Barnhardi Basin

Ah, Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge is so beautiful. Wide open spaces that go on forever with enough tall mountains to keep little hikers with big egos relatively humble. Later in the year when the sun bakes the refuge hot and dry like a bachelor baking a pot roast for the first time, the refuge is probably not as hospitable as it was during our stay here. We hated to leave but leave we must so we saved the best hike for last: a pleasant stroll into the green dale of Barnhardi Basin.

Merle, at an early morning start to the hike

On the plus side, getting to the trailhead required no driving as the Barnhardi Road began at the hot springs in our campground. Not wanting to get pulled into a conversation with "The Naked Guy" frequenting the hot springs, we averted our eyes and walked quickly past. The trail, actually a jeep road, followed Rock Creek for a while before peeling away and heading uphill alongside a small fork of Rock Creek.  

Cold and cloudy Warner Peak

The skies were gray and overcast and a blustery wind kept things cool and perfect for hiking. The creek burbled merrily as a dense stand of white-barked aspen kept the stream hidden from view. Not so perfect, however, was the grade as the road climbed relentlessly up the sagebrush-covered slopes of Hart Mountain.  It's trails like these that get me muttering to myself "I need a new hobby" and "I hate hiking". However, the grade ended at a ridge crest with a nice view of cloud-bound Warner Mountain. It's trails like these that get me muttering "I'm glad I have this hobby" and "I love hiking".

Foolhardi 

Barnhardi Basin is a green meadow right below Warner Peak, and we splish-splashed through the wet grass to the Barnhardi Cabin. An old homestead cabin, the shack is pretty dilapidated with a sagging roof and floor. There are not enough Martha Stewart doilies in the world to make this ramshackle cabin a habitable home, even with the world class view from the front door.

Water in the desert

Well, we had reached our destination but had not walked yet very far and it was decision time. We could have returned cross country through the narrow cleft of Rock Creek or we could follow the Barnhardi Road and see what there was to see. We chose the up-and-down latter option. Amazingly for this area, a genuine bona fide creek crossed the trail and the vegetation was lush and verdant. So many flowers blooming by the wayside and I soon lagged behind, a camera-happy fool.

Buzz! Hah, scared you!

At the 4 mile mark, I turned around, content with a respectable 8 mile hike. John and Merle continued on and I enjoyed a leisurely return, taking pictures of all the desert flowers we never see on the west side of the Cascades. The terrain was abuzz with the love songs of the cicadas. The critters were flying all over the trail and if hikers stepped too close, they buzzed a warning like a rattlesnake would. I was a nervous wreck by the time the hike ended.

Pellet pusher

At one point, I was looking at a pile of deer poop when a pooplet or pellet or whatever you call an individual piece of the pile began rolling around seemingly possessed by a poo-poo poltergeist. Upon closer inspection, there was no supernatural explanation needed, it was simply a handstanding dung beetle rolling his treasure with his back legs. I'd never seen one before and now I'll have to give extra scrutiny to deer poop piles. And, I wonder why I have no friends.

Aaaaah....

At the bottom of the trail, there was a primitive hot springs that burped sulphurous gas bubbles (just like my brother) in the clear water. I removed my shoes and soaked my feet in the hot water, as happy as a purring cat. We definitely saved the best for the last!

Bye, Hart Mountain

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

Warner Peak Road

OK, so I use this blog to tout all my wondrous successes in hiking. To be fair, I suppose my failures should also be equally touted and this hike would be one of those. However, if you are going to do the hiking equivalent of a belly-flop from a high dive, you might as well do it in a beautiful place like the Warner Peak Road on the way to Warner Peak, the highest point in Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge.  

A nice start to the hike

We got off to an early start, grateful the cool morning kept persistent mosquitoes abed while we ate breakfast.  Hopping into the car, we drove the wild and barren Blue Sky Road to the southern end of the refuge.  We were entertained by a badger mom and her pup shuffling across the road, for some reason I was reminded of work.  And of course, we saw plenty of pronghorn antelope as was customary during our stay in the refuge.

I want no guano

The Blue Sky Road terminated at the hilariously named Guano Creek which resembled nothing like the name suggested. It was green, shady, lush, and absolutely devoid of guano. Of course the Guano Creek green belt was more like a Guano Creek green string as the vegetation did not stray very far from the creek, the dry hills remaining the purview of the ubiquitous sagebrush.

Post Creek

Climbing gently through the pines, we actually hiked across an honest-to-goodness creek, complete with a large trout swimming around in panic at our arrival. Post Creek, meet your hikers and hikers, meet your mosquitoes. We learned not to stop in any one place too long as we continued through the sagebrush with a nice overlook of surprisingly green Post Creek Meadows.

A grave occasion

There were a couple of grave markers for two fallen soldiers, presumably they perished fighting Indians. They died so young and so far away from home and  we paused in somber reverence for them and for the natives that also perished when the two cultures collided. I have nothing funny to say unless the soldiers were slain by mosquitoes, in which case the soldier's demise then becomes utterly hilarious.  

Will the uphill ever end?  No!

A log gate signaled the start of the official Warner Peak Road and unofficially the start of some pretty steep uphill walking. It's also where my travails started. I had been feeling not-in-shape for some time due to my injured wrist curtailing a lot of my customary exercise regimen. Plus it was hot and plus we were hiking near 7,000 feet of elevation. So due to one of those factors or maybe due to all, my legs were tired from the get go, my head hurt, and I wasn't sure breakfast was going to stay down or not. 

View out to the great beyond

I plodded upwards as best I could and Merle kept an eye on me, probably out of pity. Or maybe he did not want to carry back to the car what remnants would be left of me after the mosquitoes finished. But the scenery was just too magnificent to cark it (Australian for heart not beating any more) on this day. To the south, clouds formed over a vast expanse with mountains and canyons jumbled in capricious mayhem by the desert gods. Upslope, balsam root colored the mountains yellow against a cobalt sky.

Ridge on top of Hart Mountain

At a saddle looking across a massive and rugged canyon to a ridge with snow patches and a thick forest, I called it quits. Warner Peak was several miles away and about 1,000 higher than the saddle. Merle and John continued on, attaining the summit of Warner Peak and later regaling me with tales of views, mountaintop mosquito swarms, and an eerie flock of seagulls just watching.

Cloud with noise and attitude

Meanwhile, as I was descending back to the car, thunderheads formed over the desert plain and as the clouds swept near, rumbling could be heard. On the drive back across the wild refuge hinterlands, black ribbons of rain trailed from clouds like feathery tentacles dangling from jellyfish. Bolts of lightning zigzagged their way to the ground far away enough for us to enjoy the show without fear of becoming a glowing conduit of electricity.

Canyon lands in the distance

So, while I was not able to get up to the Warner Summit, I remain somewhat philosophical about the aborted hike.  First of all, Warner Peak is unfinished business and I now have a good reason to return to Hart Mountain.  Also, part of hiking safely is knowing when not to hike and in that regard, my failure was an unmitigated success.

Clouds, painting the sky

For more pictures (I was dying but still taking pictures!) visit the Flickr album.   

     

Hart Mountain

Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge is only about 190 miles from Roseburg as the crow flies.  However, it took us all day to get there as Hart Mountain is not an easy place to get to, being situated in the middle of the Oregon outback with its wide open spaces and a notable paucity of roads, paved or unpaved. After a full day's 400 mile drive, we (John, Merle, and your intrepid blogster) arrived at the Warner Valley and Hart Mountain itself.

The reason for the refuge

By this time, we had left any semblance of forest well behind us and entered an arid world of sagebrush and wide sweeping vistas of bare mountains and vast valleys in between. Shortly before arriving at the handful of buildings and homes that comprise the hamlet of Plush, we actually espied a lone pronghorn antelope eyeing us disinterestedly as we drove by. Safe to say, we were not in Roseburg anymore.

Hart Mountain rises from the Warner Valley

Many epochs ago, seismic processes uplifted a block of the earth's crust and the net result is that the massive wall on the west side of Hart Mountain was pushed up an intimidating 3,000 feet above us as we drove on the dirt road hugging the mountain's base. The mountain flanked the Warner Valley and even though we clearly were in the arid desert, the valley floor contained a series of large lakes and marshes known collectively as the Warner Lakes. Small creeks tumbling seasonally down the mountain's face had carved deep and incredibly rugged canyons over time. The slow pace required by the rough road allowed us to soak in the views in typical tourist mouth-agape fashion.

Some of the Warner Lakes

Things got way cool when the road peeled away from Campbell Lake and proceeded to climb away from the valley and lakes. The Warner Valley wetlands lay at our figurative feet with view of lake after lake with the barren Coyote Hills chasing the equally barren Rabbit Hills in perpetuity on the other side of the valley. The road inched up the Hart Mountain wall and we must have looked like a tick climbing up a pant leg to anyone looking down.

We set up camp and the mosquitoes are happy

We set up camp at the primitive Hot Springs Campground. Despite the primitive part, the camp was one of the better camps I've camped at. Little Rock Creek trickled through a relatively green valley flanked by willows with expansive views of the sagebrushed hills and snow-patched Warner Peak. We set up camp in the trees where we were isolated from the semi-constant wind. Unfortunately, there was no isolating us from the mosquitoes lurking along the creek. And best of all, there was a genuine bona fide hot spring that became a regular post-hike destination during our stay.

Awww...isn't he cute?

For more photos of our first day at Hart Mountain, please visit the Flickr album.