Powerline Road

2021 was the year I entered the white-haired pantheon of senior-citizenhood. Even though I've celebrated at least 65 birthdays in my lifetime, in each instance I calmly accepted my new age with equanimity and grace. But then that damn Medicare card arrived. The ponderous bulk of the federal government has officially designated me an old person. No longer of any use to society, I might as well turn myself in to the Soylent Green factory, which is a dated reference that old people with Medicare cards will understand.

Winter wonderland

Along with advancing age comes advancing health problems too and in my case, hernias (two of them!) and diabetes reared their ugly heads and I have the statistics to prove it. Last year, I hiked a mere 181 miles with a per hike average of 5.7 miles, both all-time Richard Hikes lows. But on a positive note, I did manage to shed 25 pounds in 2021 and I now weigh a svelte 190 pounds, so why not start the new year by getting my slimmer and trimmer tail totally kicked on a New Year's Day hike?

The Powerline Road is not always this attractive

Brad had billed this North Bank Habitat outing as "The Worst Hike Ever". The Powerline Road route is probably the steepest trail in the North Bank Habitat, becomes overly muddy in wet weather, and if you like miles and miles of looking at power lines, pylons, and other accoutrements of the power grid, then this is your hike. This hike had already been elevated to Worst Hike Ever status before we even set foot on the trail, but snow and ice guaranteed this hike to be completely memorable for all the wrong (and a few right) reasons.

Hi ho, hi ho, through the snow we go

Fourteen hikers (and dog friend Gus, who thought this was the Best Hike Ever) passed through a livestock gate and began the slog up a bare ridge covered with snow. Critter tracks crisscrossed the ranch road as our feet crunched in the icy snow. We were walking in a winter wonderland as everything as far as the eye could see was cloaked in white, most unusual for the Habitat. Snow muffled all sounds except for noisy footsteps, heavy breathing, and the omnipresent buzzing of power lines.

At least we amused the cows

I had hiked this route once (and only once!) with Mrs. O'Neill and amazingly enough, our marriage survived the experience. However, on this second go-round, it didn't seem like it was all that bad. The really steep part was only about a mile or so, after which the trail actually levelled off before heading downhill. The problem with the downhill part though, was the relatively warm sunlight was melting the snow in an exposed swale, rendering the trail muddy and wet. Our choices were either sinking in the mud or sinking in the snow next to the mud and with bemused expressions, a small herd of cattle watched us physically wrestle with that not-so philosophical question.

View as we arrived at North Boundary Ridge

There was one more short uphill push before the route reached the hallowed destination of the North Boundary Ridge. Ostensibly, the ridge was the high point of the hike but in the North Bank, the downhill inevitably comes with intermittent uphill stretches, so there was no real rejoicing at arriving at the ridge. The snow was several feet deep here and hikers sunk up to their knees. The post-holing was taxing and tedious, especially since not one of us "experienced" hikers had ever thought to bring snowshoes. To be frank, I'd had enough at that point, so I grabbed the Blacktail Basin Road for a shorter route while my friends continued on the miserable North Boundary Ridge.

Amazing vista on Blacktail Basin Road

Blacktail Basin may have been shorter but it still was not easy. The Habitat's caretaker had driven some kind of all-terrain vehicle up here and the tire treads were nasty icy, forcing me to walk off the road and wade in the snow. Slogging in the slush was sheer trudgery, but at least it was safer than the icy road. No complaining though, because the views from high above the basin were fantastic, especially with bright blue sky looming over the snow-covered world.

This hike was half snowshoe trek, half wade

At the bottom of the basin, the thaw was in full swing and all manner of creeks and runoffs were carrying the melted snow down into Jackson Creek. Boots and feet were soon wet, of course. Your leaky garden spigot generally has more water flowing than Jackson Creek, yet on this day the creek was roaring like the nearby North Umpqua River, making several fords of the rushing stream somewhat sketchy. However, I'm glad to report that while feet got wet, I didn't slip and my ancient body remained upright for the duration.

The snowy headwaters of Jackson Creek

As the route worked its way down the basin, the basin walls shaded the wet trail, turning all moisture to ice. While the wet stuff was annoying and inconvenient, the frozen path was downright treacherous. Again, my superannuated (much cooler word than "ancient") body remained upright but it had been a close call at several junctures. At the trailhead, my companions straggled in behind me by an hour or so. Their faces were haggard, with fatigue etched onto their now wizened visages. Rheo looked like she had aged 15 years and Corinna said "I should have gone with you!" before plopping face-down in the snow in total exhaustion. Gus however, was all glee and joy and asked if we could do that again. Despite the arduous nature of the day's venture, it was all good because any hike where you don't have to use your Medicare card afterward is a good hike.

A great way to start the new year

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

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North Umpqua Trail (Jessie Wright Segment)

That little in-between season residing twixt autumn and winter is that special time of year spent trying to frantically squeeze in just one more hike on the North Umpqua Trail (NUT) before the winter snows arrive. I offer into evidence recent hikes on the Marsters, Dread and Terror, and Hot Springs segments of the venerable NUT. Of course, this year it's been substantially difficult to even hike on the NUT, what with nearly half of it rendered unusable by last summer's devastating Archie Creek Fire. But who's counting and what's one more hike on the NUT before winter's onset arrives?

Fire-scarred forest surrounded the trail

The day was ostensibly sunny but here on the cold bottom of the North Umpqua River canyon, a thin film of mist occluded the views and I kept rubbing my eyes just in case I was developing filmy vision or something like that. Even the river looked colder than normal, the water running as dark and black as a tyrant's soul as it rumbled underneath Marsters Bridge. In a telling sign that winter is indeed nigh, I wore a jacket for the entire hike.

A goblet of water for the wee folk

Several years ago, fire rolled through this section of the NUT and nowadays, the forest floor is littered with dead trees and limbs to go along with all the normal customary forest detritus. All that decaying lumber on the forest floor just begs for mushrooms and fungi to come dine and they so obliged. There were so many different ilk, color, and specie of mushrooms, ranging from tall parasols large enough to shelter me and other rodents in a rainstorm to tiny fungal caps small enough to shelter just a few individual atoms in that very same rainstorm. Not to mention, there were fungi of the non-mushroom variety ranging from tough and woody tinder fungus to bright yellow dollops of witch's butter. Toss in a healthy population of lichen and moss clinging to tree trunks and you could almost hear the communal munching of dead wood echoing throughout the forest.

The North Umpqua River, all hike long

At roughly halfway between Marsters Bridge and Deer Creek, the river widens considerably where it makes a graceful bend as only a river can. My own personal bends are pretty much limited to beginner's yoga and are nowhere near as graceful. The thick forest cover, which had been doing a pretty good job of hiding the river from view, thinned out and allowed your merry blogster to stop and contemplate the fantastic riverine vista. The water flowing past and over a series of small cascades was perhaps enhanced by the steep terrain rising away from the river, culminating in the rocky spire of Old Man Rock (unseen, from the river's edge), which was not named after me no matter what the grandchildren say.

Snag Rock, living up to its name

The former wooden footbridge crossing Eagle Creek had been vaporized in the wildfire from several years ago and its replacement is wisely made out of metal this time.  After crossing the aforementioned creek and bridge, the trail commenced another stretch of fine river scenery. Here, the river bounds in a series of energetic cascades and rapids that might challenge a river rafter or kayaker. In the middle of all the watery turmoil and roil squats a troll-like boulder aptly named Snag Rock. The huge rock lives up to its name, for it had snagged several snags (another word for dead trees) that had attempted a doomed river float. 

I crawled like the lowly worm I am, and I liked it!

A recent storm had knocked down a bunch of trees onto the trail right near Boulder Creek and I used my well-honed crawling skills to slither past them. Another large, albeit wooden, footbridge spanned Boulder Creek and that was my turnaround point. The creek was running low as it exited its namesake Boulder Creek Wilderness, the water collecting in languid greenish-blue pools. As I ate my lunch by the creek, some large winged insect crawled by, which was strange for it did have those wing things for added mobility. I doubt the wings were just for show, maybe the bug just needed the exercise.

Some of that amazing light and mist on the hike back

The hike back to the trailhead at Marsters Bridge was uneventful but I did get to enjoy the awesome river, forest, and fungal scenery all over again. However, the river fog had thickened considerably, rendering the woods as mysterious and inscrutable as the calculus of complex numbers. As the day waned, the sun finally made it down to the canyon floor, illuminating the mist with ethereal sunbeams that awed this hiker who thankfully, had a camera with which to commemorate the show.   

Fog? What river fog?

At the trailhead, the fog lifted just long enough to put Rattlesnake Rock (which was not named after me, no matter what my wife says) on display against a rare blue sky. If this run of conducive weather continues, maybe I can get in a few more North Umpqua Trail hikes before winter arrives for good.

Vestigial remnant of autumn glory

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

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North Bank Habitat (Soggy Bottom/Blacktail Basin Loop)

Because the North Bank Habitat is only about a half-hour drive from my home, it gets a lot of use by your merry blogster. My frequent hikes in this particular locale have allowed me to experience all sorts of different aspects of the Habitat, which apparently has more emotional states than a mood ring. I've hiked there in winter when the rolling hills were coated with snow, having to watch my step because of icy trails. Been there in several rain storms too, leaving me wondering why I was out there in the first place when I could have stayed warm and dry at home. I've also slogged up the steep trails in triple-digit heat like a bug slow-crawling up a rock wall, also wondering why I was out there, albeit for the opposite temperature-related reason. And from personal experience, if you can catch a fogbound morning along the North Umpqua River, then the fog-filled valley vistas are absolutely stunning and well worth the toil and labor to hike above the cottony-looking fog cover. But up until now, in all my visits to the Habitat, I'd yet to really appreciate the Habitat's autumn garb.

The brown and bare terrain of the North Bank Habitat

The Habitat's terrain falls generally under the term "oak savannah" due to the stately and regal oak trees dotting the grassy slopes and pastures. Oak, like maple, does shed its leaves in the fall season but they just sort of brown out and drop off the tree without any of that color folderol and hoo-hah so favored by their flashy maple cousins. As a result, autumn will generally find me hiking in more flamboyant maple environs instead of the comparitively dull North Bank Habitat, where even the green grasses fade into an unnoteworthy brown color. So, imagine my surprise when this early November hike marvelously turned out to be all about autumn.

Enjoy the blue sky while it lasts, maple trees!

The morning was cool but the sky was gloriously blue as I started. It had gotten cold enough to freeze the night before, so ice crunched under my boots in the shady parts of the trail. A small creek flowed on the left side of the gravel road (all the trails in the habitats are old ranch roads), with small icicles dangling off of branches and rocks in the stream. Encroaching blackberry brambles sported bright red leaves here and there and I seemingly attempted to photograph each and every one. The oak trees had already dropped their leaves, leaving naked trees with bare scraggly branches clawing at the sky above.

Return of the fuzzy white stuff

A short walk on Soggy Bottom Road delivered me to Soggy Bottom and while the bottom was not all that soggy, frost accrued on grass blades and fallen leaves like beard stubble on a certain old and grizzled hiker. The track was covered with an increasingly thick and frosted layer of oak and maple leaves. While oak trees rule the Habitat, interspersed bigleaf maple trees do make an obvious yellow-leaved appearance among the denuded oaks. 

The golden road

So, this hike became all about autumn, thanks mostly to the maple trees. The trees were still adorned with plenty of leaves glowing golden yellow like so many marshmallow peeps in a microwave (Mom is still mad about that, thirty years after the fact!). The maples had been busy dropping leaves too, and the dirt road was carpeted with a healthy layer of fallen leaves that pleasantly swished as I waded through. Just follow the Yellow Leaf Road! This section of trail was absolutely sublime and I quickly became a dedicated convert to the cause of hiking at the North Bank in autumn.

Rain cometh, it has been foretold

As I gained elevation on the leaf-littered trail, a looming storm scudded in overhead and there'd be no more blue sky on this day. The Habitat's mood ring changed from bright blue to dark gray as befitting its new "it will rain today" emotional state. Virtually all trails in the Habitat, a former cattle ranch, go uphill at some point. On the plus side though, the thinning forest gave way to open grassy slopes and stunning views as the trail gained elevation. The trail contouring the relatively bare slopes served up expansive vistas of the North Umpqua River valley below, with the river glistening under the ever darkening sky. Much resting (oops, I meant to say photography!), ensued while hiking out of Soggy Bottom up to North Boundary Ridge.

The meeting place

As the trail neared Grumpy's Pond (named after Mrs. O'Neill, unless she's within earshot), the maples gave way to a thick stand of oaks with a heavy layer of dead leaves hiding the normally visible grasses growing underneath. I could just picture deer gathering here on moonlit nights to plot the overthrow of mankind "Let's have a hunting season for humans and see how they like it!" It's probably a good thing deer don't have opposable thumbs.

Just one blackberry leaf in a universe full of them

On North Boundary Ridge the terrain is fairly treeless and cold air currents upwelling from  surrounding valleys vigorously swept cold air across the crest, the breeze cutting right through this hiker's clothing. Where things had previously been cool or chilly, it was now officially downright cold. Fortunately though, the trail dropped down into sheltered Blacktail Basin and out of the arctic air currents. Once on the bottom of the basin, my pace slowed as I stopped frequently to admire the trickling creeks, bright  ochre-colored madrone berries, and dried teasel heads rustling in the wind like so many witch giggles. Occasional maple trees among the plentiful oaks were nearly bare, but a circle of golden leaves lay underneath each tree like dandruff on the shoulders of a co-worker. Bringing things full circle, colored blackberry leaves became a photography subject again, as the hiking festivities came to a close. I probably took pictures of exactly the same old leaves, too.

 

Oaks just have the gall!

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

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North Bank Habitat (Blacktail Basin/East Ridge Loop)

When you volunteer to lead a hike, you do copious research to sort of figure out which route to take, what weather conditions might be like, what condition the trail is in, and then consider stamina and determination of potential participants. And after all that meticulous planning, there's hikes like this one at the North Bank Habitat, where nothing turns out like you planned but it all works out anyway.

Busy as a bee in a blackberry patch

Normally, you try to come up with a route that satisfies the average fitness of the hiking group, with options for more or less mileage, depending on the fortitude of each individual hiker. Basically, the core hike will tend to be an easy or moderate six to eight mile route with trail steepness also being somewhat moderate, although in the North Bank all trails are unavoidably steep.

Elegant brodiaea purpled up the dry grasses

However, when your group consists of only Brad and Coreena, well then, let's go for a good long hike, shall we? Those two certainly weren't going to show me any mercy! The planned route up Soggy Bottom was tossed into the mental garbage can and totally on the spur of the moment, I changed the route to go up Blacktail Basin with a return by way of North Boundary Ridge, Middle Ridge, and Thistle Ridge. Plenty of miles and uphill steps on that route to hold our collective interest. 

It was easy hiking in Blacktail Basin

The first mile and a half at Blacktail Basin were relatively level and served as a nice little warm-up for the upcoming lung-busting quad-burning endeavors. The sky was overcast, the temperatures were mild as we strolled lazily through the stately oaks dotting the pastures next to the small creek coursing at the bottom of the basin. The surrounding hills were just starting to brown but there was still plenty of grassy greenery surrounding the trail as we hiked in easy companionship.

Some of that moderate uphill grade

The levelness of the trail inclined toward the uphill side of things when we reached the basin's terminus and began hiking up the headwaters wall. Actually, "wall" is a bit extreme, for in all reality the uphill pull out of the basin was not all that bad. We were reminded that the North Bank is also a working cattle ranch for the trail was bordered by electric fencing that effectively discouraged any off-trail hiking. Besides which, on the other side of the electric wire were dense stands of head-high poison oak bushes, which also effectively discouraged any off-trail hiking. Plus, there were probably thieving deer lurking in the itch-spreading vegetation, just waiting to steal hiking poles, which would also discourage any off-trail hiking.

Why we hike

As we climbed, the views and panoramas expanded into that stunning scenery which is the main reason we hike here. We had attained the rolling windswept grass-covered North Boundary Ridge and were peering down the twin valleys of Jackson Creek's two forks as the small creek beelined for the North Umpqua River. Farmlands dotted the river plain and the North Umpqua River valley could be visually traced all the way to nearby Winchester. Beyond river and creeks were layers of hills and rounded peaks, marching into the distance like some hazy blue geologic army on its way to battle.

What "mostly sunny" looks like in Oregon

Part of my copious research duties required for planning this hike was checking the weather forecast, which called for "mostly sunny" weather. A forecast of "seldom and hardly ever" sunny would have been closer to the mark as the sun was about as rare and elusive as an albino Sasquatch. The air was welling up and out of the valleys which translated to a chill breeze wafting over the broad ridge we were hiking on, and windbreakers and extra clothing layers were quickly donned. 

Astounding view from North Boundary Ridge

There was a barbed-wire fence going across the trail and I didn't recall that being there before. We wanted to be good citizens and not trespass on private property so we turned back and made an impromptu decision to return by way of the East Boundary Ridge Trail. On the way back, we quizzed some hikers coming up from Blacktail Basin about the route and they said you have to hop over two fences to continue on the North Boundary Ridge, a fact that was later borne out when I read my notes from the last time I had hiked there. I guess my memory is as sharp as a watermelon these days.

Glad to be going down instead of up!

The East Boundary Ridge is a pretty cool hike on its own merits as it provides epic views of the surrounding terrain while going downhill. I've hiked up the East Boundary Ridge before and did take in the views during frequent rest stops where I huffed and puffed while bent over, hands resting on knees, majorly exhausted from the daunting uphill grade. Going downhill like we did today allows hikers to actually enjoy the scenery just for being scenery and not as an excuse for stopping to rest.

View down to Soggy Bottom

Brad is probably the fastest hiker in this spiral arm of our galaxy and mere mortals like me and Coreena cannot keep up with him. Hiking at Brad speed would be akin to keeping up with a cheetah on speed. Suffice to say, he couldn't stand walking with us slower folks (and were weren't THAT slow, either) and he soon disappeared from sight on the way down. When we reunited at the trailhead after this ten mile hike, his excuse was that he thought we were going to shorten the hike by hiking straight downhill to the trailhead instead of taking the longer trail. Nothing like that had ever occurred to me before but now it will, thank you very much Brad. I'll have to do some copious research to come up with a downhill shortcut for the next time I lead a hike here.

The East Boundary Ridge was our return route

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

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North Bank Habitat - Thistle Ridge/North Gate Loop

I'm actually OK with this socially distant hiking, it melds well with my personality. Or maybe I'm confusing "socially distant" with "socially awkward". At any rate, I spend enough time walking in the woods by myself that I really don't have to make any major adjustments to my hiking style other than frantically bailing off the trail in terror when another hiker appears on the trail, accidentally getting within my social nearness boundary. Come to think of it, that's not all that abnormal a hiking behavior for me, either.

Wild iris purpled up the hike

Staying at home these days has been fairly easy as I'm retired and there's always yard work or no work to entertain me. Besides which, Mrs. O'Neill is working from home so there's always company even though that requires me to mimic socially acceptable behavior. But it's a different story for my friend Jay, however. He too is working from home and he's a programmer so it's just him and the computer screen all day long. Apparently, he's getting cabin fever, for he asked if I could take him hiking, socially-distant style. So off to the North Bank Habitat we went (in separate vehicles) and when I picked up a gopher snake slithering across the trail, we became extremely socially distant when he fled screaming for the next time zone to the east.

Panoramal activity

The original plan percolating in my brain was a loop involving the Middle Ridge Road from the western trailhead. However, the trailhead parking lot was full of vehicles so I made a spur of the moment decision to continue to the eastern trailhead. The Habitat's gate was locked of course, and we added our vehicles to the cars parked outside the gate. The developed trailheads are closed these days to prevent cars and people from congregating in the parking lots but all that happens is people congregate at the point of closure anyway, but there we are.

It it's in the North Bank, it goes uphill

Anyway, to avoid coming into contact with would-be virus spreading people-type persons, we grabbed the Thistle Ridge Road instead of taking the well-used gravel road to the Comstock Day Use Area. Immediately, the trail angled uphill and that was Jay's first exposure (from a socially distant distance of ten to fifteen feet behind me) to what is typical hiking in the North Bank. Initially, the scenery wasn't particularly awesome as we hiked under some buzzing power lines but once we left those behind us, it was all good for the rest of the day.

Blazing star blazes away

After a short and rather utilitarian climb away from the power lines, the junction with the Deer Hollow Tie Trail was reached and I was back on familiar territory, seeing as how I had hiked this same trail just several weeks ago. But what a difference a few weeks can make! On this day, the grass was green and lush instead of just sprouting like a couple of weeks ago, and wildflowers were blooming in rampant profusion.

The prettiest evilest leaf ever

Also growing rampantly but not green, were thick patches of poison oak bushes. I tested Jay quickly, because he is a both a hiking and Oregon neophyte, and I'm proud to say my student passed the exam each and every time by correctly pointing out the poison oak when asked. In the sunny patches of trail, which was about 90% of the hike, the leaves were coming out in shades of dark red, burgundy, and sometimes nearly black in color. I generally try to stay away from Satan's favorite shrub but in this case, I made an exception as I was quite struck by the beauty of the oily itch-spreading leaves. Anyway, I got within the plant's personal space to take some photos of the colorful foliage. Normally, I try to stay at least two miles away from the accursed itch disseminating bushes.

Parallel lines

The trail headed uphill across grassy slopes before ducking into a forest on a relatively level trail. Where I had struggled with the muddy track several weeks ago, the trail was now dry and hard-packed, just like me! And after walking out of the forest, it was time to soak in the totally awesome view down to Whistlers Bend.

The view to Whistlers Bend never gets old

Rain and clouds had been an issue on my prior hike but not today. The sky was a deep blue and there were just a handful of small clouds floating in the sky. While the sun was out, the breeze upwelling from the creek valleys kept us cool and the air had that clarity and crispness normally reserved for a clear day in winter. And below the aforementioned deep blue sky, the North Umpqua River idly circled the peninsula of Whistlers Bend. Surrounding farms greened up the valley with pastures, and the terrain was dotted with farm ponds. Just a magnificent scene and we took a short break just to take it all in for a few minutes.

The Thistle Ridge trail goes through a thicket of oak trees

The kind and gentle grade at the overlook soon became just a distant memory, driven out of our thoughts by burning quad muscles as we continually headed uphill on Thistle Ridge first, then Middle Ridge next, both bereft of shade of any sort. Our leg pain was assuaged somewhat by fantastic views of the North Umpqua River and windblown Middle Ridge looming in front of us. The terrain was all covered in grass, which was well-populated with flowering blue-eyed grass which is in fact, yellow-eyed and not actually a grass. Who names these things, anyway?

Ugh!

At the intersection with the North Gate Road, we availed ourselves of the facilities which consisted of just a picnic table and an awesome view. We spent a little bit of time there to eat lunch, rest, and relax. I had a notion of continuing up to the North Boundary Ridge but once we started up yet another steep section of trail, the whining started and not necessarily from Jay, either! No problem, it was still a beautiful day and hike, so we backtracked and headed down the steep North Gate Road.

A gopher snake on the trail and Jay was nowhere to be seen

Wild iris was in bloom all around the trail and as I was photographing several, I noticed a large gopher snake basking in the warm sunlight. Seconds later, the snake was in my hands hissing and showing its teeth and that's how I found out that not only does Jay really not like snakes, he doesn't even like people picking them up either. I also found out his voice could squeal high enough to drop stunned squirrels out of trees. We were able to resume both hiking and our friendship once the snake was returned to its grassy habitat.  

Blue-eyed grass is yellow-eyed and not really a grass

By this time, we were down in Soggy Bottom, which was no longer soggy, and a short walk on the gravel road returned us to our vehicles. Most of the vehicles were gone and despite all the cars parked there in the morning, we only saw only one other hiker all day, a woman out hiking with her children (candidate for Mom of the Year, in my opinion) on Middle Ridge. Generally, most people probably avoid the steep trails and do the easier hikes to either Soggy Bottom or Blacktail Basin. Me, I'll probably keep going on the steeper routes to maintain that social distancing protocol and avoid people like the socially awkward hiker person that I am.

Just a gorgeous day in the North Bank

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

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