Hart Mountain & Steens Mountain, Oregon - July 2017 - Part Four

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The last night of the trip.

 

 

The place was built with skill and pride. It was built to last. Now long abandoned, its location not publicized, hidden just out of sight, it endures.

Steve suggested we stop. He gave us directions as he thought we'd enjoy visiting the old camp. Then he decided to come along.

The hinges were hand forged. The rough cut material for the gates was joined with mortise and tendon.

The corral was woven willow.

The main building was solid. People put down roots here.

Steve put his model to work.

I explored the nooks and crannies.

The sandstone slabs lining the windows of the stable were outstanding.

Out buildings stood quiet. We knew spirits were watching. Would it be possible, with a blink of an eye, to be whisked back to the time this place was in its prime? We hoped.

The Lady finished her modeling and Fritz wrangling duties and surveyed the site with her see mores from the highest rock she could climb.

This is a place where time slows.

Where should we spend our last night before returning home? After topping off the gas tank in Adel, Oregon, we headed north and again climbed up to Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge. It was Saturday, no way did we want to join the probable crowd at Hot Springs Campground. We continued past and headed south.

We stopped to pay our respects at the two graves at the site of Camp Warner.This sacred resting place is all that remains.

We settled in at Post Campground mid afternoon. We were the only overnight guests. It was warm. We relaxed in the shade. Showers, dinner, and the cool of the evening signaled it was time to walk and explore this vast meadow.

We walked quietly and enjoyed the wildlife sightings. Steve and Fritz the Wonder Dog turned around. The Lady and I continued through and past the narrows. The meadow system stretched on and on to the south. We were tempted to wander all night, see everything we could.

We did turn back. A doe up on the rimrock watched us in silence. Her spotted fawn hid in the tall grass near the creek, only the tips of its ears gave away its location. The light was nearly gone as we walked back into camp. It had been a good day, a good trip. The next day we headed home.

A thank you to Steve for his companionship and putting up with us on the few days we shared together.

And Fritz, "Those are birds, Fritz. Those are birds."