and prominent Miller Lake while on the west side and equally prominent was many-armed Lemolo Lake. Way cool, and all the oohs and aahs from the Tipsoo newbies in my group was plenty of reward for one erstwhile jaded  hike leader.

Alex takes the fun way down

After a lengthy lollygag and view-soak, Dollie and I headed back down the trail, capping off a fine hike on a fine day with fine friends. I'm glad to report that no Priuses were further harmed on the drive back to the Diamond Lake Highway, apart from some cringe-worthy undercarriage scraping. And thanks to the Umpqua Watersheds for giving me the opportunity to share one of my favorite hikes with them.

Umpqua Watersheds hikers

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

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Lake Notasha

Brother David and grandson Aiden wanted to go backpacking with me but David had a few conditions attached to his participation in our venture. Well, there was really only one condition: "Take it easy on me" he said. Dang, all these conditions, rules, and regulations! But yeah, I did want him to go so we did take it easy on him by selecting a relatively level hike from Cold Springs Trailhead into the Sky Lakes Wilderness. 

Mosquito food

When we disembarked from the car at the Cold Springs Trailhead we were greeted by a magnificent summer day. And best of all, no mosquitoes, how did we ever get so lucky? Oh, we were so naive and innocent then! The trail immediately entered the shady forest whereupon the air came alive with the whine of mosquitoes, matched only by the the whine of 12 year old Aiden. He tried to repel the mosquitoes with his own unique brand of repellant that had something to do with eating salsa the night before. His manner of delivering the repellant was perhaps an attempt to ease the uphill with some home-made jet propulsion, too. Although he failed on both counts, he nonetheless was banished to the rear of our hiking column by the two disgusted adult members of our party. He was quite vocal about expressing his antipathy to the thick schools of insectile piranhas, so much so he earned the trail name "Mosquito Boy". I supposed we could have called him "Dances with Mosquitoes" too.

Aiden goes snow hiking

About a mile into the hike, snow made an appearance and the trail disappeared under intermittent drifts. It was surprising to see so much snow in what certainly has been a hot June. Fortunately, we were always able to find (eventually!)  the trail tread on the other side of the drifts so we didn't get lost, just confused at times. And if the mosquitoes and snow were not enough trail travails, the path was also covered with fallen trees, bringing back bad memories of last month's hike to Grasshopper Mountain. It just seems that trees covering the trail are going to be part of most every hike this year.

Lake Notasha 

So, while I am regrettably somewhat used to climbing over trees, David and Aiden were not and much grumbling ensued. But for the most part, we were able to walk around the downfall and didn't have to clamber over log piles too much. So while we were making progress through the piles of debris, the hiking was fairly tedious. By the time we reached the first lake, Lake Notasha, David and Aiden were quite adamant in expressing their desire to camp at the idyllic little lake. My vote was for Isherwood Lake, about 0.7 miles further up the trail but who listens to me anyway.

Isherwood Lake, at sunset

So we set up camp at a nice little site atop a forested knoll overlooking the blue-green lake sparkling in the afternoon sun, where we proceeded to slap at mosquitoes for the remainder of the day. After dinner, we did take a hike further up the Isherwood Trail, visiting and turning around at Ishwerwood Lake at twilight. The lakes of the Sky Lakes Wilderness are plenty in number and close in proximity so we visited Liza Lake and Lake Elizabeth on the way back to camp.

I love the smell of  Deet in the morning!

The next morning, David and I waited hours and hours for a sleeping teenager to awake; we finally took matters into our own hands and rousted Aiden from his slumber. Because of the rough state of the trail, the consensus was that we would head out early instead of struggling for another day to get to Lake Margurette. So back down the trail we go, each of us with our attendant mosquito cloud swirling behind. Maybe it was because they were mentally prepared for the snow and downfall but both Aiden and David thought the hiking was easier on the hike out.

Dances with Mosquitoes

So in the end, we were somewhat disappointed that we didn't accomplish all we wanted to in terms of distance and destination, but we all agreed it was better than staying at home and we all enjoyed the hike anyway. And as far as David is concerned, I'm letting him know this hike was a mulligan and I don't have to take it easy on him next time.

Your job is to eat mosquitoes, now get to work!

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

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Harriette Lake

So Lane and I sit down for lunch at Lake Como and Lane notices the silhouette of another hiker sitting on a shaded stump across from the lake, also eating lunch. Obviously lost in thought and totally unaware of our presence, the hiker's head rested pensively on a hand propped up on one knee, a la Rodin's "The Thinker". However, the dude was sitting way too still, prompting a debate between Lane and I whether he was an inanimate object or somebody who didn't twitch even one arm hair in the mosquito-filled air. Time passed and the sunlight moved in the forest and illuminated what was obviously a tree stump, earning Lane the trail name "Stump Guy". The rest of the weekend was replete with sudden bursts of "Look at me, I'm Stump Guy!" and we'd freeze in place.  Or we'd point at a stump and say "Look, it's another hiker!" Lane and I are easily amused and will work the same joke over and over for weeks at a time, unlike Stump Guy. Unlike some of our fellow hikers too, I might add.

Lake Como and Whiteface Peak (not named after me!)

This particular Lake Como was not the famed Italian lake of note, but is instead a small body of water in Oregon's Mountain Lakes Wilderness, a volcanic caldera south of Crater Lake. Basically, the caldera is the left over basin from a volcano that blew itself up just like Crater Lake did millenia ago. Oregon could have been blessed with two Crater Lakes but alas, glaciers intruded their icy heads into the mix and eroded the walls surrounding the Mountain Lakes caldera and all that potential Crater Lake fame and glory drained ignominiously down into midge-infested Upper Klamath Lake. No complaints though, as the caldera basin now has mountains and lakes in it, as befits a wilderness with the name Mountain Lakes. And best of all, the wilderness has hiking trails in it, too.

The bridge Lane

At first the Varney Creek Trail descended gently for a mile or so, dropping through a shady forest to a crossing of like-named Varney Creek. The creek crossing used to take place on a dilapidated and rotting boardwalk through a bunch of dead trees covering a swampy mire. However, the High Desert Trail Riders have rebuilt the bridge and cut a path through all the dead timber; it's now an easy cross over Varney Creek. Because of the new bridge, even Stump Guy was able to make it as far as Lake Como.

Greylock Mountain

It's a 1,300 foot climb to Harriette Lake but the grade was quite kind and gentle for the first 4 miles. The forest was thin and interspersed with meadows which both Lane and I waded into, each armed with camera in hand. The slopes were colored red in places due to skyrocket and paintbrush putting on a floral show. We enjoyed views of Mount Harriman and Greylock Mountain, both peaks part of the caldera rim.

First look at Harriette Lake

After Lake Como, where we made our aforementioned acquaintance with Stump Guy, all that easy uphill came to an abrupt end. Leaving the lake, the trail went rocky all of a sudden, the incline ramped up, and dang it, we suddenly had to work hard at this backpacking stuff. But at least it was quick work, because after only 0.6 miles of the steep crap, we hit a pass and Harriette Lake made a stunning first impression, just like I've been known to do! In a rocky basin below the pass, reposed half of blue Harriette Lake (the other half was hiding behind a forest). The wall of rock above the lake had created an awesomely large avalanche basin containing all the boulder you could ever want to look at. Aspen Butte (the highest point in Mountain Lakes Wilderness) rose up to the south and to the east Mount Carmine lay a lot closer to the lake.

Be it ever so humble...

After the rigorous climb to the pass, we were only too happy to descend to the lake shore and set up camp. We had neighbors, sociable Scott and Tina from Grants Pass, and we exchanged pleasantries and trail stories (some of which were true). Tina was on her first backpack trip and was holding her own, especially with Scott carrying most of the gear. I think I'll do likewise and have Lane carry most of our gear next time!

View from our camp

The lake shore shallows were covered by an unappetizing film of pine pollen and I somehow became the one designated to wade deep into the lake to filter cleaner water. As the sun set, the breeze abated and mosquitoes happily came to greet us. The feeling was not mutual. However, the sight of the shadows lengthening across the lake while the high peaks caught the the last light of the sun was simply sublime, annoying mosquitoes notwithstanding.

Mount Harriman

Early the next morning and before breakfast, Lane and I bushwhacked to an overlook with a partial view of nearby Echo Lake, giving us both the opportunity to yell "Echo...echo...echo...". Like I said before, we are easily entertained. After our Echo Lake sojourn, we struck camp and headed up and then down the pass above Harriette Lake.

Whiteface Peak rises above Eb Lake

Shortly after passing Lake Como, we stashed our backpacks behind a log and headed up the Mountain Lakes Trail. After a short walk, the trail crossed a narrow spit of land between Eb and Zeb Lakes. We stopped at Eb Lake first before looking at Zeb Lake. Or was it the other way around? I can't tell them apart and only their mother knows for sure. At any rate, the picturesque lakes offered views of Whiteface Peak and some of the lesser surrounding peaks and ridges.  And then the fun started.

Why we did not summit Peak 7703

The trail would climb over 800 feet in 1 mile to a pass which I kept referring to as "south pass" when it fact it was the northern pass of the two passes on this pass through. As the trail switchbacked to and fro, the trees thinned out and rocks ruled this little corner of the world. We had some notion of summiting Peak 7703 and/or Whiteface Peak but our enthusiasm waned when we saw a treeless rocky slope rising all the way up tp 7703's top, about 800 feet above us. We took one look at the rocky slope and wordlessly communicating like a long-time married couple, Lane and I knew we weren't going to do any summitting on this day. However, just to keep things platonic between us, I did utter the phrase "Oh, hell no!" Whiteface Peak had a similarly demanding route if we wanted to stand on top of it. The terrain was hot, rocky, and treeless and we were baked like a pair of purple Peruvian potatoes. Covered by an unappealing slime comprised of sweat, blood, Deet, and trail dust, we called it good at the pass.

You can see Upper Klamath Lake from here!

At the pass, we did have an awesome view to Mount McLaughlin, its symmetrical cone dry on the west side but snowy on the east side. Nearby Brown Mountain was equally visible as was an impressive Peak 7652. To the east, we could see the caldera drainage running down all the way to Upper Klamath Lake. So after soaking in the views, down the hot and mosquito-infested trail we went, stopping only to put snow (from a small drift) underneath our hats to cool our hot heads. We didn't get brain freezes though, as that would require brains.

Cameras got a workout, too

Just past Eb and Zeb Lakes, we retrieved our packs and began the hike back to the trailhead. We only had 4 miles to go but it was the longest 4 miles in the hot sun on a dusty trail. It seemed like it was 14 miles but we eventually made it back to the trailhead. Stump Guy, on the other hand, is still hanging out at Lake Como.

Hey, you're bugging me!

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

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Alta Lake backpack

"Hey, take off your cap, there's something on your forehead"

Because Ray was so concerned as a trustworthy and loyal friend, I obliged and he peered closely at my forehead. Smack! The sound of his hand slapping my head carried through the trees, totally at odds with the profound hush that only a snow-covered forest has. "WHY DID YOU MAKE ME COME HERE WITH YOU?" he roared. I could only reply in that whiny high-pitched voice of a child desperately trying to convince a disbelieving parent of  his innocence "...it was in the 90's all week in Roseburg!"

Smack! It was not a winning arugment.

Snow delerium

Two things led us to this head-smacking point: It had indeed been summery warm in Roseburg all week and snow was not part of last hike on Abbott Butte. The butte topped out at around 6,100 feet and logic would dictate there'd be no snow at similar elevations in the nearby Sky Lakes Wilderness. So the plan was to backpack in on the Pacific Crest Trail to the Snow Lakes followed by some day hiking and mountain climbing because after all, it had been hot in Roseburg all week.

On the climb to Alta Lake in the rain

Of course, by Friday morning the weather had turned and the forecast called for a 20% chance of showers with temperatures a little on the chilly side, especially at night. However, the reality was more dire than the forecast as the showers had morphed into out and out rain. And as Ray and I hoisted our packs, wet snow was falling along with the rain in that mix we affectionately call snain. So, naturally, we did what Ray and I do: we started hiking anyway and fie on the weather!

Airing my wet laundry

At least the trail was uphill. Yes, I'm being sarcastic. The trail charged straight up through a forested slope, gaining over 1,000 feet in the first two miles. At least we had heavy packs on. At least it was snowing and/or raining. And at least it was cold. And that is enough syrupy sarcasm to give my readers literary tooth decay, assuming I have any readers other than my mom.

Frog Lake

Because it was chilly, we wore several layers of so-called waterproof gear. Because of the exertion of hiking uphill, we were soon perspiring under the waterproofs which meant it was like raining under our jackets and we were soon soaked anyway. However, despite the wetness of our clothing, both of us were warm from the physical toil of hiking.

The vegetation, unlike hikers, liked the rain

We did get a temporary respite from all the uphill hiking at Frog Lake and while we were resting at the small body of water, the sun came out and lulled us into thinking things would get better. Smack! No sooner had we made the decision to continue on, the rain, sleet, and snow became a constant and the sun pretty much took the rest of the day off.

Um...I can't find the trail 

About a mile of more climbing past Frog Lake, snow drifts began to cover the trail. The drifts then increased in frequency, size, and depth, in direct proportion to our elevation gain. At a pass atop Violet Hill, the trail disappeared for good under a chilly white blanket of unbroken snow. Ah, the irony of not being able to reach to the Snow Lakes because of snow.

Let's camp at Alta Lake!

Because both of us had been to Alta Lake before, we were able to get to the lake without benefit of trail, navigating by dead reckoning and hopefully not with misplaced faith in our tracking abilities. The basic plan was to reach Alta Lake, assess the situation, and then decide if the weekend could be salvaged by camping at the lake. Of course, we could have right then and there retreated back to Frog Lake in shame and ignominy. But I'm glad to report we did the right thing and continued on, slogging in the snow to Alta Lake.

Camp Cold

Alta Lake is a long and narrow finger of a lake that fills up a fault-line crack on top of Violet Hill. The waters of the lake were black and colorless as tendrils of cloud cover wove misty strands through the skein of surrounding trees. We set up camp above the lake as the rain continued to fall and it was frigid cold. Both Ray and I crawled into our separate (pay no heed to all those vicious rumors) sleeping bags at 3:30 in the afternoon to dry off and warm up.

Part of Devil's Peak

At about 6:00 in the early evening, the pitter patter of raindrops on my rain fly ceased and the fog rolled in, as thick as a proverbial London pea soup fog in a horror movie right before the first innocent victim gets slashed. Emerging from our tents, we enjoyed occasional views to Grass, Cliff, and Middle Lakes in the basin below Violet Hill. Above Cliff Lake, the dramatic wall of Devil's Peak loomed, the top of the peak hidden in the cloud cover.

C'mon in, the water's freezing!

I slept wearing three pairs of socks, three layers of pants, four shirts, one down jacket, woolen mittens, and a ski cap in a semi-successful attempt at warding off the cold. Neither one of us had a thermometer but we both agree the temperature on this fine June evening dipped into the mid-20's, earning me the aforementioned head smack from Ray. All things considered, things were relatively comfy and I actually got a good night's sleep in.

Dawn comes to Alta Lake

I woke up with my tent walls glowing orange. Sun! In the middle of the night, the nasty clouds had departed and morning at Alta Lake was simply glorious. It was still cold, though. The lakes below Violet Hill reflected the blue sky as they reposed beneath Devil's Peak and we could see all of the impressive mountain this time. Such a perfect morning invited a post-breakfast hike so Ray and I followed the lakeside trail as best we could.

View above the Middle Fork 

We lost the path under snow at end of the lake so we bushwhacked to a view point above the Rogue River's Middle Fork canyon. I seem to recall reading somewhere the prominent defile is Oregon's deepest glacier-carved canyon. Perched above the headwaters as we were, the view predictably impressed. Above the canyon rose a series of volcanic cones with the higher snow-covered peaks of Crater Lake topping off the scene. I asked Ray if he would take that head-smack back and he said no.

Heading the wrong way

We didn't want to chance another cold night at Alta Lake, so mid-day we packed up our gear and retreated to lower and warmer Frog Lake. As we were climbing out of the Seven Lakes Basin, we went astray a bit as navigation was difficult due to the snow cover. We wound up on the ridgecrest a bit south of where we needed to be but were able to find the Devil's Peak Trail which led us back to our snowy pass.

Large amphibian at Frog Lake

There's a lot to be said for a real trail with no snow on it and it was nice to properly hike on a proper trail with proper dirt again. The rest of the day was spent lazing around Frog Lake. In the late afternoon a backpacking couple walked by and I asked them how their routefinding skills were as they were headed to Alta Lake. To hammer the point home, I showed them some of my photos and they decided Frog Lake was a nice place to camp after all. I don't know who they are but they are probably still married, thanks to me. Their dog enjoyed mindlessly swimming laps in Frog Lake, he might not have enjoyed an Alta Lake dip as much.

Steamy Frog Lake in the morning

So, our three-day backpack trip wound up covering a paltry 10 miles, we certainly didn't get very far. After a robust breakfast on Father's Day in Butte Falls, we headed back to Roseburg and its 90 degree weather. The warm weather has got me planning our next trip already. Smack!

Yes, it was cold.

For more pictures of this Richard and Ray venture, please visit the Flickr album.