Laramie, Wyoming: a college town to rest

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We rolled into downtown Laramie in the dark after a very long drive cutting across pieces of Idaho and Utah driving I-80 east across the Red Desert Basin of Wyoming at summer’s dusk. (Memory returns to my reading of Annie Proulx’s book about the building of her Wyoming home in the remote Red Desert Basin, where no rivers run into or out of this basin). It is dry and remote, hilly and pretty, but I was happy to find a cheap hotel room in this smallish town, knowing that we were going to stay an extra day, stretch our legs and charge batteries.

The next morning we took a nice breakfast at Shari’s, a chain we’d been avoiding but could walk to this one.  Cute college student waitress took our order. We decided to walk around in the cool of morning and found the straw cowboy hat Jim wanted at “Nu 2 U” shop, which had just about anything I’d want to wear! I liked this town. The painted murals of hollyhocks with real maturing hollyhocks plants flowering  in front of each wall was especially vibrant. The store fronts were quirky and there were the usual college town hang outs—bars and coffee shops—but the antique and collectible stores had neat stuff. I don’t wander into those places very often but did in this town. It was loose and easy and school was not in session yet.  I hear the town swells by 10,000 after September. The rail yard and tracks run down the center of the town and I heard from a young man going to school in diesel engineering that the major employer were those railroad repairs.

We didn’t much leave the downtown area but we did spend some time organizing our photos in the hotel room before we hit the road for a rapid return to Durham.

Our decision to continue east on I-80 across Nebraska meant we had trees and shrub along the South Platte River and avoided the dry flat land of eastern Colorado and Kansas. In 2012 we drove the Lincoln Hwy. that parallels this interstate and goes through little towns and along the railroad.

This drive needed to be fast.

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Twin Falls: the bridge and the Snake River

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The bridge spanning the Snake River is maybe a half mile long, a single steel arch about 400 ft. above the river canyon. I experienced it near sunset.  The rock canyon walls were red warm light. We watched folks packing parachutes as we strolled the park on the rim of the canyon top. The city buzzed behind us. It was much like seeing the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River with a city hustle-bustle sound-track. It was disconcerting how quickly we came upon it from high desert and mountain meadow.

We were sure the police lights halfway out the bridge were due to para-gliders jumping from the bridge down to the grassy park beside the Snake River. But no. The police didn’t give it a thought. Happens all the time. They were watching a car fire on the bridge and helping traffic get by it.

We returned to the city the next morning and drove to the outskirts of town where Shoshone Falls, known locally as “Niagara Falls of the West”, plows over and past the hydro-electric plant. I finally understood WHY the city was so active and lively. It had plenty of WATER to supply all the growth. We passed every kind of strip-mall business that could be packed into a main strip on our way back to the interstate. We read that the amount of water flowing along the Snake River varies but it so obviously brought life to the desert of Idaho.

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Side trip to the Sawtooth Range above Boise, Idaho

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Jim had always wanted to see other parts of Idaho and took his opportunity on our trip back to Durham. As we crossed the state line from the Malheur Valley in eastern Oregon we connected with a little piece of I-84 SE taking it into Boise. We took a unplanned and frustrated tour of Boise as we encountered a detour on the interstate going east, found all the hotels reserved due to various conferences and had to dodge a fire on the outskirts of town while we connected with hwy. 21 going north into the Boise National Forest. We rounded a curve above the Arrowrock Dam to see a wolf deciding whether to cross the road in front of us.  We were past before we realized what we’d seen. Just beyond I saw a turn for a NF campground and we whipped in and set up the tent in almost dark. Fed Clementine and crawled in the tent to sleep. 

The city light spill was a surprise—it edged the western sky all night.

Next day we were on Hwy.21, the Ponderosa Pine Scenic Byway, driving a curvy road 40mph with regular stops. The local crews were using the summer to make much needed road repairs and we had chances to see the woods and listen to the fast rolling creeks we stopped near. I drove the miles through the Lowman burn-over of July/August 1989. Even now, 24 years later, the silt run-off into the Payette River makes it muddy. Our drive took us to what appears to be a mountain point on the map, which is Banner Summit, 7076ft, before changing name&number on a southern turn downward. We were on the Sawtooth Scenic Byway, hwy.75, driving across high meadows full of wildflowers and sky full of summer clouds. We picked up the Salmon River beside us as we passed through Stanley, Ketchum, Sun Valley, Hailey, Shoshone, and finally, Twin Falls and back at I-84. In between we saw a whole world of wilderness; distant peaks edging high meadows. We read about how Frank&Bethune Church pushed to get the wilderness designate for so much of what we’d driven near. Learned about how the Salmon River was called The River of No Return in the day when boats could go down it but not return up it. We saw a wealth in the form of large mansions set back from the road and manicured gardens blocking eyesight to the grounds in Ketchum and what appeared to be fully matured trees landscaped for new homes. Ski lifts and golf courses edged our drive. Shopping. Wealth. Trailers on the outskirts of town set-up for the service class. We liked the looks of the town of Halley.  It was cute without the big houses and fancy landscaping.

We enjoyed the day’s drive through the Sawtooth Mountains, passing through edges of the Boise NF, the Sawtooth NF, the Payette NF, the Salmon-Challis NF. It was pretty terrific to see the big mountains, the steep valleys, the wide meadows. As we approached the bottom of the drive we found rafting outfitters servicing groups on the Salmon River.

Ready to have a hot shower after 9 days camping and driving we found the first motel available on the outskirts of Twin Falls in Jerome and took it.

Little did we know what river and bridge awaited us as we entered the city.

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Malheur River & Valley: driving across the Oregon desert

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Leaving Bend, Oregon and driving on Hwy.20 we filled our gas tank on the way out of town. We also did this in the small town of Burns halfway across the desert. Our destination was Ontario on the border of Oregon/Idaho where we intended  to take a motel room that evening. This two-lane drive was not completely flat as one might think a drive through a desert landscape would be.  It had long hills to pull and sharp curves, but it was definitely DRY land.

We didn’t see farming until we came to the far side of the state, a large region fed and watered by the Malheur River. And then we saw bales of hay being made and green fields of alfalfa, onion and spearmint. We saw the irrigation ditches and the 2- level sheds for storage.  At the overlook we finally had the Big Picture of dry country farming.

How much water it took to make it happen, well, it must have been much of that river.

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The Cascade Lakes Hwy 372, aka. Century Drive west, from Bend

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We took a full day trip to see the surrounding areas around Bend known as the Cascades Lakes Loop highway. It moves through and past small lakes, ski resorts, camping areas, bike lanes from Bend, steams feeding out of the mountains and leads past the water source for the city of Bend. The highway took us past Mt. Bachelor before dipping south and edging along numerous  lakes.

We were traveling on a warm Friday afternoon and saw lots of canoes, kayaks and stand-up boards on the water, as well as hikers going into or out of the mountain trails. In general, the woods were full of people using the resources around the city of Bend.

We threaded our way through the city and its’ round-abouts to get West. This drive through the city took us by the refurbished industrial side where the Deschutes brewery is located and along the city park being used heavily by everyone getting into and floating the Deschutes River. I think the city is thriving on out-doors spirit and tourism along with logging and some light manufacturing. It reminded me of Moab, Utah but bigger and more diverse. We would return to Bend another time to shop and provision at Fred Meyers and pick up the state hwy. 20 east across the desert.

The Loop drive rolled through woods with tiny signage indicating secondary dirt roads and lakes. We stopped to explore some of the lakes. I’m still happy we camped further off the beaten path and away from the motor boats and city living. If I lived that close to the edge of the dry desert and had access to mountains and lakes I would certainly travel there each weekend I could schedule it.

Sisters, the Metolius River and the Dee Wright Observatory

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Another day trip found us driving west out of Bend on hwy. 20 towards the town of Sisters. We’d heard about it and thought it might be ‘cute’ in a smallish, hip way and it was. Except I thought they over-reached it a little going too cute in the new buildings and themed look. We found the post office and mailed our postcards. Then we high-tailed it onward to the headwaters of the Metolius River, a fine, clear fast running mountain river surrounded and edged by ponderosa pine. Problem: an active fire blocked the access past the first several miles. We walked it and watched fishermen casting from the grassy edge. It was hot and we were surprised to see that the camping was right at the edge and along the river and so to walk the pathway meant one had to walk through and pass other campers lolling in their camp chairs. I wasn’t very happy to do that, it broke my sense of camping rules about privacy. But I did find a spot to pull my shoes off and soak my feet. The water was cold, much colder than the water of  Paulina creek.

We back-tracked and picked up the McKenzie Hwy./242 out of Sisters, driving the narrow paved road towards McKenzie Pass and the  Dee Wright Observatory built on the huge lava flow that was scattered as far as the eyes could see at the pass. The structure, built in the 1930’s by Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) folks and named for a leader constructing it, was a totally unique building—squat, several levels tall with turrets and steps inside and labeled with the distant mountains.  It provided shade and wind protection across the rough edged lava field of grey nothingness. I saw a tree-ed portion of mountainside untouched by the lava.  In the distance were snowy peaks. I liked the turret-framed glimpses of the lava field from the inside windows. It was a destination for bicyclist but a challenge for careful drivers.

Much of this drive skirted more of the Deschutes National Forest.  Along that drive I saw the Black Butte which my favorite Porter was named after. The landscape was high desert grassland until we entered the mountains.

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Newberry Volcanic Lava & Obsidian flows

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From the Paulina Peak overlook we could see the real form of volcanic action– the beautiful crater lakes (Paulina & East Lakes) with blue-green water, the rough and tumbled grey-black pumice field and the deeper black obsidian flow which took up a large portion of the caldera.  In the great distance we could see green valleys with lots of little cinder cones. Even further we saw snow covered peaks.

Looking at this land was different for our eyes.  We had been looking at the land moving by at 60 mph through van windows. This landscape was weird and freaky and thinking about what happened merely 7000 years ago, a relatively recent eruption, made us see this as the active volcano it is.

The visitor center had a nice little hands-on display with explanations about pumice vs. obsidian. Pumice is fine sand that came out of the volcanic smoke (not from sand eroded from sandstone) and settled like bubbles frozen in place—light and airy. Obsidian is heavy like black glass, has NO water content in it, and is dyed with a drop of iron oxide. It flowed out of the volcanic eruption as lava never being thrown into the air. You might think a lava flow is contained in a smallish area but we saw evidence of this lava shield all the way across the high desert of Oregon into and around Boise, Idaho. Of course we were aided in our knowledge by the Roadside Geology of Oregon book that we traveled with and read from while driving through the countryside.

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Paulina creek: encounters with the volcanic

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When Jim&I left the Kia dealership in Medford (minor repairs) to resume our camping adventures we were driving on a hunch from a phone call made asking about the fires in the Deschutes National Forest. The ranger I talked with said the fires were much further east and no trouble  where we were going.  I asked where he would recommend camping as I was looking for a small creek experience and some solitude to enjoy it. He gave two places and I chose the one nearest to our driving route.

We left Medford in the late afternoon driving along the Rogue River (in the National Forest with the same name) along Hwy. 62 which is much like a wooded tunnel of trees. Our destination would take us past the turn off of Crater Lake, past Diamond Lake and a meet-up with Hwy 97 leading north towards Bend. I had never heard of the Newberry National Volcanic Monument, the Paulina Mountains, or the Newberry Crater.

We found our ten-site campground several miles up a gravel road near dusk and were lucky to have the site nearest the 20 ft. waterfall. The sound was steady, refreshing and glorious. It was water in a dry and dusty land. The water sound covered the camp sounds of crying babies, dogs barking, 25 bicyclist bumping down the dirt trail, children bickering. It was the cure for all the cramped camp sites I had been given by the reservation system and we decided to really rest, signing up for a week of nights.

We day-tripped to the top of Paulina peak–a 4 mile drive on scary, narrow gravel road to the top. The pay-back was a lovely 360 degree view.  We could see distant peaks, the two lakes full of turquoise water, the lava and obsidian flows. Exploring the lakes didn’t really interest me but they were pretty to look at and were enjoyed by boaters & fishermen.

The walk out of camp lead along tumbling Paulina creek through Ponderosa pine and a woodland burn-over as we approached the ridge line. I was curious to see how long the recovery time was from fire burns. There were lots of wildflowers blooming in the woods. Pines of the same age and size were growing thickly along the hillside. This seems to be typical of regrowth patterns.

We saw folks using this trail to access the rim of the lake and volcano on foot, by horse and on bicycles. The enticing promise was that there was a ‘slide sluice’ at the top of the creek and it being hot weather was plenty incentive to make the 8 mile hike. I enjoyed sitting in the creek and letting the water run over me. This water was not freezing mountain-cold. I was surprised the creek rocks were not smooth-round. Pumice was everywhere, even in the fast running creek the stones were rough, angular, and not easy to sit on.

Stars were bright in a dark sky that had no street light spill.  The moon came up early and set early. We went to sleep with the daylight gone. Campfire restrictions were put in place while we stayed here as all of eastern Oregon was bone dry.

It was here, in this campground, we saw the oddest and creepy sight one night at 4am as we crawled out of the tent to pee. Several persons wearing headlamps across the creek (not very far away in a campsite that was empty when we went to sleep) were stoking a bonfire-sized campfire practically into the tree canopy. The few other campers were all asleep. Sleepily we wondered what the best thing to do? Make enough noise to wake everybody else in the campground? Walk around in the dark shouting “Fire”?  Confront the people on our own, in the dark, holding our flashlights and iron skillet as weapon? In the end, Jim went to the van and watched, as the fire died back and the people fell asleep in their car. They left at daybreak without setting the woods on fire. I fell asleep, uneasily expecting I might have to leap up and run for the van, racing licking flames. It was a dilemma I’d never encountered in the woods and all my times camping. That morning we saw a real National Forest ranger drive through the campground slowly and stopped her, explaining what we’d seen. She took it very seriously, checked the place of the fire, said it had propellant thrown on it and was still HOT. We watched her put it out completely with several buckets of water.

Seems this is one of those ‘oddities’ that can happen when there is not a camp host on site.  It brings to mind other times we’ve encountered loud rowdy drunks making noise all night long. (For them I will bring my police whistle and add noise to the already loud night).

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Leaving the Coast

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We drove hwy. 42 east from Coos Bay following branches of the Coquille River. Our destination was I-5 south to Roseburg. Our intention was to drive it over Grants Pass, through Medford and further south to Ashland where we planned to visit my friend Ann, to rest and provision for the next leg of our camping.

Along route 42 we saw Paul Bunyon in the township of Myrtle Point and had to stop. The Coos County Logging Museum packs a lot into this small building!  Our quick stop showed us a lot of history of the region and how it was closely aligned with logging.

The drive to Ashland took us completely away from the moist coastal climate. We drove over the coastal mountain range and entered a drier landscape–hilly and tree-ed–but moving to arid.

My friend Ann took us on an easy hike to Grizzly Peak overlooking the valley of Ashland. From that vista we watched the looming storm coming from the south.  Down through the meadows of tall blue delphinium we walked back to the car, drove down the mountain getting home to Ashland just ahead of the thunderstorm. It was a storm full of sound and very little rain. Ashland needed much more rain to take them out of the same drought conditions that plagued northern California.

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Coos Bay, Charleston, Cape Arago, South Slough, Bandon

 

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We camped five days at Bullards Beach SP, near Bandon and just south of Coos Bay. This is a large bay, fed by a number of creeks and rivers. There is an active fish cannery in Charleston where the working boats come in to dock. (I have a can of albacore tuna packed under the name “Chuck’s Seafoods”). 

The South Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve has an interpretive center on Seven Devils Road and a large network of walking and paddle trails. We learned a lot from the displays and walking the woodland trails.

Unlike other cities along the coast we sensed that this region was more blue collar. We saw wood piles and lumber yards, 18-wheelers coming/going from the yards, rails running from the lumberyards, and industries based on fishing.  Along Seven Devils Road (an appropriate name for a narrow curvy road) we saw the effects of large tract woodcuts as the road followed the ridge line. Driving it gave us a perspective of logging and roads into that area and how the land looks as it regenerates new growth between uncut woods. Small pines were growing out of the battered ground.  I couldn’t tell if they were reseeded by humans or self-seeded.

When we could not find a motel room in the area or a camping spot in the nearby state parks we tucked ourselves in the van off the ridge road and into the blown-out clear-cut area at dark and slept there until dawn. The wind was fierce but stopped in the wee hours of morning.  The stars were bright. At dawn we watched the fog crawl up the valley until it overtook us moving up the mountain side. We drove into Charleston and had a working man’s breakfast and coffee, getting an early start to our day.

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