Lost Creek Lake (weekend backpack)

It was just a small sign tacked onto a trailhead kiosk, measuring maybe a foot square but the words on it were sufficient enough to throw my plans for backpacking around Lost Creek Lake into chaos. The stern blue letters on the sign advised the bridge at Blue Grotto was closed to hikers, no reason given other than it was unsafe. Somewhat uncharacteristically, I heeded the terse message and on the fly, rearranged my itinerary.

All life should be walking in a field of daisies

Spring was in full song at Lost Creek Lake as I began hiking from the lake's dam, at the time blissfully unaware of any upcoming closures. Everything was green as the trail initially set out across a grassy field of shin-high daisies. I had never been on this part of the lakeside trail and was immediately impressed with the lushness of the vegetation growing alongside the large lake.

One of several million elegant cat's ear flowers

Life was burgeoning all along the trail but elegant cat's ear was the dominant life form on this two-day hike. Figuratively purring in the sun, the white fuzzy flowers brightened up grassy hillsides and leafy duff alike. My pace was slow as I seemingly took a photo of each and every bloom, for no two ears are ever alike.

Green was the color of the day

There was plenty of shade to be enjoyed on this sunny day, for the lake's shore was heavily wooded with firs and other conifers. A lush understory of ferns and other moisture-loving plants thrived in the shade beneath the trees. Just past Four Corners Camp, a backpackers' camp where there were no corners at all to be seen, much less four of them, the fir forest was then supplanted by oak woodland.

So nice to see Lost Creek Lake full of water

Periodically, the trail would leave the oak woods and traverse across open semi-arid patches of manzanita and dry grass, the lack of trees allowing hikers to spend some quality time with Lost Creek Lake. The lake was ringed by forested hills and mountains with distinctive Flounce Rock being the nearest and most prominent. The lake's water level had been low the last several years, thanks to an extended drought, so it was nice to see it full of water after this wet winter.

The relatively narrow Lost Creek arm

Lost Creek Lake from overhead, would resemble a pollywog were it not for the Lost Creek arm of the lake. Thanks to the aforementioned arm, the lake looks like a pollywog with a giant dorsal fin holding a flashlight. Actually it really resembles nothing more than an amorphous blob but my imagination feels the need to come up with some kind of simile.  At any rate, the trail went up and around the arm which eventually felt more like narrow fjord than significant-sized lake. 

Well, this screwed up my plans

There's a trailhead located where the route crosses burbling Lost Creek, and that was where the sign filled me up with consternation. What to do? I was about four miles into the hike and Blue Grotto was probably another four miles ahead. I dithered as I hiked some more and at roughly the six mile mark, I decided to stop and camp, if only because the trail passed through a series of amazingly beautiful meadows atop cliffs with spectacular overlooks of the lake. If I wasn't going to circumnavigate the lake, then these bucolic pastures were certainly an appealing place to spend the night at.

My home away from home

After pitching my tent in the middle of an idyllic copse of oak trees, I then stealth-cooked dinner. Stealth cooking is that technique where you cook and eat dinner on the trail and then hike another hour or so before setting up camp. This is done so as to prevent bears from getting too interested in your campsite, lured in by enticing food aromas. Bear scat had been spotted on the trail, so I hiked ahead to a scenic overlook and cooked and ate on a convenient bench while enjoying the late afternoon scenery. 

An up-close look at German knotweed

After dinner, I slapped a macro lens on my camera and began crawling through my meadow home, photographing all things small and smaller. It's amazing the things you can find at the other end of a macro lens and I noted a tiny plant with prickly green leaves that when magnified, were actually miniscule green flowers. Hello, German knotweed, I believe we haven't ever met before, pleased to make your acquaintance! 

Got an early start on the hike out

After a breezy night spent listening to the pleasant soughing of windblown oak branches, I bid the German knotweed "auf Wiedersehen", struck camp, and hit the trail somewhere around eight o'clock in the morning. Doing anything by eight o'clock is a rarity in my retirement years but I was glad I did, for the temperature was cool and the morning light slanting through the woods was most enjoyable. Although, it did feel strange to finish hiking before eleven o'clock in the morning.

Tall silvercrown was a common sight

Upon my return to home and computer, I researched the question as to whether the closure at Blue Grotto was still in effect. I had my doubts because in all honesty, the sign did look a little weatherworn, like it had been there for quite some time. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any info so I'll just have to hike at the other end and find out, or take my chances on another circumnavigation attempt. Nonetheless, I really did enjoy my meadow camp and outing so I'm not too upset at not being able to do the full hike around the lake, it was all good.

This lake patrolled by guard geese

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

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Lower Table Rock

Many epochs ago (before I was born, even), the Rogue River began carving out the wide Rogue Valley that now contains Medford and other cities and towns. However, while soft volcanic ash proved to be quick and easy work, the hardened lava riverbanks remained impervious to any would-be hydrologic terraforming and resolutely stood in place in what is now high above the valley floor. In present time, the two mesa-shaped remnants are local landmarks Upper and Lower Table Rocks, and the much-loved trails to the top of each receive heavy use. The hike up either mesa is not particularly long but the combination of fantastic scenery and wildflowers seemed to be just the thing to do while trying to get my post-Covid legs back into hiking shape.

A parklike grove of oak trees, replete with turkey calls

The first part of the Lower Table Rock hike is relatively easy and civilized. The trail tread is smooth and performs a level(ish) wander through parklike groves of leafless oak trees. From deep within the grove, unseen turkeys noisily gobbled the morning away while buttercup, larkspur, and shooting star bloomed at ground level. This hike was going to be easy! Oh, talking about turkeys reminds me for some reason that I should mention that I was hiking with John, Jennifer, and Dianne.

View to Sam's Valley

Anyway, like that level grade was going to last! The trail gradually inclined until at some point, it just became another steep trail. But for tired hikers with cameras, the elevation gain served up some sumptuous views of the nearby farming community of Sam's Valley, neighboring Upper Table Rock, and a bunch of clouds blocking what would normally be an epic view of Mount McLaughlin. 

Henderson's fawn lily graced the slopes of Lower Table Rock

The grassy slopes of Lower Table Rock were festooned with patches of Henderson's fawn lily, an elegant, pinkish-purple colored cousin of your everyday cream-colored fawn lily. Growing in the shade underneath the ample quantities of oak and madrone trees, were blue-colored hound's tongue flowers and flamboyant California red bells. Unfortunately, also thriving everywhere on the slopes was poison oak, the oily red leaves just beginning to bud out. 

This glade of oak trees welcomed us to the Table Rock summit

After a steady uphill trudge past wildflowers, trees, viewpoints, and rash-giving plants, the path sideswiped a large lava wall before spitting us like so many watermelon seeds out onto the flat table top of Lower Table Rock. A beautiful little glade of oak trees served as an arboreal welcoming committee as the trail struck out across the wide and flat terrain.

Popcorn flower was busy popping in the grasses

The two Table Rocks can get quite brown and dry in summer but this is spring and the flat table top was covered by green grass offering a colorful counterpoint to the vibrant blue sky above. A wide dirt path, noted as a primitive air strip on the map, led straight across the grassy plain. Patches of white popcorn flower colored up the erstwhile green vegetation while vernal pools of rainwater were mostly dry or drying up. On all sides, mountains and ranges ringed Lower Table Rock and cottony clouds hovered over the valleys. Way cool, but it would get even better.

Wow, already

My friend Jay said it best, when I brought him up here a couple of years ago: "Wow, already!" From the abrupt edge and at the feet of Lower Table Rock, sprawled the pastoral farmlands and large cities contained within the Rogue Valley. Way below, the Rogue River snaked through a series of wetlands and ponds. While relaxing and view-soaking on our clifftop aerie, we played the Name That (snow-covered) Peak game and we had ample opportunity to spot Siskiyou Mountains friends Grizzly Peak, Wagner Butte, and Mount Ashland. Toward the distant Cascades, we were able to pick out Devils Peak, Hillman Peak (on Crater Lake's rim), and Mount Bailey. Mount McLaughlin was the largest and nearest peak but remained invisible thanks to a bank of clouds giving the iconic volcano a cloudy hug.

Manzanita does its part in making this a superb wildflower hike

After a repast of both nourishment and scenery, we followed an unofficial rim-hugging path that led through thorny patches of fragrant ceanothus bushes, all buzzing with industriously busy bees. The ever evolving view provided more vistas of ponds, river, mountains, and sky. The ceanothus bushes provided none of the above but did scratch bare legs as we bushwhacked by.

Yup, flat as a table

We returned by way of the unerringly straight primitive runway like four model planes taxiing to their hangars, some more model-like than others. Now in the afternoon, the sky and valley vistas had hazed up a bit and just like me, had most definitely been clearer in the morning. Shadows lengthened on the way down as we hiked, and we arrived at the trailhead in short order, fully sated by the day's activities.

"Curse you, poison oak" he said, shaking his fist while
scratching at the rash rapidly forming on his upper arm

It had been a good hike. The weather had been superb: awesomely sunny but not hot. This had been my first shorts hike in 2022 and my white legs were probably reported as an unexplained bright light on top of Lower Table Rock. Another first, regrettably, was my first poison oak rash on my leg and arm, probably obtained when lying in the grass taking pictures of wildflowers. At any rate, the two firsts are directly related but even the subsequent itchy rash did not detract from the day's highlights.

We finally did get to see Mount McLaughlin

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

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Jacksonville Forest Park

How did Jacksonville Forest Park ever escape my attention? Why have I never hiked here? The short answer is that I'd never heard of the place. I had heard of the nearby Jacksonville Woodlands trail system which is basically just across Highway 238 from Forest Park but I had never been on those trails either, my preconceived notion being that the Woodlands trails generally lack adequate mileage. But Forest Park has many trails and so many possible routes that are most hike-worthy in terms of both mileage and scenery. Actually, I have no idea if the trails are scenic or not as I have never been on them but based on my first time out, they probably are.

A tree gets a mossy hug

This was not going to be a long hike, thank my hernia very much! I did put together a route involving the Ol' Miner's, Owl Hoot, Atsahu, Arrowhead Pass, Shade Creek, Canyon Falls, Norling, and Rail Trails. It did not escape my attention there is also a Legburner Trail in the park which could be either good or bad, depending on the mood or inclination of a certain hernia. Anyway, like a couple of urban(ish) trail systems I've been on lately, like Cathedral Hills, a good map is essential to make sense of the numerous trail junctions encountered on most any hike in the park. There also are plenty of trail signs to orient hikers unfamiliar with Forest Park who, despite having a map and decades of experience, still managed to get a little misplaced while hiking here. 

Some of that local attraction on the Ol' Miners' Trail

After a short climb through a thick forest of young madrone, the Ol' Miners' Trail entered a hydraulic mining site, which consisted of a grassy area littered with rusting mining machinery. From there, the route continued uphill to a gold mining site that was off limits with an official detour around the site. The trail was probably closed here because quite obviously, a large number of trees had fallen on the trail. It was probably easier to create a detour than remove them all, or maybe there is some other compelling reason for the reroute. However, following the detour is where and how I got myself "misplaced", despite having a good map on hand.

It was this sign's fault!

My plan was to take the Owl Hoot Trail which would be intersecting my current trail from the left. So, when I ran into an unsigned but very clear trail that surely must be Owl Hoot Trail, a left turn was duly executed. Wow, this trail did not even pretend to be nice, heading straight up an exceedingly steep ridge crest forested with hardwood trees of various ilk, some of which were sprawled in fallen profusion across the trail. To make things worse, after nearly a mile of this, the path just ended. Just like that, with no fanfare or any other proclamation of Customer Appreciation Day. After some irritated "Hoot, mon!" utterances (or some salty variations thereof), there was nothing to do but return back to the junction that had originally led me astray.

Tall madrone trees surrounded the trail

Back on the Boulder Trail, in short succession I ran into the resumption of the Ol' Miner's Trail and the real Owl Hoot trail angling to the left. My legs and hernia had given their all on the Buzzard Fart Trail (my name for that Owl Hoot Trail imposter) and they now couldn't give two hoots about the Owl Hoot Trail. So, stay on the Boulder Trail it was, and that was fine for it was a nice and mostly level walk through woods of moss-covered trees interspersed with smooth-trunked madrones.

One of many small cascades on Jackson Creek

The sound of Jackson Creek trickling through the woods became more pervasive near a nexus of several trails intersecting near the rushing stream. After briefly exploring Norling Gulch, I beat a retreat back down to Jackson Creek and began the next phase of this little woodland sortie. The pleasant Canyon Falls Trail followed the creek on down the canyon. The vibe was somewhat canyonish and there were a number of noisy cascades that bordered on waterfall status. I'm not sure if any singular one of these falls were the famed and elusive Canyon Falls or whether the entire collection is referred to as Canyon Falls, but the walk along the bounding creek was my favorite part of the whole hike.

Bridge to nowhere

The loop hike was wrapped up by way of the Rail Trail, which sports an actual railway trestle that abruptly ends halfway across a ravine. Didn't see any pile of rusting train carcasses laying at the bottom of the ravine from which I deduced the missing trestle half probably disappeared long after mining trains last ran here. The hikers' footbridge crossing semi-stagnant Jacksonville Reservoir's outlet and dam looked very much like a trestle but at least it went all the way across, unlike its railroad bridge cousin.

This way to Rattlesnake Gulch

My hiking buddies Glenn and Carol had both given me sagacious advice not to hike up Rattlesnake Gulch, despite that alluring and enticing name. Seems like it's like a Richard Hike with none of the benefits. Well, with an endorsement like that, don't you know I just wanted to hike up Rattlesnake Gulch? Especially since the trail leaving the junction with the Rail Trail didn't look all that tough as it inclined up into the oak-dotted gulch. But for today, I listened to Glenn, Carol, and my hernia and decided to save that one for later, for I will be back to this charming little park.

Mossy tree trunks were a thing on the Canyon Falls Trail

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

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Grizzly Peak

Let's raise our hiking poles in revererntial homage to the memory of Old Reelfoot, a notoriously crafty grizzly bear that terrorized cattle and stockmen in southern Oregon in the mid-1800s. Because of a paw injured by a bear trap, his unique footprint distinguished him from all the other grizzlies hanging around the Siskiyou Mountains and because he managed to elude hunters for so long, he became somewhat of a local legend. His range was mostly in the Pilot Rock area although he made many a hunting foray down into California, making him a wanted bear in two states. He had a good run but in 1890, time ran out for the elusive bear and he was finally hunted down and killed. Posthumously, he enjoyed a brief career as a stuffed and mounted touring exhibit in various museums, expositions, and fairs in the nation, although maybe "enjoyed" might be the wrong word here.

Every time skyrocket blooms, a retina dies

Anyway, in Old Reelfoot's honor, a smallish mountain near Ashland was given the name Grizzly Peak which coincidentally enough is the subject matter of today's blog missive. Grizzly Peak is a short hike, totally incommensurate with Old Reelfoot's fame as a terror of the Siskiyous but on the other hand, I'd hate to run into a grizzly on the trail, no matter the mileage of the hike involved. Deer are scary enough, never mind the bears.

It's a jungle out there!

Because it's a long drive for a short hike from Roseburg, I don't do this hike very often. In fact, this was only the second time I'd ever been to Grizzly Peak. Medford buddies Glen and Carol exposed me to this spectacular hike several years ago and while I was impressed then, I think I was even more appreciative of the rugged beauty this time out as the vegetation was a lot more lush than on my first visit, and that's the difference between hiking on Grizzly Peak in early summer instead of late spring.

But where are the poison oak and ticks?

The trail wasted no time heading uphill at a moderately brisk rate and the first thing I noticed was the lushness of the forest undergrowth. It was a veritable jungle underneath the tall trees what with all manner of plant specie, from tall delphinium to lowly wild ginger, flourishing in riotous exuberance. Orange columbine nodded next to the trail, their dangling tassels reminding me of a graduate's mortarboard. There were so many flowers, like thimbleberry and larkspur, just to namedrop a couple. All this and I hadn't even reached the meadows yet, where the real flower show would take place. Needless to say, my pace was relaxed and slow as I enjoyed the shady trail and wildflower display.

Alien-looking cow parsnip bud

This trail sees a lot of use because of its proximity to Ashland and Medford, and because of its relatively short length. Accordingly, the trail was wide and well kept, almost like a park path. For someone like myself accustomed to scrambling over fallen trees and wading through poison oak bushes, the civilized nature of the trail was most refreshing. 

The ever present Columbia windflower

The actual summit of Grizzly Peak is rather underwhelming, to say the least, looking like a rocky cairn in a sparse meadow surrounded by tall trees. No view, no epic barehanded scramble to the top, no sir. But then again, this hike is all about the meadows, at least immediately after the summit. The pattern for the next mile or so was to walk through alternating low-growing grassy meadows and lushly shaded forest carpeted with thick patches of candy flower. 

An ornate checkered beetle on a fleabane

In the meadows, much photography ensued, for the meadow were chock full of salsify (among many other flowering species), a yellowish sunflowerish bloom attracting a multitude of bees and butterflies. Not to be outdone were salmon polemenium (a salmon-colored Jacob's ladder), mountain-owl clover, sulphur flower, and patches of skyrocket, the brightest colored flower ever. As the trail looped around the broad and flat summit of Grizzly Peak, views of the surrounding terrain awed as they appeared through breaks in the forest cover in a taste of things to come. Although clouds took away the view of nearby Mount McLaughlin and the distant Three Sisters, I spotted Mount Thielsen, Union Peak, and the collective peaks adorning Crater Lake's rim to the northeast of Grizzly Peak.

The trail went through a series of meadows

In 2002, a wildfire started by a sparking power line raged on the west side of Grizzly Peak and nobody really cared, because Oregon's collective attention at the time was focused on the massive Biscuit Fire. The fire here on Grizzly Peak must have burned fairly hot because during the subsequent decades, a forest has yet to return to the western slopes. However, Grizzly's arboreal loss is our hiking gain, for the views here are simply astounding.

That little pimple is Roxy Ann Peak,
overlooking the city of Medford

The hike's flavor transitioned from parklike stroll through the meadows to rugged goat track on the edge of a rocky ridge. Below the rough trail was a lesser mountain which was basically an extension of a west-side ridge of Grizzly Peak. This "little" high point dominated the near view, its rocky ridge and acres of ghostly white snags commanding our attention and respect. The ridge continued north in a series of subsequent high points, culminating in the cone of Roxy Ann Peak, looking puny from here. As an aside, Roxy Ann Peak does not look so puny when hiking up to its summit.

Quite the view of Bear Creek Valley

Beyond Roxy Ann Peak was the wide Rogue Valley with Upper and Lower Table Rocks eminently visible at the edge of the valley. Immediately to the west was deep Bear Creek Valley with the towns of Ashland, Talent, and Phoenix all safely ensconced within. The Lord of all Mountains to the South, a.k.a. Mount Shasta, rose up like the awesome snow-covered volcano it is, while local landmarks Emigrant Lake and Pilot Rock were dwarfed by the giant cone rising over all. 

A bee gets a pollen bath

This was and is my favorite part of the hike. The topography is rugged, the views astound, and on a late June day, the flowers and insects put on a show in the low meadows thriving in the old burn zone. Balsamroot, golden yarrow, common yarrow, and bright red paintbrush were all in full spring song and the winged set of insects such as bees, wasps, hoverflies, butterflies, and moths all flitted and buzzed from flower to flower. Longhorn flower beetles and other horny beetle species waded in the pollen as they fed and frolicked in and on the numerous blooms, and not necessarily in that order. On bare ground baked hard by the sun, dwarf onions waved pink and purple flower pom-poms at the blue sky overhead.

Dwarf onion thrived in the hard, dry soils

The trail crested at a craggy overlook atop the high point of this trail and was a perfect place to eat lunch, sit, admire the view, and generally just ponder the meaning of life or go to whatever happy place your thoughts may take you to. After a totally enjoyable lunch 'n laze, I gathered up my stuff and continued hiking. The path returned to the familiar pattern of meadow to forest to meadow before closing the loop and bringing this short, but totally epic hike to an end.

A salsify captures a hoverfly's attention

Looking at the map of this hike, I noticed that to the north, Antelope Creek does a flow-by of Grizzly Peak. That would be appropriate because what's in my head (which is not always accurate) is that the 2002 fire was called the Antelope, or maybe the West Antelope Fire. However, my copious Internet research performed for this blog post failed to confirm my suppositions one way or another. Also, I searched for anecdotes about Old Prong Horn, the feared antelope scourge of the early pioneers of the Rogue Valley and yes, I'm making that up. Since antelopes live in the southern Oregon desert on the east side of the Cascades, naturally there would be no lore about fierce antelope living on Grizzly Peak, although they could have given Old Reelfoot a literal run for his money.

Oregon geranium was locally common in the burn zone

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

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Lower Table Rock

"Wow. Just wow." That rather succinct and terse statement from Jay was entirely accurate, though. The Rogue Valley spread out at our feet like a gigantic picnic blanket thrown out from the top of Lower Table Rock, and the clouds were creating all sorts of sun-and-sky drama as a storm dissipated, making for a stunning diorama that mere words could never convey. Just wow, indeed.

A zen moment in a vernal pool on top of Lower Table Rock

Eons ago, the Rogue River used to flow atop a volcanic plateau about 800 feet higher than the river's current elevation. Seismic events cracked the hardened lava flow and the river subsequently wormed its way through the cracks into flow's soft underbelly, thus beginning the process of eroding the plateau and creating the Rogue Valley, which nowadays contains the city of Medford and surrounding towns and communities. Remnants of the ancient river banks still exist today, chiefly being the prominent flat-topped U-shaped mesas of Upper and Lower Table Rocks. Currently, the rocks are jointly administered by the BLM and Nature Conservancy, and a trail to the summit of each of the locally renown landmarks are heavily hiked by Medfordians, and with good reason.

Jay...come back!

When we arrived at the Lower Table Rock Trailhead, the parking lot was uncharacteristically empty. The morning rain may have had something to do with that but the rain had stopped when Jay and I set out upon the trail. Immediately upon setting out, a sign warned us to stay on trail to avoid rattlesnakes. I had to explain to Jay (who is from rattlesnake-free India) what a rattlesnake was and then had to persuade him to continue hiking instead of hopping back into the car with the windows rolled up and the doors locked for protection.

Dreary trees against a dreary sky

Actually, I exaggerate of course, he only expressed mild concern about the snakes, and we commenced hiking with no girly screams of terror from either one of us. During the course of the hike, I pointed out poison oak and explained all about ticks and he began to wonder why he had come. Mistletoe hung in the oak trees and I told him since we were standing under the mistletoe he now had to kiss me, I do believe I may have heard a girly scream of terror about then.

Tree speaks with forked branch

The hike to the top of either rock is not very long so for a little additional mileage, we added to our itinerary a short nature trail that looped through an oak savanna. There was movement underneath the trees as a flock of turkeys frantically fled our arrival. The oaks were all leafless and stark against the gray sky while lichen hanging from the branches swayed with each movement of air. Water drops hung off the end of every twig and lichen beard, explaining the copious amounts of moss growing on tree trunks and limbs.

We could see our destination above the wet path

Once the loop hike was completed, it was all uphill on the trail to the summit, the path still covered in places by puddles from the rain. As we gained elevation, bits and pieces of the surrounding farm valleys appeared here and there, depending on the whims and caprices of the cloud cover. However, in a hopeful sign for our hiking future, small but temporary holes of blue sky appeared in the cloud cover as we labored up the trail.

Sam's Valley gets some intermittent sunlight

Clearly, the morning rainstorm was dissipating. When had we first started hiking, neighboring Upper Table Rock was hidden in the clouds but now we could see the massive plateau in all its entirety. The neighboring community known as Sam's Valley was eminently visible and was off-and-on bathed in sunlight. Visible on the slopes well above us, were the massive cliffs of the actual rim of Lower Table Rock, giving us a good way to gauge our progress, or lack thereof. We stopped frequently to simultaneously admire the ever increasing view and catch our breath, not necessarily stated in order of importance.

Peek-a-boo!

The hike had begun in oak savanna and manzanita chaparral but as we gained elevation, the trail took us into several dense stands of spindly madrone trees. This was a young forest, to judge by the relative lack of size in the trees, and we did stop to eat lunch among them. After exiting the madrones, one last push up a steep stretch of trail spit us out onto the flat top of Lower Table Rock and the wowiness began.

Wet trail atop Lower Table Rock

Table Rock used to be a lava flow and the rock here is still solid and impermeable. Accordingly, no trees grow on top and rainwater does not soak into the ground but instead collects in a series of vernal pools. The terrain on Lower Table Rock is as flat as...well, as flat as a table, and a trail runs from one end to the other. The trail was originally constructed as an airstrip in the 1940s and in keeping with the austere tabletop geometry, is as straight as the table is flat.

Clouds added their own element of drama to the scene

In addition to the alien-looking landscape, dark clouds hovering above the volcanic plateau were particularly dramatic and foreboding as we hiked the mile-long trail on top. Despite the seeming black and gray menace, the clouds really were in the process of breaking up and apart from an occasional weak sprinkle, we really had no weather concerns.

One of several vernal pools atop
the plateau of Lower Table Rock

The vernal pools support a population of rare and endangered meadowfoam (a small flowering plant) and equally rare and endangered fairy shrimp. Accordingly, hikers are admonished to look but don't touch when it comes to the idyllic pools. The clouds and small patches of blue sky reflected nicely in the still ponds, although the clouds prevented the photogenic reflections of Mount McLaughlin and other Cascades Range mountain friends.

Amazing view from the rim

The view of the valley below was what was stunning, though, triggering Jay's not so eloquent but entirely accurate wow statement. The Rogue River snaked to and fro like a large aqueous anaconda through the farmland fields and pastures below the two Table Rocks. Man-made wetlands flanked either side of the river and the collective marshes and ponds support a healthy population of waterfowl, many of whose honks, quacks, and cackles floated up to hikers perched on the rocky rim of the plateau.

An unerringly straight trail

We actually stayed there quite a bit, soaking up the amazing and stunning vista while the clouds burned off in the late afternoon.  The day turned from gray to mostly sunny while cloud shadows moved ever so slowly across the landscape. But we couldn't stay there forever, as much as we would have liked to, so we headed back across the plateau, greeting parties of hikers arriving in time to catch the sunset show. I know that back in the day I used to make the ladies swoon but since I've gotten older, I just get them to slip in the mud apparently. Two ladies did that very thing upon my greeting them, and I'm not sure if I should or should not be honored to have that awesome power.

Jay is impressed

Wow, just wow, indeed. For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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