Cowhorn Mountain

At the Windigo Pass Trailhead, we were getting ready to begin hiking, collectively performing our customary and usual pre-hike rituals such as lacing up boots, hoisting backpacks, and calibrating GPS units, all of us eager to begin hiking on a quiet Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) to Cowhorn Mountain. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, would-be PCT through-hikers have been asked to postpone or cancel their epic trip from Mexico to Canada and try again in some future year when it can be done safely. So, it stood to reason that the PCT, normally busy with through-hikers this time of year, would be somewhat more calm and sedate. However, a hopeful and helpful "trail angel" had stocked the trailhead with water jugs for the through-hiking crowd and there were two such through-hikers availing themselves of the precious life-sustaining liquid when we arrived.

Trail angels show some PCT through-hiker love

We exchanged greetings with Fiesta, who was given that trail name because of a piñata ornament hanging on her pack. Her friend had just joined her mid-trip and did not have a trail name yet, so I suggested Hey You until such time as she earned a proper trail name. While we were conversing, the mosquito scourge made their horrendous bloodsucking biting presence known to all of us and Fiesta let it slip out that neither one of them had anticipated so many mosquitoes and as a result, had no repellent on hand. "See this?" she said, pointing at her face which was well pimpled and welted with mosquito bites upon mosquito bites "This is Braille for 'Help!' "

One of two Windigo Lakes was visible from the PCT

As it turned out, I had an extra bottle residing within the dark depths of my day pack and I quickly dug it out and handed it to two very grateful human beings. They offered to give it back after applying a layer but I need the Karma points for my free pass into Hiker Heaven so I told them to keep the bottle and pay it forward. This little episode is one of the things I truly appreciate and love about the hiking community. We are all brethren and sistren out on the trail and we take care of each other, no questions asked. I've been on both the receiving and giving end and this would not be the first or last time trail assistance will be given or received by me. At any rate, it was really cool to commence hiking festivities by doing a good deed, every hike should begin that way.

Penny stops to admire the view

Walking in a figurative cloud of feel-good, we set out on the Pacific Crest Trail which immediately angled uphill through a shady forest. I'm sad to say the cloud of feel-good was woefully ineffective in warding off the thick clouds of mosquitoes pervading the forest. The trail was basically following a ridge crest that was the actual Pacific Crest of the Pacific Crest Trail. Because of our vantage atop the crest, breaks in the forest cover served up large west-side vistas of Mount Bailey, Mount Thielsen, and Crater Lake's rim. On the east side, one Windigo Lake was visible while generally flatter forested terrain rolled off into the desert country of central Oregon.

Patti: Looks kind of far

Cleve: Looks kind of tall, too

Penny: It's probably really steep

Me, Edwin, John: Yep

As we continued to gain elevation in the mosquito-infested forest, we could catch occasional glimpses of Sawtooth Peak, Diamond Peak, and Cowhorn Mountain, today's object of desire rising demoralizingly high above our current elevation. It seemed so far away too, we still had a couple of uphill miles yet to go. Best to duck back into the forest so we could avoid seeing the visual bad news in that regard.

Pasque flower beautified the rock gardens

As we gained elevation, the trees began to thin out a bit and we hiked in and out of small rock gardens festooned with scarlet paintbrush, purple penstemon, and showy white pasque flowers. The pasque flowers, a member of the anemone (or windflower) family, morph from eye-catching bloom into small orbs of fuzzy seed heads that resemble so many hairy-headed hippies from the early 1960s. Along the trail and in the open places too, were patches of snow totally at odds with the warm sunshine vibe.

Now the real work begins!

After four'ish miles of steady uphill hiking, it was time to jump off the PCT and do the actual climb to the summit. Oof, all that uphill hiking to get here was more like level grade hiking by comparison. The trail steepened considerably and legs quickly began screaming in the soft volcanic soil on Cowhorn's shoulders. About halfway up, my legs went wobbly (damn diabetes, anyway) so Patti and I sat on a rock bench atop a rusty red saddle and began enjoying the day and view while my friends continued on to the summit.

View from Crescent Lake to the Three Sisters

The views surrounding Cowhorn are astounding and we were suitably astounded. Diamond Peak is Cowhorn's immediate neighbor to the north and the forested basin between the two peaks was dotted with dozens of lakes big and small. The two large lakes were Summit Lake and Crescent Lake. Not as obvious as its lake neighbors, Timpanogas Lake (the source of the Middle Fork Willamette River) was also visible perched atop the headwaters of the Middle Fork Willamette's deep and formidable canyon. Beyond Diamond Peak and somewhat lost in the summer haze, were the Three Sisters and other members of that mountain tribe. And of course, there was massive Cowhorn Mountain rising directly in front, making us feel really small.

Cowhorn Mountain

There was lots to take in and photograph but as I ate, my replenished legs felt like tackling the climb to Cowhorn. Just as I was about to join the summit party as a late arrival, we could see our friends picking their way down like so many careful ants on a wall. Oh well, but I'm sort of kicking myself for stopping short.

PCT oasis

So, it was back to the trees and mosquitoes as we hiked the four downhill miles back to Windigo Pass. When you hike, you tend to breathe hard and I inhaled and swallowed four mosquitoes in what has to be some small retribution for the thousands of instances they've partaken of me. On the way down, Edwin and I took a small side-trip to a small pond that is an important water stop for through-hikers. The water was warm, tepid, and muddy, but when that's the only available water for miles and miles, then that's the water you drink. However, the water jugs at the trailhead have rendered moot the necessity of this small pond.

Comparing who's boots are better

We all decided that it had been indeed a grand hike despite the heat, the mosquitoes, and all the uphill walking. It could have been worse though, for Cowhorn used to have a "cow horn" that made the mountain much taller than its present height. In the early 1900s, a winter storm toppled the rock spire and like freshly neutered dogs the world over, it's just not as horny as it used to be. And I just set my quest for Hiker Heaven back a thousand points with that one.

Fuzzy-headed pasque flower, gone to seed

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

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Thielsen Creek

This is another hike that was done in 2019 and since I'm writing this in 2020 and knowing what I know now about events that transpired in 2020, I can say this trail was in the middle of the Thielsen Fire that nearly burned down the resort at Diamond Lake. Certainly, the trailhead complex was right inside that mess and may not be accessible for quite some time. The southeastern boundary of the Thielsen Fire reached out to the Timothy Meadow locale so who knows what that area will look like next year. It's pretty much a no-brainer that there will be no hiking allowed on the Thielsen Creek or Howlock Mountain Trails in 2020 and beyond. But anyway, our (me, Patti, Coreena, and Terry) visit here was done during less disastrous times and this is the tale thereof. 

The fourth Mouseketeer was the one taking the photo

The hike began by going underneath Highway 138 and every hike should begin with a walk through a dark and dank tunnel, just to set the right tone. After some mugging for the camera, we headed up the trail which began inscribing an uphill route that was nowhere near as cool as hiking in the the tunnel. The steep trail wiped the smile right off our faces, it did. But speaking of cool, the day was just that, being overcast by ominous clouds that threatened rain, and that was either a good or bad thing depending whether you are forest or hiker. However, in spite of the cloud menace, the rain held off for the duration of our hike. 

We hiked under threat of rain

Several days before, in a harbinger of things to come in 2020, a lightning storm had started many small fires in the Crater Lake and Diamond Lake area and the Forest Service had frantically dispatched crews to scramble and find the fires, and then extinguish them. Accordingly, it had been very smoky days before this hike. However, the evening prior to the hike brought rain with little or no lightning, thereby putting out the fires and scrubbing the smoke from the sky, both of which we were most appreciative of as we hiked into the Mount Thielsen Wilderness.  

A beautiful friendship between moth and groundsel

In relatively short order, we hiked past the green pasture of Timothy Meadow and then stopped for a snack and rest break where clear flowing Thielsen Creek crossed our trail. Groundsel was blooming next to the creek and an en masse gathering of small brown moths alit upon the flowers. The moths seemed tame, for they were not at all concerned at all about my taking close-up photos of them. 

We hike through dusty pumice

After crossing Thielsen Creek, the path commenced a mad charge upward through forest interspersed with pumice barrens. My legs were feeling tired and wobbly (damn diabetes, anyway) so I turned around at the five-mile mark while everybody else hiked 1.5 miles further to the intersection of the Thielsen Creek and Pacific Crest Trail(s). 

A salamander and I mutually surprised each other

Left to my own devices as I hiked down to the car, my photography muse was well indulged as I took pictures of most everything. Coral fungus was pushing up through the earth, lifting up clods of dirt and forest duff and I lifted one such clod up to see what was growing underneath. Well it wasn't fungus emerging from beneath the earth but I did surprise a large brown salamander. Because the soil is so dry and dusty here, it was surprising to me to find a large amphibian living in this relatively arid biome. I'm no expert in salamander species but I'm thinking it might be a Northwestern Salamander (Ambystoma gracile). Per Wikipedia, the Northwestern Salamander lays eggs in a firm mass that "Feels much like a brain with a jelly layer around (it) ". In other words, the salamander lays eggs in a mass that feels much like Richard's brain although my jelly layer covers a mass of porridge according to my Probability Theory professor when I was back in college.

A burl on a burly tree

Because I'm so easily entertained, my photo album from this hike has lots of photos of knobby lodgepole burls that resembled tumors, boils, goiters, and other assorted anatomical appendages. Many of the trees along the trail were dead, so these malformations were on full display since the snags generally no longer had any bark covering to hide the burl formations.  

Dead wood, just waiting for a lightning strike

Not as surprising as a salamander under a dirt clod were dense stands of dead lodgepole trees, fallen where they stood before getting slain by lodgepole beetles. Other parts of the forest were a mix of both live and dead trees. Clearly, the forest here is highly stressed and in reviewing my Flickr album of this hike, there were plenty of what in hindsight, were prescient remarks about so much fuel in the forest just waiting for a lightning strike. I called it, but sure wish I would have been wrong in my assertion. I hate it when I'm right about forest fires.

 

A tree decomposes, one wood chip at a time 

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

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Timothy Meadow

This was a hike whose purpose was twofold. First, I wanted to scout the Howlock Mountain Trail, since I was due to lead a hike there in about a month's time. Second, I just needed to get my green meadow fix. Well, I guess the purpose of this hike is actually threefold when you consider I like hiking in general, but that purpose can usually be left unstated as it applies to every hike. While I have hiked in the Timothy Meadow vicinity before, I had only laid eyes on the grassy meadow which is just partly visible from the trail, my boots had never entered the actual meadow. So, this was the hike and today the day to do that very thing for the first time!

Every hike should be hot and dusty...not really!

Leaving the Diamond Lake horse corrals, the trail ducked under the Diamond Lake Highway via a dark tunnel and then immediately began to angle uphill through a thin lodgepole pine forest. Lodgepole grows in poor soils, where no other tree will and as a result, a lodgepole forest tends to comprised of thin and scrawny trees, and this forest was no exception. The day was hot, the lodgepole did not provide much in the way of shade, and my feet kicked up small clouds of volcano dust that hung motionless in the still air as I trudged ever upward on the trail while thinking about returning to the cool tunnel and just staying there until the sun set.

Damage done by lodgepole beetles

Despite the seeming aridity of the terrain, low growing and thin patches of grass grew next to the trail, providing some semblance of greenery. The trees were misshapen as their trunks sported carbuncles and boils, probably from overexposure to the sun, if this hot hike is any indication of the customary summer conditions at the foot of Mount Thielsen. In all seriousness though, the warming climate has caused an increase in bark beetle populations and in the form of dead trees, their handiwork was strewn haphazardly about the forest floor, .

Thielsen Creek flows down below he trail

At the three mile mark, Timothy Meadow made a brief and limited appearance below the trail. Hints of meadowy goodness were visible through the trees but mostly Timothy Meadow was hidden from view. Thielsen Creek also made an appearance at the edge of the meadow, snaking back and forth like a watery oscilloscope readout. I really had thought it was a longer hike to the meadow so for a little extra mileage, I continued on to the trail crossing of Thielsen Creek.

Sparkling clear and fresh off the snow melt

Where the trail meets Thielsen Creek, the Howlock Mountain Trail splits into two, the right fork becoming the Thielsen Creek Trail heading to the base of Mount Thielsen, while the left fork continues to the base of Howlock Mountain. The Pacific Crest Trail connects the two trails but I didn't feel up to a fifteen mile hike (with plenty more uphill hiking) today.  

A dusty path through Timothy Meadow

One little item of intrigue though, was an unmarked but well defined trail heading downhill on a forested ridge well above Thielsen Creek. It wasn't on my map or GPS, so where did this enticing trail go? Inquiring boots want to know! Later on, while exploring Timothy Meadow, I noticed a trail emerging from the trees and entering the high side of the meadow, that just had to be the other end of the same trail! However, on this day the trail was left in play, but a future visit on this mystery path is certainly in order.

Thielsen Creek zigs and zags to and fro

Anyway, I backtracked down the Howlock Mountain Trail and grabbed a side-trail leading down into the meadow where I was perfunctorily attacked by vicious predators. In the lodgepole pines, mosquitoes were mildly annoying but apparently Timothy Meadow is the center of the mosquito universe and they were all overjoyed to see me enter the grassy pasture next to burbling Thielsen Creek. Many of them died by my hand that day but many were also well fed before I was able to obtain safety and shelter behind a thick and frantic applique of Deet. Mosquito survival is a numbers game and you just can't slap all of them.

A beautiful scene, except for the ravenous mosquitoes

Down in the meadow proper, my mystery path from before followed the lush and green grass growing next to the clear running creek as it meandered through the meadow. Actually, the meadow is not as large as I had previously thought, but would make a nice place for a backpack camp, just not during mosquito season. Anyway, I wandered through the green meadow, enjoying the pleasing color contrast with the blue sky above.

The hot and dusty trail back home

Because of the relative shortness of the hike, I decided Timothy Meadow would not be the end destination for my upcoming group hike but on this sweltering day, a short hike to a green meadow next to a babbling creek was just fine fine with me. After my arrival back at the trailhead, with me all tired, hot, sweaty, and covered with an unholy slather of perspiration, blood, sunscreen, mosquito repellant, and pumice dust, I was eminently thankful I didn't do the full 13ish mile hike to Thielsen Creek. Although, a restorative dip in the creek might have been just the thing, given my post-hike dirty and overheated state of being.

It was a nice visit to Timothy Meadow

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

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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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New Year's Day snowshoe hike

This was supposed to be a short snowshoe hike to Summit Rock but starting at the right trailhead would have helped. Even though all of us were scouting for the Summit Rock road as we drove on Highway 138, we still managed to somehow miss it, winding up instead at another forest road about 4 miles east of the Summit Rock turnoff. Further adding to the confusion was a sign at a three way junction at the start of the hike which said Summit Rock was 4 miles away.  Of course, the same sign said Chemult was 27 miles away and the sign was quite mute as to which of the three forks would take us where. Nothing like starting the new year by not knowing where we were, where we were going, and how to get there. 

94 miles in snow?
I like the sound of that!

I had a GPS but could not find Summit Rock on it because at the time we had not yet deduced we were starting at the wrong road and I was looking for the rock in the wrong quadrant. At the aforementioned three-way junction, the middle fork headed north and offered a nice view of snowy Mount Thielsen and for no other reason, we (John, Katsuaki, Merle, and yours truly) grabbed the middle fork.

Katusaki leads the way

There wasn't a lot of snow but there was enough to shoe on as the road descended gently through the trees. It was a gloriously sunny day and the temperature was in the high 20's. Despite the chill, several layers of clothing were shed as we soon warmed up from the exertion.

Snowshoe hares have been busy 

There wasn't a lot to see, it was just a pleasant walk through trees with their shadows mottling the pristine white blanket of snow. Snowshoe hare tracks crisscrossed the road and occasionally some predator tracks showed up too. Despite the lack of human activity here, the snowy wilderness is indeed a busy place, judging by the number of critter tracks.

Photo session

At just under the 2 mile mark, the road unceremoniously ended at a loop turnaround in the woods. So what do 4 guys do when they don't really know where they are? Why, leave the road and head off through the forest, and we didn't even stop to ask for directions. Trails are so overrated anyway. We headed northeast with some vague notion of either reaching the Pacific Crest Trail or getting a nice view of nearby Mount Thielsen. We didn't know it at the time but we were already at the base of the mountain, it'd have been a pretty good pull uphill to get to any vantage points.

Katsuaki and the blessed flask

After a short stretch of heading gradually uphill by stepping over logs and pushing past young trees we cleared the snow off a large fallen tree and ate lunch. Katusaki earned the Hiker Most Likely to Get Re-Invited Award when he whipped out a flask of whisky. The potent brew took our breath away but it certainly made a nice little glowing warm spot in our insides.

Discussing the options

While sitting on the log, I was finally able to find Summit Rock on the GPS, turns out we were about 3 miles east and just a little bit to the north of the rock. There was some discussion about going cross-country to the rock but that was all put to rest when we found out it'd be three-plus miles back to the car after that.

On the way back

Oh well, so back we go and navigation was simple as all we had to do was follow our clearly visible tracks in reverse. However, the the hike back was much tougher as the snow had become quite sticky as it warmed up in the sun, it had the consistency of ice cream left out a little too long at the party. The snow stuck to the bottom of our snowshoes, reminding me of hiking in wet clay.

Speaking of flick and kick...

Merle and Katsuaki took off their shoes but they both found the hiking no less tedious as they slipped and slid on the forest road slush. I tested out several methods of keeping the snow from accumulating on the shoes. There was the "shake and bake", the "shuffle-step" and the "felonious assault" which consisted of beating on the shoes with my hiking poles. In the end, I found the most expedient method was the "flick and kick" which consisted of flicking the shoe by sharply pressing my toes into the shoe on the back step. The hinged shoe joint then flicked (if successful) the sticky snow into oblivion. It still was tedious and tiring, though.

Happy New Year!

So, in the end this was just a bunch of guys walking in the woods and going nowhere in particular. I can't think of a better way to start the new year!  For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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