Canyon Creek Meadows

Timing is everything. Last year, the hiking club camped at Odell Lake right at the end of August and enjoyed a great three-day hiking extravaganza. The following weekend, the catastrophic Holiday Farm Fire roared down the McKenzie Highway and had the campout been scheduled for just a week later, we would have found ourselves right in the middle of two apocalyptic blazes (the Archie Creek Fire being the other fire). 

The scars from the B&B Fire were felt throughout the hike

At the time of this year's campout in late July, the Bootleg Fire (near Klamath Falls) had burned over 200,000 acres (it would eventually get to be over 400,000 acres in size) so it stood to reason we could expect smoky skies. But miracles do happen, for prevailing wind currents carried the smoke off to the east and we enjoyed blue sky all weekend long. Bad for everybody living to the east but we congratulated our self-centered selves on once again, our perfect timing. It's always all about us!

This bunch got lost in a parking lot!

The first hike on our itinerary was Canyon Creek Meadows, and things got off to a comedic start at the Jack Lake Trailhead. We eagerly grabbed the trail and enthusiastically walked 30 yards where the hike unexpectedly ended at a picnic table. Our group of about a dozen confused and consternated hikers then scattered in different directions in a search for the real trail and some of us even resorted to consulting our maps. Once the Old Summit Trail was found, we found wry humor in a group of experienced hikers that can't even find their way out of a trailhead parking lot.

You don't know Jack, but I do!

Once on the proper route, Jack Lake was encountered about a quarter-mile into the hike, the small lake not containing as much water as usual in this hot and dry summer. After side-swiping the body of water, the trail then began a nice little climb up a brushy ridge in the middle of the recovering 2003 B&B Fire burn zone. The forest is gradually returning but for now, the path was surrounded by sun-loving manzanita bushes with ghostly white snags poking out of the brush cover like so many quills on a mangy porcupine. 

A dry and scratchy trail 

The day was warm, maybe even hot, and the trail was dusty. Encroaching shrubbery offered no shade but did cheerfully scratch our legs as we trudged by. Continually gaining elevation as we hiked, it didn't take long before tips of taller mountains, chiefly Three-Fingered Jack and Mount Jefferson, could be seen rising above the wilderness acreage of silver snags and partially forested ridges,. In due time, and with more elevation gained, the bulk of both peaks would come to dominate scenery and skylines alike.

The first of many meadows

After a mile or so the trail began to level out, commencing an up and down transition from dead trees to a genuine live forest. We were on the east side of the Cascades though, so the terrain still had that high desert vibe in places, particularly in scrubby meadows comprised of hardy lupine and blooming subalpine mariposa lilies. The sparse meadows served advance notice of the meadowy wonders awaiting us on the other side of Canyon Creek.

Three Fingered Jack: You shall not pass!

Canyon Creek flows down from the two-toed foot of Three-Fingered Jack and yes, it does run at the bottom of a flat-floored canyon. The canyon floor is filled with a series of lush meadows, collectively known as Canyon Creek Meadows. The raised hand of Three-Fingered Jack loomed at the end of the creek's headwater, stating emphatically "Halt, your hike ends here!" It didn't take long for me to find myself lagging way behind my comrades, but on the other hand I have a bunch of nice photographs of larkspur, lupine, columbine, subalpine mariposa lily, and the like. My companions continued hiking to a glacier moraine wall where they espied mountain goats while I uncharacteristically turned back just a mile short of that worthy goal in concession to my post-hernia surgery recovery.

Some of that Canyon Creek Meadows glory

Wow, the lower meadows flanking Canyon Creek were stunning and totally way cool! The color combination of blue sky and green meadow appeal to humans on a primeval and instinctual basis and this particular human was instinctually and primevally pleased by the color combo. The sound of buzzing insects and twittering birds were a constant in the verdant meadows as I hiked past. The forested canyon walls loomed on the other side of the creek snaking its way through the vegetation like the sinuous watery serpent it is. Much photography abounded as I hiked through a couple of miles of the idyllic pastures.

Mount Jefferson presides over many
    square miles of recovering burn area

The loop was closed off by a gradual descent through brush and old burned forest before ending the hike just past Jack Lake. A fantastic vista of the fire-scarred landscape stretched to the north with snow-capped Mount Jefferson rising over the desolate expanse like the Great Snow King it is. Again, the clicking of the camera shutter was a constant.

Subalpine mariposa lily was a plentiful denizen of the meadows

Obviously, summer wildfires are now a thing these days but we were once again fortunate in our timing. About a week after the campout, lightning storms used the Cascade Mountains for target practice with the unfortunate side-effect being our forests were once again set alight. Maybe we should concede the point and just begin scheduling our campouts in January! 

Guard ant on duty!

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

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Square and Booth Lakes

The hike to Booth Lake was like Chapter Two of the Santiam Pass hike I had done a couple of weeks prior. Both routes begin from the Pacific Crest Trailhead, amble through the same fire-scarred scenery of the B&B Fire burn zone, and share many of the same views of the surrounding mountains and landscapes. Incorporating both routes, it is possible to do a 25'ish mile backpack loop by hiking past Square Lake, reclaiming the Pacific Crest Trail at Minto Pass, and then returning by way of the PCT to Santiam Pass. I ran into and spoke with various hiking parties doing the loop trip and it's now on my very lengthy list.

Buttes Hayrick and Hoodoo, to the south of Santiam Pass

I was on the PCT for only a quarter-mile or so before making a right turn onto the Old Summit Trail, which immediately beelined for Square Lake. Obviously, this trail does not get as much love as the PCT for the trail tread was rough and rocky in places, and also severely encroached by brushy vegetation exuberantly reclaiming the burn area. However, the views were predictably awesome with the spire of Mount Washington finger-poking the sky to the south, Beyond, were the Three Sisters and Broken Top while the perfectly symmetrical cone of Black Butte rose up in the haze to the east. Nearby, the flat-topped mesa of Hayrick Butte stood next to the ski resort of Hoodoo Butte.

Sadly and truly, this is a trail shot

Also encroaching the trail was a new forest of young trees as forest begins its unruly return to the Santiam Pass area. Here, the path inclined as it climbed up to a broad pass covered with young trees, chest-high brush, and ghostly white snags. The pass marks entry into the Mount Jefferson Wilderness, and there is a nice view of the rocky tower of Peak 5133 looming on a nearby ridgecrest as the trail began a descent down to Square Lake. By the way, since I also had a long and enjoyable look at Square Lake as I hiked past, I can honestly say Square Lake is indisputably round. There is a Round Lake nearby so maybe Square Lake is so named because Round Lake was already taken.

Square Lake, in the round

Square Lake is fairly large so it was a nice extended walk along the scenic lake, replete with surrounding snags and brush underneath a blue sky full of wispy clouds. There is a backpacking campsite on the north side of the lake and I exchanged friendly waves with a group camping there. But, after passing the lake, the trail began switchbacking to and fro up a rough and rocky slope rising ever upward in the open and exposed burn zone. 

View on the climb out of the Square Lake basin

As I slogged upward for next couple of miles, the tip of Three-Fingered Jack became more and more prominent on the north skyline. The going was slow because of the sustained uphill hiking on a day that was trending from warm to hot, making me wish Three-Fingered Jack would cast some cool shade in my direction. As elevation was gained though, the views improved and behind me, Square Lake became more distant but it was still an impressive big-picture vista of the blue lake pooling in a basin with high Cascades peaks rising beyond. 

Booth Lake sprawls below Three-Fingered Jack

At another pass with a stand of dead trees on top, the first view of Booth Lake presented itself. I called it good with the look at the lake, eschewing the descent down to the actual lake basin. While I admired the view, the camera was entertained by huckleberry bushes going autumnal red and by at least one fat toad surprised by my presence in his neighborhood. 

Attack of the killer orange fleshy caterpillars

Late season flowers such as pearly everlasting, miniature lupine, fleabane, and aster were doing their flowery thing and the asters seemed to be a favorite delicacy for some fleshy orange caterpillars spotted munching on the plant leaves. Some photography ensued, providing rest and temporary relief from an increasingly sore right ankle.

Pearly everlasting was one of the few flowering species still in bloom

I'd like to say I rolled my ankle or kicked away a charging bear or something totally awesome that would explain why my ankle decided to throb so agonizingly. But no, the ankle simply began screaming all of its own accord and for no obvious reason at all with about two miles left to go. So, it was a very slow walk back with lots of stops and ankle massages and some photography of fleshy orange caterpillars. Perseverance won out in the end though, and I did make it out to a two-week involuntary recuperation period filled with ice packs, Advil, and several chiropractic appointments to snap my ankle bones back into place. But, sore ankles aside, this hike was a fun one and almost worth temporarily sacrificing an ankle or two.

The texture of a sun-bleached and weathered snag

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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Coffin Mountain

The second installment of the Short 'n' Sweet Old Cascades Tour 2016 was on Coffin Mountain. Allegedly, if you look at Coffin Mountain from the Detroit Lake area, the peak's outline resembles a coffin. From the Coffin Mountain Lookout Trail, not so much: it more resembles a mountain with a steep trail on it. Sorry, my ability to cobble together a poetic simile escapes me as I trudge uphill through the beargrass under a bright sun. I thought Coffin Mountain might have got its name from a tired hiker who complained, "I'm so dad-gummed tired one more step's gwine to put me into the coffin" Or maybe it was the observation by the same generic tired hiker "This trail's so steep, dangburn it, that it's set me right to coffin'..." And the day I start talking like that will be a day I spent too much time in the sun.  

My view, while eating breakfast

Anyway, the day before, after hiking to the top of Middle Pyramid, I spent the night camped at the Pyramids Trail Trailhead. Bright and early the following morn, I took down my tent and made the short drive over to the Coffin Mountain Trailhead. As I was boiling breakfast on the hood of my car, another auto arrived at the small parking lot. It was new hiking buddy Linda who warned me I would probably pass her on the way up because she takes lots of pictures for her blog (called Linda's Lens, by the way). Boy, could I ever relate and since I too take lots of pictures for my blog, it was doubtful whether I would ever catch up to her. As it turned out, we hiked pretty much at the same slow speed, snapping photos all the while and it was nice to have a very kindred spirit for company on this spectacular hike. 

We're dying, here!

The hike to the Coffin Mountain summit is fairly short, the trail gets there in 1.5 miles while gaining nearly 1,000 feet. Not as rigorous as the Pyramids Trail but tell that to my leg muscles which immediately complained about the brisk climb at the hike's outset. They said something like "Two days in a row? We're dying here..." which is perhaps how Coffin Mountain got its name. Or, perhaps not.

Flowery trail on the climb up

There was very little forest on the east-facing slopes and the trail ambled through some rather lush vegetation. So many flowers to take pictures of, and I was quickly distracted from burning leg muscles by thimbleberry, lupine, columbine, ocean spray, and subalpine Mariposa lily. Since there was very little forest to block the view, I also got to enjoy views of the Three Sisters, Mount Washington, and Three-Fingered Jack.

Beargrass on the hillside

Unfortunately, the view also included a pointy pinnacle that that at the time, I misidentified as the Coffin Mountain summit. Darn false summits do it to me every time. The true summit was still way up there above and beyond the false summit and some anticipatory complaining from quad muscles ensued.  I should learn not to look ahead, it's demoralizing. By now, the massive slopes were all covered with beargrass and even though it was the tail end of the beargrass bloom, the flower show was still pretty spectacular.

Mount Jefferson 

Speaking of spectacular, Mount Jefferson (Oregon's second tallest peak) loomed straight ahead and the trail offered varying views of the snowy mountain rising above all the other nearby peaks under a blue sky. Initially, the mountain was wrapped in a thin cloud shroud that dissipated as the day wore on. To the northwest, Detroit Lake glinted blue at the bottom of a valley while rows of lesser mountains marched all the way to the ocean. 

Trail at the edge of the world

The trail switchbacked to and fro, exchanging alternating views of Mount Jefferson and the Three Pyramids. But no matter which set of mountains were in front, there was always beargrass under a deep blue sky. The sun was out yet the temperatures were as mild as the salsa that Dollie eats. The cool thing about the beargrass was that the higher we hiked, the fresher the blooms in a perfect simile of how my leg muscles felt, now that they were warmed up.

Living room with a view

Eventually, the trail topped out at a wooded saddle with a view of the summit with its boxy lookout affixed to the top like a fez on an organ grinder's monkey. After a short walk from the saddle, I found myself standing atop the summit and oh my, what a view! Mount Jefferson, dominated in terms of proximity and size; the poor lookout ranger, having to live up here with nothing to see! But there was also the chain of Cascades peaks to gawk at, stretching from Diamond Peak all the way to Mount Hood, or "most of Oregon" as we like to call it.

Wave bye-bye to the nice mountain!

Such a view requires a lengthy and contemplative view-soak and the handful of hikers on the summit happily obliged. But all good things come to an end and eventually it was time to head down the mountain. Now, this hike had been rather short, being only a 3 mile round trip. Certainly, a drive up the road for a second hike on Bachelor Mountain was in order. However, after cooking breakfast, brushing my teeth, and washing the prior day's trail dust off my incredibly handsome face, I was just about out of water. That made my decision simple, it was time to head back to Roseburg and lay this weekend to rest in the coffin, so to speak.

Thimbleberry leaf

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

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Pyramids Trail

In my neverending quest to hike every trail in Oregon, I recently visited the Old Cascade Crest Trail Area west of Mount Jefferson where "short and sweet" would be the theme for the weekend. Or to quote the venerable bard William Shakespeare: "Though she be but little, she be fierce!" Or, in modern English: "We may be small, but we are mighty!" I'm not sure who authored that last quote but I'm guessing Mighty Mouse. At any rate, the Pyramids Trail weighed in at a paltry 4.9 miles but the fierceness came in the form of nearly 2,000 feet of elevation gain in just over two miles. Plus, the whole venture was capped off by a hands-on rock climb to the actual summit of Middle Pyramid.

Mount Washington and the Three Sisters,
seen from Middle Pyramid

The long drive to the Three Pyramids from Roseburg made it early afternoon when I finally set foot on the Pyramids Trail. Immediately after leaving the trailhead parking lot, the path crossed a pretty little fork of Park Creek and entered a forest. Standing in the shade I warily waited for the mosquitoes to attack, bottle of Deet at the ready. The funny thing though, is this wound up being a mosquito-free hike and while that was odd and abnormal (just like me!), that's OK because the mosquitoes are indeed small but fierce in early to mid-summer.

Simply a beautiful trail

Anyway, after crossing the unnamed fork of North Fork Park Creek trickling gently across the trail, the trail began heading uphill through a deeply shaded forest. Still no mosquitoes, even after 10 yards of hiking! The next 3/4 miles of hiking was spent trudging uphill through the lush and densely vegetated forest while anticipating the coming mosquito attack, which thankfully never did materialize.

Queen's cup

White was the floral color of choice what with Queen's cup, Columbia windflower, and bunchberry blooming in pale profusion just an inch or two off the ground. The trail was well-maintained and that was a good thing because the impenetrably thick patches of devil's clubs flanking the path had been trimmed back. For those readers not familiar with devil's club, if it was not growing over the trail then that meant I enjoyed a scratch-free hike. I didn't realize it grew this far south, having only ever seen it growing north of the Columbia Gorge.

Entering the cirque below South Pyramid

It was rather jarring to suddenly leave the dark forest and enter a bright sunny meadow in a cirque basin tucked between South and Middle Pyramid. Looming above the large meadow was South Pyramid while Middle Pyramid (my destination) was hidden above the cirque walls. Sun-loving wildflowers such as monkeyflower, lupine, Indian paintbrush, larkspur, and columbine supplanted the shade-loving white-flowered plants cited in the preceding paragraph. The rocky slopes above the trail were brightly painted with all colors of the floral spectrum.

Mitrewort

From the cirque, the trail began climbing in earnest, the grade eased (eased, but not easy) somewhat by sixteen switchbacks. I know there were sixteen because I counted, which is something you do when you hike alone and write your blog in your head while you hike. As the trail sashayed to and fro up the hillside, the forest alternated between sunny slopes flanked by vine maples; and cool, dark, shady forest with ferns growing under the firs. They say variety is the spice of life and if true, then this was like the kung pao chicken of hiking trails.

Mount Jefferson

At about the fourteenth switchback, I decided I was getting quite bored with legs constantly burning from the sweet fire that can only be obtained by walking uphill. But not to worry, a rocky and relatively level saddle was reached after two more switchbacks. Partial views of the Three Sisters, Mount Washington, Three-Fingered Jack, Mount Hood, and Mount Adams (located in southern Washington) were all sort of visible through breaks in the tree cover. Unfortunately, totally unobscured Middle Pyramid's summit still loomed way high above and I almost would have preferred that particular view to have remained hidden behind the trees.

Here, vanilla leaf rules!

Even though Middle Pyramid was quite close, there still was some hiking to be done as the trail contoured nearly all the way around the mountain before petering out just below the summit. On the way up and around, a massive cliff wall loomed over the trail, the ample shade supporting verdant patches of false Solomon's seal, Sitka valerian, and vanilla leaf. The last 100 yards or so of trail was a brisk uphill walk through a shaded forest before the path unceremoniously ended on a narrow ridge sited at the base of a rocky spire.

Time for Richard to go rock climbing

The actual summit was about 40 feet above me on a cliffy rockpile so I dropped my pack and hiking poles and hauled myself up like some clumsy, yet incredibly handsome spider monkey. The camera came along with me because some things just don't get left behind. And predictably, the views from my small summit perch were utterly fantastic and expansive.

Neighboring South Pyramid

As stated, views were had of all the mountain peaks previously mentioned but now without the forest blocking the view. All Three Pyramids were visible with North and South Pyramid providing Middle Pyramid a geologic escort for all of eternity. Middle Pyramid is actually a pair of peaks and fortunately I was on the taller peak, meaning I didn't have to bushwhack to the other peak to compulsively attain Middle Pyramid's highest point. To the west, the Santiam Foothills gently rolled all the way to Oregon's Coast Range with Mary's Peak faintly visible on the horizon. Much photography and eating of oranges ensued from the crow's nest seat atop Middle Pyramid.

Danger lurking in a monkeyflower

On the return, all that steep uphill became steep downhill and a different set of leg muscles were set on fire due to the brisk descent. After the hike was finished off, camp was set up in the trailhead parking lot, and I still fully expected the mosquitoes to come devour me. Finally, at dinner time, several did come by to visit. They were summarily executed because although they are small, I am mightier and fiercer.

Cinquefoil seed, waiting to be a burr in your sock

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

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