Jason and I spent this Saturday and Sunday of Labor Day Weekend in Southern Oregon. It was a spur of the moment decision, made by Jason to combat my blues over a failed backpacking trip I was trying to plan. It turned out to be everything I needed to free my pent-up, citified soul. It was a long drive, but an utterly gorgeous trip, on which we saw deer, rainbows, old growth forests, and billions of stars...and went hiking with bears.
This is a view of Mount Shasta on our way to Oregon. It's at the very southern end of the Cascade Mountain Range and it really dominates the skyline. The only thing nearby are a few low, rolling hills to the north and the Black Buttes to the south. (If you've read my other blog, you probably are already familiar with my fascination with Buttes. The Black Buttes are no different. Small, but mighty in their cragginess, they rise up in front of you as you drive south on the 5. I'd like to sit at the top of the Black Buttes and dream about Shasta.) Jason and I spent half the drive home dreaming about hiking Mount Shasta, which is impressively still considered an active (though dormant) volcano. It erupts approximately ever 650 years. Apparently, John Muir survived an avalanche on Shasta by taking shelter in the hot springs that are oozing out of its volcanic core up there. Awesome.
 |
Next Stop: Mt. Shasta!
|
We camped about midway between Medford and Grants Pass, just outside a tiny town called Valley of the Rogue. The campsite was less remote than we had hoped, but we pitched our rugged little tent and built a bonfire, drank wine and toasted marshmallows, and watched the stars, and everything was just as we wanted it to be, except even better and more beautiful. We forgot to take pictures of our campsite until the morning, after we had taken everything down and packed the car. So here it is:
 |
| Here sat our tent. |
 |
| Here stood the non-functioning amenities, which was fine with me because going in the woods is no grosser to me than other peoples' foot fungus. |
 |
| Here was our view |
We ate dinner Saturday night and breakfast Sunday morning in Valley of the Rogue. Late Sunday morning, we went for a hike about 30 miles outside of Grants Pass in the Siskiyou National Forest. We were in the Wild Rivers Ranger District of the park and we traveled quite a ways in to get to Briggs Creek Trail. The hike, which we randomly selected off of Jason's phone over breakfast was about 13 miles up a one lane road that twisted and twined up the mountain. Siskiyou National Forest is huge, spanning all the way from Southern Oregon into Northern California, and it is home to the world's tallest Pine tree - a Ponderosa. The Forest is full of Old Growth evergreens: firs and pines and some redwoods, and the density of the great trees along the trails is a sight to behold!
 |
| "Contemplative Mountain Man" |
 |
| Something I've never seen in California forests: entire pathways lined with these huge, lush ferns |
 |
| "Old Growth Surrounding Small Jay Bird" |
 |
| Apparently a fire hit the area pretty hard in 2002. You can still see signs of the damage, although it remains surprisingly full and lush. In the communities down the mountains, many houses have signs out front thanking the firefighters. |
It was all fun and games beside this GIANT root of a fallen tree...until two seconds later up that path to Jason's left, we heard what we can only figure was a black bear growling. It wasn't long before we were retracing our steps past the now-not-so-fascinating tree root back the direction that we came. I secretly wish that you would have been able to see a curious black bear head peering around Jason's shoulder here so that at least the bear growling mystery would be solved. (And Jason would have a picture with a wild bear!) We have since learned that A) black bears are relatively common in those parts, so it's not impossible that we really did hear one, but also that B) they are generally scared of people and almost always completely loath to attack or bother. So much so that, in the event that some stupid human ignores ALL warning sounds and continues to infringe on a bear's space, he will only cuff or bite a gentle warning, STILL without any intention of killing. So really, we would have been smarter to forge ahead and try to catch a glimpse of the bear than to psyche ourselves into marching out the other direction. Live and learn.
Near the end of the hike, we surprised a beautiful, deep brown deer in a small clearing. I have NEVER been so close to a wild deer before. She stood stock still for a moment, staring into my eyes as I reached slowly for my camera. And then she bounded gracefully away, thumping her hooves gently, before I could get it out of my pocket. It was a perfect moment. On the drive out, we caught sight of two more wandering by the side of the road. As we pulled nearer, one of them disappeared into the underbrush. The other waited a while longer until she had gotten herself rather stuck against a steep part of the mountain. Spooked, she crouched down and bounded up the side of the rock like a small squirrel. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around a large, hoofed animal being able to bound upward with so seemingly little effort.
This was our view on the way out of the park. The world stretched away for days and there was a light breeze that made me feel certain the world was saying something.
 |
| So we stopped to listen. |
 |
| Jason takes pictures like the paparazzi. He keeps snapping away for so long that you never know when he's started and if he'll ever stop. |
 |
| My sweet little Mazda taking in the Oregon day...he's hauled us around all over the place! |
 |
| The Rogue River |
The skies as we drove out of Oregon and into California were unreal! They started out blue as Plumbago with white wisps of clouds like fingerprints. Then, nearer to dusk, the sky to the east was washed stormy and the west, against the Coastal Range, stayed golden blue and calm. Finally, the whole expanse glittered pinks and oranges and we spotted a faint rainbow that suddenly glowed resplendent for an ephemeral moment and faded again.We hit a 30 second hail storm before darkness came in. We talked of the Siskiyou Forest, and climbing Mount Shasta, and Home.
Here is a passage about Mount Shasta I found and loved:
"As lone as God and white as a winter moon, Mount Shasta starts up suddenly from the heart of the great black forests of California.
You would hardly call Mount Shasta a part of the Sierras; you would say rather that it is the great white tower of some ancient and eternal wall, with here and there the white walls overthrown.
It has no rival! There is not even a snow crowned subject in sight of its dominion. A shining pyramid in everlasting mail of frosts and ice, the sailor sometimes, in a day of singular clearness, catches glimpses of it from the sea a hundred miles away to the west; and it may be seen from the dome of the capitol 340 miles distant. The immigrant coming from the east beholds the snowy, solitary pillar from afar out on the arid sage-brush plains, and lifts his hands in silence as if in answer to a sign."
- Joaquin Miller, Life Amongst The Modocs, 1874
Here's a bunch of the information you'll want about Siskiyou National Forest if you're ever around those parts:
These are the sounds of Black Bears. We only heard one sound of a potential Black Bear. A kind of creaking that sounded remarkably like the jaw popping they do in some of these. Just saying.:
-R.E.A.
No comments:
Post a Comment