Kentucky Falls - North Fork Smith River

It had been a while since I'd been to Kentucky Falls. The hike down to the falls and back is a shortish 4 miles round trip venture and considering the long drive to the trailhead, it just doesn't seem worth the trouble for a mileage-addicted hiker like your merry blogster. However, Kentucky Falls becomes a worthy destination if you continue beyond the falls on the North Fork Smith Trail for a more reasonable 9 mile hike. But that's a shuttle hike venture, so a friend with another car is a minimum requirement, and I don't have any friends. Plus, two winters ago, floods washed out bridges and trail alike and it was nearly a year before the Forest Service was able to restore the trail from the effects of the rampaging river. For all of the preceding reasons, it had indeed been a long time since I'd hiked in the North Fork Smith River area.

Knobby and mossy maple tree

Good news comes in threes and the Forest Service had re-opened the trail earlier this year; the hiking club had a Kentucky Falls hike scheduled; and there were enough people with cars to ferry hikers back and forth from (and to) this end-to-end hike. The bad news was that the weather was somewhat damp and because the trail had not been usable for over a year, the trail was a little bit on the rough side. But hey, that's how the Friends of the Umpqua roll, we like our hikes wet and rough as a cat's tongue (without that dead tuna smell).

Small creeks ran across the trail

Actually, any complaints about the weather should be pretty mild. It had been raining heavily for a solid week and another storm was on the way. But as it turned out, the day of the hike lay between the two storms and was expected to be relatively dry. When the hike started, there actually was blue sky overhead but that didn't last very long. At least the rain didn't show up until we had hiked 5 out of 9 miles.

Follow the Yellow-Leaf Road!

It was obvious, once we started dropping down into the Kentucky Creek canyon, that autumn leaves would be a major portion of the hike narrative. Bigleaf maples had divested their leaves, so to speak, and the trail was covered by a thick mat of leafy duff. The sound of boots scuffing through rustling leaves was a constant all day long and there'd be no sneaking up on deer today, not that we'd ever want to do such a thing. But, on the plus side, there'd be no deer sneaking up on us, either!

Upper Kentucky Falls

A short walk down a leaf-covered path brought us to Upper Kentucky Falls. The waterfall basin was misted over, partly from encroaching cloud cover and partly from the waterfall itself. The recent rains made for high water volume and a loud roar from the falls. After a few minutes of oohing and aahing, we continued onward, crossing Kentucky Creek on a moist and leafy bridge. Everything was moist and leaf-covered on this hike.

Lower Kentucky Falls

The trail continued to lose elevation as it switchbacked further down into the canyon. At a little over the 2-mile mark, Lower Kentucky Falls came into view and we took a rough path down to a rickety wooden viewpoint below the falls. This particular spot serves up one of the most amazing sights in Oregon. Lower Kentucky Falls tumbles over a rocky ledge and about 20 yards to the left, North Fork Falls does likewise. How often do you get to see two large waterfalls do their thing side-by-side like that? I was so happy taking photographs of Lower Kentucky Falls that I soon found myself all alone on the wooden viewing platform, as all my friends had left. I hurriedly headed up the trail to rejoin everyone but It was about a mile later that I realized I had taken nary a photograph of the two cascades in their eternal and fraternal free-fall. Oops. I nearly wanted to turn back and execute a photographic do-over.

The North Fork flows through the dead leaves

Kentucky Creek came to an end shortly after the falls, as it ran into the larger North Fork Smith River. Likewise, the Kentucky Falls Trail came to an end as it ran into the longer North Fork Smith Trail. Initially, the new trail ambled relatively close to the North Fork but that all ended when the path made an abrupt left turn and charged uphill as madly as a bull in Pamplona.

Moss covers all that does not move

I had mentioned earlier this trail had been closed, and clearly it hadn't been maintained in the interim. Ferns, logs, and all kinds of other vegetation had encroached the path, which was barely visible at times. Good thing all those leaves had fallen, it kind of gave us a Yellow-Leaf Road to follow. In a forest of moss-covered trees, the route sort of leveled out high above the heard-but-not-seen river. The path was narrow and clung precariously to a steep slope and it was not unusual to step in a hole, or off the trail, or accidentally roll rocks down the hillside. With the tread being so covered by leaves, you really could not tell what you were stepping on and there was more than one pratfall by more than one hiker, your merry blogster thankfully excluded.

Valerie and David execute a creek step-over

Many small creeks were running down the hillsides and across the trail as we contoured the heavily wooded slopes of Baldy Mountain. Looking at the map, Kentucky Creek lies halfway between Roman Nose Mountain and Mount Popocatepetl, in a curious geographical dedication to three primitive cultures with forgotten dialects. Baldy Mountain is more of a geographical taunt to the hair-challenged, though.

Rheo shows us how to reach the hiker's bridge

Approximately 3.5 miles from the end point, we ran into obvious flood damage. Clearly, the river had appropriated the trail bed and now there were small braids of river current flowing where the trail should have been. Here, the trail crosses the North Fork on one of the more impressive hiker bridges ever to span a river. However, we had to ford several small branches of the river in order to get to the bridge and the formerly-stout span was now sagging in the middle. Upstream, there was a brand new bridge but not yet a trail leading to and from the bridge, it looks like the Forest Service is going to abandon or tear down the old bridge. All those years of faithful service, and the poor bridge doesn't even get to see out its remaining days getting pampered in an assisted-living facility.

One of dozens of leaf-covered footbridges on this trail

It was just after we crossed the bridge that I said "Hey. it hasn't even rained today!" Yes, I really did say that and yes, I really should know better. You all know what happened next: the clouds began dumping water on us in response to my impertinence. Oh well, there's not much to do about it except keep on walking. Complaining helps, too! Anyway, the final three to four miles were rather on the wet side as the trail ambled up and down through the woods along the river. Despite the rain, though, it had been a nice reacquaintance with this green trail in Oregon's Coast Range.

The North Fork, as the rain fell and the day darkened

For more pictures, please visit the Flickr album.

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East Applegate Ridge Trail

"New trail!" That's all I need to hear before responding "I'm in!". I don't even need to ask where it goes. The new trail could lead into a pit of venomous deer and it wouldn't make any difference, I'm still in. Fortunately, when Medford hiking buddies Glenn and Carol extended an invite to hike on the brand new East Applegate Ridge Trail, it didn't lead to any deer pit, although it did drop down into a valley.

Epic views, all day long

The Applegate Ridge Trail (ART) is the brainchild and pet project of the Applegate Trails Association and when complete, the 50'ish mile ART will connect Cathedral Hills (located south of Grants Pass) to the general vicinity of the quaint town of Jacksonville. But wait, it gets even better!

Glenn hikes through the madrones, oak, and conifer

The Siskiyou Uplands Trails Association is also at work making the Jack-Ash Trail happen. They already have installed a 12 mile section of trail connecting both ends of the Sterling Ditch Trail. When complete, the Jack-Ash Trail will make it possible to hike from Jacksonville to Ashland on continuous trail. But still, it gets better yet! Both the ART and the Jack-Ash Trails share the same terminus in Jacksonville so it will be possible to hike from Cathedral Hills all the way to Ashland. I can hardly wait!

Taking care of traihead formalities

The East ART is a 5.6 mile section of what will eventually be the full-length ART, and it contours above Bishop Creek and Poormans Creek's drainages and naturally, there is a trailhead at either end of the trail. So our choices were to start low and go high, or start high and go low. It really didn't matter all that much, because we were hiking this trail as an out-and-back and we would experience both the best and worst this trail had to offer, with respect to elevation gain and loss.

Didn't take long for the views to show up

Before we started experiencing that elevation loss however, the route was remarkably level for nearly the first three miles. The first view came maybe a quarter-mile from the trailhead and the epic vistas continued for most of the hike. Clouds covered up the sky for the most part but sunbeams leaked through and spotlit the bald grassy ridge we were contouring across.

Look, but don't touch!

Poison oak covered the hillsides in thick clumps, their presence quite striking due to the autumn colors of the accursed itch-spawning plant contrasting with the golden grasses waving in a soft breeze. Other colorful items were the dark red trunks and limbs of manzanita, and ditto for madrone trees, except that their trunks are colored orange just like the President's. Plus, a few oaks were letting the odd leaf here and there turn yellow. The lavender end of the spectrum was represented by a few specimens of coyote mint still in bloom.

I can see the town of Ruch from here!

The autumn plumage of (mostly) poison oak was nice and all, but really this hike was all about the stunning panoramas laid out before us. The hike started out peering down the deep canyon of Bishop Creek running into the much larger Applegate Valley. Looking like some out-sized quilt, the Applegate Valley was covered by a patchwork of farm pastures, some reposing luxuriously in a sunbeam while the rest shivered under a cloud's dark shadow.

Peaks of the Siskiyou foothills

Surrounding the valleys were a series of prominent peaks in the Siskiyou foothills. The geography of this area is not my strong suit but I believe we were looking at Miller Mountain, Mount Isabelle, and Woodrat Mountain. And as a personal slight to me, the Oregon peak-namers made sure that I also was looking at Mount Baldy AND Baldy Mountain. Ouch, they sure know how to rub it in! Behind the foothills rose the Siskiyou Mountains, their presence more felt than seen as they were mostly hidden in the clouds. The view of the valleys constantly changed, shifted, and ever exquisitely evolved as the trail twisted and turned on the grassy ridge.

Madrones reach for the sky

At the end of the level portion of trail, a strategically placed bench provided a place to contemplate the peaks and valleys laid out before us, and we took the opportunity to do that very thing. Just after the bench, the trail dropped down through a forest comprised of a mishmash of conifer, madrone, and oak. We almost mourned the loss of epic views but we were soon out of the forest within a half-mile and back in our happy place: hiking while oohing and aahing at the scenery. Much photography ensued.

Katy enjoyed taking her humans for a walk

Eventually the footpath morphed into an old roadbed, the downhill grade increasing markedly as the road had originally been designed for automobiles and not for hikers. We were nearing Highway 238 and as we sunk down into the valley, the vistas and panoramas were hidden from sight. But hey, at least there was lots of red-leaved poison oak to look at, sarcasm intended. We sat down and ate lunch about a half-mile from the lower trailhead. Katy (Glenn and Carol's dog) was well-fed as she successfully mooched from all hikers in our party.

Rain falls on neighboring mountains

I didn't know it at the time, but I was in the process of getting a flu bug. I had started out with a light headache and sniffles, but I definitely felt ickier once we started toiling uphill. Good thing I was hiking with friends who waited patiently for me as I trudged uphill, feeling like my head was an overfilled water balloon about to pop. Some relief came about halfway up, when the heavens opened up with about a 30 minute rainstorm. The rain felt good though, as it cooled off hot (and feverish) hikers walking uphill.

Autumn is the only time I like seeing poison oak

After a series of uphill switchbacks, we reached the scenic bench and sat down, watching the storm clouds break up after the rain ceased falling. The good news was that the next three miles were relatively level and we got to enjoy the awesome views all over again. From neighboring Woodrat Mountain, paragliders were floating around the summit, looking like multicolored gossamer-winged pterodactyls in search of hikers to eat.

Glenn and Carol hike on the edge of the world

This was an awesome hike and a shout-out to Glenn and Carol for expanding my hiking horizons. If the remaining sections of ART and Jack-Ash are anything like this hike, it will be one epic backpack trip. For now, my hiking list just got a few hikes larger: the completed section of the Jack-Ash trail is on tap, as is the full route when both trail projects are completed. Whoo!

Fellow hiker on the trail

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

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