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Please click here for Part Two
The Question
Exploring rivers became the next focus of this journey into Oregon. “We’ve never been close to the Lower Columbia River,” one of us noted as we dropped to lower elevations descending from Mount Hood. We spent a great deal of the day in Hood River. But not to see the sights. Go back to the final photo in Part Two of this story. Our truck is visible in the upper left. It is pouring rain and the strong wind is turning the rain to horizontal, pounding against the side of the camper, the side with the window that was not closed properly. Duffles, bedding, and our backpacks stored inside on that side were soaked. We discovered this when we stopped to do the short hike to Tamanawas Falls.
That idea was aborted and the plan changed to finding a laundromat with lots of empty dryers. We were also able to raise the camper top, open everything up, and dry the interior. Fun on the road.
We spent the night at an Oregon State Park on the broad Columbia River - Memaloose State Park.
The grounds are manicured, the showers are hot. Fellow campers were quiet, the vast majority in motorhomes or travel trailers. Sandwiched between the interstate highway and the railroad tracks and all our windows open with the warm low elevation temperatures, the noise throughout the night sticks in our memory. More fun on the road.
“I want to do the hike to Tamanawas Falls,” the Lady announced the next morning. “It looked like fun!”
“That’s backtracking you know,” I pointed out.
“So?”
“Backtracking drives Steve (rubberlegs) crazy. It’s not efficient. It wastes gas. It denotes poor planning. We’ll have to keep this a secret from him.” I expressed my concern.
“Then don’t write about it, ok?”
Oops.
My god this is a popular place. The trail is as busy as a city street, and this was a weekday. We were not ready for this. It was hard to hear the sound of the creeks over the din of human voices.
The falls are dramatic and worth the short hike.
This was the antichrist of solitude out in the woods.
The seating area is on a talus slope. A group of 7 women came up the trail and all of them sat down around me within touching distance. The perfumes, fragrances, and such were overpowering, choking. Seven women sitting in my lap drenched in perfume triggered our immediate departure.
Steve, it was a short backtrack. Really.
We were meeting our friends Wandering Sagebrush & his bride and also Donna from The Teds at Steens Mountain for a few days of camping together. We headed in that direction.
We very much enjoyed our "never been there before" stay at Cottonwood Canyon State Park on the John Day River, as we traveled toward Steens.
We reserved at campsite at Cottonwood the night before when camped at Memaloose.
The John Day Canyon is beautiful and inviting. This is a wonderful setting.
We met Ken, a reader of our blog, because of the State Park requirements on reserving a campsite. The rangers or personnel on the ground do not handle getting a campsite or collect fees. If you arrive without a reservation in the Oregon State Park system, each campsite has a barcode that you are required to scan with your device. This lets you know if the site is open, available, and takes you online to reserve and pay for the site. It also immediately tacks on a $10 reservation fee to the transaction. And an out of state fee if you’re not an Oregon resident. All this requires cell service which Cottonwood Canyon does not have. Cottonwood Canyon has a WiFi network in place with directions on how to log in at the campground kiosk so you can use your device, create an account with Oregon State Parks, check on the availability of a site by scanning its barcode, and pay with your credit card if a site is available.
So how did we meet Ken - a very nice fellow by the way - because of all of this? Apparently when you log into a WiFi network, the device starts scanning for available WiFi networks. Those that are in the area are displayed. One of the networks that showed up on Ken’s device when working through this process was “Ski3pin StarStink.”
We very much enjoyed chatting with Ken. It was a pleasure meeting him and very kind of him to stop by to introduce himself and say hello.
We walked in the evening light as the day cooled. The scent of the river hung in the canyon. The voices of wildlife gently echoed. An old homestead is part of the State Park. This was a near prefect evening.
The flower garden was delightful.
Should I have been surprised by the Opium Poppies?
Signage around the old farm was also delightful.
The next morning the highway climbed to the south and out of the John Day Canyon. At this unique viewpoint we finally got our view of Mount Hood, along with other Cascade volcanoes.
Hood, Adams, and Rainier (left to right) in the photo above.
Mt. Hood
Adams & Rainer
It was wonderful to see all the trump repellent devices in the distance.
And Jefferson and Hood.
On the appointed day we met our friends, mentioned above, at the South Steens Campground.
It is first come first served and everyone pays the same fee and money goes into an old fashion envelope.
Campgrounds always have the potential to be an interesting experience with fellow campers. The Lady and I wake early, at or before dawn. It was warm at South Steens, but so pleasant to sleep with all the windows open during the cool nights. In the morning I set our two chairs to catch the morning sun. The Lady fussed in the camper, including putting morning coffee together. Properly staying out of the way, I sat in one of our chairs, and looked at Julie’s smart phone. I heard a man and a large dog approaching behind me and looked over and acknowledged the gentleman. Noticing the phone, he asked, “Is he dead yet?”
“No,” I answered.
“Fuck,” he replied and continued on his walk.
Over the years the Lady and I have spent a lot of quality time exploring Steens. We’ve enjoyed our hikes up the spectacular glacially carved canyons of the Little Blitzen and Big Indian Rivers. The first day the Lady wanted a longer hike and suggested going up the Little Blitzen.
The Lady, the trout spotter, also wanted to look for the native trout in their home water.
With the warm weather, the creek crossings were extra refreshing.
At the entrance to the gorge there’s a sign that indicates a trail intersection.
There is no evident Riddle Trail on the ground.
We continued up the gorge past what remains of the old cabin with its wild rhubarb.
We ventured down into the canyon along the creek. The Lady scouted for trout. I looked at the wildflowers.
Crimson Columbine (Aquilegia formosa)
“I see trout!” the Lady reported. “Tomorrow we go up Big Indian and the next day we come back up here to fly fish!” Our adventure at Steens was planned.
Our afternoons and evenings with our friends was, as always, a wonderful time. Stories, getting caught up, was as it should be. Thank you all for a great get together!
The Kermit Chairs had a reunion also.
Early the next morning I was in my chair. The Lady was fussing in the camper. Again, I heard the man walking his large dog, approaching. He stopped. “Is he dead yet?”
“No,” I answered.
“Fuck.”
As he walked away, I asked, “Don’t you want him to rot and then die in prison? To be finally held to account for all his crimes?”
“Not soon enough,” he answered and continued on his walk.
On today’s hike up Big Indian Gorge I carried the fly rod and equipment on and in my pack. The Lady was going to spot fish again today.
Entering the canyon, there is an immediate ford of Big Indian Creek.
Then there is a ford of Little Indian Creek and another ford of Big Indian.
We wanted to get up to the meadow section about midway up the canyon to begin fly fishing.
We made it to the meadow section but we did not fly fish due to a stupid old man trick I inadvertently pulled. I carry the Nikon on a clip attached to my left backpack strap. Just before the meadow, with the Lady ahead on the trail, a photo was composed in my mind’s eye. I reached for the camera. It was not there.
“The camera’s not here,” I called to the Lady.
“What?” the Lady asked as she turned around and joined me.
“I set it in the shade behind the large rock we stopped at for a snack. I must have forgotten it there. I’ll go back and get it.”
“There’s not enough time to do that,” the Lady informed me. “That’s at least two miles back.”
I did not think it was near that far, but after doing something really dumb, I was not in a position to argue and I knew it. I said nothing. Good thing, it was more than two miles back.
We both turned back down the trail.
We were not too concerned about someone coming upon and finding the camera. We saw no one else on any of our hikes.
I heard him and his dog approaching the next morning. I did not wait for the question.
“No.”
“Fuck,” and he was on his way.
This day, as the Lady planned, we were back up the Little Blitzen Gorge.
This time the Lady had her new ghost net, and I had the fly rod and vest. She led the way to where she had spotted the trout in the small creek.
With the overhanging alders this was combat fly fishing.
Casting was an impossibility in these close quarters. It was bow and arrow, dapping, or drifting a fly down stream.
I caught each trout the Lady pointed out. “Catch that one!” she would direct and then explain where I should place the fly. She is getting quite good with her fly fishing guide services. In the clear water of the small creek they looked huge, but we were rewarded with incredibly colored - still with parr marks - native Harney-Malheur Redband Trout.
It was a wonderful day we spent together on the Little Blitzen, the Lady enthralled with fly fishing and these beautiful native fish.
The next morning was a near repeat. I was in position in my chair. I could smell coffee brewing in the camper. Robins were carrying on with their morning song. The sound of foot steps grew, both canine and human. The question came. “Is he dead yet?”
I looked up from the phone. “News reports this morning say he’s not dead. He’s only sleeping.”
“That’s a good one,” the man responded. “I’m going to use that one, thanks.”
He continued on his morning walk.
T-shirts are available here - Tee Public
We said goodbye to our friends and thanked them for a great time. There were hugs all around.
We still had more rivers to explore. Our adventure continues in the upcoming Part Four.
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