Cooper Creek Reservoir

Some random notes and observations from a recent round of health stuff: CT scanners resemble giant electronic donuts standing on edge and as they slide you in and out of the hole like so much jelly filling, but it doesn't really seem like much of anything really happens. However, the size of the bill afterward says something large and wondrous definitely happened. Also, the iodine injection associated with the scan gave me hot flashes that made me think this manly specimen was going through manopause. And speaking of manly specimens (besides the urine sample in the paper cup), why is this particular charter member of the male species afflicted with a hernia? Shouldn't it be called a hisnia? Asking for a friend.

Bird's nest fungus adorns a twig on the forest floor

At any rate, I'm not completely banned from hiking before the requisite hernia surgery but I've been instructed not to do any strenuous hikes. There's some wiggle room in that edict in that it is up to me to decide what is strenuous or not, "You know best what a hard hike is and what's not" said the doctor. I see what she did there, she put the onus on me should there be any hernia-related pre-surgery complications. Guess I'll have to keep my hikes mild in the interim, like this one around Cooper Creek Reservoir.

Jeff and Kim were training for their
upcoming Pacific Crest Trail through-hike

Beginning at the reservoir's dam, about fifteen hikers set sail with the first ten or so rapidly disappearing from the last five's sight within minutes. The morning was cool and quiet with low cloud cover fogging up the surrounding forested hills and mountains. The lake was still as a mouse hoping the hawk soaring overhead doesn't see it, and the mirrorlike surface reflected the clouds previously mentioned. Initially, the trail hugged the southern shore and we hiked exclusively on the cold and shady side of the lake.

C'mon in, the water's gross!

The lake's waters were colored an unappealing greenish brown, but then again it is winter and the tributary creeks run muddy this time of year. Later in the year the water will blue up and in the interim, we'll just have to restrain ourselves from drinking the water or jumping in for a quick dip. After several miles of hiking in a forest of young trees with the forest floor carpeted by ferns, red-fronded Oregon grape plants, and small lavender-flowered snow queen, we reached a broad meadowed swale that was the Cooper Creek inlet and the end of the lake.

The good part of the trail

We crossed Cooper Creek via a wide footbridge as we rounded the lake. From here on in, we'd be hiking back in the direction of the dam and trailhead. The trail used to end at a boat ramp and hikers then had the choice of completing the loop around the lake via paved roadway or returning back the way we had come for a longer distance with no loop around the lake. While we ate lunch at a scenic overlook replete with picnic table, Lane walked over to the boat ramp to unleash his inner Cooper Creek, so to speak. As we were gearing up for a return via trail, Lane came back waving his hands and yelling in that cute squeaky voice of his that the trail continued on past the boat ramp. Hey, maybe the circumnavigation of the lake had finally been completed!

The nice new trail begins a disappointing fade into obscurity

Our local mountain biking club has been diligently working on completing the trail around the lake, and initially, the new section of trail was freshly cut into the vegetation and soil but eventually petered out to a faint track covered by numerous fallen trees. Here, most of our group decided to walk uphill to the roadway and return via said roadway. After a brief round of pointless dithering, Michael, Lane, and I decided to continue on the faint path and bushwhack if need be, should the trail tread disappear altogether. Michael's dog Boog had no say-so in the matter.

A hike in need of a trail

Whew, that was work! Most of the last two miles were spent contouring a steep slope and ankles (and paws, too!) were soon fatigued from the constant sidehilling. Some enterprising and kind soul had left a trail of pink ribbon "bread crumbs" for us to follow yet on more than one occasion, we lost the official "unofficial" track in the thick and scratchy brush. Yet, the forest was green and lush, even if scratchy, and the lake was always below, sparkling in the afternoon sun like so many rhinestones on an Elvis impersonator's costume.

Lane, Michael, and Boog reach the boater's picnic area

It was jarring to suddenly leave the lakeside tangle of brush and brambles and stroll out onto a grassy picnic area but hey, after all that, we happily accepted the trail gods' beneficence. Tuned out we were on a boaters' but not a hikers' picnic area and we had one more bushwhack scramble to perform, much to the amusement of our road walker colleagues watching us and loudly pointing out that the only way up to the road was through thorny and skin-raking blackberry brambles. We responded in kind by pointing out that the road walkers were a bunch of namby-pambies at which point Rheo objected. Seems like while Lane, Michael, and I were busy handwringing over what to do, she just lowered her head and charged solo through the brush ahead of us. And here we thought we were such bad-ass trailblazers! At any rate, we conceded her point and granted an honorary membership into the He-Man Hiking Club. Boog was also granted an honorary membership, even if he was carried over fallen trees on occasion.

Thanks, guys!

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

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Cooper Creek Reservoir Trail

One of the many hats I wear is that of Treasurer for the Umpqua Velo Club, a local organization that dabbles in all things bicycle. One active branch of the club goes by the acronym of LUMBR, which cleverly stands for Land of the Umpqua Mountain Bike Riders. One of LUMBR's pet projects has been promoting and maintaining a mountain bike trail around nearby Cooper Creek Reservoir. Because of my affiliation with the bike club, I was well aware that a nice mountain bike trail ran alongside the lake, but it never occurred to me to think of the trail in terms of hiking until the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club went hiking there on a rainy day when snow precluded them from visiting the McKenzie River Trail.

Trail, as it goes through the shady part of the forest

Unfortunately, on that day I had some kind of stomach bug (that was not coronavirus!), and had to sit out that hike. But, after seeing the photos from the club hike and reading the glowing reviews of the trail, I decided I had to experience the Cooper Creek Reservoir Trail for myself. But great minds think alike and the Wednesday group I've been hiking with decided to go there also, and that is the story of how I came to hike this trail for the very first time ever.

Impressionist painting on the lake's surface

Unlike the weekend hike that I did not attend, the weather on this Wednesday was a beautiful sunny day in southwestern Oregon. There wasn't a cloud in the clear blue sky and the temperature was mild, which is always perfect for hiking. We usually number four hikers, but on this fine spring morn we doubled our customary attendance, reaching the lofty number of eight participants.

Dam hikers, pun intended

At the hike's outset, the trail left the parking lot and crossed the reservoir's grassy dam. The lake is finger-like, being long and narrow in shape and form, and we could look down several miles of the reservoir's narrow channel. The air was still and quiet as we hiked across the dam, and the water was like a polished mirror what with the surrounding forest and overlying sky reflecting nicely on the glassy surface. However, the fine spring day sort of came to a screeching halt when the trail entered the forest on the south side of the lake.

The air up there

The trail on the south shore triggered chilly flashbacks to my last hike on the North Umpqua Trail, which had taken place in cold shade the entire day. The Cooper Creek Reservoir Trail had the same vibe as the sun (and the warmth that comes along with it) was just a rumor as we hiked up and down in the forest. The uphill portions of the trail were neither steep nor long so we really couldn't generate our own human-powered heat, so jackets and sweaters remained on.

Trail tunnel through some damp vegetation

If I have any complaint about this trail, it's that logging has taken place fairly close to the trail. On the hillside above us was a large clearcut with an insufficient forest buffer between that and the trail. On top of that, the motor of a bulldozer growled noisily from somewhere above the path. The best thing to do on this hike, was to keep eyes focused to the left, where the blue lake reposed in its scenic little basin.

Oregon grape, all lit up

The forest next to the trail was lush, with ferns growing in frondly profusion. Spring wildflowers were already gracing the trail, the culprits being mainly snow queen, woodland violet, coltsfoot, oaks toothwort, and hound's tongue (which made me think of my ex-wife, for some reason).

A pair of geese warily keep an eye on us

While the lake's shape was basically long and slender, the trail did have to contour around small inlets here and there. By virture of our tromping presence, we irritated several mated pairs of Canadian geese looking to start a family near the lake. The honks of irked geese and the quacking of startled ducks was a common sound wafting across the lake's waters throughout the day.

Lichen hangs from some leafless oaks

Periodically, the forest thinned out and we did get to enjoy the sun on rare and wondrous occasions. But, when we rounded the Cooper Creek inlet on a rustic footbridge at the far end of the lake, the trail ambled through low grassy patches and we were mostly bathed in restorative sunlight. The warm sun replenished our Vitamin D levels and after hiking roughly three miles in a cold and shady forest, it felt so good.

Cooper Creek Reservoir

The trail does not go all the way around the lake, so the logical turnaround point was a boat ramp at about the four-mile mark. From the ramp, we backtracked to a nearby picnic bench on a grassy point and enjoyed a lengthy lunch 'n laze in the warm sun while enjoying the view of the lake ensconced in its wooded valley. But alas, all good things come to an end and we ruefully headed back the way we came.

The trail was freshly maintained

Right now, the trail only goes around about three-quarters of the lakeshore but the plan is for the path to eventually circumnavigate the entire lake. LUMBR has done a great job removing winter downfall (although there was one patch with dozens of fallen trees sprawled partially on the trail) and are to be commended for their fine work. Other hands are also busy restoring this trail however, for we encountered a small trail crew armed with chainsaws heroically toiling to improve the trail. There was also a small bulldozer thingy that was widening the path and smoothing out the rough spots. Apparently, their task is to widen the trail so that two people can walk on it side-by-side. I can't wait to return after the next round of improvements are completed.

Clawing at the sky

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

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Mildred Kanipe Park

This was one of those days where I felt like hiking but not driving. When I feel so conflicted, well, that's the time to hike local. The day prior, I had such a great hike on the Upper Rogue River that I wanted more, it wasn't enough, and yes, I am a hiking addict. One of these days, I'll be standing in front of my local chapter of H.A. (Hikers Anonymous), confessing "Um...Hi...My name is Richard and I hike a lot..." At any rate, I was not so enthused about spending another half-day of car seat time, so it was time to visit Kanipe Park in nearby Oakland. 

Park security corps

As I parked my car on a drizzly and overcast morn, a pandilla of peacocks came by to accost me, with several hopping on top of my car. "Say, nice paint job there, dude. I'd hate to see some bird crap on your car just because you couldn't see your way to give us some food" I got the message and ponied up a handful of sunflower seeds and my car didn't need a washing afterwards.

Rustic horse barn at the Underwood Home site

There are several loop trails in the park, most being centered around a bridge over muddy Bachelor Creek. I had never hiked in the equestrian area or on the Mildred's Forest Loop so I headed up a gravel road in search of a path to Mildred's Forest. Didn't find one and in short order, I found myself in the nearly empty park campground, wondering "Where'd the trail go?"

Which way do I go?
Quick, consult the phone!

There are many trails that braid across the park acreage and a good map is essential and oops, I didn't bring one. No problem, though, I cheated and popped the map up on my phone and navigated that way. It's not too often I get to hike somewhere with cell phone service. It just goes to show that from a hiking standpoint, cheaters sometimes do prosper!

Think of it as "our" pasture, cows

Anyway, after consulting the phone map, I walked across a pasture, startling a herd of cattle in the process. A wet wade across Bachelor Creek and a short walk on a muddy cow track through the blackberry brambles brought me to the real trail in a thoroughly chewed up field. The bulldozers had been at work here in what presumably was a battle in the war to rid the park of English hawthorn.

Trail through the hawthorns

This area had originally been settled by English pioneers, giving the nearby valley the rather generic name of English Settlement. When they did settle, the English brought English hawthorn with them and Oregon has been trying to export them back ever since. Anyway, Mildred's Forest Trail entered a field full of the thorny invaders before heading uphill to the Drill Barn site.

Oak galls

All that is left of the Drill Barn are the foundation piers in a grassy square in the middle of a young forest. Small oaks were covered in oak galls, and an impenetrable growth of bramble, poison oak, and honeysuckle vines discouraged any off-trail hiking. The trail headed uphill before cresting and closing the loop on a leg through a forest of bigleaf maple and oak. 

Oregon ash provided the only autumn color

After the marvelous autumn display on the Upper Rogue River the day before, I must say I was disappointed in the autumn colors at Kanipe Park. The oaks were still leafed dark green, holding autumn at bay for another couple of weeks. The maples were just starting to blush yellow, so a dispirited "meh!" to them. Occasional Oregon ash trees were in full yellow autumn song but they were few and far between. In all, it was fairly colorless which was appropriate seeing as how the sky was gray too.

It's a jungle out there

The next loop was the Underwood Hill Loop. I had hiked this loop before in the counter-clockwise direction and the uphill climb was brutal, making me think the loop should be named Undertaker Hill instead. However, a clockwise loop is not too bad at all, especially when the gray clouds dissipate and the day morphs from damp and dreary to sunny and cool.

Picturesque trail on Underwood Hill

One of the things I enjoy about Kanipe Park are the acres and acres of some of the most stately and regal oaks you can find in all of Oregon. The trail ambled underneath the majestic trees and the trail was bathed in dappled sunlight as it crested Underwood Hill. Birds twittered and flittered in the branches overhead and blue sky loomed over all. 

Shady glade near Bachelor Creek

Upon returning to the bridge and Bachelor Creek, the next loop of choice was the Fern Woods Trail, colored bright purple on the map. The route paralleled Bachelor Creek before angling gently uphill toward Fern Woods. However, I was distracted by a "shiny object", the distraction being a faint path peeling off the main route and heading up and across a bald and grassy slope. Basically, the path bypassed Fern Woods but served up some Vitamin D restoring sunlight and some nice views of Oakland and the English Settlement valley. 

Kanipe Park is the oak capital of Oregon

As the path descended a ridge festooned with beautiful oak trees, the afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees and shadows lengthened. A picnic table underneath a tree just invited a contemplative sit-down and I obliged. A slow breeze soughed softly through the trees and small songbirds warbled in the surrounding vegetation. There was nary a cloud in sky and best of all, no thieving deer to be seen. Life was good and some serious soul-soothing took place under the oaks as I lazed for a few minutes.

Oak arbor

My route kind of looked like a wobbly clover leaf, but I did get nearly 8.5 miles in. At the day use area, the peacocks came running "He's back! Seed Dude is back!" They did enjoy the remainder of my sunflower seeds and I certainly enjoyed the hike, plus it was a short drive home.

Blackberry considers the arrival of autumn

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

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North Bank Deer Habitat 11/2015

It's always the wife. I know, because I'd been ill with the flu crud for a couple of weeks and had my fill of daytime true crime TV shows. The husband thinks he has a happy marriage and is blissfully unaware that his "loving" wife has been lacing his Jello with Lemon Pledge furniture wax, he just thinks he has the flu crud while his wife knits in the rocker, looking at him and smiling that unsettling smile. The poor guy has absolutely no idea what his scheming wife is up to.  And there I am, thinking I have just the flu crud, and Dollie is just sitting there in the rocking chair, knitting and intensely watching me with an odd little smile on her face. She offers me Jello and I run out of the house screaming. Better to get out on the trail, where it is safe.

Issiah sets sail

Because of that aforementioned flu crud making its way around Roseburg, it'd been several weeks since I'd exercised in any way shape or form so a short hike in the North Bank Deer Habitat with the hiking club fit the bill for my reintroduction to the rigors of the trail. Issiah, my 10 year old grandson, came along to tend to his wobbly grandfather. However, in the North Bank, it is less about the mileage and more about the steep trails so this would not be a hike for namby-pambies, despite the short 5 mile distance.

Trees reach for the sky

It has been raining virtually non-stop in the Pacific Northwest for months and months that feel like years and years. However, on this day between winter storms, the day dawned clear, crisp, and gorgeous as a bowl of unlaced Jello. At the start, the trail ambled gently up and down through a flat known as Soggy Bottoms. But hiking in the habitat will involve some serious uphill at some point and  a left turn onto the North Gate Road marked the start of our North Bank leg cramps.

Let the huffing and puffing begin!

As the trail increased in grade, so did the huffing and puffing from hikers young and old. Didn't take long to start working up a sweat and get overheated, we stopped several times to remove layers of clothing. I think Issiah figured out that removing clothing was a way to cheat and grab an unauthorized rest stop. It wasn't long before we were bringing up the rear of our group, but what else is new?

I hate hiking

Just past the intersection with the Wrong Way Trail, the grade ramped up and the uphill became as serious as untreated flu crud. It was about then that I decided I hate hiking. But at least the sun was out, the views of the valleys below were stunning; or so I've been told, it wasn't me looking at the view when bent over, hands on knees, panting for breath during numerous post-flu rest stops.

Hey, let's make fun of Richard!

Walk uphill enough, and eventually a point is reached where all the bad uphill ends and such was the case when the North Gate Road intersected the Middle Ridge Road. A picnic table was strategically placed there and Issiah and I sat down for lunch as I endured verbal slings and arrows of outrageous fortune from my snarky hiking friends.  Something to do with arriving last but hey, I had a camera AND a 10 year old.

On Middle Ridge

My grandchildren are all fussy eaters, don't like this and don't like that, but they all think sardines are pretty cool. I have strange grandchildren and they have a strange grandfather. So Issiah and I enjoyed a restorative lunch of crackers and sardines on Middle Ridge. I had encouraged Issiah on the big climb by telling him it would be all downhill once we hit Middle Ridge. And as he so often pointed out on the descent, literally that was not quite true.

Running downhill

Yes, we were going downhill but this is the North Bank and even as we lost elevation, there were some steep hills to climb as we descended. Issiah had pretty much given it his all on the climb to Middle Ridge and he trudged slowly with frequent stops every time the trail went uphill, Naturally, we lagged far behind our comrades again.

Exploring, as only children can

At the West Barn Road, the trail dropped (with no uphill portions, this time) down from Middle Ridge to the trailhead and there was much rejoicing from a certain 10 year old grandson. He kept telling me how tired he was, yet he had enough energy to walk on muddy berms and slither into hollowed trees. On the way down, he told me he loved going hiking because in the outdoors there are no sisters yelling all the time. Well, OK, that's not particularly why I go hiking, but any reason to get out onto the trail is good.  Like not eating laced Jello.

Fantastic view to the North Umpqua River

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

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North Bank Deer Habitat

They say misery loves company.  But if that is true, then why was I hiking all by myself at the North Bank Deer Habitat? And who are "they" anyway? The fact that I was out all alone hiking the ungodly steep trails of the habitat in a torrential downpour proves that even misery has the good sense to stay home when I do not.



Graceful oak on a hillside

Because of heavy rain, I spent all day Saturday cooped indoors like a life-without-parole convict. However, the legs became quite restless on Sunday morning. The alluring siren song of freedom called to me and since the rain was not coming down with the same intensity as it did on Saturday, I made my great escape by driving the short distance to the nearby habitat in a steady rain.

My life for the next 12 miles

Lucky me though, because the rain abated as boots were laced up at the west trailhead. It was actually pleasantly cool, just perfect for hiking, as I set out on the dirt road leading to Middle Ridge. What was not perfect, though, was the uphill grade as all trails in the habitat are quite steep. Oh well, it's what I do, though.

A great day to hike...temporarily

Once Middle Ridge was attained, a nice view was had overlooking Whistlers Bend on the North Umpqua River. As I hiked, sunbeams broke through the heavy blanket of dark clouds, lighting up the farms next to the river. It matched my mood perfectly as in my head, sunbeams of optimism poked holes in the heavy tapestry of doom and gloom in direct correlation to the scene unfolding below me. Another hiker came traipsing down the trail and we agreed it was indeed a fine morning for a hike. But he was heading down and I was heading up and therein lies the difference.

Moody view

Middle Ridge is a broad and grassy ridge leading from the North Umpqua River up to the North Boundary Ridge and halfway up is a high point known unimaginatively enough as Middle Knob. A quick side trip to the knob provided more views. However, the north ridge above me had been overtaken by a wall of dark black clouds full of watery trouble. Bad weather was coming and it was a matter of when, not if.

From day into night

Naturally, I continued walking up Middle Ridge to immerse myself in the impending weather mayhem. The scene was quite photogenic as golden grass was lit up by the sun while the sky above was a dark and gloomy black. And sure enough, as the camera was happily taking pictures, the rain finally arrived.

The day was sunny, then rainy, then sunny, then...

It was a light rain though, and I quickly planned an out route back on a left turn down the Chasm Creek Trail. Unfortunately (in hindsight) I was feeling quite walky and a five mile hike just wasn't going to do it so I headed uphill to the North Boundary Ridge where another left turn and an 8 mile loop awaited. However, the clouds had now scattered, the sky was blue, and I was still feeling walky so I took a right turn and committed myself to a much longer hike.

That deer path is my trail

The trail on this section of the north ridge is dotted with rocky points and pinnacles and is probably the wildest section of trail in the habitat. And of course, the rain came back while a knot of white-tailed deer grazed on a grassy hillside; they easily loped uphill into the forest at my arrival. I, on the other hand, cannot easily lope uphill and it was slow going along the ridge as the deer wondered what the heck a human being without a gun was doing up there on a rainy day.

Rainy view

Normally, the view is great from the ridge but all I could see by now were curtains of rain and naturally at the point furthest from my car, the heavens absolutely opened up. Lashed by a fierce downpour, I quickly donned my wet gear and kept on walking in the monsoon. At a junction with the Powerline Road, a right turn was taken and now I was heading back towards the car instead of away from it, unfortunately there were still many miles between me and dryness.

Hiking in the rain...whee!

The weather forecast had called for showers which implies on and off rain but the "on" part lasted for well over an hour on the descent into the aptly named (today, at least) Soggy Bottom. However, the showers in the forecast probably referred to the stream of water falling from the sky which matched the volume of water that emanates from my shower nozzle, minus the happy hot water. The mud was slippery and there were several near pratfalls as I passed Grumpy's Pond, which was probably named after a guy hiking in a heavy rainstorm. The camera was stowed safely away in a dry case and there was only one picture taken on the way down, one water-ruined camera this year is enough. 

Steamy Oregon tropics

At this point, I so wanted the hike to be over and a plan was quickly formulated where I'd hitch a ride at the east picnic area from someone who'd feel sorry for me. Unfortunately, the east parking lot was empty, like anyone besides me would be visiting the habitat in a biblical rainstorm. But at least the rain eased up a bit as I pitifully began the slog up the West Barn Road to Middle Ridge.

Sun broke out at the West Barn

No longer feeling walky, I trudged uphill to the barn where a brief and dry breather was taken while listening to the music of the rain on the tin roof. By the time I hit Middle Ridge the sun had come out again and the rain had stopped for good. At a crest and trail junction, I took the left turn onto Middle Ridge, happy to be winding this hike up.

I hate hiking!

On the way down, the view to Whistlers Bend didn't look quite right as the angle of the river was a bit peculiar. Out came the GPS and lo and behold, I had turned left onto the Thistle Ridge Road with Middle Ridge being, much to my dismay, over a mile away across a deep creek drainage. So back up I go and naturally, the steepest section of trail rose above me like a muddy and grassy Great Wall of China. I hate hiking!

Autumn comes to the North Bank

The final stats for this hike were 12.7 miles hiked and 2,275 feet of elevation gain. I was a very tired guest of honor at my birthday party that night; my guests enjoyed the festivities while I nursed sore legs in a lonely corner in the living room. Actually, my house is round so there are no corners but that's beside the point, the point being misery does not love company despite what "they" say.

Farmlands at Whistlers Bend

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

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