Tire Mountain

In spring, expansive green meadows and vibrant wildflowers draw throngs of admirers to the vibrant slopes of Tire Mountain. Simply stated, Tire Mountain is one of the best wildflower hikes in all of southern Oregon and is certainly worthy of all the attention and worship. However, when summer arrives, the meadows dry out, the flowers become seeds, and the cruelly fickle hordes of hikers abandon Tire Mountain, leaving the humble mountain bereft, loveless, and lonely. But, having visited Tire Mountain recently, I can state the mountain in summer still puts on a show and is definitely deserving of some adulation after the spring floral fireworks have faded into yesterseason.

A beautifully shaded forest

I had taken a week and a half off of hiking due to a stupid tweaked back so I wasn’t really expecting to stride athletically up and down steep trails with nary a drop of perspiration. It was no surprise then that my legs were complaining pretty much at the start when the trail angled uphill through a dark and shady forest. Accordingly, I adjusted my gait to a more measured hiking rhythm and life was pretty comfortable hiking-wise from there on in. Because of my relaxed pace and my well known proclivity to stop frequently for photography, my six comrades left me behind and basically I hiked as alone and lonely as Tire Mountain on a warm summer day.

 Slime mold appeals to my little boy sensibilities

At the start, the forest was lush and green, with ferns and many other verdant plants brushing up against hikers’ legs as they walked by, it was a good thing there was no poison oak in the area! A few plant species served up some desultory floral offerings such as ram’s horn pedicularis, inside-out flower, and Scouler’s harebell. Not as attractive, but maybe more interesting, were splotches of slime mold, looking all the world like dog barf, which would explain why one particular species of slime mold is actually called dog vomit slime mold.

A bit of a cliff hugger, here

The first mile and a half or so of the hike is a workmanlike climb through the forest for the sole purpose of getting into the large meadows higher up. Advance notice of the meadow splendors to come was given when the trail passed through a series of smaller pastures where the thick forest started thinning out. Those lovely erstwhile green meadows of spring were now acres and acres of dry brown grass, parching underneath the hot summer sun. The terms "wildfire season" and "summer" can be used interchangeably in southern Oregon and while no fires were burning nearby, smoke from our neighbor to the south (California) hazed up the nice view of the North Fork Willamette River valley seen from intermittent open spots in the forest.

Peace in a forest canopy

As the trail gained miles and elevation, vine maple began to assert itself in the forest, making for a nice shady hike underneath the green canopy of leaves illuminated by the bright July sun. In places, thick patches of ocean spray bushes were blooming underneath the trees, making both bees and butterflies happy. Several small seeps ran across the trail, the water from the springs turning the local greenery even greener. 

One single farewell-to-spring

As stated, the expansive meadows that make Tire Mountain so renowned were no longer green. However, farewell-to-spring, a member of the clarkia family, was putting on a fantastic display, making the meadows still a worthwhile destination in summer. Cups of the pink flower with its distinguishing red splotches colored up the hillsides, bringing all hiking to a screeching halt while the camera busily engaged in taking photos of flower after flower. Ookow and elegant brodiaea contributed their own little brand of lavender to all the pink and red emanating from the clarkia en masse.

In the deep dark woods

The latter portion of the hike (or “life after meadows” as we like to call it) was a steady uphill walk to the summit of Tire Mountain. The forest was sublime here, and the hike took place in the deep dark interior thereof. While uphill, the grade wasn’t too taxing which was fine with me and my sore back. That would change about a half-mile from the finish, when the path went legitimately steep on us as it switchbacked up to the Tire Mountain summit. The trail had not seen recent maintenance so we had to clamber over a series of fallen trees and maybe a landslide or two.

Tire Mountain

As an end destination, Tire Mountain's summit underwhelms. There used to be a lookout here but it has long since been removed. The brushy summit is ringed with trees which effectively block any would-be view. But we do hike here for some extra miles and a sense of destination and after meeting both those objectives by reaching the summit, we immediately turned around and ate lunch in the deep dark forest below the mountain top.

"Time to carry me! "

The obvious line of humor in closing would be something about being tired on Tire Mountain but I’ve worked that one to death in prior blogs, no sense rehashing that jaded and faded old pun. Maybe I could go with a slight variation on the theme with "I hiked Tire Mountain and was tired. I then hiked Tire Mountain again and was retired!", but we'll let canine friend Arlie have the final word. Using nonverbal communication much more eloquent and expressive than any prose I could conceivably come up with, he theatrically threw himself down at the trailhead, his whole body posture saying “I am so tired!”

Worst camouflage ever!

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

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Pacific Crest Trail (from Santiam Pass)

I like hiking in burn zones. It may be an acquired taste, but I find it fascinating to observe the process of a forest reestablishing itself after a fire. And, despite the tree carnage and scorched earth policy, there is also great beauty to be found in an old burn zone. Unfortunately, too much of a good thing can also be bad and if recent fire seasons are any kind of indicator, we all will have more than ample opportunity to learn to love burn zones in the near future. At any rate, the site of the B&B Fire at Santiam Pass still remains one of my favorite places to hike.

Beauty in a burn zone

At Santiam Pass, the fire began life as the Booth Fire in mid-August of 2003 while further to the north in the Mount Jefferson Wilderness, the Bear Butte Fire birthed into fiery existence. Eventually, the two fires joined forces as one and the two fire names melded together to become the B&B Fire. Even though the fire burned virtually in uninhabited wilderness, over $38 million dollars were spent to combat the fire. I'm not sure if the expenditure was worth the investment for when it was all over, the fire had consumed over 90,000 acres. Unfortunately, in our current era of megafires and gigafires, a 90,000 acre fire is just another small kilofire. 

Through-hikers hike through a new forest

The Pacific Crest Trail, at Santiam Pass, goes right through the old fire zone and while temperatures were hot down in our valleys, a chill wind up here kept things cool as I set foot on the famed PCT. Although the story of this hike was walking 10 miles through a forest of ghostly white snags, there is a veritable young forest forming on the ground and it won’t be long before the epic views encountered on this day will once again be blocked by flourishing trees.

The PCT angled up through a burned forest for mile after mile

The Pacific Crest Trail headed steadily uphill in the open sunlight and incessantly switched back and forth across an open slope as it worked its way up to the craggy slopes of Three-Fingered Jack. In places, beargrass covered virtually every square inch of available soil below the forest of dead trees, imbuing the rough terrain with a parklike vibe. Beargrass blooms every other year and when it’s beargrass time on this section of the PCT, the results must truly be spectacular.

Huckleberry bushes decided summer is over and done with

A few of the usual late-summer flowering suspects were putting on a subdued show, those suspects being most notably light purple daisy-like aster and fleabane, bright red skyrocket, and occasional yellow rabbitbrush flowers. We are getting close to autumn’s song and accordingly huckleberry bushes were blazing red in vegetative mimicry of the B&B Fire.

Sun-bleached snags against a cobalt sky

There are a couple of side trails leading down to the Berley Lakes or Square Lake but my order of business was the Pacific Crest Trail and I stayed on track when I arrived at those enticing trail junctions. The trail climbed at a consistent rate of ascent and a steady stream of PCT through-hikers passed me by. Ninety-six year old great-grandmothers may have also passed me by, because my pace was as slow as a lethargic turtle going up all those miles of inclined trail, but I'm blaming the views and camera.

What a view!

The views became more and more astounding as the trail gained elevation, thanks in part to the B&B Fire clearing out the view-blocking forest. Directly south of the trail was the pointy spire of rugged Mount Washington with the Three Sisters looming further beyond. Periodically, Three-Fingered Jack waved hello with one of its non-middle fingers showing above the ridge crest directly in front. To the east was the symmetrical cone of Black Butte with the vast central Oregon outback stretching out into the summer haze. The surrounding geology and geography were spread out like a large-scale three-dimensional atlas diorama, all covered with a fuzzy white layer of ghostly white snags, left courtesy of the B&B Fire.

Some of those surrounding lakes and scenery

There were plenty of lakes scattered in all the topology cited above and to the east, lakes Booth, Martin, and Square reposed in the basin sprawling west of Black Butte. There is supposed to be a cross-country way to leave the PCT and hike down to Martin Lake and return by way of the Square Lake Trail but the jump-off point was not obvious, so I stayed on the PCT like a good boy.

A rare section of green forest

At about the four-mile mark, the trail left the burn zone for a real honest-to-goodness green forest. Good thing too, for the chill breeze had long since failed to be and the day was getting to be quite warm out in the exposed and treeless fire zone. I ate lunch at a rocky viewpoint overlooking an expansive vista of Maxwell Butte and surrounding terrain extending into the McKenzie River drainage.

View to the Mount Washington and the Three Sisters 

After lunch, it was back the way I had come but the major difference was that I was walking downhill (and there was much rejoicing) instead of slogging up to some higher unseen place in my life. Also, instead of staring at the grassy parklike slopes inclining upward in front of me, I very much enjoyed a wide and expansive five-mile view of Mount Washington, the Three Sisters, and an entire county of dead trees under a blue sky. Simply beautiful, and the entire day confirmed my feelings about hiking in an old burn zone.

Path through spent beargrass and dead trees

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

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McKenzie River Trail (Boulder Creek to Deer Creek)

This little section of the McKenzie River Trail is one of my summertime go-to hikes. The route is perpetually shaded for most of its eight miles or so, numerous creeks cross the trail, the forest is eminently green, and the McKenzie River makes frequent appearances with each break in the vegetative cover. Because the bottom of the river canyon is well shaded, the temperatures tend to be cooler here than in our urban areas sprawled next to Interstate 5. Also, the trail is blessedly flat for the most part, making the hiking both easier and cooler, especially on a baking warm day. So, let's hike already!

Candystick, flowering away

Despite the allusions to baking hot days, on this day the temperature was fairly mild, so the purpose of this hike rendition tended more towards sheer enjoyment of the river and shade and not at all towards frantic relief from the brain-parboiling heat of summer. Normally, I begin this section of the McKenzie River Trail from the resort at Belknap Hot Springs, but just to do something different this time, this hike commenced from the road bridge spanning the river near Boulder Creek. That way, I could make it as far as Deer Creek, which would be a whole new trail experience for me.

This small creek is actually part of the McKenzie River

Regardless of the new starting point, it was still the same old river, forest, and shade, and it felt wonderful. The path basically followed the river and rustic footbridges crossed several small creeks that were in no real hurry to meet up with the McKenzie, judging by the languid pools reflecting the low light within the forest. The canopy of mostly vine maple leaves let in very little light and the ample leafage imbued the very air with a soft green glow.

Tiger lilies prowled the trailside brush

While the creeks were in no particular hurry, dozens of women were very much intent on speeding down the trail with as much alacrity as they could muster. Seems there was a nearby women's retreat that also involved a trail run event. Me, I would retreat from any retreat that boasted a trail running event, that looked like way too much work. Besides which, I'd be sure to roll my weak ankles at some point, always a miserable occurrence. Also, despite exchanging cheery greetings with me, not all of the participants had facial expressions that said they were enjoying their more frenetic pace along the trail.

The McKenzie River Trail followed a forest road for a bit

At about the mile mark, the trail inscribed a switchback in the opposite direction and headed uphill to a forest road that is the actual McKenzie River Trail, gravel road appearance notwithstanding. After going under some power lines the road then descended back down to the river, that little detour making no sense to me at all. At any rate, the hike returned to the more comfortable milieu of fungus, flowers, and forest.

Bridge, leading from light unto dark

At about the 2.5 mile mark, the trail crossed Frissell Creek on a stout wooden bridge and from here on in, it would be all new trail for me. Underneath the bridge, the small creek flowed on its way to the river, the waters of the creek coursing amazingly clear.

Where the McKenzie divided around an island

After crossing Frissell Creek, the trail tended to stay fairly close to the river. Because of the thick forest and vegetation, it was not always easy to get the "big picture" of what the river was doing. At times, it seemed that the water flowing below the trail and through the trees had to be a creek instead of the river, although no creeks were nearby according to my GPS. The mild mystery was solved when  the river clearly divided around a heavily wooded island, sending a much smaller volume of river water on the trail side of the island just to confuse me.

Backpacking sites called to me

At a large bend in the river which was hidden from sight by the forest, the trail went high into the woods and temporarily left the river behind. At the four mile mark, the trail crossed a paved forest road before sideswiping a nice backpacking campsite next to the bridge at Deer Creek, The campsite was one of several seen on this hike and all of them were fairly luxurious when compared to my usual meager camping spots when backpacking. I really must come back and backpack the full McKenzie River Trail sometime, but I digress.

The well-engineered bridge at Deer Creek

Deer Creek has carved a rather large and deep valley in the surrounding mountains so I really was expecting a creek commensurately sized to match the geological terraforming. However, the reality is that Deer Creek was just a small creek, nothing more than any of the other creeks already encountered on this hike. The wooden bridge crossing the creek was more impressive though, spanning the comparitively wide canyon. Because of the width of the bridge, it shook and swayed in the middle as I walked across.

The texture of Deer Creek

Deer Creek made for a logical turnaround point, and I ate a quick lunch there while meditating upon the reflecting pools of the small creek. After that, it was back the way I had come, with the same enjoyment of forest, shade, river, flowers, and fungi. By this time, the other side of the river was bathed in sunlight and the bright reflections rippled zen-like on the pools of the various creeks running across the trail.

Sparkling clear water on a small creek

By this time, the last trail runner had long passed by but I still had to step aside every now and then for mountain bikers trundling past. Unlike the trail runners though, their facial expressions said they were enjoying their ride. I couldn't see my facial expression of course, but hopefully it was adequately conveying how enjoyable this hike had been.

My view for most of eight miles

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

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