Lost Creek Lake (weekend backpack)

It was just a small sign tacked onto a trailhead kiosk, measuring maybe a foot square but the words on it were sufficient enough to throw my plans for backpacking around Lost Creek Lake into chaos. The stern blue letters on the sign advised the bridge at Blue Grotto was closed to hikers, no reason given other than it was unsafe. Somewhat uncharacteristically, I heeded the terse message and on the fly, rearranged my itinerary.

All life should be walking in a field of daisies

Spring was in full song at Lost Creek Lake as I began hiking from the lake's dam, at the time blissfully unaware of any upcoming closures. Everything was green as the trail initially set out across a grassy field of shin-high daisies. I had never been on this part of the lakeside trail and was immediately impressed with the lushness of the vegetation growing alongside the large lake.

One of several million elegant cat's ear flowers

Life was burgeoning all along the trail but elegant cat's ear was the dominant life form on this two-day hike. Figuratively purring in the sun, the white fuzzy flowers brightened up grassy hillsides and leafy duff alike. My pace was slow as I seemingly took a photo of each and every bloom, for no two ears are ever alike.

Green was the color of the day

There was plenty of shade to be enjoyed on this sunny day, for the lake's shore was heavily wooded with firs and other conifers. A lush understory of ferns and other moisture-loving plants thrived in the shade beneath the trees. Just past Four Corners Camp, a backpackers' camp where there were no corners at all to be seen, much less four of them, the fir forest was then supplanted by oak woodland.

So nice to see Lost Creek Lake full of water

Periodically, the trail would leave the oak woods and traverse across open semi-arid patches of manzanita and dry grass, the lack of trees allowing hikers to spend some quality time with Lost Creek Lake. The lake was ringed by forested hills and mountains with distinctive Flounce Rock being the nearest and most prominent. The lake's water level had been low the last several years, thanks to an extended drought, so it was nice to see it full of water after this wet winter.

The relatively narrow Lost Creek arm

Lost Creek Lake from overhead, would resemble a pollywog were it not for the Lost Creek arm of the lake. Thanks to the aforementioned arm, the lake looks like a pollywog with a giant dorsal fin holding a flashlight. Actually it really resembles nothing more than an amorphous blob but my imagination feels the need to come up with some kind of simile.  At any rate, the trail went up and around the arm which eventually felt more like narrow fjord than significant-sized lake. 

Well, this screwed up my plans

There's a trailhead located where the route crosses burbling Lost Creek, and that was where the sign filled me up with consternation. What to do? I was about four miles into the hike and Blue Grotto was probably another four miles ahead. I dithered as I hiked some more and at roughly the six mile mark, I decided to stop and camp, if only because the trail passed through a series of amazingly beautiful meadows atop cliffs with spectacular overlooks of the lake. If I wasn't going to circumnavigate the lake, then these bucolic pastures were certainly an appealing place to spend the night at.

My home away from home

After pitching my tent in the middle of an idyllic copse of oak trees, I then stealth-cooked dinner. Stealth cooking is that technique where you cook and eat dinner on the trail and then hike another hour or so before setting up camp. This is done so as to prevent bears from getting too interested in your campsite, lured in by enticing food aromas. Bear scat had been spotted on the trail, so I hiked ahead to a scenic overlook and cooked and ate on a convenient bench while enjoying the late afternoon scenery. 

An up-close look at German knotweed

After dinner, I slapped a macro lens on my camera and began crawling through my meadow home, photographing all things small and smaller. It's amazing the things you can find at the other end of a macro lens and I noted a tiny plant with prickly green leaves that when magnified, were actually miniscule green flowers. Hello, German knotweed, I believe we haven't ever met before, pleased to make your acquaintance! 

Got an early start on the hike out

After a breezy night spent listening to the pleasant soughing of windblown oak branches, I bid the German knotweed "auf Wiedersehen", struck camp, and hit the trail somewhere around eight o'clock in the morning. Doing anything by eight o'clock is a rarity in my retirement years but I was glad I did, for the temperature was cool and the morning light slanting through the woods was most enjoyable. Although, it did feel strange to finish hiking before eleven o'clock in the morning.

Tall silvercrown was a common sight

Upon my return to home and computer, I researched the question as to whether the closure at Blue Grotto was still in effect. I had my doubts because in all honesty, the sign did look a little weatherworn, like it had been there for quite some time. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any info so I'll just have to hike at the other end and find out, or take my chances on another circumnavigation attempt. Nonetheless, I really did enjoy my meadow camp and outing so I'm not too upset at not being able to do the full hike around the lake, it was all good.

This lake patrolled by guard geese

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

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Elk Creek Trail

In hiking, weather is a much considered, oft-discussed topic. Generally, we hikers carefully parse the weather forecast before deciding when or if we get out on the trail. Failure to do so can mean enduring a wet or wintry hike without proper gear. Now, some wags will point out that we often hike in wet or wintry weather anyway, but at least it's an informed decision when we do. Usually, the forecasts are reasonably accurate but then again, there are hikes like this one at Elk Creek, where no deliberate or measured prediction could ever accurately foretell the chaotic nature of the day's weather.

Escapees from the facility

When we parked at the upper Elk Creek trailhead, the weather was a combo of sleet, snow, and rain that had us all hurriedly putting on rain gear right at the start. This was a Friends of the Umpqua venture that yours truly was leading and the weather's poor outlook meant I had only four friends on this day. This was about four more friends than I normally get and our meager party set out on the paved trail next to a very full Elk Creek, scrunching our necks down into our shoulders in a vain effort to keep dry.

On the trail to Sevenmile Swimming Hole, in the rain

After a mile or so, we traded in the old historical paved roadway for a dirt path that traversed through a pasture to a local landmark known as Sevenmile Swimming Hole. There was no need for us to go swimming today for there was more than enough water (in all its forms) in the air to satisfy any urge to become completely wet. Besides which, it was pretty cold, the falling inclement being just this side of actual snowfall. 

Elk Creek did not entice us to go swimming

Elk Creek was rain-swollen and in a semi-flooding state, the noisy creek running rampant through stands of maple and alder trees that would normally be on dry banks overlooking the stream. The creek curved past some mossy cliffs and entered the deep and silty waters of Sevenmile Swimming Hole that none of us took the opportunity to jump into. We found out Shannon likes rocks as she combed the banks and stuffed her coat pockets with souvenirs just like my daughters used to do when they were very young. Rocks in the pockets would be another pretty good reason not to jump into the swimming hole.

It was colder up there

As we departed from our little side trip to Sevenmile Swimming Hole, the heavy cloud cover began to lift, offering tantalizing peeks at the mountains flanking either side of Elk Creek's pronounced valley. Clearly and quite obviously, all had been well dusted by snow during the storm's wintry visit. But hey, if the clouds are lifting, then sunny weather can't be far behind, can it?

The trail is an old decommissioned roadway

The answer to that question was answered by a vigorous hailstorm. Apparently, it can hail quite heartily from lifting cloud cover. I can also say, from personal experience, that hail on a hat brim makes quite a racket, rendering any would-be conversation futile, not that any one of my companions wanted to talk to me anyway, seeing how this was all my fault. This ten-minute squall was the first of three notable hailstorms on the day.

Shadow Man came to visit us like every five
minutes or so, and he did not stay very long, either

We stoically endured our pelting by millions of high-velocity ice pellets and after a bit, the clouds really did begin to break apart, with blue sky leaking through the seams. Eventually, the sun shone and the day became hot enough to get us removing coats and sweatshirts. But then after that ten-minute heat wave, another hailstorm had us putting them back on to stave off the cold. Sheesh, would you make up your weather mind? You could almost hear sardonic chuckles from capricious weather gods as we geared up or down, depending on the climate of the moment and the whims of the deities.

Jan and Shannon hike past a peace
offering to the weather gods

We turned back at the five-mile mark, making for a nice little ten-mile round-trip hike. On the return leg, the clouds generally stayed high and we enjoyed brief sunny interludes between rain and heavy cloud cover, the weather changing like every two minutes. A highlight of the trip was a short visit to some homestead ruins, adorned with occult spray-painted runes that just might explain the manic weather.

This last hail storm was the nastiest one

About a half-mile from the finish, the day darkened once again, the wind picked up, and horizontal rain became horizontal hail. Apparently Elk Creek wanted to give us a pneumonia diagnosis to remember it by. As we leaned into the sheets of hail coming at us, the trailhead seemed so far away. But then, to no surprise, the wind died down, the hail changed to rain, and then the rain died out. By the time, we reached the trailhead about fifteen minutes later, the sun was out again. Go figure!

Nearby mountains disappear behind the hail

The story of this hike was all about the wild and ever changing weather we had walked in. If you noticed, I haven't really talked about the scenery, which is a shame for Elk Creek and its valley are quite scenic. But then again, it's going to be all about the weather when the day is either sunny, cloudy, snowy, rainy, cold, warm, hailing, windy, or all of the above and sometimes all at once!

Don't like the weather?
Just wait a minute!

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

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Viewpoint Mike

You may find this hard to believe, but I don't particularly like hiking uphill. Ironic, given that I spend so much time doing that very thing, but it sure seems like all good hikes inevitably wind up going uphill at some point. It's a necessary evil, when it comes to hiking. Forbearance is the key to making peace with uphill hiking though, and I've since learned long ago to simply accept the things I cannot change. However, a recent bout with Covid left me a little short of breath and now the struggle is real, the complaining justified and not all that funny. But the trail still calls to me and I chose Viewpoint Mike because while uphill, the short 5-mile hike (my first since getting Covid) would provide some good feedback as to what kind of post-virus hiking shape I'm in.

Brrr...let's go hiking already!

At the start, the temperature was a chilly 34 degrees and the cold air slapped at my face like the flipper of an annoyed seal. There's really only one thing to do in that case and that is to start attacking 1,000 feet of elevation gain between me and the 2.5 miles to the summit. If you don't get warm doing that, then check for the pulse you do not have, you zombie.

Tall trees make me feel small and insignificant

As the trail wound its way ever upward, the whole vibe was definitely Siskiyou foothill. Leafless oaks dotted low growing grassy meadows with occasional rock formations scattered throughout. Interspersed intermittently throughout the hike were shadier woods consisting of a mix of madrone, Ponderosa pine, cedar, fir, and the ever ubiquitous oak. And it almost goes without saying, poison oak grew everywhere underneath the trees, which is why I mostly stayed on trail.

A lone Oregon sunshine brightens up a bed of moss

Spring has just arrived and the early spring wildflowers were beginning to bloom. Yellow seemed to be the color du jour and desert parsley, Oregon sunshine, and buttercup were only too proud to hoist the yellow standard in the low grasses. Not to be outdone by their butter-colored brethren, lavender snow queen bloomed on the forest floor while purple grass widow, arguably the most elegant wildflower ever, gentrified the grassy slopes.

Rail and trail

The route switchbacked back and forth up a wooded ridge where at the edge and summit thereof, sits the actual viewpoint of Viewpoint Mike. On the way up to the overlook, much of the path was flanked on the downhill side by wooden rails and I can only speculate that the rails-for-trails are there to prevent bikers and hikers from shortcutting down the hillside. And I can only rail (pun intended) at the idiocy of going for a hike (or bike ride) while being unwilling to actually hike (or bike) on the trail.

The trail was relatively benign in the middle section

The first third of the route ended at a gravel roadway, where signs direct hikers down the road for a bit before the track resumes on the opposite side. This middle portion of the hike is a relatively level wander through sparse oaks and low growing grassy pastures. Water and mud was a thing though, as the hillside was leaking water through a number of seasonal seeps. My boots and pants legs became wet and muddy and they better have liked it.

Not that bad, unless you've just had Covid

After the brief level respite, the trail began heading uphill in earnest. While I have hiked on much steeper trails, my post-Covid legs and lungs really felt this section of trail. Nonetheless, perseverance won out and legs and lungs kept doing their job, despite the obligatory complaining. 

Viewpoint Mike rocks!

Just like my head, the lush growth thinned out near the top. Here, the trail wandered through an old flow of lava sludge where the only things growing on the black rock were lichen, moss, and the occasional desert parsley plant blooming in the cracks. The thinning woods allowed for ever increasing trailside vistas down the Rogue River valley, tantalizing your merry blogster when just like that, the actual viewpoint was arrived at.

Lost Creek Lake from Mike's summit

And what a view it was! Lost Creek Lake sprawled across the mountainous landscape, the dark blue-green waters contrasting with the dark forested hills and the gray sky above. To the west lay a prominent valley carved out by the Rogue River, and little pieces of the river could be seen here and there. Not quite as scenic but visually interesting nonetheless, were the complex of holding pools and ponds belonging to the Cole Rivers Fish Hatchery, sited just below the dam holding Lost Creek Lake at bay.

The weather made a decided turn for the colder

As I tarried at the overlook, the day definitely became grayer and more overcast and as a result, the temperature dropped noticeably. When I had begun the hike, it was 34 degrees at the trailhead and up here on the viewpoint, it was now 31 degrees. That was my cue to head downhill back to the car.

Grass widow grieves her dearly departed

I must say that the Covid did not affect my downhill legs at all, and I made quick work of the return leg like a veritable King of the Downhillers. If only every hike could go all downhill but then again, it wouldn't really be hiking now, would it?

Natural telescope

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

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Lost Creek Lake 3/2019

Years from now, old-timers will refer to late February 2019 as "The Snowpocalypse" or as I refer to it in a losing cause, "Snowmageddon". The rest of the world probably refers to it as "Meh" or "I have no idea what you are talking about". You just had to have been here when two feet of snow fell on Roseburg over a day or two. Now two feet may not seem like much but this was a wet snow and weighed more than the usual powdery fluff. The trees couldn't handle it, and entire trees and/or branches fell over and/or snapped off, landing on cars, homes, and power lines. As a result, we were without power (and heat) for four days and we were the lucky ones: my daughter was out for eleven days and a hiking buddy of mine was out for thirty-one days! I sat on my deck, clad in like seven layers of parka, and listened to the trees fall, at least one every thirty seconds or so. Needless to say, not much hiking was accomplished during this Snowtastrophe, although the dog thought this was the coolest week of her life, she likes snow so much. The cat meanwhile, thought it had died and gone to hell which contrary to popular belief, has icicles in it. Me, I'm with the cat on this one.

Lost Creek Lake and what Snowpocalypse?

Given the backdrop of  the Snowsaster, you can imagine my joy when the sun came out and melted the snow off the roads so as to make them driveable again. Time to go hiking and make a happy reacquaintance with normalcy. Perennial favorite Lost Creek Lake was the chosen destination because the Snowtaclysm was, amazingly enough, pretty much a Douglas County-only experience, meaning Medford was spared from experiencing similar misery. In the context of hiking, it also meant their trails weren't covered in fallen trees like ours were.

The trail curves through a stand of oaks

On a gloriously sunny day, dog buddy Luna and I set out on the Rogue River Trail, not to be mistaken with the Rogue River Trail. Confused? That's what happens when two separate trails in the same geographical area have the same name. After a week of freezing temps both indoors and out, with dark clouds that made it seem like nighttime at high noon, I can't tell you how mindlessly happy we both were to be hiking in warm sunlight. Of course, Luna is mindlessly happy no matter the circumstance, she'd be happy in any event as long as it doesn't involve fireworks or vacuum cleaners. But for me, the sun was profound and warmed not only body parts but soul parts as well. It was way more than just mere sunlight.

The trail follows the shore of Lost Creek Lake

The first part of the hike was a pleasant ramble through woods comprised of spindly conifer, madrone, and oak trees. The oak trees were still leafless, although budding new growth could clearly be seen emerging on the ends of branches. Openings in the forest revealed Lost Creek Lake below the trail, the waters glowing blue-green under a cobalt blue sky. The surrounding mountains were all covered with a thin layer of snow, the sight of which triggered flashbacks and a severe facial tic. Take deep breaths and focus on the lake and sky, Richard.

A tangle of manzanita branches

The trail tunneled through dense stands of manzanita, their burgundy branches draped with hanging lichen barely swaying in the still air. The scene was quiet enough that I unleashed Luna, and the the two of us strode in easy companionship as the trail wended its way through the bare oaks.

Hey, look at me here, the dude with the camera!

The lake was calm, about as serene and tranquil as a pacifist practicing Zen after a good meal. Nary a ripple or wind zephyr dared to mar the mirror-like surface of the lake. The trail traversed a rocky bench with an amazing view of the lake: this little spot is one of my all-time favorite happy places in all of Oregon. A nearby bench allows hikers and silly dogs to sit and contemplate the lake at meditative length, and we indulged. On a not-so happy note, I lost several minutes of my life attempting to persuade Luna to pose for a photo. Frustratingly, that dog has the attention span of about one gazillionth of a Planck time unit and just will not look into the camera no matter how much I cajole or threaten. 

The waterfall at Blue Grotto

We left the lakeside trail and headed up Blue Gulch to see Blue Grotto. The grotto did not disappoint, its odd greenish-gray rocks photogenically contrasting with the deep blue sky above. Due to the recent rains (and snow!) Blue Gulch was in full song and the waterfall was carrying a healthy torrent over the ledge and into the grotto. We sat for a bit and ate lunch and doggy treats and I used the occasion to inspect Luna for ticks. To be clear, I ate the lunch, Luna ate the doggy treats, and the searching for ticks had nothing to do with lunch whatsoever. Luna didn't have any ticks on her, but then again we had put bug spray on her prior to the hike. 

One of a pack of box elder beetles

We continued alongside the lake for a couple more miles before making another contemplative lakeside picnic stop underneath  a shady copse of pine trees. The preternatural quietude of the lake was contrasted with the frenetic business of box elder beetles scurrying off the log we had just claimed for our own.

Luna is all like "Dude, why you walk so slow?"

On the way back, we ran into a pair of hikers out for a spring hike next to Lost Creek Lake. They were from nearby Medford and stated they were glad to get out in the sun after all the rain they had received. Rain? What a bunch of slackers! You just can't complain about rain when your next-county neighbors were busy experiencing a Snowrricane.

Silty creek at Blue Gulch

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

Luna enjoyed the weather disaster as only Luna can

Just for fun, here are some photos I took of our house during Snowlamity.

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Cascade Gorge

Slated to lead a Friends of the Umpqua venture, I guess I was committed to a weekend hike. Because of my daughter's illness, I've been commuting between Roseburg and Portland and have not really done or thought too much about hiking. Nonetheless, this 9.6 miler did provide some welcome respite from harsh reality and in the end, I was pretty grateful to have honored the commitment.

Lane takes a photo op at Lost Creek Lake

However, the opportunity to feel glad about hiking on this particular February morning was quite literally, very much in the air. Incessant winter storms had been pummeling southern Oregon for weeks at a time and to no one's surprise. the Lost Creek Lake area was under a winter weather advisory. The weather forecast was ominously dire and more than likely, all the requisite travails and tribulations that a Richard Hike can entail were definitely in the offing.

Like frozen nose boogers

However, I am happy to report the forecast missed it entirely. While the roads were icy and snowy, at the trailhead it was just the opposite of predicted: the sun was out, blue skies floated overhead, and it looked like spring was coming. It didn't quite feel like spring was all that imminent though, as it was still cold enough to freeze nose boogers.

Walking in a winter wonderland

The route called for us to walk away from Lost Creek Lake and up the Rogue River arm of the lake. I had done this hike several years ago and the trail was level and easy, the very antithesis of a Richard Hike. But not to worry kids, this wound up being a Richard Hike after all, just keep reading. But for now, the hike began with a pleasant walk on a snow dusted trail winding its way underneath madrone and fir trees. It's somewhat incongruous to see madrone trees in snow as they tend to grow in drier, warmer, and more snow-free climes.

Simply a sublime day between storms

Anyway, the first couple of miles were a pleasant amble in the woods above the brightly colored lake. The Rogue River arm resembled a Scandinavian fjord flanked by steep and snow-dusted mountains with lake, forest, and mountains all reposing under a gloriously blue and cloudless sky. Hiking on the sunny side of the fjord as we were, we certainly enjoyed what felt like a fine spring morning. And speaking of spring, the diminutive flowers of snow queen carpeted the forest underneath the madrones in a lavender tinted farewell to winter. Life was good on the trail, what possibly could go wrong?

What possibly could go wrong?

Several things, as it turned out. About two miles into the hike, we had to clamber over our first fallen tree laying across the trail. Shortly thereafter, we carefully picked our way across the face of a rather large landslide that had taken out about 20 yards of trail. Soon there were more trees and more landslides. And at one notable juncture, there were dozens of trees and a landslide both. The clambering over trees became more tedious as we had to slither under and through them like ungainly possums, no more easy step-overs for us.

Damaged railings at Hole in the Ground Creek

There are a number of creeks crossing the trail and normally, bridges make it easy to cross over from one side to the other. However, it seemed like the creeks had been a magnet for falling trees and amazingly enough, all bridges remained intact despite the arboreal barrage. Most were severely wounded what with broken and bent railings and planks. The BLM has its work cut out for it if it wants to keep this trail open.

Rock formations at Cascade Gorge

However, this blog will brook no complaining about slides and trees because the scenery at Cascade Gorge was fantastic. The trail broke out into the open and went cliffy on the pinkish rock walls. Oregon sunshine, a bright yellow daisy-like flower, bloomed away in dense patches with the turquoise colored lake sparkling below the trail in the afternoon sun. Throw in snowy hillsides, blue skies, and some brilliant Oregon sunshine (the non-flower kind) and this was one colorful hike! 

Crossing a small creek on the return leg

Skookum Creek was the logical turnaround point, and Lane, Colby, Ezgi, and I ate lunch there, soaking in the sunshine as we sat in middle of all the winter storm debris littering the trail. We proudly represented the slower contingent of hikers as Edwin, John, and Rheo had already started back before us slowpokes had even sat down for lunch. Behind us, Skookum Creek provided a tremendous waterfall that would have been a major tourist attraction were it not for all the brush hiding the cascade from view. Not to mention all that fallen tree and landslide stuff, too.

Ezgi, you go first!

And what's more fun than scrabbling across shifting landslides and through fallen trees? Why, doing it again on the return leg, of course! There is some empirical data that I can offer as testament to the hike's difficulty. The hike only gained 700 feet over its 9.6 miles, yet it took us 6 hours and 16 minutes to complete the trek. That's 39 minute miles and rheumatic turtles walk faster than that. Not so empirically, I felt pretty tired at the end of the hike. However, the following day was again wild and stormy so it was nice to have snuck in a hike between winter tempests.

Cascade at Middle Creek

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

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