Salt Creek Falls to Fall Creek Falls

 

Salt Creek Falls is Oregon's second tallest waterfall, eclipsed only by iconic Multnomah Falls. Situated approximately halfway between Eugene and Bend, the falls receive a lot of visitors who generally take a very short walk to a paved overlook. However, there are two other falls in the area with actual trails that go to them and once you leave the viewing area, it's a quiet walk on a real trail with few people on it.

Mist and sun had a baby and called it "Rainbow"

From the viewing platform, a dirt trail takes hikers down for a closer look at impressive Salt Creek Falls. The path does not go all the way down to creek level (unless you illegally hop the barrier and do the dangerous scramble down) but it was close enough for the eight of us to soak in the majesty and splendor of the falls. We also got to soak in the cool mist swirling off the cascade and admire the resultant rainbow spanning the Salt Creek's canyon.

The epitome of "rickety bridge"

There's no pavement in hiking, or so I've often said, but you do have to hike a paved path to a long and saggy wooden bridge spanning Salt Creek above the falls. Diamond Creek Falls Trail officially commences at the bridge and once we crossed the rickety span, we were off hiking through a lush forest on our way to Diamond Creek

One small facet of Diamond Creek Falls

It was a steady uphill slog to the path leading down to Diamond Creek Falls. The muddy track was steep and you had to watch your step. A complicating factor was a vertically oriented log with notches cut into it, serving as a rustic one-railed stairway. The cascade is what is termed a "fan waterfall" and I'm definitely a fan! However, "fan waterfall" probably has more to do with the way the creek delicately fanned out across the face of its cliff and less to do with any ardent admirer. In my modest but totally correct opinion, Diamond Creek Falls were the best of the waterfalls we'd visit today.

The irony of crossing tracks in
order to enter a wilderness area

If there's no pavement in hiking, then there probably shouldn't be any trains, either. But there they were, a set of railroad tracks for us to walk across, which we did, nervously looking both ways for any train speeding in our direction. Make fun of me if you will, but I saw the movie "Fried Green Tomatoes" and I know that feet getting stuck in rails in front of an onrushing train is a calamity best avoided. 

A moment of reflection on Diamond Creek

After the railroad crossing, our route entered the Diamond Peak Wilderness via the Vivian Lake Trail, which went totally steep on us.  Huff, puff, we were soon gasping for breath like beached carp while admiring the beautiful forest we were trudging through. There were a number of small creeks and bogs on the trail but decaying boardwalks got us through and across. The forest did provide some fruity succor in the form of huckleberry, salmonberry, and thimbleberry and I partook thereof.

What little we could see of Fall Creek Falls

By comparison to splendid Salt Creek Falls and Diamond Creek Falls, Fall Creek Falls was rather mundane and ordinary. Because of the way the trail was perched on a cliff next to the cascade, you could only see the top half of the falls. I'm sure the cascade would be a lot more spectacular if you could see it completely from top to bottom but if you tried to bushwhack down, you'd be one of those "never heard from again" people.

Much of the Diamond Creek
Falls Trail looked like this

My legs quit on me at that point, having given their all to get me up to Fall Creek Falls. So while everybody continued on to Vivian Lake, I called it good and headed back down the trail to return to Diamond Creek. This time I'd head past Diamond Creek's waterfall and continue on the loop route back to Salt Creek Falls. At this juncture, most of the route went through some lovely shaded forest that felt cool on an increasingly warm day. While Diamond Creek was not seen much, it was always heard as the trail paralleled the creek's path.

Salt Creek has carved a deep and massive gorge

Diamond Creek eventually joins up with Salt Creek and the two creeks then conspire to carve out a deep and spectacular canyon. Periodic openings in the forest cover provided impressive vistas of the gorge with Salt Creek flowing way below the trail. Being prudent in my dotage, I did not venture too close to the rim's edge, it could be a quick trip down, for sure.

Too Much Bear lake was "unbearable"

There is a small lake in the area by the name of Too Much Bear Lake but you could only reach the lake from one particular side trail. I did go down to see the lake and snap a few photos and I "enjoyed" the steep but short hike back to the main trail when done. I didn't see any bear so on this day at least, the lake was quite misnamed.

Salmonberry provided some hiking sustenance

While waiting for my comrades to return to the trailhead, I took a pleasant nap next to Salt Creek, the sound of the rushing stream dropping me into a peaceful slumber. When I woke up to the sound of Lane's squeaky voice permeating the otherwise peaceful air between the trees, I was fully refreshed and sated. A waterfall hike (and nap) will do that to you and this had been one of the better ones.

Mike and Missy on the "trail"
down to Diamond Creek Falls

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

Rosary Lakes

Lane brought a new toy to this hike. It was a brand new GPS with a screen large enough for a Super Bowl party in a Las Vegas sports bar. Suddenly, my own humble GPS seemed woefully inadequate and while I congratulated Lane, deep down inside I may have been envious. However, Lane made the mistake of showing Edwin the new GPS and that in turn, wound up interjecting three bushwhack side-trips into this otherwise staid hike on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).

The Rosary Beads

A bunch of us were camping at nearby Odell Lake and our original plan was to hike in the Waldo Lake area. However, the Cedar Creek Fire had rendered the Waldo Lake Wilderness trail system off limits, and wisely so. The nearby Diamond Peak Wilderness was off limits too, due to a different fire, and the two closures didn't really leave a lot of open trails to choose from. But lucky us, a small section of the Pacific Crest Trail between the two wilderness areas remained open and was just minutes away from Odell Lake and that's the story of how we wound up hiking to the Rosary Lakes.

The first several miles were well forested

A light rain fell off and on during the entire hike and the forest was filled with the hissing sound of rainfall to go along with the noisy chattering of our little group. We may have numbered few, but our voices were mighty. The PCT gently climbed through a forest comprised of uniformly sized trees, which were also uniformly fuzzy with a light green coat of lichen and moss. 

Lower Rosary Lakes is the epitome of stillness

In short order, the trail crested and then dropped into the basin of Lower Rosary Lake. The rain had temporarily abated and the lake was like polished onyx, the dark waters reflecting the surrounding forest, mountains, and gray sky above. The craggy spire of Pulpit Rock dominated the view here, as it did at all three Rosary Lakes. The stillness of the water was preternatural and we spoke in hushed reverential tones for fear the sound waves from our voices would rend the serenity asunder. As we gazed in wonder at the idyllic scene, the spell was broken by a brazen doe coming to join us. Clearly, she was quite habituated to the presence of humans.

Edwin Lake

Our next stop would have been Middle Rosary Lake but Edwin espied a marshy pond off-trail and before you could say "no, Edwin, no!" we were all following the madman as he tromped through a mild tangle of woods and vegetation to reach the body of water. The pond was somewhat inaccessible in that a shallow marsh of water, mud, grass, and maybe a bog orchid or two kept us away from the main body, not that we wanted to swim on this semi-rainy day anyway.

Pulpit Rock is nearest to Middle Rosary Lake

Once we were able to pry Edwin away from his discovery of a small lake (we'll have to petition the Oregon Geographic Names Board to name it Edwin Lake) we resumed hiking on the PCT up to Middle Rosary Lake. The craggy spire of Pulpit Rock again dominated the view, being closest to the trail at Middle Rosary Lake. Accordingly, we stopped for a bit to gawk at the sight of the imposing pinnacle reflecting upon a quiet and serene lake.

Penny excels at the balance beam

At Upper Rosary Lake, the last bead in the rosary, so to speak, we decided to leave the PCT and take a use-path around the back side of the lake. After crossing a grassy marsh on fallen logs, we followed a faint track which didn't take long to go sketchy and disappear altogether. However, navigation was simple, all we had to do was keep the lake on the right, and eventually we'd rejoin the PCT, which is exactly what happened.

Backpacker's digs at Lower Rosary Lake

"What's that?" Lane was consulting his new GPS and sharp-eyed Edwin spotted another small lake on the GPS screen. And before you could say "oh no, not again!" we were all following Edwin to a backpacker's campsite. Here PCT through-hikers had fashioned a living room set out of rocks from Pulpit Rock's avalanche basin but Edwin had his eyes set on the small pond in back of the campsite.

A nameless pond full of ripples from the rain

We hatched a plan to walk around the pond, expecting to find another sketchy path going round. Nope, the faint track we had set out on soon "dissipated" (quoting Terry, here) and we were soon fighting the brush, which was in turn doing a fine job of fighting back. It was much easier to head downhill away from the pond through a forest, where presumably we'd eventually run into Lower Rosary Lake and that is exactly what happened. 

Literally can't see the forest for the trees

Edwin wasn't done though, he again studied the screen on Lane's GPS and figured out the first pond we had bushwhacked to, was the source of Rosary Creek. That creek then plunged steeply down the mountainside before emptying into Odell Lake, right near our campground. Before you could say "bushwhack thrice", Edwin and Terry were off into the forest to shortcut the route home. The remainder of our group, being averse to getting lost, nifty widescreen hi-def GPS notwithstanding, returned to the trailhead. I'm both happy and sad to report Edwin and Terry beat us back to camp. In the meantime we have a new rule: don't let Edwin look at your GPS!

Late summer is the season for pinesap

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

Iron Mountain

Who knew Iron Mountain was such an amazing wildflower hike? The short answer is everyone but me, but that's not entirely accurate, either. I had heard rumors about the wildflower display on Cone Peak and Iron Mountain but had only ever gone on this hike either in winter or late autumn. During those two seasons, any vegetation capable of decorating the two peaks were either all dried up and shriveled like a mummified ancestor, or buried under a layer of snow like a mummified Eskimo ancestor. So, it was high time to make a July sortie out to the Tombstone Pass area and have a look-see.

The trail slices through some of
that Tombstone Prairie greenery

Accompanied by trusty side-kick Missy, I set out on the Santiam Wagon Road which immediately dropped down into Tombstone Prairie. Here, the verdant meadows of the prairie reposed in the valley laying between Cone Peak and Browder Ridge. Rampant greenery flourished under a deep blue sky and already we were off to a fine start.

Columbia tiger lily, always elegant and eye-catching

After an appreciative gawk-stop at the green prairie, we grabbed the Cone Peak Trail and began heading uphill in earnest. At least the hiking was done in a beautifully shaded forest which gave rise to more greenery and a different cast of wildflowers to admire, causing us to almost forget we were walking uphill. The forest floor was strewn with queen's cup, Sitka valerian, Columbia windflower, and other white-colored flowers. Representing the non-white end of the color spectrum were peavine, Columbia tiger lily, woodland penstemon, and a small reef of Merten's coralroot

Golden yarrow, one of the brightest flowers around

Maybe it was a pre-existing condition, but our opinion was that the flowers in the forest were pretty spectacular. Nothing could ever top this. Oh, we were naive then, so early on in our hike. After a mile or two of steady uphill walking, the trail began to break out into intermittent rock gardens with golden yarrow, rock penstemon, and stonecrop stuffed into the cracks between rocks. Nearby, bloomed single specimens of dark purple larkspur, hinting at the larkspur show in our near future.

The larkspur hordes

One larkspur is elegantly beautiful but multiply that by a factor of 4.7 googols and you have the Cone Peak experience in summation. The trail passed through open areas with massive armies of larkspur marching forward to champion the cause of all things purple. Interspersed among the larkspur hordes were occasional specimens of white larkspur, something I had never seen before. The purple meadows were simply amazing and beyond words, although it seems I've managed to come up with a few.

Cone Peak looms above its wildflower gardens

Eventually the path made its way into the pumice barrens below Cone Peak, although they were not as barren as I have seen them in winter. A veritable rainbow of colored petals resided at the end of various flower stalks, splotching the slopes of Cone Peak with color, like a geologic paint palette. All hiking came to a screeching halt as we perused and/or photographed the fields of flowers.

South Peak rises next to Cone Peak

Even without the wildflowers, the loop hike around Cone Peak and Iron Mountain is pretty cool. Views of nearby peaks abound and to the east of Cone Peak, rise South Peak, Echo Mountain, and North Peak, seemingly placed there just for hikers to admire. Apparently, the colorful flower displays are not limited to just Cone Peak, for the other mountains sported large swaths of yellow on their shoulders, to go along with their green meadows.

Missy leads the charge up Iron Mountain

After several miles of mouths-agape hiking through the scenery and wildflowers, we rounded Iron Mountain by hiking through a shady forest of mossy fir trees before intersecting with the Iron Mountain Trail. Yup, it was time to hike up Iron Mountain itself, and this trail definitely put the "up" in "yup"

Dizzying view from the trail

Back and forth and always up, the switchbacking trail went to and fro through the ever ubiquitous meadows and wildflowers, affording me the opportunity to gawk or rest, depending on who you listen to. Iron Mountain is a rugged beast, and accordingly, we hiked past a series of rocky outcroppings, jagged cliffs, and one lone arch. The elevation gained served up ever increasing views of the surrounding river valleys and mountains.

Mount Jefferson was like a ghostly pimple

There is a wooden observation deck on the Iron Mountain summit and a 360 degree panorama that allowed us to play the Name-That-Peak game, although a nearby signboard inspired some of us to cheat. Beginning with Diamond Peak to the south, the Cascades stretched north in a successive chain of volcanoes, the taller ones being snowcapped. The Three Sisters, Mount Washington, and Belknap Crater all loomed on the near eastern skyline, but it was snowy Mount Jefferson looming over Scar Mountain that commanded the most attention. Further to the north was Mount Hood and amazingly, we could even see Mount Adams from all the way in southern Washington.

Bunchberry bloomed in bunches

All good things come to an end though, and regrettably, we hiked off Iron Mountain's summit and then down to Tombstone Pass via the Santiam Wagon Road, which is actually a trail that follows the old historical wagon route. The Santiam Wagon Road ran through another shady forest that sported the same wooded and flowered scenery we had started out through, so many epic hours ago.

Iron Woman on the Iron Mountain Trail

So, now Missy and I both know Iron Mountain rocks in July! Not sure if I'm quite ready to say I'll hike here every July, but that's a distinct possibility.

The Cone Peak flower show

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

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McKenzie River Trail (from Belknap Springs)

No matter how meticulous or painstaking the planning, sometimes things just do not go as intended. Improvisation is often the saving grace of a given hike and the unpredictability makes hiking fun, as long as it's good unpredictability. An unexpected trail closure that forces you onto a trail you'd never been on can be an enjoyable adventure, as long as you don't do something stupid like twist your ankle on the new trail. Gratefully, no body parts were injured on this hike, but because my intended route on the McKenzie River Trail was closed due to wildfire damage, I was forced mid-hike to come up with a new plan on the spur of the moment.

The cold and forbidding waters of the McKenzie

Uncharacteristically (for me), the hiking festivities started early morning, the sun had not yet risen high enough to shine down into the river canyon. Winter is coming and dang, it was cold. I could barely feel my fingers and the cold air made me rue my newly shaved head. If my ears could talk they'd be clamoring for me to immediately don a ski cap before they freeze and fall off my hairless head.

Autumn decorates a bridge railing

Initially, fallen trees covered the trail so I improvised (theme of this blog!) by walking down to Belknap Hot Springs Resort and then through the nearby campground full of still snoring campers. A short cross-country walk from an empty campsite then put me on the McKenzie River Trail proper, where the campground "scenery" was exchanged for a forest lush and light green, the understory being comprised of dense vine maple growth just starting to turn yellow.

The river takes a moment to
reflect on the meaning of life

The McKenzie River was nearby, which only makes sense, given that I was hiking on the McKenzie River Trail. The river surged dark and foreboding in the deep shade, the waters exuding an icy aura that did not even come close to inviting a refreshing swim. In the quiet parts, the surface of the river was like polished onyx and the autumn colors and what little sunlight there was reflected on the river and artfully colored it up. 

Bridge crossing at Boulder Creek

In quick succession, a pair of rustic footbridges crossed over an unnamed creek and Boulder Creek. The unnamed creek's bridge was one-railed, causing me to place an inordinate amount of trust and faith in my left hand and arm. Boulder Creek's bridge has the proper amount of rails (two!) but the creek had very little water pooling between the many boulders in the creek bed. I could see where Boulder Creek joined with the McKenzie but the unnamed creek just disappeared into the rampant greenery encroaching the creek bed. And thus ends this random tale of two creeks which much like this hike, rambled aimlessly.

A moment of Zen

I knew the Knoll Fire had trashed the McKenzie River Trail at Deer Creek, causing the Forest Service to close that section of trail. What I did not realize was that the line of demarcation for the closure was not at Deer Creek itself, but at Deer Creek Road instead. That closure site meant that my intended 8 mile hike was now going to be a 4 mile hike. The barrier itself was just a wooden sawhorse with no explanation attached and I could hear my hiking buddies saying "If you can walk around it, it's not closed!' (We had discussed trail closures on our last hike). But I believe in playing nice with the USFS, so it was back the way I had come, pondering how best to come up with some additional mileage.

Sunlight filters through the leafy woods

Duh, the McKenzie River Trail runs in either direction from Belknap Springs Trailhead. So once I reached the trailhead, it was a simple matter of crossing the road and continuing west on the trail. Now, my preconceived notion was that this trail section basically hugged busy McKenzie Highway and was generally uninteresting. Boy, was I wrong, wrong enough that I am even putting it in writing right here in my blog.

The trail wound its way through an
entrancing and captivating forest

The forest on this part was beautiful and eminently sublime. Ample greenery abounded, although the greenery was not entirely green-leafed, thanks to vine maples turning yellow or red, depending on the sunlight. Lush growth flanked the trail, the usual suspects being Oregon grape, salal, and all the ferns you could ever hope to see on a day hike. Not to mention, tall maple and conifer trees kept the hike shady and whatever sunlight made it down to the forest floor was of the dappled variety. 

Arrival at Lost Creek

The trail rapidly descended down a forested ridge crest that peeled away from the now unseen river. My reward for all that downhill hiking, besides having to hike back up, was a scenic bridge crossing at Lost Creek. The creek didn't look all that lost, as it joined the McKenzie within eyeshot of the bridge. The stream coursed in the bottom of a pronounced canyon and was nearly wide enough to be considered a river. The bridge seemed a good place as any to turn around at, and back up the trail I went, happy with the discovery of another totally awesome hike, thanks to an unexpected closure and some improvisation.

This portion of the McKenzie River
Trail invites further exploration

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

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The Twins

"Double the pleasure, double the fun, The Twins are fun for everyone!" I may have missed my calling as a jingle writer but then again, I'd have to learn music and lose my self-respect, but on the other hand it would pay the bills. And moving right along from inane rhymes to the far more serious topic of hiking, this was Getaway Day of the campout at Odell Lake and just as I broke up the long drive to the campground by hiking to Bobby Lake, I decided to break up the long drive back home with yet another hike in the Waldo Lake area. 

Trail sign at the intersection with the PCT

The Twin Peaks Trail is basically Bobby Lake Trail's neighbor from a parallel universe, meaning that the two trails were only about four miles apart but travel in parallel to each other, and never shall the trails meet. Each trail begins from the Waldo Lake Road, both cross the Pacific Crest Trail, and both head due east to reach their respective destinations. Each spends several miles in dry and dusty forest with nary a view to be had but there the similarities end. The Bobby Lake Trail is relatively level while the Twin Peaks Trail is most assuredly the very antithesis of level. 

It was a dusty slog for the first several miles

The soils in the Waldo Lake area are volcanic in nature and in keeping with the theme of this week's hiking, my legs were soon covered with a thick layer of volcanic dust. Within a mere quarter-mile of the trailhead, the path inclined sharply and I began having glute-burning flashbacks to the last time I was here. Apparently, the trail hasn't gotten any less steep during my extended absence. At ground level, it looked and felt like it was just another slog up through a forested grade but the reality was that the trail was actually climbing the slopes of The Twins. 

A pond of stagnant water provides succor for mosquitoes

After a mile or two of thankless toil on the slopes of The Twins, the trail crossed the Pacific Crest Trail heading to either Charlton Lake or Bobby Lake, depending on your direction of travel. If anything, the path had become even steeper in grade as it slogged on ever upward through a densely shaded forest. In testament to the geologic origins of the (relatively) small peak, basaltic formations of gray and black rock flanked either side of the trail. Also flanking the trail were a series of small stagnant ponds and sparse meadows, the meadows sprouting where there once were shallow puddles before summer's heat dried them out. 

Just about on the crater's rim

And just like that, the forest ended and the trail charged madly up a slope comprised of inch-high grass. Just when you thought it couldn't get any steeper, it did, but I was by now fully committed to reaching the two summits. After a hot and sweaty bit of hiking, the grass thinned out and then it was all red, brown, and ochre pumice and small rocks as the footpath finally reached the rim. 

Wildfire smoke occluded the view of Waldo Lake

The Twins (or Twin Peaks) implies there are two completely separate summits independent of each other. That indeed is sort of correct but really, the two summits are just a pair of high-points on the rim of a single volcanic crater. The first twin is the smaller of the two and it sits on the north end of the rim. It was with some eagerness that I reached the top of the first twin, fully anticipating a stunning and expansive vista from Waldo Lake to the Three Sisters. 

A spectral South Sister looms in the distance

If I squinted hard, I could maybe and just barely make out either of those landmarks, surprising because Waldo Lake in particular was really very close to the summit and should have been easily visible. Unfortunately though, large areas of California were aflame and a white cloud of haze was hiding Bend and the rest of central Oregon from view. Closer to home, fires had broken out in the Opal Creek Wilderness, on the slopes of Mount Jefferson, and in the Sweet Creek area of the Coastal Range. I'm not sure which one of those fires were contributing the layer of dirty brown smoke but it may have been a combination of all of them. 

If nothing else, The Twins are colorful

At any rate, the haze and smoke did detract from the would-be view. Despite the limited visibility though, it was still kind of awesome in its own little opaque fashion. South Sister, Bachelor Butte, and nearby Charlton Butte were all visible in a spectral ghostlike smoky way. Charlton Lake and several large reservoirs to the east accented the dark forests covering the land between peaks. Huge Waldo Lake sprawled right below the smaller of The Twins, a great big sapphire hole in the forest tapestry covering the volcanic terrain. 

The path climbs up to the taller of the two Twins

A short walk to the taller Twins summit provided some sense of closure and the same views but with the addition of Diamond and Maiden Peaks to the south. Gold and Bobby Lakes kowtowed and prostrated themselves at the feet of their respective mountains, demonstrating utmost reverence for those greater than themselves. And always, the view from either Twin provided a look at the colorful rocks of and soils of the other Twin. 

A sparse prairie between Twins

All good things come to an end, though and so it was with this hike. On the way down, I ran into several groups of mountain bikers on foot, laboriously pushing their bikes upward, breathing heavily as they did so. Good, I was thinking it was just me but maybe the trail really was as steep as it felt. 

Gold Lake grovels at the feet of Diamond Peak

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

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