Tam McArthur Rim

Several weeks ago, the Seattle Sounders had their way with my beloved Portland Timbers on the soccer pitch. After the game, while the salty tears on my cheeks were still wet, I read an online recap about this terrible tragedy and the headline put it thusly: "Seattle Mollywhops Portland". Now, if you peruse your Oxford English Dictionary to find the meaning of "mollywhop", your inner lexicologist will be unrequited, for "mollywhop" is more than likely a totally made up word. I'd love to create a catchy word like that myself, but it's no easy feat to meld two unrelated words into a single word that upon the first hearing, the meaning is nonetheless immediately clear. When you can pull that off my friends, you have reached the pinnacle of word nerdvana. The rest of us mere blogsters can only wish we could be that inventive. 

Lane leads the mad charge uphill

Speaking of words, how about some real words about our hike? I'd been only one other time on Tam MacArthur Rim (about 15 years ago) and back then, everything was covered with snow. Flash forward to present time and this latest rendition of the hike was arid, dry, and stultifyingly hot. There was no snow to be found anywhere on the rim and while you could legitimately blame climate change, the real culprit was the inherent difference between hiking in November and hiking in July. 

Short life expectancy for trees on Tam McArthur Rim

What was unchanged between now and then was the grade of the trail as it departed the shoreline of beautiful Three Creeks Lake. The path inscribed a switchbacking course to and fro through a thin and sparse forest where at least half of the trees were lying prone on the ground, right where they fell. Fortunately, the trail had been cleared by a trail crew so there was very little scrambling over downed trees which was fine with me anyway, for the grade of the trail was mollywhoppery enough to get me considering lying prone next to the trees myself.

The trail hugged the edge of the Tam McArthur world

It was kind of hard to tell what with the forest surrounding the path, but we were basically contouring up Tam McArthur Rim itself. Occasional breaks in the forest cover did serve up some stunning scenery. Directly below the abrupt edge of the rim's escarpment, reposed the azure waters of Three Creeks Lake with the surrounding fire-scarred terrain sloping steadily all the way down to central Oregon. A thin haze of smoke from the Bootleg Fire limited the visibility somewhat, otherwise I daresay we could have seen Chicago skyscrapers on the distant horizon.

Oof!

Judging by all the dead tree skeletons on the rim, life is tough on trees up here. Accordingly, they were sparsely bunched. The soil was dry pumice, and our boots kicked up dust clouds that lazily floated above the trail as we scuffed along. But at least you could see the scenery in front of you as you hiked, and while I may have, given the right frame of mind, appreciated the scenery and geologic wonders we were hiking through, all I could see and focus on was the trail madly charging straight up a slope underneath the hot sun. Oof!

Psst, buddy! Spare some peanuts for a friend?

All the bad uphill stopped, officially at least, when the trail ended at a viewpoint. There is an ad hoc use path leading to Broken Hand that delivers plenty more uphill hiking but I was going to keep my promise to my surgical scars and limit my hikes to about 5 miles or so for the time being. So, my comrades abandoned me but that's ok, for I made new friends with numerous ground squirrels begging for peanuts at the overlook.

Broken Top and the Three Sisters rise above the escarpment

The untrammeled views here were astounding. To the east sprawled central Oregon and discerning hikers (like me!) could pick out the crater of Fort Rock just north of Hager Mountain. Yamsay Mountain was south of Hager and lay in the Bootleg Fire's red evacuation zone, yet there was no smoke to be seen other than a thin hazy layer floating on the distant skyline. Mount Jefferson was nearby with faraway Mount Hood coyly peeking over Jefferson's shoulder. In the forested basin immediately below the rim, sprawled sapphire-colored Three Creeks Lake and Little Three Creeks Lakes (there are several). A massive escarpment blocked most of the view of the Three Sisters although the tips of Broken Top and all Three Sisters loomed above the imposing rock wall. Way cool and it was a pleasure to just sit and take it all in.

Cobwebby paintbrush (castilleja arachnoidea)

All good things come to an end though, and eventually I packed up my gear and headed back down the trail. It was a lazy walk back, primarily because I'm lazy, but also because I spent a lot of time photographing the low growing rainbow of cobwebby paintbrush flowers populating the pumice plains on the rim. On the descent, I startled a pine marten, a seldom seen member of the weasel family, and that was also pretty cool. I also lightly rolled my ankle and took what I presume to be a spectacular tumble down a rock staircase, which was not nearly as cool as running into a pine marten. I think I just got mollywhopped by the trail.

One of the dearly departed

Now, I have spent more time than is advisable in pursuit of a word that could mollywhop "mollywhop". I've come up with sarahslapped, lanelurched, and in keeping with my header on the trail, tamthwacked. But apart from my feeble alliterative attempts, a fresh scab on my knee, and mostly pleasant memories of this spectacular hike, I've got nothing.

Little Three Creek Lakes, from the Tam McArthur overlook

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

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Sisters Mirror Lake

It had been two years, two months, four days, three hours, one minute, and twenty-three seconds between my last backpack trip and this humble trek into the Three Sisters Wilderness. And the backpack trip prior to that occurred so long ago that only Two Sisters existed back then because the Third Sister had not been born yet. It had certainly been a while, for sure. Yet, for some odd reason, I'd been hankering to make myself miserable by carrying a heavy pack for miles and miles. Consequently, I  decided to do an easy hike just to make sure all the right gear was in working order and mostly, just to see if I still remembered how. 

It was blue sky overhead, on the hike out

Because I wasn't trying to challenge myself with an epic test-of-manhood trek, Sisters Mirror Lake became the destination of choice because it wasn't that hard and because the scenery in nearby Wickiup Plain is world class stunning. However, my paper map, a trail sign, and the map on my GPS were not in complete synchronous agreement about the network of trails in the area, causing me to miss the world class scenery part.

Just another dismal day in paradise!

This is the age of Covid-19 and since restaurants, bars, concerts, and other fun mass-gathering diversions are off limits, the next best thing for entertainment is the outdoors. Accordingly, it was with some dismay that I approached Sisters Mirror Lake Trailhead, passing over a mile's worth of cars parked along the roadway. On the fly, I mentally readjusted my intended route and parked at Devils Lake instead, where I was fortunate enough to find a parking spot. It was at this time that I became a proponent of next year's looming expensive permit system designed to limit visitors, as it was just a veritable zoo at every trailhead along the scenic Cascade Lakes Highway. 

The dusty trail beckons

The dusty trail angled steadily uphill as I made my escape from the civilization and cars all wadded up and crammed together in trailhead parking lots. My backpacking muscles, well atrophied from the two-year layoff, were soon complaining. The good news though, was there were little or no mosquitoes in the forest and the temperature was fairly cool with rain predicted for the late afternoon and most of the evening. Nevertheless, the cool temperature did not stop me from becoming as sweaty and smelly as a sock after an evening of racquetball. 

You lie!

The aforementioned trail issue arose at an intersection with (according to the sign) Trail 12.1, the Wickiup Plains Trail. On the map I had printed, Trail 12.1 continued on into Wickiup Plain proper, an amazing barren pumice plain with an up close and personal face-to-face stare-down with South Sister. There was also (on the map) a Trail 12.2 which ran further south but not in Wickiup Plain. However, putting some misplaced faith in the trail sign which clearly said "Wickiup Plains Trail" and "Trail 12.1" both, I grabbed the first path peeling off to the left. 

The view from my campsite

Wrong. The sign had been as wrong as a giraffe with a stiff neck, a fact divined after a couple of miles of hiking in viewless forest with no spectacular volcanic wonders of Wickiup Plain to be seen. I should have heeded the advice of my GPS. As it turned out, I was on the rather nondescript Trail 12.2 instead, which was later confirmed when I ran into the Pacific Crest Trail. At least I was on the right path to Sisters Mirror Lake and after a short walk through forest transitioning to grassy meadows, I arrived at the small lake on a distinctly overcast and darkening afternoon. Camp was set up on a secluded isthmus strategically situated between Sisters Mirror Lake and a small nameless pond. 

Some of the evening's rain collected on a spider web

The rain arrived in the middle of the night and I was toasty warm, all snuggled up in my sleeping bag, falling asleep to the soothing sound of rain falling on my tent fly. The next morning it was a pleasant surprise to find the rainstorm had packed up and left after completing its wet business at Sisters Mirror Lake. And speaking of completing wet business at Sisters Mirror Lake, I may have done some of that too, TMI. 

Mornings like this are why I backpack

Sisters Mirror Lake was eminently tranquil and quiet, mirrorlike even, and the tip of South Sister did reflect nicely on the lake’s perfectly still and glassy surface. Small clouds of steam hovered over the lake in places, and sunbeams lit up the misty clouds in a scene that only a poet could adequately describe. Me, I just said "Ooh, wow!" and just let my camera do the talking for me.

South Sister would have been cooler from Wickiup Plain, just sayin'

After a hearty breakfast, it was back the way I came, the only change from the day before being that the sky was clear instead of overcast with dark and moody clouds. Accordingly, on the way out I could actually see some of South Sister here and there along with House Rock, a prominent landmark off to one side of Wickiup Plain. I'm glad to report I don't feel like any gear had been forgotten so obviously I still remember how to pack a backpack. While the hike was not particularly challenging, I wasn't overly tired so my legs are still capable of moving His Flabbiness along the trail for a moderate trek, meaning there’s a distinct probability of more backpack trips in my future. But for now, it was mission accomplished, over and out!

A small pond next to my campsite

For more photos of this weekend backpack trip, please visit the Flickr album.

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Olallie Mountain

Olallie Mountain had been on my list for quite some time and I finally made it. Unfortunately, though, several weeks after this hike, the Rebel Fire set up camp below Olallie Mountain so I'm not likely to return there in the near future. At the time of this writing, I'm not sure whether there will be any shady forest left on the Olallie Trail after the fire, either. It would really be a shame if the fire overran the Olallie Trail, because the lush vegetation and deep shade were some of the main attractions on this green hike. But at least I made it before fire season began in earnest in Oregon.

Beargrass was common in the meadows

Accompanied by trusty canine friend Luna, I set out upon the Olallie Trail and entered the Three Sisters Wilderness almost immediately upon leaving the trailhead. The Olallie Trail pokes into a corner of the wilderness on the western border, so the Three Sisters were fairly far away despite our hiking in the namesake wilderness. As a result, the Three Sisters would be pretty much a non-factor on the lower (and forested) section of this hike.

Salmonberry, not quite ready for eating

The tree cover was as thick and lush as a young man's mane, and the shade dark as a teenager's mood, but a whole lot more pleasant to be around. Spring was definitely going on, and I spent a lot of time low to the ground, sometimes lying on it (while a dog licked my ear) taking pictures of bunchberry, wild ginger, coneflower, penstemon, Columbia windflower, and goat's beard. And speaking of goat's beard, I probably should shave soon.

"To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon
verdure is the most perfect replacement" - Jane Austen

The trail angled steadily uphill through the forest before crossing a small creek in just under a mile. Intrepid bushwhackers can follow this stream to its source at Wolverine Lake. However, I was expecting a clearer route; the hillside was covered with thick vegetation and fallen trees and while Luna was not averse to a good bushwhack, I wasn't in the mood, so we kept hiking on the Olallie Trail.

Humid meadow on Olallie Mountain

And now a word about the weather. On the drive up, there was a chill in the morning air and geese were flying south in their traditional "V" formation. In sunny exposed areas along the roadway, vine maples were showing their first autumn blush. Winter is coming. But not so fast, Richard, by mid-afternoon, the oppressive heat had taken care of all that winter chill. While the forest was shady, it was fairly warm despite the shade. Meadows were worse, where the sun baked both dog and hiker noggins. The stultifying heat had us both panting to keep cool, while the humidity had us all sopping wet in short order. Note to self: don't wear a black shirt when it's hot and humid like that.

Looking down the French Pete Creek valley

From the junction with the Olallie Trail and the Olallie Mountain Trail, it was all meadow and it was all uphill, too. I bonked, and it was a slow trudge for the remaining mile or so to the Olallie Mountain summit. Gone were all the shade loving flowers but on the plus side, I got to take pictures of sun-loving beargrass, Washington lily, lupine, and Indian paintbrush.

The Three Sisters, from Olallie Mountain

One last steep push delivered us to the Olallie summit where an old lookout and prodigious views were our reward for all the hard work. And best of all, the rustic and dilapidated lookout provided shade on one side, so we plopped down and enjoyed the expansive panorama before us. The Three Sisters were directly to the east and easily dominated the view. North of the volcanic sisterhood was Mount Washington, Three-Fingered Jack, and snowy Mount Jefferson. In the haze to the south, Mount Thielsen was barely visible. On the west side of Olallie Mountain, the valleys and canyons of Rebel Creek and French Pete Creek dropped off into the South Fork McKenzie River, all winding up in the prominent McKenzie River valley. In the distance, were the faint blue ridges of the Coast Range. Pretty awesome view,  if I do say so myself.

South Sister, on the way down

After a lengthy lunch, view-soak, and photo-shoot combo, we reluctantly left the summit and headed back down the trail. On the way down, we ran into another hiker who had one of Luna's kind with him, much to the enjoyment of both our dogs. He had just done a PCT section hike and was looking to hike the trail around the mountain. Unfortunately he had to give that idea up, stating the Olallie Trail, just past the junction, was pretty much lost to the vegetation. Of course, the following week, the Willamette National Forest posted an announcement that they had finished brushing out the Olallie Trail. And of course, a week later, the Rebel Fire set up camp for the remainder of the summer. I guess my timing was both good and bad for this hike, but at least my very lengthy list became one hike smaller.

The seldom seen fringed pinesap

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

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Black Crater

Black Crater owed me one. Last year, I had hiked to the summit in what basically was a winter storm, minus the snow. Gray clouds covered the summit, an arctic wind froze the snot dripping from my nose, and the view was akin to sticking your head inside an old pillowcase. Somewhat disappointed, I vowed to hit Black Crater again on a sunny and very warm day. Unfortunately, on my latest visit, wildfire smoke really impinged the views so while the temperature was an improvement, my head still remained inside a metaphorical pillowcase. 

Broken Top and the Three Sisters

And now a word about the warm weather: The night before, I had "stealth camped" by parking my car on a forest road and walking into the forest where I hung my hammock between two trees. The temperature was plenty warm so I slept in board shorts and no T-shirt. This was my first time using my new hammock and I learned that unlike sleeping on the ground, you are completely surrounded by air as you dangle between two trees. So, when you go to bed and it's near 90 degrees but in the night it drops to 44 degrees, you wake up in the middle of the night with teeth chattering. Where's a heat wave when you want one?

Ugh! Uphill in the warm sun

Anyway, after I thawed out, the hike to Black Crater began in the early morning. Didn't take long to get warmed up because this is one steep trail, gaining 2,200 feet in just over 3 miles. Dripping with sweat and removing layers, I yearned for the 44 degree nighttime temperature. There is just no pleasing some hikers!

Trail through the forest

My legs were feeling the prior day's hike up to Four-In-One Cone so I adjusted my pace to a slow and steady trudge up the trail. There really isn't much to report about the first couple of miles as the trail switchbacked to and fro through a viewless forest. However, with about a mile to go the forest thinned out, the trail rounded the mountain to the east, and the stunning views opened up.

Sisters and Redmond, hidden in the haze

Well, I imagine under optimum conditions they could possibly be stunning views. However, on this day wildfire smoke really made it hard to see any distance, particularly to the east. On my cloudbound hike the year prior, as bad as visibility was, I could see the towns of Sisters and Redmond. On this sunny and cloudless day, the two towns remained hidden under the smoky haze. I should open up a gas mask store in Bend, I'd probably make a killing.

A bee photobombs an Indian Paintbrush

The open slopes were covered in aster and Indian paintbrush blooms and I made steady progress since there were no smokeless views to distract me. After several uphill switchbacks, the trail leveled out and yay, I was on top of the crater rim. Black Crater is more red than black, and the lava cinders crunched noisily under my feet as I walked to the summit, a small pile of rocks on the rim. And even though the haze limited visibility, the 360 degree panorama was still nothing short of stunning.

Black Crater is more red than black

To the north were the usual Cascade Range suspects normally visible from the McKenzie Pass area: Belknap Crater, Mount Washington, Mount Jefferson, and Mount Hood. To the south and much closer, were snow-flecked North and South Sister, with Middle Sister's peak just barely visible behind North Sister. To the left of the Sisters and all by itself, was Broken Top.

Mount Jefferson, from Black Crater

Much photography abounded and many oranges were eaten as I lazed on the summit perch. The slopes of Black Crater dropped dramatically away and one does want to watch their step near the edge. At least, this "one" does. Directly below and to the northwest was the actual crater of Black Crater. And oddly enough, ladybugs swarmed all over me on the summit, dubiously making me a lady's man of sorts.

Black Crater's crater

It had warmed up quite a bit by this point, so it was a slow tired trudge down to the trailhead and by the time I reached the parking lot, I was pretty well drenched with sweat even thought the return leg was all downhill. The idea of freezing again while hanging between two trees and whiffing my man funk trapped inside an enclosed sleeping bag was not very appealing so I cut the trip short a day and headed back to warm and funky Roseburg. I think Black Crater, while improving upon last year's trip, still owes me.

Trail on the rim

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

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Four-In-One Cone

Regular readers of my blog (if I have any regular readers, maybe I'm being presumptuous) will note a recent preoccupation with the month long run of hot weather. And why should this blog entry be any different? It was 110 degrees in Roseburg and I thought about running away to the coast but the coast was an uncharacteristic 90 degrees itself. Wherever can one go to escape the heat? Well, the Three Sisters Wilderness was running about 25 degrees cooler than western Oregon and by golly, that was an excellent reason to pay the McKenzie Pass area a visit. Especially since I placed the weather cursor right on Four-In-One Cone and got a forecasted high of 75 degrees!

Small meadows flanked the Scott Trail

From the Scott Trail trailhead, the path crossed Hwy 242 and then ducked into a lodgepole forest on a dusty trail. McKenzie Pass sits in the middle of like a million volcanoes and lesser cones so the fact the trail was comprised of dusty pumice is not surprising. The trail was flat and passed past several open meadows hovering in that weird color between green and brown. Enjoy the flatness while you can, Richard, because after a half-mile, the trail turned to the left and let the climbing begin! 

Ah, blessed be the shade!

The trail would gain about 1,500 feet over 5'ish miles so while steep in places, the grade was not all that daunting, just steady and non-stop. But at least it was in a shady forest which was welcome because it would have been a lot warmer without the shade. I don't have any empirical data but based my skin-o-meter, I'd guess it was about 85 degrees or so.

Huckleberries!

The forest was pleasantly lush with a leafy undergrowth comprised of huckleberry bushes. Huckleberries? Did somebody say huckleberries? The bushes were laden with plump black berries and all hiking came to a screeching halt while I grazed, purple juice running down my chin. Eventually, after I consumed enough berries to ensure purple poop for at least a week, hiking resumed as I mastered scooping the berries on a walk-by without breaking stride (too much). 

Blueberries! This was a berry yummy hike

This late in summer, all the wet spots were dried up but the path did pass through some low-growing ankle-high blueberry bogs. Blueberries? Did somebody say blueberries? Hiking again came to a sudden and fruity stop while I grazed on my hands and knees like an ungainly, yet incredibly handsome elk. Blueberries AND huckleberries? This hike was a whole other fruit salad of berry awesome.

Abrupt end to the forest

As the trail climbed, it sadly left all the berries behind and entered a decidedly drier and less lush forest before a 20-foot high wall of rock put an abrupt end to all that forest stuff. The extensive lava flows in the McKenzie Pass area are byproducts of numerous small and relatively insignificant cinder cones. The rock wall the trail was running into was from both Collier and Four-In-One Cone(s). And unerringly, the trail found a small seam between the two flows as it crossed over to the east side of the Collier flow. Good thing the seam was there, because the flow would have been nigh impassable without some serious engineering and dynamite.

Hello, North Sister!

The trail would, for the next mile or so, hug the east edge of the flow, meaning there was a 20 foot wall of jumbled and jagged rock on my right hand side. Straight ahead and above the flow, both North and Middle Sister showed their pointy heads with Collier Glacier perched precariously between them.

Black Crater rises above the cinder
plain below Four-In-One Cone

The trees on the left side of the trail gradually thinned out until I found myself walking in a barren cinder plain, with a sun-bleached trail sign as its only feature. On the left hand side of the plain was the indistinctly shaped pile of volcanic cinders that is Four-In-One-Cone. The cone got its name because it sports four distinct vents and a corresponding lava flow for each vent.  With the chaos ensuing from having four vents, Four-In-One never had a chance to form a nice symmetrical cone; it's more like an elongated amorphous blob.

North and Middle Sister from the cone's rim

My boots crunched in the cinders as I walked up the slope of the cone, and a stupendous view greeted me as the rim was attained. North Sister was the closest and biggest peak while Middle Sister demurely stood at her sister's side. To the south was the tan cone of Belknap Crater, followed by Mount Washington, Three-Fingered Jack, and a ghostly Mount Jefferson (the view was somewhat limited by smoky haze from several small wildfires burning nearby). Below the mountains were rivers of black rock cutting large swaths through the forests. The rivers of black rock were old lava flows, courtesy of small cinder cones such as Collier Cone, Yapoah Crater, Little Belknap Crater, and Four-In-One Cone.

Hazy view to the north

Such a view requires a lengthy contemplation but I didn't stay all that long, I still had 5 miles back to the car and besides which, there were still some berries needing my attention.

Sickletop lousewort, also known as parrot's beak

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

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