North Umpqua Trail (Mott Segment)

Even though this hike was done in early May, much of the quality of hiking in our little piece of Oregon in 2019 has been and will be determined by the aftermath of February's Snowpocalypse. The wet and heavy snow, lots of it too, knocked down tons of trees onto all the trails in our Umpqua National Forest. When you have a horizontal forest lying across most trails, well it does make it rather hard to find a trail to hike on, doesn't it?

The Forest Service crew's handiwork

The North Umpqua Trail (NUT) was no exception to the tree carnage, despite its exalted status as a National Recreation Trail. However, the Forest Service had dispatched a trail crew to clear out the Mott Segment of the venerable NUT, and at the time of this hike, that was the only segment that had been reopened following the February storm. Well, since the only other option was to hike on a closed segment and do a "boot camp" hike over, under, around, and through all the tree obstacles, we were good with hiking on the Mott Segment.

Moss covers all that does not move

Ten hikers and one dog showed up for this one and it was a happy scene as twenty boots and four paws set out on the trail on a fine spring day. The sun was shining, the sky was gloriously blue and cloudless, and the temperature was perfectly mild. Normally, I complain loudly and vociferously (some would say shrilly, even) about having to hike on the frigid shady side of the North Umpqua River but on a day like this day, the shade was equally pleasant as the sunny side of the river, temperature-wise.

The North Umpqua Trail, on a fine spring day

The day was quintessentially spring, and winter had been completely banished to nice-weather purgatory for the next six months or so. Because it was truly and fully spring, the burgeoning forest vegetation was exploding into riotous profusion along all things North Umpqua, be it trail or river. Green was the color of the day with all manner of trees, vines, shrubs, bushes, and other assorted vegetative life forms sending out vigorous leafy growth to compete for what little sun actually reaches the forest floor. 

Fern, still in the process of uncurling 

Ferns were plentiful, their rolled-up fronds still in the process of unfurling, making the curlicued polypodiophytes (ferns, in plain speak) with their curled "elephant trunks" look like some kind of strange vegetative pachyderms (fancy word for elephant-like life forms). By the way, I looked up the definition of "pachyderm" and the root words mean "thick-skinned", so I know plenty of overly sensitive hiking friends and comrades who are definitely not pachyderms in the etymological sense of the word. But I digress...

Wild ginger flowers are just weird

Wildflowers are very much a thing in spring and where there are wildflowers, there is me, lying prone on the trail photographically documenting seemingly every flower I see. My favorite flower is the wild ginger because like me, it's a little hard to find, it's brown, and it's hairy. Well, that's zero true out of three statements, but suffice to say that the flower is the very antithesis of  what a flower should look like. By the way, "Wild Ginger" used to be my stage name, but that's another sad story best left untold in a hiking blog. Bless its little brown alien-looking head though, and I soon lagged behind because of my photographic search for the perfect specimen. One other plus to wild ginger are the aromatic and flavorful leaves which taste like...well, they taste like ginger. I crumpled up a couple of the heart-shaped leaves and dropped them into my hydration bladder so I could drink refreshing ginger-flavored water for the duration of the hike.

Calypso orchids are just flamboyant

Most of the floral specie were white in color, with calypso orchid being a notable exception. The flamboyant flowers were in full samba song, dancing in a conga line across the forest floor, appearing strikingly exotic and tropical among all the staid and overly dignified conifer and maple trees. The orchid Carnaval presented yet more opportunities for me to lie prone on the ground and lag behind!

The North Umpqua River, all day long

The North Umpqua River was a constant companion on this mostly level hike, the waters glowing blue-green in the seasonal sunlight. In winter, the river runs fairly silty and can even sport the same dull muddy brown color of a wild ginger flower. But in spring, the river begins to clear up and we could see previously hidden rocks lurking just below the surface, eagerly waiting to unpleasantly surprise river kayakers and rafters. At best, if they couldn't triumphantly snag a boat, the jagged rocks are more than willing and able to snag a fishing lure or two or three or several dozen. Actually, they probably don't snag as many lures as they used to since I gave up fishing a couple of decades ago.

What vine maple does to a forest

I've already mentioned the trailside greenery, and the main donors thereof were vine maple and dogwood trees. Vine maple is probably the most photogenic tree ever, except maybe in in bare-branched winter. In autumn, the forest is seemingly set ablaze by the colorful vine maple leaves flashing with every hue and tint available in the autumnal spectrum. However, in spring the leaves only flash green, of course. Despite the monochromatic color choice, the riotous profusion of vine maple leaves will green up a forest in a hurry, and nothing says spring quite like a forest full of vine-maples adorned with new leafy growth.

Someone left the dogwood lamps on

Not to be outdone by vine maple, dogwood was also putting on a show with ample quantities of six-petaled white flowers bedecking the branches arching over the trail. Being it was a sunny day and all, the flowers and leaves were illuminated and lit up by the riverside sunlight like so many garden lamps. While the dogwood floral display gave me further camera-related reason to  lag even further behind my comrades, at least I didn't have to lie prone on the trail to take photos of the blooms.

Part of that landslide we walked across

The Mott Segment is one of the few extended stretches of  the NUT that is basically level in gradient. However, that's not to say the hike was not without a few travails, mostly in the form of trees lying across the trail, a souvenir of some recent winter storm that occurred after the trail crew had cleaned up this segment of the NUT. Piles of sawn logs lay off to one side of the trail in testament to the hard work of the USFS trail crew to make this trail hike-ready (Thank you!). Unfortunately, their work is still incomplete, for a fairly sizeable landslide sprawled over and on the trail, forcing us to scramble across the face of the slide with all its tons of debris poised above, seemingly ready to slide again at the slightest triggering provocation (like scrambling hikers!). I'm glad to report that no land slid as we carefully made our way across.

Timber Creek, flows across the trail

Several large creeks (Fisher, Timber, Cougar, John, and Wright, to enumerate all the named creeks), run across the NUT but fortunately, rustic footbridges got us across each one without any dainty hikers having to wet their feet. The bridges made for nice photographic vantage points and the creeks soon separated our group of hikers into those with cameras and those without.

Fisher Creek at Zane Gray's camp

Fisher Creek is the site of Zane Gray's fishing camp and us older hikers enjoy tormenting the younger set by asking them if they know who Zane Gray was. Cruel to be sure, but it is funny to see that panicked look on their faces, the same look a student who did not do the homework assignment gets when unexpectedly called upon by the teacher. I don't have any other funny stories to tell or fabricate about the other creeks, but they were nice to look at as we hiked by.

The end of the road

Unfortunately and sadly, we arrived at a meadow just after we crossed Wright Creek. It was a crying shame too, for the meadow marked the end of our hike and nobody really wanted to stop hiking on such a beautiful day.

Morels are just $36 per pound at your local supermarket

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

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyHike

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.

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyHike