Hershberger Mountain

The last time Edwin invited me to hike with him to Hershberger Mountain, we inadvertently made a wrong turn and ended up at the incorrect trailhead. Rather than backtrack on a windy road, we decided to hike to the mountain anyway. Fourteen miles later, Mark and I decided Edwin's trail name was Sir Edwin the Cruel. In Edwin's defense though, that death march rendition of a hike was eminently beautiful throughout. So, when Edwin invited me recently to go revisit the scene of the crime, it was not without some trepidation that I accepted the invite. Cleve also joined us, probably only because he was unaware of Edwin's history as a hike leader.

Two old-growths, one of whom is Cleve

Well, I'm glad to report we managed to arrive, as we should have, at the Cripple Camp Trailhead but yikes, what a drive to get there. Trees had fallen all over the road and while the Forest Service had cleared the road, the basic driving mode was to continually cringe for ten miles as branches raked and scratched the side of my vehicle. It almost made me want to go to the wrong trailhead and do the longer hike again.

Windflowers ruled the shady part of the forest

Fire had visited this area a couple of summers ago but who cares when the forest is as beautiful as this one was, burned or not. From the trailhead, the trail ducked into a forest that had been singed in a few places but was mostly green with live trees and a consistently lush and vibrant carpet of vegetation and wildflowers evenly distributed on the forest floor. Columbia windflower was the dominant flowering specie, although yellowleaf iris, queen's cup,  and columbine made a valiant effort to wrest flower supremacy from the windflowers.

The building inspectors examine Cripple Camp Shelter

After just about a mile of hiking gradually uphill through the shady forest, we made a right turn at an intersection with the Acker Divide Trail. After the drive to the trailhead on that rough road with ample evidence of a mass falling of trees, I'm glad to report that surprisingly enough, the trail was relatively clear of trees and the hiking fairly easy at this point. Shortly after grabbing the Acker Divide Trail, the three-sided wooden Cripple Camp Shelter came into view and we stopped to examine the rustic shelter like the ad hoc building inspection crew we were. As a general observation, these backwoods shelters also shelter a healthy population of rodents that can creep out a would-be sleeping camper, so maybe we should have put on our pest control hats instead of our building inspector badges.

Forest, in recovery from a wildfire

The shelter is sited at the top of a large meadow and meadows would become an ever increasing theme on this hike. Surrounding the shelter was a small stand of massive old-growth cedar trees and speaking of old growths, all of us senior hikers were duly impressed! Surrounding the stand of cedar giants was a forest that bore the scars of the fire from a couple of seasons ago. Burned forest would also become an ever increasing theme on this hike, to also go along with the meadow motif.

Toad Lake, soon to be renamed Toad Meadow?

Toad Lake is basically a small wet spot in a very large meadow. Judging from fresh scars seen on a hike here about ten years ago, it looked like there used to be a beaver dam at the head of the meadow. A freshly ravaged gully indicated that maybe the beaver dam let go, draining Toad Lake and converting it into a meadow, no doubt disappointing all the toads that claimed the lake as their own. But no complaints here, because who doesn't love a large green meadow underneath an expansive blue sky?

Pup Prairie in all its green glory

The basic tenor of the hike at this point was a steady uphill grade through forest, then through meadow, then forest again, and repeat until the end of Pup Prairie. While all the meadows were nice to look at and all, Pup Prairie is like the Emperor King of meadows when compared to the cute little grassy pastures we had previously hiked past.

The trail went faint in Pup Prairie

Sprawled on a sloping hillside below Hershberger Mountain, like a large green comforter thrown over a dowager queen's shoulders, Pup Prairie was definitely the non-Hershberger highlight of the hike. Acres and acres of knee-high greenery with lupines, louseworts, columbine, and baneberry attracting the bees, butterflies, spiders, wasps, hoverflies, and one certain hiker with a camera to their colorful wildflower displays.

Baneberry ruled the open meadows

At the lower end of the prairie, a nascent Lonewoman Creek coursed by while all sorts of little runoffs drained Pup Prairie into the creek. After splashing across the creek and entering a severely burned forest, we began the work in earnest of gaining the elevation requited to attain the summit of Hershberger Mountain.

Some of that climb to the summit

The trail roughly gained about 650 feet in about a mile from Lonewoman Creek to Hershberger's summit. That's roughly about a 13% grade for those interested in doing the math. All I know is I trudged with my head down, periodically wiping sweat and tears from my eyes on the slog up. About halfway up, the Acker Divide Trail ended and we finished off Hershberger by hiking up the dirt and gravel road to the summit. At the top of Hershberger sits a small wooden cupola of a lookout, affixed to the summit like the tiny hat on an organ grinder's monkey. Since all the bad uphill had stopped, the lookout was the logical place for lunch and respite.

Neighboring peaks on the Rogue-Umpqua Divide

So why do we do this? The question is rhetorical but the answer is elegantly simple: We hike for the views, and Hershberger Mountain did not disappoint in that regard. To the west we could see virtually all of southwest Oregon, which was basically a series of rolling forested mountain ranges, culminating in a large fog bank hovering over the coast. To the east were the Cascade Mountains and we played the name-that-peak game, picking out nearby Mount Thielsen, Mount Bailey, and the collective peaks on Crater Lake's rim. Hershberger Mountain sits on the Rogue-Umpqua Divide and we enjoyed neighborly looks at Weaver Mountain, Anderson Mountain, and Jackass Mountain (which was not named after me no matter what Cleve and Edwin say). The twin rock towers of Rabbit Ears loomed directly below Hershberger and beyond were the snowy behemoths of Mount McLaughlin and Mount Shasta. Even without reciting the litany of peak names, it was enough just to sit and soak in the panoramic vista of mountains, valleys, and meadows reposing under a clear blue sky.

Back to the forest, where the mosquitoes await

It was eventually time to head back and we took in Pup Prairie, Toad Lake, and miles of meadow and forest all over again as the afternoon sun slanted through the trees. Mosquitoes were a little bit of a thing too, but while annoying, the airborne insectile vampire armada never rose to the level of requiring an application of Deet spray. It had been a good hike, especially since it was about six miles shorter than the last time we hiked to Hershberger Mountain!

Larkspur added some purple to all the green in the meadows

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

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Fish Lake Creek

The dry stats for hiking to Fish Lake via Fish Lake Creek Trail were 8.7 round trip miles to and from the lake, 1,500 feet of elevation gain, 90+ degrees of heat, and 4,692 whiny snivels to myself. My dispirited legs felt every mile, every foot of climb, and every degree of heat. Maybe I should exercise in between hikes but then again, that would be exercise. Maybe I should make myself younger, too.

Just another beautiful day on the trail

But while the legs were noodly, the resolve was steely and this hike began with your merry blogster full of expectant anticipation of getting out onto the trail after a short layoff from the wonderful avocation that is hiking. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the forest growing along Fish Lake Creek was lush and well-shaded. Life was good indeed, at least until the hiking started.

A galaxy of vine maple leaves

My frame of reference for this trek is my very first visit here, occurring shortly after the 2002 Tiller Complex Fire(s) ravaged the forests along the trail. Back then, the hiking was hot, dusty, and totally shadeless. Most of that laborious epic was spent wading over, under, and around tons of dead trees lying on the trail. Flash forward sixteen years and those fallen trees are almost decayed out of existance, the surviving trees are all leafed out, and the undergrowth has been restored to its usual dense green jungle. Best of all, the path is clear of downfall for all of the distance to Fish Lake.

False Solomon's seal was just one of many
species of wildflowers beautifying the trail

For the first couple of miles, the trail is well shaded and joyously cool on a hot day. The grade was gentle so I was one happy hiker enjoying the rampant greenery and wildflowers blooming along the trail. Fish Lake Creek was nearby but mostly more heard than seen, due to the vegetation and forest surrounding the stream. My pace was relaxed and slow because of the scenery and photography thereof, and life was good.

It's just not a hike unless you
have to hike through poison oak

To be honest, life was also good when the trail broke out into the open burn zone and warm sunlight. It was just a warmer good. After about a mile and a half of hiking through the forest, the trail peeled away from Fish Lake Creek and headed uphill in the sun to contour up and around a nameless side creek. Poison oak was thriving happily here and I took care to avoid the oily red fronds of itching madness. Speaking of itching and given my last tick-infected hike, frequent tick-check stops were a thing because because I could just feel a veritable tick army marching with military precision on the parade ground of my skin. The final stats in that regard were just one tick found all day long, but it's still a mental condition.

Rocky cliffs loomed next to the trail

As the trail steadily gained elevation across drier south-facing slopes populated with dead trees and buckbrush, the views of Fish Lake Creek's forested canyon continually improved. The trail contoured the base of a prominent cliff and the poison oak was at its worst among the rocky soil and open sunlight. There was no western fence at this trailside locale but there were lots and lots of western fence lizards scuttling about on the rocky ramparts and battlements. Those lizards closer to the ground stirred up dead leaves, the dry rattle making sure to startle one certain incredibly handsome hiker with yet another mental condition, stemming from a rattlesnake encounter of several years ago.

Beaver Swamp in all its swampy glory

The trail rounded a ridge and Beaver Swamp made an appearance, the blue-green waters looking particularly swampy on this hike rendition. Normally, turtles are spotted sunning themselves on logs floating in the pond but not on this day, not sure what happened to them. In the middle of the pond there is a notable beaver lodge but it had that air of abandonment, particularly as there were no fresh animal paths tracking through the swamp grasses. A burbling inlet creek flowed into the pond and the vine maples were lush and profuse. A convenient log was sited next to the trickling stream and was the perfect place to eat lunch and generally just sit and ponder in the cool shade.

Highrock Mountain presides over Fish Lake

By now, the day was hot and yes, I am well aware it will get hotter yet. The trail angled steeply uphill  away from the swamp and a trudge now entered into what had previously been a joyful hiking rhythm. But Fish Lake was less than two miles away so really, there was no other manly option other than to determinedly plod to the lake. And when the lake was reached, the immediate reward was a magnificent vista of snowy Highrock Mountain presiding over beautiful Fish Lake, making all the toil and trouble to get there well worth the effort. Standoff Point standoffishly stood off at the northeast corner of Fish Lake, reminding me I'm overdue for a visit to Rocky Ridge (of which, Standoff Point is part of). Anyway, views like this are why we hike, boys and girls.

Trail, as the day cooled and shadows lengthened

It was nice to be walking downhill on the hike back to the trailhead, especially since my legs wanted to go on a sit-down strike. The forest became even more pleasant as the day cooled and afternoon shadows lengthened beneath the trees. The only occurrence of note was when a startled grouse exploded out of the brush next to trail in a flurry of feathers and whirring wings. A grouse won't kill me but the heart attack might, darn birds that wait until you almost step on them. anyway.

Fish Lake Creek was always heard but seldom seen

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

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Castle Creek Trail

So, when I get behind in posting my hikes, I set up a skeleton post and type in a few words to help jog my memory for when I do get around to writing about the hike. Accordingly, on my last hike on the Oregon coast I typed in the notes:

Angry ocean, high surf warning
Got caught by a sneaker wave
Incoming storm

Fungi, reclaiming some of that
decaying biomass in the forest

Sounds like a moody poem or almost a haiku, except the number of syllables don't quite meet the definition of haiku. But after I wrote those memory-jogging notes to myself, I inadvertently pressed the "Publish" button and that dire and gloomy missive posted directly to my blog. I had no idea until several weeks later, Glenn and/or Carol asked me if I was OK and if I managed to outrun the wave and make it back safely home.

A day damp and dreary

My first inclination was to wax sarcastic and say "No, I was swept to sea as I was typing what you read. I couldn't finish because the ocean water ruined the laptop I always take with me when I hike, and besides which, I'm dead!" But because I generally try to mimic socially acceptable behavior, I instead thanked Glenn and/or Carol for their concern, and promptly deleted the very strange blog post.

Water drops, just waiting to soak my legs

Now, there are several ways to look at this situation. First, only one person follows my blog and cares about me. Or, many people follow my blog but only one person cares about me. Or, that person follows my blog and since he and/or she waited a couple of weeks to perform a welfare check, he and/or she doesn't care about me at all but does have a delayed morbid curiosity. Things to ponder, to be sure, but the one truth in all this is that there is not much point in having a blog if you are not going to blog in it so here we go about my hike on the Castle Creek Trail, located in the Rogue-Umpqua Divide Wilderness. Right now, as I type this, it is early February and this hike was done in late October. I do have some catching up to do now, don't I?

Trail through a slightly singed forest

I had hiked the Castle Creek Trail several years ago and the trail was faint and sketchy back then. After several years of neglect and after a large forest fire swept through the area in the smoky summer of 2017, I harbored no expectations of following a wide and well-maintained trail. Not surprisingly, my low expectations coincided exactly with the sketchy and overgrown reality on the ground.

The forest was quiet...too quiet

One surprise though, was that while the fire (part of the North Umpqua Complex Fires) singed the trees and cleared out the underbrush, the forest was pretty much left as it had been before the fire. In fact it was pretty hard to see in places whether a fire had actually been here or not. But it had, and already vegetation had robustly grown back over the trail, adding to one of the recurring themes of this hike.

Plenty of opportunities to hone the
fine art of water-drop photography

It had rained on the drive up but it never would rain on me during the hike. However, the vegetation was soaked, and since the vegetation encroached the trail, water was then transferred from bush to hiker via the mechanism of wet hiking pants. On the positive side though, I got to practice and further hone my skills at photographing water drops on leaves.

Tried to see sunlight but I mist it

Besides my wet legs, one other overriding impression was how quiet it was in the forest. Normally, there is an aural backdrop of animals pitter-pattering and chitter-chattering, but not on this cold and damp day. The forest was quieter than a classroom during a vector calculus final, but with much less mental anguish. The reason probably had to do with the local fauna either starting to hibernate or perhaps migrating to lower elevations in advance of the impending winter.

I wet my pants!

And winter it was, for any hopes I had of continuing my run of spectacular autumn hikes were quickly dashed by a splash of cold water from a near leafless but twiggy bush brushing up against my pant legs. Apart from a few dogwood trees with a handful of orange leaves fluttering with the slightest air current, autumn had already come and gone. I really couldn't dwell on the changing of the seasons though, as much of my attention was intently focused on discerning where the footpath was ahead of me.

See the trail?
Me, neither!

In some places, the trail tread was eminently visible and in others it was as faint as the runes carved on a prehistoric monolith. At least it was all downhill as the trail gradually dropped down into the Castle Creek canyon, the creek becoming more and more audible along the way. But it was getting cold. And wet. My pants were so soaked that when I brushed against encroaching shrubbery,  I could feel rivulets of water running down my legs. I hadn't felt that sensation since that time in kindergarten and the liquid was a lot warmer back then, and enough said about that. At any rate, I was beginning to feel the chill so I turned around at the 3-mile mark, about a mile short of actually reaching Castle Creek.

Peace like a forest

Of course, no sooner than I started walking back to the car, the sun did break out for a bit, simultaneously taking care of both excess moisture and cold temperature. Still the same old uphill trail to the car, though. Despite all the my sniveling about wet vegetation and cold temperatures, I really did enjoy this hike. The forest was beautiful and peaceful, two of my favorite reasons for hiking.

The morning rain made sure
this hike would be a wet one

As far as whether I escaped the sneaker wave or not, my readership (apparently consisting of just Glenn and /or Carol) will have to read my blog at some future unspecified date to find out. For more pictures of the Castle Creek Trail, though, please visit the Flickr album.

Despite the rain, I was really lichen this hike

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Sherwood Meadows

Not every hike gets to be an epic. And, just because it's on the map doesn't necessarily mean it's still there on the ground either. Too bad, because both Lane and I had hiked to Sherwood Meadows before and we had both found the hike to be enjoyable and worthy. So enjoyable and so worthy, that Lane was entertaining a notion about leading a hike here for the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club but naturally, after this day's struggle of a hike on an exceedingly sketchy trail, he decided the club could very well hike elsewhere and thereby continue to maintain the "friends" aspect of Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club.

If only all trails were so easy to follow!

The thing is, this poorly maintained trail has a very well maintained trailhead replete with a large parking lot, plenty of signs, and what appears to be a fully operable horse corral. Strange. But off we we went and initially, the trail was eminently followable through a dry and sparse forest. Because of the small spindly trees, we were also eminently exposed to sunlight and it didn't take long for us to feel the heat. Also eminently followable was us, and the mosquitoes found us eminently eatable, no matter how much Deet got slathered on.

Searching for a trail in Beaver Meadows

After a short distance, the trail entered grassy Beaver Meadows. On the map, there should have been a trail junction here, offering us two ways to get to Sherwood Meadows. We spent a great deal of time and sweaty energy in the open meadows searching for the trail but alas, we could not find it. We did find traces of trails past in the pastures though, for there were plenty of paths braiding through the expansive green leas flanking  surrounding the clear waters of East Fork Muir Creek. Most paths would peter out after a bit even though we found sign that some of these paths had been actual trail, vis-a-vis sawed logs scattered here and there. 

Coneflower

After wandering hither and yon through the grass while swatting at mosquitoes, we gave up on finding the trail and simply began enjoying the meadow. If one could temporarily ignore the mosquitoes, there were butterflies, wildflowers, and a small creek reposing underneath a cloudless blue sky. Much photography ensued, and hiking progress slowed to crawl velocity.

One of several fords of East Fork Muir Creek

Eventually, we backtracked to the original trail and continued on an increasingly brushy path to East Fork Muir Creek. The trail sort of disappeared in the lush growth but we did manage to find the resumption of the trail on the other side of the creek, after walking across logs spanning the clear running stream. And then the fun started.

See the trail?
Me, neither

The trail on the opposite side quickly petered out, disappearing into the lush creekside jungle. We turned left and followed the creek downstream, searching for some trail tread. Life would have been so much easier had we gone upstream, but how were we to know? Anyway, once Lane and I figured out that there was no trail where we were at, we decided to cross-country it to where we thought the trail might be.

Candystick diverts my attention away from my misery

Of course, our route charged straight up a nasty steep hill, the grade as unforgiving and unrelenting as an ex-wife (or an ex-husband too, I leave it to the reader to insert the gender of choice, here). The slope was heavily forested but despite the ample shade, the day had gotten quite warm and an eye-burning mixture of salty sweat, Deet, sunscreen, and trail dust were soon running into our stinging orbs,  making us cry over something other than cross-countrying it up an incredibly steep slope. Although, if truth be told, there were plenty of tears shed in that regard, too.

At times, the trail was quite pleasant

Anyway, the bad uphill eventually stopped and leveled out atop a forested plateau, where we found a faint trail tread. The next portion of the hike was an uphill trudge through the heat and insectile vampires swarming in the forest. At times the trail was quite easy to follow and at other times, we'd be peering into the forest, looking for the resumption of the tread. 

California blue-eyed grass

We ate lunch at another expansive meadow that lay within a mile of Sherwood Meadows, if only because there were slightly less mosquitoes per cubic foot of air than in the forest. When not eating, we were both crawling through the grass, taking pictures of the profuse wildflowers blooming within. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end though, and we headed back out onto the trail.

Stepping stones across the creek

Because of the energy-sapping heat and the heartless uphill grade, we were both exhausted despite the relatively short distance we had covered so far. Fortunately, Sherwood Meadows lay downhill from our lunch spot, ostensibly making the hiking easier. Unfortunately though, the path was covered with piles and piles of fallen trees and that was it. Communicating wordlessly like a long-time married couple, we turned around and headed back the way we came, abandoning Sherwood Meadows like an unfaithful suitor.

Sherwoodn't!

We stayed on the trail on the way back, and it was obvious where we had made the incorrect turn that set us on our tedious cross-country venture. But, even if we had made the correct turn, we still would have had to clamber over piles of trees in the heat while mosquitoes tormented us. Like I said, not every hike gets to be epic. Lane agreed, avowing "before today, I thought I Sherwood like to do this hike and now that I've been, I Sherwouldn't!" Not every joke gets to be funny, either.

Paintbrush in a meadow

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

Golden Stairs

The first time I hiked Golden Stairs, it was with Dollie and on that day it was hot and the trail was shadeless and uphill. The second time, I was leading the hiking club and on that day it was hot and the trail was shadeless and uphill. Now, Lane was leading the hike this time, and the day would be hot while the trail was still shadeless and uphill. Some things just don't change! As I was headed out the door, Dollie asked me where I was going to hike and when I replied "Golden Stairs", she replied "I remember that trail, it was hot and uphill!" Some things make an impression, too.

Dude, there's a napping ferret on your head!

Grandson Issiah was tabbed as the companion du jour, and he seemed kind of sad. Seems he lost his pet caterpillar but not to worry, I found it napping on his head, which is my way of saying he showed up with a mohawk haircut and Grandpa did not approve! On the plus side, Issiah did provide Grandpa with material for a steady stream of bad haircut jokes, which Issiah took good-naturedly. And just to clarify, that was "bad haircut" jokes, not bad "haircut jokes", although Issiah might disagree.

Steep trail on a warm day

In no time at all, 11 hikers (including one dog and a boy with a chinquapin seed pod on his head) were all huffing and puffing as the trail charged straight up a forested slope to eventually attain a bare and rocky ridge crest. The trail charged straight up the ridge crest, too. The basic pattern on the ridge was that the route alternated between shady forest and barren lava every half mile or so. Mosquitoes pestered us a bit and this would be the first (but not the last!) time I found it necessary to apply Deet this year. Issiah didn't get bit as much, probably because his sea urchin haircut, no doubt, confused the mosquitoes a bit.

Lupines colored the barren slopes

The hiking was slow for me, not only because it was steep, but also because rock gardens on the rocky crest entranced the camera. Stuffed in the cracks between the rocks were penstemon, stonecrop, blue-headed gilia, and pussy paws. The slopes were covered with lupine and Indian paintbrush. Much photography ensued.

Ezgi just had to climb that rock

The ridgecrest narrowed quite a bit and the trail ran on top of the serrated knife-edge of the crest. One step off the trail in either direction would definitely send a hiker on a scree slide. Lava formations, dikes, and pillars flanked the trail, providing some geologic points of interest. At one notable rock thumb, Ezgi just had to climb it, horrifying all the nervous parents and grandparents in the group as she slid down to the thumb. I'm glad to say she made it back to the trail, in spite of the best efforts of the loose rock to effect a different outcome.

View to Crater Lake Rim

The open areas provided ample views of the Abbott Creek and Woodruff Creek drainages. Beyond the creek valleys, the snow-covered peaks of Crater Lake, bookended by the pointed spires of Union Peak and Mount Thielsen, rose up to in a vain attempt to touch the sky. To the west were Abbott Butte and Elephant Head; each a familiar hiking destination on the Rogue-Umpqua Divide crest. To the south was the symmetrical and prominent cone of Mount McLaughlin, with Mount Shasta clearly visible on the horizon from 100 miles away.

Mount Shasta, on the horizon

The Golden Stairs doesn't really have a destination, per se, so we sat down and ate lunch in a slightly forested meadow after several miles of hiking.  On the way back, we got to enjoy the views all over again, but with the bonus of all that grueling uphill hiking turning into pleasant downhill hiking. Funny, I didn't remember that from my previous visits to the Golden Stairs. Some things just don't make that big of an impression, I guess.

Some things just don't change

By the way, I'm changing Issiah's trail name to "Spiny Hedgehog". For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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