Doughnuts, Cold & Wet

Hurricane Creek to Buckhorn Lookout, Hells Canyon NRA

Things haven't been going so well; not painfully terrible, just things haven't been going so well.  After leaving leaving Mad Mary's Saturday evening, I made a few phone calls back East before returning to the site for supper.  I opted to take a less traveled route through ranch land and the Wagon plowed through the mud piles like the true champion she is.  The evening light was spectacular and was enhanced by approaching thunder storms.

At the site, I prepared an alright dinner of leftover chili while successfully multitasking a fire start this time around.  While walking from the Wagon to the picnic table, I watched a family of three deer have dinner of their own on the opposite side of the swift flowing Hurricane Creek.  They were a nice spark of happiness as I began to mentally prepare for the emotional battle of freezing throughout the night in the tent.  For some reason, last year's road trip was never remotely as cold as this year's.

Yesterday morning, I awoke to a new sound on the tent walls: steady, angry rain.  Oh, and it was about 40 degrees out too.  Breakfast was quick; hot oats and self-brewed coffee.  The copious amounts of scalding liquid I passed down my throat pleasantly warmed me(and singed the first 10" of my esophagus), but didn't help much with the lonely factor.  I figured I was adjusted so an Olivia-less road trip but apparently I'm quite wrong.  The actual journeying from point A to point B is fine - I have a goal and something to do so my mind doesn't wander.  It's the solo time around meals and packing/unpacking the Wagon that's torture, never mind the fact that it's been exactly a year since last year's adventure and I can't help but relive every mile.

Anyways, I loaded up the Wagon with supersaturated gear and headed into Enterprise to pick up a few gifts courtesy of Terminal Gravity Brewing before taking the NFS 697 Road north towards Hells Canyon.  The drive was amazing as I cruised along the gravel road for miles upon end through rolling prairie.  Every so often I'd pass an abandoned barn, an empty homestead, a corral, or a herd of open-range cattle.  I didn't see a single sole during the entire drive (which would add to my feelings of loneliness a few hours later).

The more north I drove, the less it rained, until I pulled off at Buckhorn Overlook.  In theory, this place had a commanding view of Hells Canyon and the surrounding vastness that makes up eastern Oregon and western Idaho.  In actuality it looked exactly like the Maine coast held in under a thick fog. I couldn't see fifty feet in front of me, let along the bottom of the canyon some 8,000 feet below.  At the Buckhorn Campground, the fog was less intense but it was still drizzling, taking my last remaining high spirits and washing them into the mud on my Carharts.

I ate three delicious humus wraps for lunch, quickly popped the tent (which was completely soaked) then walked the Forest Service roads for a few hours to gather my thoughts.  The stroll was relaxing and much needed.  By the time I returned to the tent, I had added to my overall dampness, was chilled through, but content with my situation.  Crawling into the sleeping bag around 3PM, I opened a book on elite distance runners and read for a few hours about Joan Benoit Samuleson.  She was a true badass and focusing my thoughts on running successfully pulled me from my rut.

By 5PM the tent started to take on an increase in light, so I put on my multitude of layers and re-entered the day expecting to find some sunlight.  Nope, just a lighter hue of clouds and mist than a few hours before.  Disappointed, I opted for a walk back to Buckhorn Overlook and briefly I was able to see a morsel of the canyon.  It was impressive, kind of a lush version of the Grand Canyon and not at hot.  It was currently 42 degrees.

Dinner was Annie's Mac & tuna, a fine selection that filled me up properly for the first time since leaving Jeff's Thursday.  With the status of the weather, I skipped any attempt at a fire and instead crawled back into my damp tent for some more reading before passing out cold and wet.

At 4AM, the gallon of green tea I had with dinner had been processed and I stepped from the tent to actually see blue sky.  It was still horribly cold, I was still horribly cold, but things were slightly less horribly wet.  Excited, I fell back asleep for a few more hours.

At 8AM, the sun was out but it was still below 40 and my spirits were starting to rise.  I ate cold cereal, had some tea then walked up to Buckhorn Overlook and actually was able to take in the view.  Hells Canyon is massive and breathtaking.  I couldn't see the Snake River since it was hidden beyond some ridges but nevertheless the place is awe-inspiring.  Words don't do enough justice so I settled with taking an abundant amount of pictures.

Back at the site, I noticed the rear driver's side tire was flat.   Straight up dead.  Shit.  I had planned on reorganizing the car this morning anyways, but having to dig out the doughnut was not a part of the plan.  Unfortunately, I found the jack had been pinched right where it's suppose to connect to the lifting mount on the Wagon's frame, requiring me to do some backcountry metal bending with the lug wrench and a screwdriver.  Aside from that hiccup, the tire change went smoothly, made easier by the blue sky.   However, blue sky didn't necessarily mean fine weather and right as I started putting things away a hail storm arrived.  Hurriedly, I repacked the car with a respectable amount of organization while my once dry gear gradually became damp.

Finally, I got back in the driver's seat and bid good riddance to Buckhorn-leaving the cold campground in a cloud of dust from the anorexic looking tire spinning at 5 mph.  The drive back to Joseph was beautiful but slow going-I regulated myself to 20-mph to keep the doughnut from driving itself to death.  The blue sky was a fine contrast to the rich greens of the prairie and I enjoyed the relaxed progress I was making back to town.  

In Joseph, I found a nice mechanic to plug the hole in my tire, filled up with fuel and now I find myself in the tiny town library writing about my ordeals.  In a few minutes I'll be eating a good meal at a local cafe, then letting a few people know I'm still alive before getting on the road and heading south.  I have 3 days to meet Jordo in Eugene and I should be able to fill my time and miles appropriately.  

The weather says partly sunny for the next five days, only problem is I don't know where the report's for.  Sun will definitely lift my spirits and tomorrow I hope to run for the first time in 5 days (but I still haven't showered).  Running, anyways, seems to be the best anti-depressant. 

Wagon miles: 300,887 to 301,001