Yellow Jacket Loop

Mrs. O'Neill and I have long had a fundamental philosophical disagreement about meadows. We both agree that meadows are a totally worthy destination for a hike, and that the combination of vibrant green vegetation and bright blue sky appeals to humans almost on an instinctual level. But she strongly disagrees with my assertion "Since meadows are so cool and awesome, what's wrong with having one in the back yard?" To the accompaniment of theatrical sighs and glowering looks, I was summarily issued an edict (with a menacing "Or else!" tacked on to the end of it) to mow that backyard jungle immediately upon my return from the hike on the Yellow Jacket Loop.

Michael and Chuck slog through a small grassy patch

Meadows are never mowed on the Yellow Jacket Loop and are the raison d'être for the hike. You'd never have known that on our first Yellow Jacket outing many years ago on a gray November day, where the erstwhile lush meadows were as brown and dry as a mummy's skin. No views, no green meadows, and not even any remaining autumn color; basically that hike was just six miles of exercise. While we both agreed the hike was just a tad bit better than doing six miles on a treadmill in the gym, overall we really weren't impressed with the Yellow Jacket. 

It was not uncommon to hike through patches of melting snow

We just needed to hike the Yellow Jacket at the proper time, which would have been either spring or autumn. Once our current backyard jungle dispute was resolved by my empty promise to mow it first thing upon my return, I revisited the Yellow Jacket with the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club. On a gorgeous spring day with nothing but blue sky overhead, we set out from Hemlock Lake by walking into a forest whose floor was carpeted with stately trillium flowers and patchy snowdrifts, both guaranteed to slow down a certain hiker armed with a camera.

There were trilliums by the trillions

Good thing the trilliums were so profuse, for they provided a nice distraction from the task at hand, which was chiefly walking up a brisk uphill trail for the first couple of miles. The forest was shady and large patches of snow dozed between the trees and blanketed the small creeks flanking the path. The snow was not very deep so we had no issues with trail-finding, and the snow did provide a modicum of refreshing refrigeration as we slogged ever upward.

A dilapidated trail sign near Dead Cow Lake

After a couple of miles, we hiked past a stagnant swamp that is overly dignified with the name of Dead Cow Lake (don't drink the water!). In hikes past, the swamp-cum-lake was easily visible but on this day, I did not see the grotty little mosquito hatchery. That means that either the "lake" has dried up, become overgrown with vegetation, or I am about as observant as a tinder fungus; all of which are distinct possibilities.

The rugged topography of the South Umpqua River basin

Whether the fetid body of water is seen or not by passing hikers, Dead Cow Lake marks the easing of the trail grade, and the next phase of the hike was an up-and-down ramble atop a forested ridge circling above Hemlock Lake. Meadows began to appear among the trees with increasing frequency, the open areas providing nice views of the Rogue-Umpqua Divide overlooking the rugged terrain of the South Umpqua River drainage. Beyond the Divide, the tip of snowy Mount McLaughlin presided over all its lesser peak brethren and sistren. Union Peak, Crater Lake Rim, Mount Bailey, and the peaks of the Seven Lakes Basin all made an appearance at different junctures of the hike.

Mild route-finding was required because of snow

As mentioned, snow did cover the trail but never impeded navigation. On the other hand, a fallen tree lying across the trail did. We walked around the tangle of broken branches, limbs, and tree trunks and resumed hiking on the path leading through the woods. It didn't seem right though and after a short 10-yard walk, I turned around to get my bearings and spotted a trail sign further in the woods in totally the opposite direction. The tree had fallen on the exact intersection of the Cavitt Mountain Tie-in Trail and the Yellow Jacket Loop. When we went around the tree, we picked up the (wrong) trail heading to Cavitt Mountain. I'm glad I caught that when I did!

Flat Rock presides over a strategically sited meadow

The aforementioned trail intersection was basically the highest elevation point of the hike and from here on in it was a steady descent through the famed meadows of the Yellow Jacket. Snow had mostly thawed out and just recently, so the meadows were as stubbly as a three-day beard on an unshaven chin. White-ish avalanche lilies and yellow glacier lilies flowered in the thawing snow's wake, aided and abetted by pink Oregon bleeding hearts and deep purple larkspurs. All of this reposed under a cobalt sky with views of the distant Cascades peaks. This is why we hike, boys and girls!

Boardwalk through the largest meadow of them all

The largest meadow of the bunch was also the last one, spanned by a wooden boardwalk. The melting snows of this meadow are the headwaters of Hemlock Creek and just past the boardwalk, the Hemlock Creek Trail forked ever so invitingly to the left. The meadow was gorgeous and if Mrs. O'Neill were here, she'd probably tell me to mow it. 

In about three weeks, the vegetation will be waist high or better

Speaking of mowing meadows, I lucked out. Turned out Mrs. O'Neill couldn't stand looking at flourishing Mother Nature in the backyard any longer and took it upon herself to raze it all down in my absence. Works for me, although it'd be nice if she would let me come inside the house anytime soon.

Trillium with bloodshot eyes

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

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Yellowjacket Loop

I've seen the Yellowjacket Trail at its best and its worst. The first time I hiked this moderate loop trail was way back when and the month was November. The winter snow had not yet arrived that year and the trail wound its way through woods and meadows all dried up and browned out in advance of the winter weather. Not particularly impressed with the hike, I remember wondering what the big deal was about the Yellowjacket Loop. One other time, I tried to hike up Hemlock Creek to the Yellowjacket Loop and found myself waist deep in snow and having to turn back before I even reached the loop trail. 

A galaxy of stars, leaf-style

So why hike this trail? Well, after that not-so-much November hike, a friend persuaded me to go there in the spring and oh my, it was as stunning as the November hike was underwhelming. All those brown meadows were green and flowery, bursting with life. Of course, some of that life was in the form of yellow-jackets (a nasty wasp), several of which found their way underneath my shirt, causing a frantic shirt-removing wasp dance in the middle of a boggy meadow, much to the bemusement of my companions. So, now that I know what spring and winter look like at Yellowjacket Glade, what about autumn? 

Fungus, fuzzy enough to pet

The Friends of the Umpqua were originally going to hike up to the summit of Rattlesnake Mountain but a storm dumped a bunch of snow on it so Yellowjacket was enlisted as a lower-elevation Plan B. Things were damp and cool at the Hemlock Lake trailhead, which meant that there would be no wasps and no repeat of my shirt-removing wasp dance. And by damp, I refer to the the vegetation and not the clear blue sky with a relatively ineffectual sun in it. 

Wish goes hiking

So, away we went and immediately Kevin, Wish (Kevin's dog), and I lagged behind. Kevin and I were toting cameras in direct correlation to our bringing up the rear. It was obvious that the theme of this hike would be the fall colors of the vine maples. The trail ambled in shady forest and the maples were sporting autumn finery of yellow and green, just like any good Oregon Ducks fan should.

Leaf with a fly shadow

Basically we were contouring above and around Hemlock Lake and we caught occasional glimpses of the lake as we hiked. After a half mile of relatively level trail, the path crossed Hemlock Lake's inlet creek and turned uphill, shooting up through the forest at a fairly brisk grade. Can't say as the uphill was particularly strenuous, probably because of frequent stops to photograph each and every leaf in the forest, or so it seemed. 

View from an unnamed ridge

After passing by a fetid pond with an equally fetid name of Dead Cow Lake, one more push uphill through a shady forest took us to the top of a broad, mostly forested, nameless ridge. Atop the ridge, the trees thinned out a bit, serving up an expansive view down to the South Umpqua River drainage. Layers and layers of mountains rolled away as far as the eye can see and names were slapped on a few of them: Rabbit Ears, Mount Hershberger, Union Peak, Crater Lake rim, with Mount McLaughlin being the tallest of them all.

Huckleberry gets into the autumn act

Continuing further along the ridge, the path dipped back into the forest again where we got to "re-enjoy" walking uphill, as if a reminder was needed. The meadows were popping up along the trail with a little more regularity, offering views and vistas for the price of a brief off-trail walk. Of course the meadows weren't green any more but they weren't fully browned out either. Vanilla leaf, thimbleberry, and mountain ash were yellowing out in the drying vegetation, turning the meadows into a hybrid color tone somewhere between green and yellow-brown.

Burning bush

But really, the stars of the show were the vine maples. On the northwest facing slopes between Peak 5174 and Flat Rock, the vine maples glowed red and orange with increased exposure to the sun. At times, it looked like molten lava was flowing down the slopes but at second glance, it was just the vine maples doing the autumn thing. In between the fiery meadows and underneath the trees, the maples were colored light yellow because of the shade. With each colorful display, camera shutters clicked with increasing frequency, and hiking paces decreased accordingly.

Forest fire

After a series of steep switchbacks, the trail bottomed out in a large meadow with a boardwalk cutting across it. The meadow was dry, rendering the boardwalk superfluous this time of year, but in the spring the boardwalk is very much needed. And shortly thereafter, the trail closed the loop and this moderate hike came to an end. We'll have to place this October hike in the "good" Yellowjacket Loop bucket.

Autumn hath come

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