North Umpqua Trail - Tioga Segment

The last couple of years, backpacking the 79-mile North Umpqua Trail (or NUT) had been on the calendar for a grand summer adventure. And in the last couple of years, forest fires have ensured that I hike somewhere else other than on the North Umpqua Trail. However, the 2017 North Umpqua Fire was a doozy, hanging around the North Umpqua River (and trail) for most of the summer, smothering Roseburg in thick choking smoke for the duration thereof. After that fire, the North Umpqua Trail was closed for quite some time while the Forest Service cleared the trail of downed trees, replaced bridges, and put new trail in over landslides. Just recently, the closed sections of the NUT had been reopened, giving us hikers an opportunity to assess the damage.

Now, I've always found burn areas to be beautiful in their own way. Acres and acres of silver snags point upward to a blue sky, pleasing both eye and camera; small songbirds twitter and flitter about; woodpeckers jackhammer the dead trees; and fireweed explodes in flowery exuberance on the forest floor. But, to be honest, I usually hike the burn zones long after the fires have subsided. This would be a rare opportunity to explore a fire-charred forest within a year of the last flames being extinguished.

In case I didn't know or notice

Luna (my dog) and I set out on the trail under gray and threatening sky. It had rained on the drive to the Wright Creek Trailhead but for the moment, the rain let up. What did not let up was Luna's compulsion to be be the one in front. I had to continually assert myself as the Alpha Dog, which I did by extending my hiking pole sideways, blocking her way to the front of the line, lightly rapping her on the nose and noggin should she not get the hint. Relentless, she started bushwhacking up and around the reach of those pesky and irritating titanium dog-smacking hiking poles. If this keeps up, electricity will soon be involved when we hike.

The undergrowth already is reclaiming the forest

But this is not a dog-training blog, and enough already about my canine-related travails. At the trailhead, a brand new sign warned of falling rocks and debris, due to the recent fire. And just in case all the dead trees weren't clue enough, the sign also advised we were about to enter a burned area. Undeterred by the warning, we headed up the trail and it was immediately apparent that death would be the theme of the day. Miles and miles of dead and scorched trees, not yet going photogenically skeletal white. You could almost still smell the smoke, and the ground was covered by a layer of dry pine needles dropped from dead or dying trees. The gray and overcast sky matched the mood perfectly.

Rain on oxalis

Despite the destruction wrought by the fire, there was still plenty of life to be found. The undergrowth was vigorous and robust, consisting of fireweed, wild rose, candy flower, vanilla leaf, and wild ginger, just to namedrop a few. Dense carpets of oxalis covered the damper segments of trail, with water drops beading on the clover-like leaves in camera-pleasing fashion. Unfortunately, the increased sunlight due to the lack of trees led to a robust outburst of poison oak but at least the leaves were turning red, imparting a hint of autumn to the trail. Nothing kills poison oak, not even an immolating forest fire.

How madrone survives fire

Fire is a part of the cycle of life of a forest and it was interesting to see how the trees handled the fire. Madrone sends up new growth from its roots and it was quite common to see green shoots circling the base of a dead or dying tree. The thick bark of the Douglas fir is the first line of defense from the heat of a fire and larger trees had blackened trunks but green tops, while younger trees did not survive the fire at all.

What was this guy doing in a burn zone?

There wasn't much in the way of wildlife in the unusually quiet forest, apart from a few twittering birds. Didn't see any sign of elk, deer, bear, or scat thereof on the trail. I have no doubt though, that come next spring, the forest will nevertheless be populated by an overwhelming population of mosquitoes and poison oak bushes. Hmm, maybe things that make you itch are resistant to all potential mechanisms of extinction, including a searing forest fire. That therory would also bode well for ticks, regrettably. However, most surprisingly, I did encounter a forest snail slithering on the trail. How on earth did that snail survive the fire?

Thunder Creek, on its way to the North Umpqua River

At about the two mile mark, Thunder Creek came into view, waterfalling down the steep slope as the creek tumbled toward the mostly hidden North Umpqua River.  Amazingly, the wooden bridge spanning Thunder Creek had survived the fire intact and untouched. No doubt, humidity from the creek played a significant part in the preservation of the rustic footbridge. The creek was not thundering much, as it was running low this late into summer. From the creek crossing, the NUT then headed uphill to the first of two rocky points of interest.

View of the fire-damaged forest

The first point required a bushwhack over burned and fallen trees to a rocky overlook of the North Umpqua River canyon. The river was maybe a hundred feet below but just one step away, if one were so inclined or careless enough to do that. We weren't so inclined, so we stayed safely in the middle of the promontory, my hand firmly holding onto the dog leash. I am the Alpha Dog, remember? On the crown of the point, several madrones were severely singed yet their crowns still were a leafy green, with orange limbs and trunks interwoven into a dense tangle beneath the leaves. Looking down the canyon, the forest was a patchwork quilt of live and dead trees. That was kind of surprising, because from our firsthand experience, it seemed like it was all dead forest when hiking through it.

This bench survived while surrounding bushes did not

Continuing on further, we hiked to a more prominent point referred to as Elevation Rock by my hiking crowd, although it is nameless on the map. This overlook served up an epic view of the North Umpqua River curving around a bend, with the North Umpqua Highway following the river on the opposite side. No, this is not your remote and isolated wilderness hike. The forested hills surrounding the canyon all disappeared into the cloud cover as we sat on a bench and ate lunch. The aforementioned bench has always been one of my favorite benches and I was overjoyed to see that it too, had survived the fire.

Old wasp nest on the trail

By this time, I really had gotten tired and irritated at having to continually assert my dominance over one of the most bone-headed life forms on this planet. I would have let Luna loose, but she has no filters and is liable to disappear off trail in search of a squirrel or swim, or maybe a squirrel and a swim, or a swimming squirrel even. My option was to continue the fight for another 1.5 miles of trail down to Fox Creek, or give up the venture for now. Not sure what this says about my Alpha-Doggedness, but we cut the hike short and headed back to the car, happy with a short 6 mile hike.

Itchy, itchy!

So, back down the trail we went, this time stopping to photograph the red poison oak leaves. I felt sort of unclean and itchy doing that, but I'm glad to report that my camera did not develop a skin rash within a week of this hike. If there was any justice in  this world, mosquitoes would bite poison oak leaves and both life forms would then know of the itchy madness they spread. But alas, there is no justice in this world, and I'm sure they will both be waiting for me when I finally get to backpack the North Umpqua Trail.

Pine needles covered all

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

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North Umpqua Trail - Tioga Segment

It's been kind of hard to hike lately. I mean, it does rain in Oregon but sheesh, enough already! The rain has been pouring non-stop, like from a garden hose, and poor waterlogged Douglas County has more standing water than a walk-in freezer in a power failure during a heatwave. At the higher elevations, the non-stop precipitation has translated to higher than normal snow levels, forcing me to hike along the lower elevation rivers and creeks, or on the Oregon coast. I heard on the news the other day, snow levels in the Cascades are around 130 to 140% of normal. That's a good thing, so I suppose any complaining about snow and rain is not warranted but sheesh, enough already!

It's warm and sunny everywhere I am not

Any break in the constant rain is cause for a celebratory hike and two days after my raingear test on the North Umpqua Trail's Swiftwater Segment, I returned to the same trailhead for a hike on what happily turned out to be a rainless day. The weather forecast had called for "mostly sunny" but that forecast never applies to the south side of the North Umpqua River. It's always shady and cold there, presumingly more so during the winter. Still it was nice to wistfully observe blue sky and sunlight on the  seemingly remote and unattainable mountains on the other side of the river. 

Bob Butte, if you squint

When I last reported from Tioga Bridge just two days prior, the color of the river was a milky brown color. Two days later, the normal winter turquoise color was returning to the still-turbulent North Umpqua River, although just like me, the river was still plenty wide, deep, and fast. No water was falling from the sky, although low clouds and river mist still occluded the view downstream to Bob Butte.

An unnamed creek crosses the trail

Once across Tioga Bridge, instead of turning right onto the Swiftwater Segment, I turned left onto the Tioga Segment. Where the Swiftwater heads uphill and away from the North Umpqua River, the Tioga keeps the rushing river fairly close at hand. Despite the nearness, thick forest kept the river hidden from view but the roar from the winter flow was always audible.

Sorry, boots

So, there was no water in the sky but it sure was all over the ground. Small creeks and runoffs ran across the trail and in many places, right on top of the trail itself. Given the amount of mosquitos and standing water in the Cascades in summer, I've often remarked that "Cascade Mountain Range" is merely a synonym for "large swamp with firs". However, in winter there are no mosquitoes on the Tioga Segment but oh man, was there ever a lot of water sitting on the trail, just waiting to pour into my boots.

Fern capital of the world

The first mile of the western end of the Tioga Segment was under 2 to 3 inches of water and the roar of the river, the splashing of my footfall, and some muted wet-feet related salty language were the only sounds in the forest. But at least the trail was flat and photogenic, what with wet ferns growing in thick profusion next to the trail. The fern growth was so thick that ferns were growing on top of ferns growing on top of ferns. Thick moss and fungi of all type were consuming the numerous fallen trees and the occasional hiker who stopped too long for lunch. 

Trail on a ridge

After a watery mile of hiking, the trail left the standing water behind as the North Umpqua Trail began switchbacking uphill. Ups and downs are very much part of the entire 78 mile North Umpqua Trail experience and it's no different on the Tioga Segment. For some reason, I was feeling pretty walky so the hill was conquered in short order before it began dropping back down at an alarming switchbacking rate. "Man, I really would hate to hike up this beast" I thought to myself, willfully ignoring the fact that I would be doing that very thing on the return leg.

Footbridge, several switchbacks below 

The trail was contouring a steep ridge and what little I could see of the river and highway below was shrouded in river fog. The mountains above the river on the south side were still enjoying the sun and blue sky and I was peevishly jealous. After what seemed like several hundred switchbacks on the knee-jolting descent, a footbridge over a rather large creek hove into view.

Raindrop, still hanging around

Amazingly, considering the amount of water flowing under the bridge, this creek is nameless. My theory for its anonymity is the creek probably dries up in summer. Anyway, after dropping down to a rushing creek, what does our lucky hiking participant receive in return? Tell him what he won, Don Pardo (I'm probably dating myself there but hey, I'm a 60 year old now). That's right, our lucky contestant has won another climb away from the creek up and over another forested ridge. Fortunately, it was not nearly as hard work as what I had just climbed up and over.

British soldiers

Moss-covered cliffs flanked the right side of the trail while the left side dropped rapidly down to the misted-over river. All the cliffy goodness had my inner mountain goat bleating happily although I carefully watched my steps, as I lack a mountain goat's agility and balance. Yup, clumsy and unbalanced, that's me! 

Very swollen Fox Creek

Fox Creek was heard long before it was seen as it was carrying way more water than normal. Dale and I had hiked to Fox Creek from the eastern trailhead a couple of years ago and we had eaten lunch there. However, that'd be a difficult trick on this day for the grassy picnic spot was under rampaging creek water. Besides which, a tall tree had fallen right on the picnic spot to futher hammer the point home that there will be no more picnicking at that spot. Strewn about were smaller trees, limbs, and other tree-related debris and carnage, all miraculously missing the fragile footbridge across the frothy white water of Fox Creek.

One small piece of Buttkicker Hill

It was cold, so I didn't tarry long at Fox Creek. After a quick lunch on the bridge it was back the way I came and I decided that the nameless ridge really needs to be called Buttkicker Hill. The climb disappointingly gained only 285 feet in 0.4 miles, it sure seemed both steeper and longer than that. But, doing the math, it was a 13% grade so my tired legs and heaving lungs were somewhat redeemed by that stat.

Mushrooms were everywhere

Once off Buttkicker Hill, it was back to the mile-long North Umpqua Trail splashfest before crossing the North Umpqua River on Tioga Bridge. It actually had been a sunny day in Roseburg while I had been splashing along in deep canyon shade. On the drive home, the bright sunlight was harsh, leaving my eyes blinking myopically in the glare like an albino cave salamander. But not to worry, the next day things were back to wet and rainy normal, making me quite grateful to have snuck this one in. 

Moss was everywhere, too

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

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