Rainie Falls

It's February already, yet this is only my second hike of 2021. At this rate, I'm on pace to wind up with 48 miles on 12 hikes this year. I'd hiked so little recently my knees were oxidizing and in sore need of some life-giving hiking oil. Accordingly, younger brother Don and I set up a hike at Takelma Gorge but snowy weather caused us to postpone that little venture for a later date. The Rogue River was nearby though, and situated below snowy weather elevation, thereby making the Rogue our impromptu Plan B. And because I felt as rusted over as the Tin Man, Rainie Falls was chosen simply because it was not as rigorous as the up-and-down Rogue River Trail on the opposite side of the river from the Rainie Falls Trail.

    

A cold day all around

Despite being shorter though, the Rainie Falls Trail is a lot more rugged. The trail is crudely chiseled into cliff faces above the river and the tread is rough and rocky in a lot of places, rendering both of our inner mountain goats ecstatic. Although we'd get neither snow nor rain on this day, it was frosty cold and was all that was needed for actual snowfall was just some precipitation. The surrounding mountains disappeared into a low cloud cover on a gray day and no doubt the mountains did have snow higher up.

Numerous seasonal creeks ran across the trail

It was readily made apparent that this hike would be all about water. Of course, the rain-swollen Rogue River coursed below the trail and was eminently visible for virtually the entire hike. But weeks of rain and snow created new creeks and runoffs while replenishing and rejuvenating old ones. Don likes to take videos and I like to photograph, so we basically hiked in same style, which consisted of frequent stops to take photos or videos or all of the above.

Not the smoothest trail in the world

There was a duality to this hike in that the time and miles were equally split between trail etched into exposed rocky cliffs and lush forest green and vibrant; one or the other with no in-between. The forest was that odd Siskiyou mix we know and love, being comprised of strange tree-fellows madrone, myrtlewood, cedar, oak, and fir. Don and I crumpled up myrtlewood leaves between our fingers, enjoying the sweet intoxicating aroma emanating from the bruised leaves.

Don hikes through the ferns and Oregon myrtle

A fellow Pacific Northwest nature geek once admonished me "Do NOT call it bay laurel, it is Oregon myrtle!" Yes sir, and I dutifully obeyed so as not to be unfriended or written out of the will. However, if you look up "Oregon myrtle", you will find it also called "California bay laurel" and please don't hit me. All this discussion of laurel vs. myrtlewood is because Don speculated myrtlewood is a true bay laurel endemic to northern California and southern Oregon. That sent me to some online research where I found out: a) it is not a true laurel although the fragrant leaves smell as such and b) the range is the entire California coast and about half of the Oregon coast and c) I am the smarter and better looking brother.

Some madrone orangery among all the greenery

We had a similar discussion about the range of madrone, he thought it was likewise limited to Oregon and northern California. Actually, madrone can be found the world over but our particular madrone species, the Pacific madrone, grows only on the west coast from San Diego to the Vancouver Island area in British Columbia. Good thing Don and I did not discuss any other species of flora or fauna because otherwise I'd still be immersed in this research project, but I spare no effort to prove to my readers that I am always right. 

Good thing the river gods aren't hungry

This time of year, the winter rains and snows fill up the Rogue River and naturally, the river was silty, fast, and wide. The extra water just overwhelms Rainie Falls, making it seem more like a watery speed bump for the rafting and kayaking crowd instead of the feared river obstacle it is. However, the strong and powerful current is still plenty capable of chewing up careless boaters and spitting out the husks like so many used-up sunflower seed hulls. The inherent danger didn't necessarily stop us from standing right at the edge but on the other hand, we both have cool photos and videos of the falls. Maybe neither one of us is the smarter brother.

It was cliffy and we liked it

After a nice little lollygag, it was back the way we came and we got to experience the awesome Rogue River Scenery all over again. The ponderous bulk of the greenish-brown river flowed in the bottom of its canyon and we observed many creeks waterfalling down the mountainsides before splashing into or onto the river. This was Don's first visit to the Rogue River and much like all newbies I have brought here in years past, he was reliably awed. Mission accomplished, especially since I didn't hurt any more body parts on the hike, which is something you say when you are the older brother.

Don saw the Rogue River, and
he smiled and said it was good

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

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Rogue River Trail 2/2020

The Rogue River Trail is like an old friend that I visit several times a year to reminisce and share stories with, but without the all the drinking of whiskey and spitting of tobacco from the front porch. I've long ago lost count of how many times I've hiked this trail but each and every time out, the same old scenery is different in some way, shape, or form, never failing to provide a day's worth of enjoyment. That's why I hike this trail over and over again so it should come as no surprise that on a chill February day, four old hikers (some older than others) set out on the Rogue River Trail to visit our perennial friend for alt least the 3,072nd time, but who's counting?

Crystal clear pool on a seasonal creek

Despite the comfortable familiarity of the route, the hike is different every time out (I know, I'm repeating myself, aren't I?). Today's exercise in differentness was the sun and shade. The planet and earth had aligned just so, leaving the river canyon in deep and dark shade despite it being a sunny day in general. Every time the high ridges and mountains prevented the sun from reaching the river flowing in its deep canyon, the temperature dropped, chilling noses, ears, fingers, and any other unprotected body parts. 

From light unto dark

The river zigs and zags on its quest to become one with the ocean and every time the trail rounded a bend, the sun emerged from its blocked-by-mountains purgatory to bathe us in unseasonably warm sunlight. Eventually, I gave up trying to put on or remove layers to get warmer, colder, or just righter, settling instead on hiking in short sleeves and just putting up with shivering in the shade until the sun came out from behind the high ridges.

Saxifrage graced moist cliffs

The Rogue River Trail puts on a vibrant wildflower show each spring and we were ahead of the floral fireworks. However, there were some early blossomers commencing the blooming festivities, notably those being saxifrage, Hall's desert parsley, snow queen, with occasional specimens of Oregon sunshine and oaks toothwort. (Grammatical question: shouldn't the plural of toothwort be teethwort?) I can't quite say much photography ensued because there weren't that many wildflowers to take photos of...yet.

The leaves of laurel are more fragrant than the flowers

One of my favorite things about the Rogue River Trail is the forest comprised of laurel, tan oak, and madrone treees. The laurels were sporting umbels of yet unopened flower buds and as always, the fragrance of the leaves entranced passing hikers. The madrones reached up to the blue sky overhead, their wiggly smooth orange-colored trunks providing a pleasing visual contrast to all the blue and green above and around the trail. A cousin to madrone, manzanita shrubs contributed their blue-gray leaves and smooth burgundy-colored limbs and trunks to the shrubbery rainbow flanking the trail. And as always, the mottled light filtering through the trees created a pleasant ambiance to hike in.

A small spring runoff trickles across the trail

If you've ever hiked the Rogue River Trail in the summer, then you are well aware that it can get blazing hot, arid, and dry, with the rocky cliffs well populated by buzzing rattlesnakes, ex-wives, and other scaly reptiles. However, in spring and early summer, small creeks run across the trail, the tinkling waters providing a musical backdrop to the all the usual sounds of the forest mixed in with some huffing and puffing from old out-of-shape hikers (present company included). Today was no different and I was only too happy to get boots wet as I splashed across the burbling creeks.

Snow queen, blooming on the forest floor

Our party of four had gotten spread out as John and Jennifer had left me in their dust as is their usual wont, and I had left Dianne in my dust as is my usual wont. Mostly, I just hiked by myself, accompanied by my own idle thoughts on a gorgeous day. We had talked about lunching at Whiskey Creek Cabin, a backwoods museum and historical site but when I arrived, I had the whole place to myself. Obviously, John and Jennifer had continued on further up the trail. Nonetheless, I enjoyed lazing on the grass, eating lunch amid the rusting mining relics strewn about in front of the rustic cabin. 

Sun and shade on the trail

I did run into John and Jennifer lunching on a sun-exposed beach where Whiskey Creek met the Rogue River and we called out greetings to each other as I continued hiking back to the trailhead at Graves Creek. Wanting to prove my mettle somewhat, I pushed my pace in what I presumed would be a vain attempt to keep from being overtaken by my speedy comrades. Actually, I managed to pull off the feat, arriving at the trailhead mere minutes in front of the two uber-hikers.

Thanks old friend, I needed that!

As always, it was nice to fraternize with our old friend the Rogue River Trail, and I certainly look forward to my next visit there. For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Rogue River Trail 1/2018

Last December I hiked at Cape Blanco and then the Rogue River. In January, I hiked at Cape Blanco and then the Rogue River. See a trend? Yup, me too, but rest assured that in February, I will not hike at Cape Blanco or the Rogue River. I did have good reason to double up on Cape Blanco though, as I was helping Lane get acquainted with the route and then helping him lead a very large group on the subsequent outing, But the twin Rogue River hikes were more happenstance than actual intent.

Tumbling creek falling into the river

Daweson and I had hiked on the Rogue River Trail in December and shortly afterwards, the Friends of the Umpqua added the Rogue River Trail to their schedule. So my choice on this January Saturday was to hike elsewhere alone or reenact the hike with the club. Apparently, I needed company on this day, for I joined up with the club and hiked the oh-so-familiar Rogue River Trail with my friends. Well, maybe it's a stretch to say that I have actual friends, but at any rate I had company and companionship on this hike, if for no other reason than I had the car keys in my possession.

Rain was a constant threat

Actually, the decision to hike along the Rogue had more to do with weather than having comrades somehow validate my meager inconsequential existence as a human being. It had been pretty rainy which meant snow in the Cascades and less than optimal conditions at the coast. Chances were pretty high that we would get rained on at the Rogue but at least it would be a short drive for that dubious privilege.

A waterfall tumbles across the trail

The theme of the December Rogue River hike was cold air and it was definitely warmer now than it had been back then. The current hike was much wetter, though. About a half-mile from the trailhead, a small creek waterfalls onto the trail at the infamous "wet spot". The trail is narrow and due to the year round waterfall, the rocks can get quite slippery when the algae grows. Normally, you cross the wet spot very carefully, placing your hands on the cliff side for support. However, the waterfall was carrying so much volume that there was no hope of staying dry, and my right leg was promptly soaked from the hip down, thanks to immersing said leg in said waterfall as I crossed. Good thing it wasn't as cold as that December hike!

Typical view from the trail

Because of the increased water volume, the Rogue River was not its usual blue-green, aquamarine water machine. Today, the water was greenish-brown like dooky water backing up behind a pipe blockage, with the increased bulk of the river appearing somewhat menacing when seen from up close. Fortunately, we hiked mostly high above the river, enjoying views of the river safely ensconced in its canyon.

Whiskey Creek

On any spring day, numerous creeks and seasonal runoffs cross the trail and today was no different. What was different was the volume of water, as almost all of the intermittent streams were larger than normal due to the recent run of rain. The good news was that while we were occasionally spattered with raindrops, the day remained relatively dry. In fact, about two miles into the hike, the sun  even broke out and we basked in its warm bright glory...for all of two minutes. The day then went dark and cloudy and so it would remain.

Oregon sunshine says spring cometh

We ate lunch at rustic Whiskey Creek Cabin before turning around. I soon lagged far behind everybody else but there were so many things to take pictures of. I actually spotted my first wildflowers of the year, in the form of Oregon sunshine, oak toothwort, and cliff-hugging moisture-loving saxifrage. That's OK, though, as I was driving and my car-mates had to wait for me out of necessity. That's it for this month's version of the Rogue River hike and we'll see you at Cape Blanco next month...not!

An unnamed creek splashes across the trail

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

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Rogue River Trail 12/2017

After we finished this hike, I dropped Daweson off at his home. On the front porch, his parents and other assorted other relatives were sitting and conversing in the early evening. "How was your hike?" they asked. Daweson replied with an air of casual nonchalance, "We weren't feeling it today, so we only hiked 7.5 miles". It was kind of like a mike drop without the mike and I do believe he has mastered the fine art of bragging without braggadocio. He's definitely my grandson!

The trail makes my inner mountain goat happy

Of course, those of us that live in the hiking world are quite aware that 7.5 miles is just another hike, the moderate distance not necessarily constituting an epic test of manhood or womanhood. But the day was cold and chilly, and a brisk wind intermittently swept up the Rogue River canyon so we were both OK with the rather bland length of the hike.

Snow, in the mountains above

According to the car themometer, it was 34 degrees at the start and it would "warm" up to 38 degrees by hike's end. The sky was darkly overcast and foreboding, it felt like rain was an imminent eventuality and snow a distinct possibility.  Snow line was about 500 feet above us, although the snow covered ridges and peaks were all hidden by the cloud cover. And just to hammer the cold nail point home, a gusty wind cuffed and buffeted all life forms shivering in the river canyon. This was Daweson's first time on the Rogue River Trail and it was a rather chilly initiation by one of Oregon's premier hiking trails.

The Rogue River, all day long

The trail charged up to the cliffs above the river and provided view after view after view of river and canyon. The river was running fairly clear and was showing off a deep blue green color. Despite the gloomy weather, there is something about an aquamarine river coursing through a mossy green rocky canyon on a gray day. The one member of our party with a camera soon lagged behind, taking picture after picture of the moody scenery.

Daweson gawks at ospreys and Sanderson Island

After a mile or so, bouldery Sanderson Island hove into view. The trail here seems particularly cliffy and is one of my favorite photo stops, even though I probably have taken thousands of photos from the same spot. It never gets old and I never tire of the views on the Rogue River Trail. Anyway, as we stopped to gawk at the island, an osprey sped up the canyon, barely flapping its wings as it rode the air currents. 

The high-water-mark mark

A short climb up a brief paved section of trail brought us to the high water mark. By way of explanation, the river flooded in 1964 and a sign marks where the river crested about 50 feet above river level. There used to be a bridge here, and all that remains of the bridge are cement piers on the south bank. The rest of the bridge was swept away in that massive flood event from 1964. That would have been a rare good day to cancel hiking on the Rogue River Trail. 

Madrone and laurel

After the high water mark, the trail entered a forest comprised of that odd Siskiyou Mountains mix of laurel, tan oak, madrone, and conifers of various specie. We could hear Rainie Falls roaring below, but the falls were pretty much hidden from view by the trees. This time of year, all manner of creeks and runoffs were splashing across the trail and we got plenty of practice rock-hopping across wet spots.

Whiskey Creek

At Whiskey Creek Camp, a campsite for the rafting crowd, we strolled on the sandy beach next to the river. The river was slow and tranquil here, its ponderous bulk still somewhat menacing. Across the river, Rum Creek splashed noisily into the Rogue while on our side of the river, Whiskey Creek did likewise. With Booze Creek up ahead another mile, one could infer that the Rogue River drove prospectors of yesteryear to drink.

Mushroom at Whiskey Creek Cabin

Despite my urging, Daweson refused to touch the wires of the bear pen fencing. The bear pens (my term) are small corrals, connected to a car battery,  in which rafters and backpackers store their food inside for the purpose of deterring habituated bears from raiding camps. From personal (accidental) experience, those wires do pack a sharp bite, so it's probably a good thing Daweson doesn't always blindly obey his supposedly wiser grandfather.

Daweson, working on his spaghetti arms

We turned around at Whiskey Creek Cabin, a former prospector abode now doing duty as a backwoods museum of sorts. The cabin is stuffed with tools, tin cans, and antique bedsprings, providing a rusty look into the pioneering and mining history of the Rogue River. Strewn about the site are large heavy pieces of rusting mining equipment while the remnants of a flume ditch can still be seen in the woods above the cabin. 

Cliff-hugging trail at Sanderson Island

From there it was back the way we came, the wind at our backs this time. Despite the dark sky, the clouds never made good on the threat of rain. Even though we walked in less than optimal conditions, Daweson averred that his first Rogue River Trail experience was indeed a grand venture. Plus, it gave him the rightful opportunity to artfully boast about the hike.

Manzanita tree

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

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Rogue River Trail

Usually, it's like Christmas morning the first day of a backpack trip. I get up early, excited beyond reason, and I just can't wait to begin. But then again, there are trips like this recent trek on the Rogue River Trail. It wasn't the river's fault, nor was it the trail itself. No, the decided lack of enthusiasm for backpacking can be squarely laid at the feet of some rather wet April weather.

Stands of oak were a common sight

With ever-increasing horror, the five of us on this trip (Kevin, Lane, Dale, John, and your merry blogster) had spent the week watching the forecast change with each passing day. Generally, we knew rain was going to be involved but it was a question of how much and how many days we would be dealing with the wet stuff. But, since our baseline was a forecast of heavy rain all week, the two days prognosticated at the hike's outset wasn't bad at all. Or at least, that's what we told ourselves. After the hike, we each pretty much admitted that left to our own devices, each one of us would not have gone on the hike. But since we were committed not only to each other, but also to a shuttle service payment, we all gathered at my home on Tuesday morning. Some would argue that our level of commitment to backpacking in poor weather is cause enough to be committed, but to a mental institution. Of course, those grumpkins and naysayers think we should be committed anyway for being so committed to hiking in general, even in good weather.

Day 1

Band of Rogues, 2017 edition

With all of us wondering what the heck we were doing out in the rain, we put on the Frogg Toggs (of course, I was the only one in a very chic and bright yellow suit; I sort of looked like either a human banana or the Man In the Yellow Suit from Curious George) and hoisted our packs. Yeah it was raining but really, the rain was fairly kind and gentle as it only rained intermittently and for short periods of time. The temperature was cool, bordering on chilly, but just perfect for hiking. It wasn't bad at all. I keep telling myself that, too.

Hiking in the rain is so much fun

The Rogue River Trail from the Graves Creek Trailhead is a common destination for day hikers and most of us had been on this trail a number of times. None of us Rogue River Trail grizzled veterans had ever seen so many wildflowers on the trail, though. Large swaths of tarweed, sea blush, popcorn flower, and red larkspur painted the grassy slopes yellow, pink, white, and red. Our little group of 5 quickly segregated themselves into those with cameras and those without; those with cameras naturally brought up the rear.

Crossing the wet spot with utmost care

Not even a half-mile into the hike, a small creek presented the first travail (besides the rain). The creek waterfalled onto the trail and ran over the rocky tread. This particular little creek runs all year so the rocks are slipperier than an eel with a runny nose, perfect conditions for top-heavy backpackers to take a spill. We hugged the wall and carefully picked our way to safety, although Kevin's dog Wish had no problem; but then again he has 4-wheel drive and natural traction tires.

Russian Creek

Once safely across the snotty creek, it was time to enjoy the oh-so-familiar 3 miles to Whisky Creek, where a short break was taken. From there, it was up-and-down on a trail that alternated between grassy slopes; copses of madrone, tan oak, and fragrant laurel trees; conifer and cedar forests; and exposed cliffs. The basic pattern was that the trail would drop down to cross a creek and then back up to the cliffs high above the river; repeat for each of the many creeks splashing across or under the trail.

The only thing better than hiking in
the rain is camping in the rain

We had started late because the plan was to hike short the first day but nobody wanted to put out early and spend more rain time in camp. So, we actually went farther than intended, eventually dropping off the trail and scrambling down to a flat spot at Slate Slide. Not sure why it is called that but nobody slid down to camp. The tenters in the group squeezed in tight on the small shelf. Meanwhile, the two hammockers (me and Dale) in our group had to find two spindly trees on the rocky slope to dangle between. In camp, I plucked one small tick I felt crawling on my back and then I felt thousands of imaginary ticks crawling on me afterwards.

Day 2

Yep, another rainy day

In the middle of the night, the heavens opened up and it really rained hard. The staccato rhythms of the raindrop on my rain-fly was soothing and despite the noise, I slept quite well. Score one for the hammock! Unfortunately, everybody's gear got quite wet in the process of  striking camp: sleeping bag, clothes, pack...you name it, it had gotten wet despite best efforts to keep stuff dry. Because of the wetness, I believe my pack had actually gained weight from the day before. Kevin and Wish were only with us for the first day so we bid them both adieu as we grudgingly began the day's hiking activities.

Giving thanks to a gift
left by a trail angel

Life was wet on Day 2. The rain fell steadily but we all were clad in Frogg Togg rainsuits, although I was sporting the only bright yellow suit. The others wore more conservative but dignified desert brown and forest green, but were nowhere as cool, suave, and debonair as I. And I keep telling myself that, too.

Ground cones, sprouting forth

Speaking of forest green, the vegetation was busting forth in spring profusion, be it ferns, trees, wildflowers, or poison oak. But mostly it was poison oak. The Frogg Toggs probably helped in warding off poison oak rashes as well as repelling water. Also celebrating spring, was a healthy population of ticks. Remember the one I found crawling on me in camp? Well, that turned out to be the only tick I would find crawling on me this trip and the guys were fairly irritated with me as they flicked ticks off of pant legs by the dozens. Unfortunately, not all were plucked off and each was at some point, bitten by the little tick-wads. Not sure why I was deemed unflavorable by the ticks, but I was sure glad I was!

Saw and stepped on a lot of these guys

Despite the rain, the views high above the river were astounding. The river snaked in the canyon several hundred feet below, and tendrils of mist hugged the forested mountains in a rainy embrace. Once past Horseshoe Bend, I promised the guys a flat and fast trail but memory does play tricks because the trail was not particularly fast or flat.

Ditch Creek, from camp

After 8'ish miles of hiking we set up camp next to Ditch Creek, a rambunctious stream tumbling next to a meadowed hillside. I suspect this was the site of a former homestead because the slopes were dotted with rogue fruit trees. Just below our campsite, the Rogue silently coursed by and fortunately, the rain finally let up by the time we set up camp. I couldn't find two trees the right distance apart so I just set up the canopy and slept underneath but on the ground. Note to self: buy more parachute cord.

Day 3

Hitchhiker on my sleeping pad

Day 3 was the midpoint in terms of mileage, calendar, and weather. Gone was the rainstorm from the first two days and we would enjoy a pleasant mix of sun and cloud on the day. When we stopped and rested periodically, we took the occasion to dry out wet clothing and gear in the warm sunlight. Dale's phone (his camera) quit working when it got wet on the first day so he took out the battery and dropped the wet phone in a package of dehydrated bacon and eggs. That did the trick although he now feels like eating breakfast every time he makes a call. Day 3 was also the midpoint of sartorial hygiene as I joyfully donned clean socks, shirt, and underwear. Same old smelly hiker, though.

Zane Grey's cabin

Leaving Ditch Creek, we noticed an old flume ditch running next to the trail, that's more than likely how Ditch Creek earned its name. A few miles into the day's hiking, John, Lane, and I left the Rogue River Trail for a short walk down to Winkle Bar, which coincidentally is the name of Dale's favorite nightclub. The bar, a meadowed flat spot next to the Rogue, is private property but the owners allow hikers to visit Zane Grey's old cabin. Apparently, the famed author spent time fishing on the Rogue River and the ramshackle cabin where he stayed still is in existence. Also in existence is the original two-hole privy. We didn't look to see if any fossilized Zane Grey poops still existed beneath either hole.

Landslides were a challenge to get past

About a mile beyond our Winkle Bar sojourn, a massive landslide had taken out a significant portion of the Rogue River Trail. Getting across required hiking poles and utmost concentration so I didn't take any mid-slide pictures as is my normal wont. The first landslide was the most challenging and the largest, but not the last such one we would encounter.

John and Dale hid at Rogue River Ranch

Lane and I lagged well behind, taking pictures of everything, while John and Dale hiked ahead. It seemed like the Rogue River Ranch would be a logical spot to regroup but this is where things went awry. John and Dale had the same thought and took the side trail to the ranch, a working museum and historical site, and waited on the porch for us to show up. However, not being sure if Dale and John were at the ranch or whether they had continued on the Rogue River Trail, we chose the trail.

Bridge at Quail Creek

So while we observed the red buildings of the ranch below the trail, we could not see Dale and John on the porch side of the buildings as we continued on past the ranch. Meanwhile Dale and John waited patiently for us to show up, unaware we had leapfrogged past. We had all agreed we were camping at the confluence of Mule Creek and the Rogue River but when Lane and I arrived there, naturally there was no Dale and John.

Douglas's iris

Not sure what to do, we continued on the Marial Road (the Rogue River Trail requires a short road walk to continue on) to the Marial Trailhead. The road had a lot of muddy puddles on it and Lane and I quickly deduced by the lack of footprints that Dale and John were behind us and sure enough, just as we were about to turn back, here they come, they likewise deducing we were ahead of them. The experience was rather discomfiting and the end result was that from here on in, we were a lot more circumspect about communicating our regrouping points, plus we regrouped more often.

Cliffy trail at Mule Creek Canyon

Since it was nearly two miles back down the trail to camp at Mule Creek, we all opted to continue on. So, in the late afternoon we enjoyed Mule Creek Canyon, arguably the most spectacular portion of the trail. At Mule Creek Canyon, the suddenly treeless terrain turns into a black, rocky, and stark moonscape. The Rogue funnels into a narrow canyon and at The Coffeepot, the unhappily constrained river swirled in powerful eddies, the river seemingly running backwards.

Stair Creek Falls

Here, the Rogue River Trail is chiseled precariously into the rock and you do want to watch your step. At Inspiration Point, Stair Creek stairsteps down out of its canyon in a series of thundering waterfalls. Way cool, and our pace was slow because those with cameras were snapping away and those without simply soaked in the view.

Seep-spring monkeyflowers grew on the cliffs

Despite the relative lack of vegetation in all the rock, everybody (except for me) was busy harvesting ticks. Just call me the Tick Whisperer as the bloodsucking arachnids showed no interest in O'Neill blood at all. Must be a benefit of all the spicy food I eat!

Lane crosses one of many small creeks

Camp was set up among rusting mining equipment at Burns Creek. I actually camped closer to Blossom Bar Creek, about 75 yards further up the trail, because that was the only place I could find two perfectly spaced trees without poison oak growing underneath. Because I was camping separate from everybody else, I missed the Lane scream and light show.

My humble abode

Lane had stowed his gear underneath his tent canopy which meant his gear was right next to him. In the middle of the night, a creature actually had the temerity and nerve to start rummaging in his gear. Lane spotlighted the midnight raider with his headlamp and he saw some alien lemur-otter thingy with a striped tail. Everybody was awake by that point with with all the shouting and light waving. The camp larcenist was the rarely seen ring-tailed cat, actually a member of the raccoon family. Despite the reclusiveness of the species, this particular specimen was fairly brazen, returning several more times during the night.

Day 4 

Blossom Bar Creek, in the morning light

Day 4's morning found everybody (except for me, thankfully) plucking ticks out of each other's necks, scalps, and backsides. The day was cool but eminently sunny. And only a mile or so into the hike, we crossed picturesque Paradise Creek and strolled onto the grassy grounds of Paradise Lodge.

All life should be like a laze at Paradise Lodge

When I had hiked the Rogue River Trail 5 years ago, we stopped for beer at the idyllic lodge and nearly did not continue hiking further that day. On this current trek, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your point of view) the lodge had not yet opened for the season so the consumption of alcohol was not an impediment to the required mileage for the day.

We hated to leave Paradise

Even though the lodge was closed, the benches on the shaded porch were eminently inviting. We partook thereof, lazing for about an hour, not doing much of anything but watching the Rogue flow below. But the more we hiked on this day, the less we'd have to hike the next day so reluctantly, we shouldered our packs and left the bucolic setting of the lodge and returned to the forest. 

The Rogue flows by Brushy Bar

Between Paradise Lodge and the Brushy Bar Guard Station, the trail tended to be cliffy and on open grassy meadows. We enjoyed superb views of the Rogue running below. Because of the rain earlier in the week, the river color had changed from a murky blue-green to a decidedly brown hue. The warm sun had brought reptiles out of hibernation. Plenty of alligator lizards and bluebellies skittered just off-trail, their rustling in the grass and leaves eliciting excited yips from a startled Lane.

Shady forest was a Day 4 bonus

Poison oak grew everywhere, and in the end, I was oddly grateful for a mere quarter-sized rash on my arm as my sole dubious badge of honor. Maybe that rash was a balancing of the books by the Itch Gods for my seeming immunity from ticks. Much more pleasing than the accursed itch-spawning plant however, was the plethora of wildflowers nodding in the grass. Plenty of rampant photography ensued, what with flowers, forest, and fantastic river scenery to point the camera at.

Flora Dell Falls

After about 8 miles of hiking, noisy Flora Dell Falls cascaded next to the trail. The mist and breeze engendered by the falls was a welcome respite from the hot and sweaty work of backpacking. Our intent was to camp at Flora Dell Camp but despite the 4 of us looking for the campsite, we never did find it. Several miles later, we arrived at Hicks Creek as day was beginning the process of easing into night. We walked off trail and down a slope to a large meadow and dry-camped there.

Day 5

Golden Iris

After a cold night, most of us struck camp and eagerly began the short hike out. I slept in and didn't hit the trail til nearly 10 o'clock. The trail peeled away from the river and became mostly all about walking through an exquisitely shaded trail in a sublimely beautiful forest. The river was transitioning away from its Wild and Scenic designation to a wider and tamer version of itself, so we were OK with spending time away from the river after 4 days of constant companionship.

Typical trail scene on Day 5

Near the end, the Rogue River Trail is a cruel taskmaster because for no reason at all, the trail heads straight uphill in a series of steep switchbacks before dropping down close to river level again. I had always assumed we were contouring around private property but after checking the map, we were within Forest Service boundaries so really, there was no reason to climb uphill except for the capricious spite and maliciousness of trail designers. And just to hammer the point home, a second such climb came up just as we had ceased grumbling about the first climb. Trail designers will NOT go to Heaven!

Bridge, spanning Dan's Creek

Several miles from the finish, we crossed paths with a hiker and his dog, heading in the opposite direction. It was Kevin and Wish! They seemed fresh and clean, totally unencumbered by their puny little day packs. We were really glad to see Kevin, because he had a car with which to shuttle us to Foster Bar, where my car was waiting; we were mentally done with hiking and even one mile more was one mile too many. Plus, Kevin brought cookies, what a guy! Wish was glad to see me, particularly since I doled out some tasty beef sticks.

The last part of the trail was through a pastured valley

The last mile of trail was through a grassy valley well away from the river. A party of younger backpackers were just setting out, they were so fresh and naive unlike us jaded and unwashed band of Rogue rogues. We too would have been just as starry-eyed eager at the hike's commencement, had it not been for the rain.

Epilogue

Sea blush pinks up the trail

A couple of gear notes here: This was my first hammock trek and I found out several things in the process. First off, I need to rethink my method of hanging the hammock: a couple of lengthy hanks of parachute cord should do the trick. The way I was doing it, the trees had to be perfectly spaced so extra cord will provide greater flexibility in my choice of trees.

Stout bridge at Bunker Creek

Secondly, a hanging hammock has no insulation and is completely surrounded by air. A cool night is a cold night when spent in a hammock. On my shopping list is an underquilt and a better sleeping pad. I kind of hate to do that because it just means I have to carry more gear and weight. But the additional gear should still use up less pack space than a tent and it may be worth the extra fuss because the sleep quality in a hammock is far superior to that of sleeping in a tent.

Maple trees kept us shaded and cool

Well, that's it for now, another epic hike in the bag! It was awesome, despite (or maybe because of) the rainy weather. For more pictures of this renowned trail, please visit the Flickr albums:

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Here is a link to Lane's pictures:

Backpacking the Rogue River Trail

And here is Dale's version of events:

The Rogue River Trail

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