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.

Takelma Gorge

Here in Oregon, you have to work a little bit to get a good autumn hike in. Surrounded as we are by dark evergreen forest, it's quite easy to inadvertently bypass the fall colors. It certainly had been a while for me, I checked my calendar and the last time I had what I would call a good autumn walk was back in 2012. But the secret (in Oregon, anyway) to hiking in a colory wonderland of ochre and golden goodness is to simply hike where the vine maples are, usually near a river or stream.  And if the vine maples happen to stand next to some fantastic scenery, then the hike gets booted up to a whole other level of awesome.

Gorgeous Gorge!

Take Takelma Gorge, for example. The Rogue River gets stuffed into a narrow gorge and is not particularly happy about being so constrained. The river seethes noisily in its confines like King Kong chained inside  a wooden shipping crate. However, it would be pretty awesome to stand next to the shipping crate with a raging King Kong in it and so it is with hiking on the edge of a gorge so deep, you cannot see the river roiling at the bottom Yet the gorge is also so narrow you can hurl a bowling ball left-handed across to the other side, and we get to hike just a few feet from the edge. Hiking doesn't get much better than that! However, in mid-October, as awesome as Takelma Gorge is, it almost gets upstaged by the yellow, russet, orange, and scarlet hues of the vine maples.

This is better looking than a motorcycle accident

This Friends of the Umpqua hike in Takelma Gorge got off to an inauspicious start on the drive to the Upper Rogue River. In front of us, a pair of vacationing motorcyclists ran into each other and spilled bodies, motorcycles, and motorcycle parts all over the road. Fortunately, they were wearing flack jackets and avoided serious injury. We had our doctors (lucky we had two in our party) check them out to make sure they were OK. One of the riders had an obviously broken hand but he was in denial and was going to try continuing on with his journey. Since I cycled 78 miles AFTER breaking my wrist and jaw in a cycling mishap, I totally understood. Also, from my experience, I knew at some point he'd figure out he was hurt worse than he hoped he was and would seek treatment, even if he didn't know it at the moment. At any rate, we were late getting to the trailhead and Medford hiking buddies Glenn, Carol, and Katie the Banana-Eating Dog had to wait quite a bit for us to arrive.

On the Upper Rogue River Trail

Starting at the Woodruff Bridge Trailhead,  we set out onto the Upper Rogue River Trail whose entire 48-mile length I WILL backpack someday, even though I've been saying that for years. Immediately, all thoughts of glorious gorge-ous gorges was driven from our heads by the yellow leaves surrounding the trail. The trail was carpeted with dead leaves which muffled our footfalls as we walked, imparting a reverential hush to the hike. Lane, Sharon, and I soon lagged behind with very busy cameras.

Serene and tranquil, but not for long!

The trail ambled close to the Rogue River, it's surface as smooth as a marble countertop. I was going to say "...as smooth as an incredibly handsome hiking leader" but that's a different kind of smooth! The river wasn't always that smooth either, because the trail disappeared into the river and former trees along the river were now trees in the river. The soil here is all volcanic ash, left courtesy of Mount Mazama's cataclysmic eruption 7,000 years ago. The soil is as unyielding as a stick of butter at room temperature, so any shifts in the river's course will easily eat up trees and trails.

The Rogue River picks up speed

The trail had been rerouted in places to get around the eroded parts, which meant none of us had to do any river wading on this chill and cool autumn day. About a half-mile into the hike, the river began to pick up speed and rapids began to form. The trail was fairly level but the river was dropping in relation to the trail and soon we were walking on a rocky bench well above the river.

Nobody kayaks Takelma Gorge, I wonder why?

Takelma Gorge begins at what I call "The Fishook", a spectacular river U-turn surrounded by tall rocky cliffs. In testimony to the power of the river, large logs are strewn pell-mell, as if they had been tossed there in a Pick-up-Sticks game of the gods.  At The Fishhook, the Rogue River leaped down into the gorge and it was all noisy whitewater current here, no more placid and tranquil river for us! Downstream of the Fishhook, Takelma Gorge then ran straight as a laser beam for approximately a mile and we could look down a significant portion of the gorge.

Gorge geology lesson

The narrow defile was formed when Mount Mazama first covered the area with a huge deposit of volcanic ash, rocks, and sludge. Subsequent lava flows then covered the soft ash and subsequently hardened, so you had a layer of hard dense material covering a soft sludgy interior, a description that could aptly describe my head. At some point the river found a soft spot in the lava covering and like an earworm, burroughed into the soft material underneath the hard shell. Once the river found the ashy soil underneath, erosion took place and lo, Takelma Gorge was born. In the picture to the left, you can clearly see the layers described in this paragraph.

Decaying biomass, big and small

After a bit, the canyon deepened enough that the river disappeared from view, although its belligerent roar could always be heard. And shortly thereafter, the gorge flattened out, the river reappeared, went totally tranquil, and our attention returned back to the autumn foliage. It was like the gorge never was and once past, it was a pleasantly (relatively) level few miles to our lunch spot at the closed-for-the-season River Bridge Campground. It was a nice lunch and laze as we swapped hiking tales while Katie mooched bananas from yours truly.

British soldiers, a lichen

On the way back, Lane and I didn't take too many pictures (at first!) and kept up with everybody. But then Takelma Gorge looked so spectacular that we whipped the cameras out again, even though we had photographed the same things on the hike in. It's a disease, I tell you, and our symptoms increased when we returned to the vine maples upstream of the gorge.

Leaf-littered trail

I'm not sure how this happened but the woods had become even more spectacular than when we passed through in the morning. I'm not sure what it was but the colors were brighter and more colory, the vine maples had seemingly unfurled tons more of painted leaves and the autumn show was simply breathtaking. All hiking came to a screeching halt as we began the process of photographing every leaf in the forest.  Good thing I had the car keys!

Forest fire, vine maple style

We had long lost contact with our group, and several hiker groups passed by as we plied our avocation. Heck, we were even passed up by small children and arthritic 90-year old grandparents, but we didn't care. I made several attempts to seriously hike back to the trailhead but every new bend in the trail served up a new spectacular scene and our lack of progress got pretty ridiculous. Fortunately, my fellow hikers and club members have been well trained by experience and eventually, Lane and I made it back to the trailhead where our party was waiting patiently for us. Well, actually they were sleeping on the picnic tables, but why quibble?

Mother and child

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

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