NO TENTS ON GRASS

Joseph, OR to Hells Canyon Overlook, to Hells Canyon Dam, ID, to Baker City, OR

Yes, a campground proclaimed, quite proudly I'll say, "NO TENTS ON THE GRASS" .  Apparently, camping on asphalt is desirable in the Hells Canyon on the Idaho side of the Snake River, but in Oregon the tree-huggers let me throw the tent anywhere I may please.  That was about 4 hours ago, so let me rewind to Joseph and 20 hours prior.

24 Hours Ago:  With the sun out and finally in charge, I stopped at the Embers Brewhouse along Main Street and delighted myself to the third best burger I've ever consumed. (No. 1 being at Woodsman's in Orono, Maine & No. 2 at Casa Naraja on Mississippi in Portland, OR).  The wait staff was very delightful as I ate solo-style and downed a baker's dozen cups of coffee.  With dinner finished, I took back to the road, hoping to make it to John Day, OR by evening.

23-22 Hours Ago:  The road leaving Joseph was spectacular and quite a roller coaster ride.  Directly out of town, I passed a tree tastefully decorated in used sneakers, then saw a myriad of deep red barns set before the towering mountains of the Eagle Cap Wilderness.  With the forest road to myself for the next two hours, I took my time heading south.  At Lake Fork, I watched a family of elk run through a field then saw an obese family display themselves stately in their lawn chairs before their oversized 5th-wheel. 

Departing the main road, I headed up to the Hells Canyon Overlook, hoping to get a better view than I was allowed at Buckhorn.  Once the fatties removed themselves from the vista, the view I took in was commanding.  In silence, I walked along the rim of the canyon absorbing the grandeur spread out before me.  With no clouds to hinder things, the Seven Devils Mountains could finally be seen miles away in Idaho and their 9,300' peaks marked the highest point in the canyon-roughtly 8,300 feet above the Snake River flowing directly below.

As the sun set, I pulled out of the overlook, but put the Wagon in reverse after a few yards when I spotted an excellent spot for the tent along a small stocked pond near the canyon's rim.  Three other 5th-wheels and travel trailers were sharing the area, but I found a place of perfect seclusion where their ways couldn't be heard.  The site included a half-built fire ring and the dry weather made starting a fire enjoyably simple.  With water boiled on the fire, I walked to the pond with tea in hand to observe the evening fishing taking place.  It was here I met a very kind balding portly woman who had the grammar skills of a 50-gallon trash can.  My favorite was, "...well Smoke, that's why me had I get you my's camera."  I don't know exactly what that means but I assumed "Smoke" was her articulate husband on the other side of the lake by the nod he threw my way.  After wishing them luck with their fishing exploits (which didn't say much since every cast resulted in a 9" fish stuck to their line), I returned to my sanctuary in the woods for some reading and a nap.

12 Hours Ago:  At 4:45AM, I awoke to the first morning of blue skies on the trip.  This lifted my spirits so handsomely that I walked the quarter mile to the overlook and took in the sunrise while accepting the mid-30 degree temperature.  Cold but dry and pleased with the sunrise, I re-immersed myself in the sleeping bag for a few more hours of shuteye.

9 Hours Ago:  I packed the car for the first time with a completely dry tent and gear without eating breakfast.  My plan was to get a few miles underfoot then stop, eat, drive a little more, stop again, and run for the first time a 5 days.   Leaving the overlook, my drive descended quite quickly as the road did its best to cling to the rocky cliff.  Occasionally, the cliff decided to discard a few basketball-sized rocks upon the asphalt, but I got out safely. 

At one point, however, a group of honest to god cowboys were leading their herd of cattle directly up the road and right into my line of travel.  I pulled off to the side (which doesn't say much since there was not side of the road) and let the lumbering  bovines engulf the car as the drovers called "cattle move up! Herd up!"  Cow's don't speak English to my knowledge, but they did abide and I was able to continue on my way.

5 Hours Ago:  I opted to detour 30 miles north and checked out the Hells Canyon Dam, requiring me to drive an enjoyable section of road along the Snake River in Idaho.  The section of the canyon that actually housed the Snake River was amazing and I did my best to watch the road while rubbernecking and snapping pictures.  At the dam, I had a short breakfast of cereal, then drove a mile north to the end of the road where I took up the Hells Canyon Creek Trail for my first run in a while.  The trail was rocky, had shitty footing, and I may or may not have jumped over a snake while plodding along.  The thought of a visit by a snake's front teeth brought me to turn around and finish my short run on the road.

4 Hours Ago:  NO TENTS ON GRASS read the sign where I decided to take a short lunch and bathe in the Snake River.  I was confused but moved past the regulation to suds up and wash off the previous 5 days' filth.  The Snake River looked to be still, but after diving in I found myself a few yards downstream of my entry point and slowly continuing away.  Without panic I returned to the dock cleaner than expected and refreshed from the dip.  A quick lunch of veggies and hummus closed out my visit and I got back on the road to Baker City.

1 Hour Ago:  I started entering this log at the Baker City Library after driving a few hours through some desolate but pretty country.  No trees, just mounds of desert-esque prairie with snow-capped peaks for a background.  The library in Baker is very nice and now I'm going to top of this post with a good bye as I hit the road for the John Day Fossil Beds towards the west.  I don't know if I'll make it there tonight, so I may find myself sleeping in an field, but that's the reason why I choose to travel without a plan. 

No plan means I miss nothing and everything is an adventure. No regrets, this trip is starting to turn itself around.

Wagon Miles: 301,001 to 301,264

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

Hurricane Creek Hike

Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon

After updating on internet, I drove around Joseph, OR and explored Wallowa Lake yesterday evening.  The lake's most picturesque, but slightly over populated around the Wallowa Lake Lodge.  With my stomach begging for some type of input, I turned the Wagon away from town and social interaction and prepared to settle into wilderness campsite cuisine.

Despite nature's best efforts, I managed to get a pretty respectable fire rolling last night at the campsite.  Trying to multitask between cooking Cincinnati Chili and starting the fire, however, caused the dinner to be slightly overcooked but my near starvation state looked beyond that and it was a wholesome meal.  Granted, the rain did return for a few minutes, soaking the open supply & food boxes, but the inferno was large enough to laugh away the droplets.

Around midnight, something tame when bump-in-the-night and woke me from my slumber with little startle.   Taking advantage of being awake, I opted for a short nature break.  The sky had cleared up since the earlier showers and I took in the richest display of stars I've ever seen.  Being a few hundred miles from anything larger than a village has its perks and the lack of light pollution was evident.

This morning, the sky was overcast as I froze cooking a delightful breakfast of oats, cereal (avec lait sans l'eau), and a banana.   After breakfast, I walked to the Hurricane Creek trailhead to do some recon on if I should hike today or travel northward.  Meeting a nice man (who may have had a titanium left leg-I wasn't quite sure but his ankles were skinny enough to make my biceps look massive) at the trailhead, I asked how the hiking was.  He said it was spectacular, so I returned to the tent to load the pack for an adventure.

Per usual, I took out with an overloaded pack and just about no idea where I was going.  Not wanting to get lost, I set the ultimatum to turn back after three hours regardless of where I was.  The hike up the valley was scenic and not remotely difficult.  The path followed Hurricane Creek, occasionally touching its waters before climbing a few hundred feet above it.  If I wasn't taking a rest week to put off being overtrained, the trail would have been a perfect running route.  At the first stream crossing, I just about fell off the slick fallen tree I was using as my bridge.  Further up the trail, I met an odd area where all the trees in the valley had fallen down facing north.  Must have something to do with aliens.

Coming to a stream that was about 6" too wide for me to jump, I decided to end my forward progress and turned uphill, scrambling up some knife-sharp scree to check the view while putting myself at times in considerable danger.  Obviously, I exaggerate and survived just fine.

Back at the trail proper, I started walking out as I had hit my 3-hour time limit.  The sky had started to clear and the surrounding peaks began to show themselves for the first time of the hike.  A half-mile from the trailhead, I talked for a few moments with a nice older woman wearing a neck pillow and thought I was from Bend when I told her I was from Maine.  Apparently, I slur my speech.

Now, I find myself at Mad Mary's, the same diner as last night with free internet and fine coffee.  An overly intelligent obese tourist just commented it was snowing when the rain drops outside took the size of robin's eggs.  Stunning.

Later this evening I'll be starting another fire, assuming my wood isn't soaked (which it probably is), then I'll be calling it early for tomorrow's early escape to Hell's Canyon a few hours up the forest service roads.  The Wagon will make it just fine.  

No worries here.

Wagon Miles:  300,887 start to 300,895

A Roadtrip Re-Started

Viento State Park to Hurricane Creek

The first full day of Road Trip '09 is coming to an end in a few hours and the Wagon has found itself in Joseph, Oregon after 400 miles of eastward progress.  Camping in the same site Liv and I used at Viento State Park in the Columbia River Gorge last night was restless and loud.  Interstate 84 and the Union Pacific line run within yards of the site and bring all the expected noise such methods of transportation herald.  Feeling my rest wasn't worth the $16.00 fee, I packed the Wagon and was heading east by 6AM, poaching the site before the campground hosts awoke.  tip-toe, tip-toe.

Pulling off at a wayside along I-84 past Hood River, I took a breakfast break with self-brewed coffee sans coffee pot, and experienced the rebirth of plain oats.  Delicious.

 Further along I-84, I explored a cliff-hanging road that wound its way from river level to the top of The Gorge.  Taking the Wagon down a farmer's dirt path, I stopped to absorb the magnificent view and fire off a few shots with the camera. Here's where the first casualty of Road Trip '09 took place.  Prepping for a fine capture of my beard, the Wagon, and the Columbia River, I set the 10-second timer, plopped the camera on the tripod and said, "Cheese!"

Unfortunately, a gust of wind took over at the eighth second and the camera took a face-plant in the dust.  Normally, this would be no big deal.  But, falling from 52" with the lens fully extended brought the end to the camera.  Sullen and downtrodden, I got back in the Wagon, returned to I-84 and drove on.  Bollocks!

In Pendleton, Oregon, I explored a Wal-Mart for a replacement camera after successfully disassembling the camera but unsuccessfully repairing it.  The clerk was a delightful 250 lb woman but Wal-Mart failed to fill my new photographic void.  Finding a Radio Shack, I found the newer version of the since deceased, free for only $139.59.

Anyways, back on the road, I left I-84 in La Grande, heading north, then east, then south on OR-89, entering Joseph, OR around 4PM and finding a dispersed campsite along Hurricane Creek a few miles out of town.  The weather's currently low-60s and rainy, hence the posting of my first day in the wilderness.  I've also discovered traveling without Olivia isn't so grand.  The driving part's fine since I go on autopilot and obnoxiously snap pictures every few miles, but at the campsite it's proving to be a little lonely (and currently cold). 

Tomorrow's probably going to entail a campfire, then striking camp to head north in search for Hell's Canyon.  Apparently, it's hiding about 4 hours away.  What a sneaky canyon bastard.

Wagon Miles:  300,454 to 300,887