Waterfallling

Over the past month or so, I’ve become slightly (okay, very) obsessed with finding waterfalls. Adding fuel to this obsession was the discovery of a waterfall database listing hundreds of waterfalls in Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. Fortunately, at least I think so, many of them are located within an hour of home. The way the database is arranged, it’s possible to find several waterfalls within a radius of less than 10 miles of each other. Yesterday, I took my list with directions from both Google maps and the database and headed out. First on the list was Camp Benson Falls. For this one, I parked on a dirt side road and made my way uphill (naturally) to a clearing where huge power lines towered overhead. The directions said to follow the end of this power line “road” where it intersected with Summit Creek. And, a brief half mile from my car, there it was. 

Camp Benson Falls

Heading to Lindsey Creek Falls

The instructions also said it was possible to make one’s way down to the base of the falls “but be careful, it’s very steep so use both hands.” It wasn’t the steep part that bothered me, it was the thorny blackberry bushes. I had to make do with scouting out along the top of the valley and taking a shot from less than 1/8 of the way down. 
Then it was on to Summit Creek Falls. The instructions for this one sounded easy enough: “bushwhack upstream for 500 feet.” Sounds simple, except that since the time these directions were written, there have been a few obstacles added in the way of fallen trees, rock slides, etc. It wasn’t that bad, but during that 500 feet I had to cross the creek several times and crawl across a log to get a clear shot. It was slightly easier going back since I knew what to expect. By this time though, I was thinking I probably wouldn’t want to stop at the grocery store on my way home. I had various muddy spots on my pants and I won't go into what my shoes looked like, and did I mention the twigs in my hair?

Summit Creek Falls

Then it was on to Lindsey Creek Falls. This one was tougher. From the trip reports I found online the next day, there used to be fairly easy access along the creek back to the falls, but after a big winter storm, the going become much rougher with downed trees and scrub making a boot path into an obstacle course. On the bright side, I didn’t have to worry about any people getting in the way of my shot and could take my time.

Next, I tried to find Harrison Falls. Unfortunately, there is construction going on on this section of the highway and the pullout where I was to park is currently a parking lot for all kinds of earthmoving equipment. I tried finding it by hiking down Lindsey Creek, but I’ll just say that after encountering lots of branches covered by some kind of passion vine and moss, not to mention another kind of thorny plant, it made for slow going, scratched arms, and I decided to save that one for another day. 

Lindsey Creek Falls

The next falls on the list were all located off the Mt. Defiance trail a few miles up the road at StarvationCreek State Park. Don’t worry, nobody starved here. It was named this after a train was stopped by snow drifts and the passengers had to dig their way out. No doubt there were several overly dramatic passengers on board who came up with the name. Starvation Creek Falls is quite civilized, with a trail leading right up to and no bushwhacking involved. Next, it was down the Mt. Defiance trail to Cabin Creek Falls, also fairly tame, and then to Hole in the Wall Falls. The name for this falls came about when in 1938 Warren Creek was diverted so as not to wash out the Columbia River Highway. If you look closely, you can see how the falls appears to come out of a cave.  

The "path" up Lindsey Creek

Unknowingly, I had saved the best for last. Lancaster Falls is found about 1/3 of a mile along the trail. From below, it looks like your run of the mill falls, but, with a bit of effort, the real show can be found above. There’s a scramble path going up and around the east side of the falls, and I was happy to see when I reached my destination that it was worth all the effort. It was rather humorous though when I descended practically at the feet of a rather surprised looking couple meandering along the trail. Apparently they aren’t accustomed to random hikers scrambling down hillsides and saying hello. I had one more falls on my list, but by this time my hands and knees (not to mention my posterior where I slipped and fell on a rock) were talking to me and I decided to come back. I figured the other falls will still be there in a week or so.

Starvation Creek Falls

Cabin Creek Falls

Lancaster Falls

Hole in the Wall Falls

Bell Creek Loop, the Groundhog Day of Hiking

During the last few hikes on the Larch Mountain trail, I've passed signs for the Bell Creek Loop hike. The name is somewhat misleading in that it is not a real loop but is really a dog bone with the trail heading straight in, making a large loop, and returning to the original starting point. I suppose "Bell Creek Dog Bone" doesn't have the same ring to it. The total distance is approximately 15 miles.

I should have known when I started out and my iPod Shuffle wasn't working correctly that things were not going to end well. Never contemplate a hike without an abundance of Scottish fiddle music handy. However, being intent on exploring a new trail, I ignored the subtle warning and pressed on. The hike begins at the Oneonta trailhead, trail #424, but can also be accessed from trail #400, which is where I began.


That added half a mile to the trip, which seemed a mere triviality at the time but was something I would regret later.

This trail immediately ascends above the old Columbia River Highway and intersects with trail 424, which heads south as it leads to Triple Falls. The picture above shows the repair to the trail after a landslide last fall.

Even at this early hour there were people at the Triple Falls viewpoint. I wasted a few minutes in setting up the tripod and then decided there was no clear shot and continued on. The trail crosses the creek soon after the viewpoint and continues to wind its way upward. Finally, after a fair bit of climbing, the junction with the Bell Creek Loop was in sight. It is recommended to ford the creek in the summer months. I can imagine that after months of winter rains, it would not be a pleasant crossing before May or June. Getting across was actually quite simple, but finding the trail on the other side took a few moments. Of course, it went up. There was a junction marked by a log painted pink at one end that I had seen described by one hiker's online report as the marker for a shortcut trail. I am reasonably certain I saw the beginning of the shortcut trail earlier on, but I have no intention of discovering if I'm right for some time.

The trail continued it's climb up the mountain, and at times the trail was more of a miniature stream flowing down. There was what I will label a false summit about 3/4 of the way up. It was a clump of trees growing on an outcropping of rock, complete with a comfortable stone on which to sit back and look at the beautiful creation below. Then it was time to press on, with the trail passing under a towering mass of moss-covered rocks. There was no real view at what I think was the top, but rather just a large open area surrounded by trees. The trail changed to a dry creek bed, very rocky and requiring eyes on the ground to ensure no twisted ankles. Then it changed to marshy clumps and finally back to a normal trail; just as it ended at a fallen tree. After a bit of searching I found Robert Frosts' original model for the road less travelled and continued on. Things were going pretty well at this point and I successfully navigated the next trail junction. But my luck was about to run out. At the junction of trail 424 and the Larch Mountain trail I failed to see that there was an arrow pointing both straight and to the right for trail 424, and I also did not look at my printed instructions that said to turn right. I only remembered the bit that said to stay on trail 424. And so the trail continued up, causing several outbursts along the lines of "this is insane!" But there were some beautiful rhododendrons to see along the way; something I have not seen on previous hikes.

Finally, it was obvious the trail was ending. But instead of being at the junction I was expecting, I was at the break in the guardrail along Larch Mountain Road leading to the trail that takes hikers down to Multnomah Falls (after a quick seven miles or so). There was a couple ahead of me and I lamented that I knew where I was but it was not where I wanted to be. I sadly dragged myself to the beginning of the Larch Mountain trail and started down. My main complaint with this route is that it joins with the Multnomah Falls trail and thus is often packed with casual hikers in flip-flops. Then I remembered that the Franklin Ridge trail intersects with the Larch Mountain trail and decided I would explore that option as it would lead east to the Oneonta Gorge trail and my car.


After what seemed an eternity of going down rocky trails, I came to the Franklin Ridge trail and happily turned right, sure that my problems would be over in an hour or so. Hopes were dashed when the trail came to a Y with an ancient sign that at one time bore the words "Franklin Ridge" etched in it. I reasoned that going straight would continue to take me east and, since the other way was south, I should continue straight. Logic does not always enter into navigation. As I made my way down the steep trail, I sincerely hoped I was going the right way and would not have to go back up. The trail ended and there was no sign of any continuation to the Oneonta Gorge trail. Instead, I found myself at a lodge. Two teenage boys were sitting near a viewpoint and they told me this was the Nesika Lodge, which I had never heard of, and that it was possible the woman inside had a map and could point me in the right direction. I knocked on the door and a short, cheerful woman invited me in. She got out a handful of maps but did not have one with the right trails on it. She then drew a rough map on a sheet of paper and told me exactly where I needed to go. At this point I was quite annoyed at myself and I hope she knows how grateful I was for her help and was not frightened by my wild-eyed look of despair at the thought of returning up that hill. Back I went for what seemed an interminable time. I was on the verge of turning back to the Larch Mountain trail when two hikers came along from the other direction. They had come from the trail junction I was seeking and assured me it was "only" about another half mile. Meanwhile, I took the picture above at a viewpoint that I would otherwise have missed.

This picture was taken while I was making my way to the Oneonta junction. I figured I might as well take advantage of being where I didn't want to be. Besides that, I found some orange  peel on the ground and for some reason felt reassured to know that other humans had been there in the past six months. Once I found the right trail, I realized I had been on it before and thus was really going the right way. Unfortunately, it was another four miles or so and as I got closer to Triple Falls the trail was rockier and required more diligence to those of us who are prone to twisting ankles. Finally, I came to what I had labeled in my mind as "that bloody bridge" (too much British television), and then to Triple Falls. I came to the junction with trail 400 and was heartily wishing I had parked here instead of the half mile farther west. But once I was on the lovely asphalt, it was much smoother sailing. My heart skipped a beat when I arrived at the parking area and didn't see my car. As I got closer, its red spoiler could be seen peeking over the white car next to it. I refrained from bursting into song and instead said a hearty "Praise the Lord," tottered to the car and fell in. It's times like these I wish I had an automatic transmission, but suffice it to say I made it home and thoroughly enjoyed a shower and dinner, not to mention that I had shattered any previous mileage records I may have set before. The only thing is, I have no desire to try to break this one any time soon.

Coyote Wall (aka If You Come to a Fork in the Road, Take It)

Last year I was discussing the merits of Dog Mountain and how much fun it is to hike and see the wildflowers when a friend asked if I'd ever been to Coyote Wall. Of course the first thing that came to mind was a vision of Wile E. Coyote with a never-ending supply of Acme gadgets lurking behind a bush. I had not heard of Coyote Wall, but figured any place with a name like that had to be worth a visit. The only problem with hikes that are known for their wildflowers in the spring, is spring itself. The weather is about as predictable as a butterfly as it flits from bush to bush and equally annoying for photographer types who run along behing trying to figure out just which bush it will flit to next. After a lot of careful analysis (that means looking at about five different weather sites and trying to guess which was the most accurate), I decided to just head east and hope and pray for the best. 

 The wall itself is easily recognizable. It's a giant spine of rock jutting out of the ground and sweeping back to the north before curving west. I'm not sure where the name Coyote Wall came from, but there was no resemblance to Wile E. whatsoever. The trailhead was easy to locate since it is an old abondoned highway strewn with sizeable boulders, which probably explains the reason for the abondonment, but it was the next step that was a bit tricky. I had my guidebook with me and it even gave the GPS coordinates for the location of the break in the fence that led to the trail, but it was the bit about taking the faint trail to the left that gave me pause. Everywhere I looked there were faint trails, both to the left and in every other conceivable direction. Because this area is a popular spot for mountain bikers, over the years they have created all kinds of trails and paths across the landscape. 

Once I found the correct "faint trail the left," and that took some doing, I was on my way along the rim and up the hill. There is a certain wild beauty about the place. The wind rushes down the mountain and  flows through the grasses with a certain tide-like sweep. It rather resembled pictures I've seen of the moors in England, with the slight variation of a pine tree here and there. 

The trail gives way to rock along the rim of Coyote Wall and then picks back up near a fence about half-way up the hill. The trail splits, one path leads east and the other straight up. I went up for a while to get a better view of some wildflowers and then headed back down and to the east. 

One of the odd things about this hike was that while I was never lost, I never really knew where I was either. I figured if I knew how to get back to the car then I must not be lost. After a while, the scenery changed from wild rocks and flowing grasses to lupines and red dirt. 

This trail ran along reasonably enough until it split three ways. To be extra helpful, there was a sign saying what uses were allowed on the trails. I chose the middle one because it best fit the description in one of the suggested hikes I had found online. Apparently one four-wheel track looks much like another because when this particular trail ran out, it had a No Trespassing sign in front of it. Someone needs to tell the folks who put the "this trail is open to the public" signs up that such is not the case. I retraced my steps and took the trail to the right. This turned out to be the way I wanted to go but hadn't known it since I wasn't really lost but didn't know where I was going. After crossing a creek and winding upwards, this valley came into view.

Even though spring weather is unpredictable, the lighting can be fantastic, and the valley seemed to glow right before my eyes. I continued on this way to another trail that ended at Catherine Creek, which was where I had intended to land in the first place. The moral of the story for this hike is that there are many ways to get there, even if "there" is a bit nebulous.

Eagle Creek Falls Trail

The Eagle Creek Falls trail hike is one I've done before, but certain trails quickly become old friends that you want to revisit each year. The trail head is about half a mile from the parking lot, but this year my curiosity got the better of me. There is a mysterious staircase that appears near the exit ramp that leads to the parking lot. The staircase connects what used to be the original Columbia River Highway with the highway-turned-bike path that runs along Interstate 84. I decided that this year I was going to explore the stairs before starting on the hike. In my research with Google maps, it appeared I could take the stairs to the old highway and would eventually find a trail that would take me the back way to a footbridge that crosses the creek. That would then spit me out near the trail head and both satisfy my curiosity about the bridge and give me a different way to the trail head. I went up the stairs and continued following the old highway until I passed a sign for a trail that seemed to be going in the right direction, so seeing a fork in the road, I took it. After a bit, the trail came to another junction, but I continued on the original trail. That's where I made my mistake because after another five minutes I started to get the feeling of déjà vu all over again and before long I was back on the old highway. I realized later that I should have turned onto the other trail at the junction and that would have taken me to the bridge. Well, there's always next time.

Eagle Creek trail is fairly level, which is one of the reasons I like it, and for the first two miles is made up of mostly packed dirt with a loose rock here and there. Eagle Creek is actually a tributary of the Columbia River and hosts a number of waterfalls along the way as the trail runs parallel with the rushing water. I think the word creek is rather misleading because it has all the sound and speed of a serious river. The first waterfall on the way is Punchbowl Falls. The trail to Punchbowl intersects with the mail trail, but the junction is easy to miss, even with the great signage at about a foot above eye-level. From the riverbed, the falls is around a corner and to the left. Depending on the time of year, it's very easy to walk out on the rocky "beach" to get a look at the falls. However, a week after one of the rainiest Mays on record is not the time of year to do that. Let's just say I spent some time dumping water from my shoes and wringing out my socks, but it was worth it.

I often wondered why it was called Punchbowl Falls because, frankly, I've never seen a punch bowl in the shape of a waterfall. However, this time I did a little exploring after finding a non-official trail that led down to a ledge overlooking the top of the falls. From there, it was easy to see the perfectly round bowl that the water flowed into and then the name made sense. The picture below and to the right looks through the gap and into the area where the picture of the actual falls was taken. The sound of the water was so loud but at the same time relaxing. There are several campsites along the river and going to sleep while listening to the churning water is my idea of a perfect vacation.

Punchbowl Falls is only about two miles in, and my next goal wasn't until mile six. Meanwhile, the trail went from broad and smooth to narrow and rocky (this rather reminded me of the part in Pilgrim's Progress where Christian would much rather walk on the smooth trail that appeared to parallel the rocky trail he had been told to stay on). At times, there are thick steel cables firmly fastened into the rock to give anyone who might have a touch of dizziness or slippery footedness a way to reestablish their balance. But it's also at these places that the view is the best. 

Tunnel Falls is right in the middle of such a section of trail. The water thunders over the cliff and down 130 feet with a force that is absolutely amazing. It's called Tunnel Falls because the narrow trail leads through a tunnel that was carved into the rock behind the falls. In the picture on the left there can be seen, with a bit of imagination, a little "Hobbit hole" to the left of the falls and about half way down. It's reassuring to have the cable here because this is often a somewhat crowded section of the trail as everyone lines up to take pictures and becomes totally oblivious to everything else.

The next "favorite" has at least two names: Crisscross Falls, Twister Falls, and probably others I don't know about. Either one will do. It's actually higher than Tunnel Falls by about 10 feet but because the trail is above it, it doesn't seem that the water is falling so far. It's quite easy to stand right at the top of the falls without any fear of falling in and snap away with the camera. At least, that's what someone told me. The rainbow dancing on the edge of the water immediately caught my eye, and I was quite thankful that the camera could sense it. I've never been to Hawaii, but I always picture rainbows in the water there and I'm glad I didn't have to go so far to see them. I hovered around this spot for a while, just taking in the wonderful noise of the water and feeling the warmth of the sun before starting the seven-mile trip back. I admit to complaining about the rain every now and then in the Northwest (okay, I complain a lot about the rain in the Northwest) but being able to stand on the edge of a waterfall and only be 45 minutes from civilization makes up for all those gloomy wintery days.

The Hills are Alive (and all that jazz)

A few weeks ago I decided that taking a Friday off from work to do some hiking was in order. After all, it isn't going to be sunny forever this spring and as much as I love wildflowers, photographing them in the rain is not nearly as much fun as when it's sunny. Dog Mountain was first on the list because of its reputation for transforming into a haze of yellow balsamroot, with some red and purple somethings thrown in for good measure. I left the house a little after 6:00 a.m. and was on the trail by 7:20 (after a making a quick u-turn when I missed the parking lot. Driving into the sun somewhat impedes the vision). There are two options when going up Dog Mountain, steep and steeper. I usually choose steep on the way up and and then come down the other route because it's more scenic and I figure it's easier to enjoy it coming down because you can actually focus on more than just screaming calf muscles. Both routes are beautiful, but it's once you pop out on the trail overlooking the gorge that you realize this is why you came.
 It's hard to describe the feeling of sheer joy, happiness, and contentment that comes from being in the middle of this beautiful creation. The hard work of the climbing is forgotten and all you can focus on is the beauty around you and the faint smell of the flowers and the wind rushing past. From the top there are views of Mt. St. Helens way off in the distance, as well as the gorge and endless yellow stretching beneath your feet. As I said to another spellbound hiker on the way down, every step is a picture and you just can't seem to get enough. Three hours and 20 minutes, and sevenish miles later, I was back in the car and headed for the next destination. The original plan had been to hike up Hamilton Mountain next, but then I remembered how irked I was last year to have to pay $10 for the privilege of sweating for another seven miles. Plus I've done it the past two years, so there was a quick change in the flight plan.

Most Fridays I'm lucky enough to go to a Scottish dance class in Stevenson, Washington, just a hop, skip, and a jump from Dog Mountain, and every week there are trails and markers that I wish we could stop and explore.

So, that's what I decided to do. There's a steel truss bridge over the Columbia River that is part of the Pacific Crest Trail and is open to pedestrians. Never mind that there is no sidewalk over the metal grid that makes up the road part of the bridge, but then again, cars can only go 15 mph on it. I've driven across the bridge numerous times and always wanted to take pictures from the side, which is not recommended while driving, so I parked the car at a handy spot on the road and set off across the bridge. An eagle swooped past at one point, but of course, I was on the wrong side to do anything about it but gape and try not to point in the air as it soared by. From there it was on to the St. Cloud recreation area. It's really just a large picnic area situated in what appears to be an orchard, but it's along the river and is quite pleasant. Then it was on to Cape Horn. This has been on the radar for some time and I was glad to finally get to explore it. The trail head begins on the south side of a park and ride lot so there's no parking passes required before setting off into what turned out to be a blue haze of flowers. My grandmother had a painting of Texas (in the shape of Texas, no less)

of a road making its way through a field of blue bonnets. I always liked the painting, although I thought the blue bonnets were a bit overdone, but I've changed my mind on that. Walking this trail was like being in that painting, and there is no way these pictures do it justice. After a bit of a climb to the first look out, it was a short jaunt to the next one.

I was looking at the map wondering which point I was at and if Fallen Tree lookout was anywhere in the vicinity, when I came around the corner and saw that, yes indeed, this was Fallen Tree lookout. The views of the gorge were spectacular from here and there's a real "out on the edge" feel. Not that I was on the edge or anything, but that's what I've heard. After a few more miles, I turned around and headed back. At one point, I was aware of a shadow overhead and looked up just in time to see another eagle, or possibly the same one that was near the bridge, buzz overhead. There was no way to get a picture since he disappeared into the trees, and I didn't see him again until I was in the car driving. Maybe next time. I drove back to Vancouver and had plenty of time to take another walk. The irises are out in full force now, as well as the poppies. This vacant lot was filled with orange flowers and it struck me that you don't have to travel far to find beauty; you just have to be looking for it.

What a Difference a Season Makes Part II

Since last October I've been biding my time, watching the weather, and waiting to pounce on the opportunity to go back to Dog Mountain while the wildflowers are in bloom.  This isn't as easy as it sounds since shooting in the rain is not recommended for clear pictures and it's not like there's a ranger station next door that I can call for a flower blooming report. After reading various guidebooks and asking people who have hiked the area, I decided that this weekend was my best chance.

As I made my way out to Dog Mountain, across the Bridge of the Gods, and into Washington I was struck anew by the vastness of the Columbia River Gorge and wondered for the thousandth time how anyone could think all this beauty happened by accident.
Before I knew it, I was at the parking lot where only a handful of cars were parked. As before, I took the slightly longer but not quite as steep route up. I figured it was easier to enjoy the views on the way down when I wasn't concentrating so much on just putting one foot in front of the other. The scenery on this part of the trail isn't as stunning, with only a few breaks in the trees towards Wind Mountain, but I knew it would be worth the wait. There were a few wildflowers here and there in amongst the trees and they provided a splash of color against the mostly green backdrop.

After climbing for a bit, I started on the slow series of switchbacks that would eventually lead me to the trail that would skirt around the front of the mountain. This part of the trail has a different feel than other gorge hikes I've been on, almost like you're walking through a postcard.  Soon there were more flowers showing up against the hillside. They were mostly yellow with a few purples and reds thrown in for good measure. Yes it's corny, but it was a big temptation to do my best Julie Andrews impression and burst out with "the hills are alive" but I'm sure any hiker within a mile radius would have thought it sounded more like a lonely moose calling for its mate (we don't have moose up here, but that's beside the point). I did quite a bit of groveling at this point to get the camera positioned just right so as to have flowers in the foreground and the river and sweeping views in the back. Thank goodness for viewing screens that flip up and allow you to see what's in the camera's sites without having to be flat on the ground.  I was struck at how different the surroundings were just seven months ago.  The overall lay of the land and the windswept trees were familiar but other than that, everything was new and different. Mt. St. Helens was behind me and the very tip of Mt. Hood was visible through the clouds that were making their way over the gorge. There was no one on the trail and there was something special about being the only person with all this beauty to enjoy, kind of like it was my own backyard to possess for a few minutes.  The carpet of flowers seemed to literally reach to the sky.

One group of hikers I met as I was on my way down commented that the blooms were actually a little late this year and this weekend was probably the peak of the season. By now, more hikers were coming along the trail and those of us who were at a viewing point were either crouching down low or just waiting for them to move out of the scene. I'm sure I took pictures of people taking pictures. Farther on down the trail a man coming the opposite direction stopped and pointed out what he called a chocolate lily. I'd never noticed or heard of such a flower. I left him to his photo op and figured I'd find my own later on. The picture with the red leaves and yellow flowers has some chocolate lilies in it, they're kind of a bell-shaped, brown streaked flower.

Now the thing about Dog Mountain is there are parts of the trail that are steep and they're no picnic going up or down and there were several instances where my feet slid out from under me. After one such occurrence, a hiker that I had just passed insisted I take one of his hiking sticks. I felt bad because he needed it for the climb up but I was grateful he gave it to me because it definitely helped on the steeper parts of the trail. Besides that, when the trail leveled out I was able to use it to push off the ground and go even faster (I've never been accused of walking too slow). Well, I think that's enough writing; the pictures speak for themselves. If you ever get the chance to do this hike I would highly recommend it, especially in the mid to late spring.