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.

Sauvie Island, The Continuation

I titled this post "The Continuation" because I never seem to get tired of going to the island; there's always something new to explore. Apparently though, even as often as I've been out to Sauvie Island, it is still possible to miss a turn on the way there and almost end up in downtown Portland. That happened to me not long after I moved here, and I've never quite recovered from almost leading the Rose Parade in my bright red Eclipse. But I finally made it, and parked in one of several designated parking areas along the narrow, windy road. I had planned on walking about 10 miles. That's a little shorter than usual but occasionally one of my feet decides to get grumpy and I have to listen to it whine a bit. I passed these barns on the way to the meadow. There are scads of old barns on the island, all with their own stories to tell.

     

   

After about an hour, I came to the turnoff and headed back to a slightly more remote area. The only living thing that's usually back here is an occasional picnicker or herd of cows. There are shooting competitions that go on, but they usually take place later in the summer. This time the cow herd was joined by an egret or two, a couple of squawking blue herons (and boy do they make a revolting sound), and a bald eagle. The eagle was especially beautiful as he glided in a circle overhead, as if riding an invisible carousel of wind.

There are numerous lakes on this part of the island, especially this time of year when we're still in the rainy season. The clouds and trees reflecting in the water made for a great dining atmosphere. Even my Cliff bar tasted fancier. I doubt whether any famous downtown restaurants had ambience like this. 

Meanwhile, two males of the bovine population had started a tug of war of sorts. It's a good thing they had been dehorned because otherwise things could have gotten messy. One of the bystanders took a particular interest in me. I just kept walking and didn't make eye contact, other than to quote one of my favorite Bob Hope lines, "Just look upon me as a vegetarian."

I had looked on Google maps and could see a footbridge of sorts crossing a narrow channel of water and leading to another part of the island. My goal was to find it and then see what there was to explore on the other side. Alas, it turned out that the image on Google was taken in the summer when the water had receded a bit. Having no desire to go wading, I took a picture of the bridge and the surrounding area and headed back. I do think it was worth the walk.

The bridge is behind the fallen log.

It really is this pretty on the island, almost like one of Burt's chalk drawings from Mary Poppins. Come to think of it, I think my waiter was a penguin. Oh, remember that 10 miles I had planned? It turned into something closer to 13 or 14. That always happens, one trail leads to another and before long, the mileage budget is blown. Oh well, it's still quite an economical way to spend a Saturday.

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.

Wide Open Spaces

It struck me yesterday, as I realized that once again I had planned too long a walk to possibly fit into one day, that the ultimate goal shouldn't necessarily be getting to the planned destination, but rather enjoying what there is to see along the way. Sauvie Island is a good example of a place where it's easy to forget about the finish line and just enjoy the journey. Yesterday morning found me yet again on Highway 30 on the way to Sauvie Island. This has become one of my favorite places to visit, even more so than the Columbia River Gorge, for one simple reason: wide open spaces. When I drove across the bridge, I immediately pulled out of the car to snap this picture of Mt. St. Helens. And guess what? There were no trees to dodge, no hills in the way, just farmland and a few trees to decorate the foreground.

After wending along past mown fields of alfalfa and farmhouses, I came to the first of many parking areas on this island that is a combination of nature reserves and farmland. I should have checked the handy dandy GPS to see how far it was to Warrior Rock and the lighthouse but figured it hadn't looked that far when I checked the map earlier and probably wasn't more than five or six miles to the trail head, add another six-mile round trip to see the lighthouse and it equaled a decent walk for the day. Except that, as usual, there was a slight miscalculation and after about four miles I checked and saw that it was going to be at least seven more miles to the trail head. Eighteen to twenty miles is one thing, thirty is a (very) far distant goal. At that point, I decided to look for a loop that would take me back another way so I could check out different scenery. The lighthouse will have to wait until another day. It probably isn't going anywhere any time soon. A dirt road curved off the main drag just past the beach parking area and took me off the beaten path into fields of yellow flowers (probably weeds, but they look good in pictures) and along a dirt trail that ran alongside one of the many lakes on the island. Here, except for the wind whistling past, it was quiet and easy to forget that there was a bustling city about 10 miles away.

The road made its way up a gentle rise until Mt. St. Helens was again on the horizon. That sight alone made the day worth it and it, and made me realize how blessed I am to be a desert rat in the northwest.

On the Way to the Dance

This past weekend it was time to once again pile into the car with a group of friends and take off for another Scottish Country Dance event. This time the road led to central Oregon and the Bend Workshop and Ball (which is actually held in Redmond, but that's another story). It was decided that we would stop outside of Redmond at Smith Rock, Oregon's version of Colorado's Garden of the Gods, although Smith Rock has the added beauty of the Crooked River flowing along the trail. We pried ourselves out of the car (six people in a van is fine but after awhile rigor mortis starts to set in). We all trooped down a rather steepish trail to a bridge that went across the river and the rest of the hike. On the other side of the bridge, the trail split three ways, to the left or right was a trail around the base of the rocks or in the middle was the trail that went up to the top. At this point we split into two groups, the flatlanders and the climbers. The trail started off at a reasonable incline with steps appearing every now and then, lots and lots of steps.  It was rather disconcerting at first to realize we weren't yet even with the parking lot, but after awhile we regained the altitude we had lost when going down the first part of the trail. After about 3/4 of a mile, we were at the top and enjoying the view. While walking along the top, we passed another hiker who told us of a different way down. We continued on the trail, and soon it was beginning to curve sharply downwards. Before heading to Smith Rock, I had read about a formation called monkey face. After hiking to the top and not seeing it, I figured it must be in another part of the park. Then all of a sudden it

dawned on me that the tall spire right in front of my eyes had a rather simian appearance. I found out later that when you see it from the right angle, it looks even more like a monkey, but a happy one as opposed to this face that looks like it's about to eat the mountain. We made our way down, soon we were walking along the banks of the river. The temperature was perfect and it was a wonderfully pleasant place to

be at that point. Real life was only a distant memory, at least for a little while. We continued along the trail where the sound of crickets or some other once familiar insect made a noise I know I've heard before and always associate with peaceful summer evenings. The river turned back toward the way we'd come and as we came around the corner, we were greeted by a sight of towering rocks reflecting in the water below. The exposure was a little tricky with the sun and shade vying for attention but this shot turned out reasonably well considering the circumstances. Soon, we met up with the others who had been walking along the river and made our way up the hill to the parking lot. I'm not much of a math person (as in not at all) but great friends, beautiful surroundings, and some free time add up to a perfect way to spend an afternoon.

There and Back Again

I chose that title because it was the one used by Bilbo Baggins for his memoirs, and this hike had me feeling very hobbit-like. Today's trek was to Larch Mountain (and back) and started on the historical Columbia Highway at a spot a mile or so east of Multnomah Falls (I've always felt like Multnomah Falls was like the Wizard of Oz; it looks impressive and sounds thunderous from below, but when you get to the top it's rather placid and dull). From this trail head, you are dropped off at the second of the 11 switchbacks leading up to the top of the falls. All the way up the trail you are taunted at every other turn with a sign telling you which switchback you are on. You would think after walking over a mile you would at least come out at number seven or eight. This is the hardest part of the hike to me, mostly because there are often large numbers of people to pass and because it's rather monotonous. But once you are past the top of the falls, it turns into a part of the shire with beautiful ferns, waterfalls, and looming trees. Mossy fingers seemed to reach down in places as the sun slowly made its way to the top of the ridge. I had forgotten how shady much of this hike is and my sunglasses spent most of their time on top of my head. Parts of the trail were very rocky, and I  imagine even hobbit feet would soon grow weary of the rocks. As the trail continues along the

river, it reverts for a time to soft dirt and pine needles. Unfortunately, that doesn't last long. There are numerous rock slides along the trails in the gorge and the Larch Mountain trail is no exception. The good thing is there are only two rock slides to worry about, the bad thing is that one of them is quite long. This part of of the trail reminded me of Mt. Doom, with its steep slopes covered in jagged loose rocks. Luckily for me there weren't any unpleasant creatures like Gollum waiting on the other side. After what seemed like miles but was probably the same distance as my apartment door to the street, I was back on more stable ground. Then it was a long trek at a steady upward angle for another mile or so. This part went by fairly quickly. Near the top of this first upward

pull is what appears to be an old rock wall. I would love to find out the history of it. Usually there is a handy dandy historical marker nearby with such helpful bits of trivia as "site of first picnic with plastic forks" but alas, nothing like that is to be seen. The trail splits here and my speculation is that the right-hand trail goes to the middle parking lot of the Larch Mountain trail. I didn't take the time to find out as the trail went downhill and I had no interest in going down only to have to come back up. Speaking of up, I discovered that on this trail whenever there was a choice to be made as to which direction to go, it was the trail that went uphill 99% of the time. That must be one of Murphy's lesser known laws. As the trail continues up (notice a trend here?) the trees seem to change and suddenly it feels as if you've wondered into a part of some elvish forest. I felt very small here and it was all I could do to say "Toto, we're not in the Shire anymore."  I know, wrong book, but you get the idea. From here, it's not that much farther to the parking lot (yes, civilization is always lurking nearby) and then up to the viewpoint at Sherrard Point. On a clear day, one can see Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Jefferson. All the peaks were out today except for Jefferson. There was just too much haze in that general direction. Finding the trail to head back is rather interesting. You have to go down the paved road until the first guardrail appears. About 2/3 of the way through the turn, there's a break in the guardrail and the trail starts up again. It's very intuitive. I mean, I always look for trails near guardrails, right? From here it's a mostly straight shot down with occasional forks in the trail that are fairly well marked. And again, any time there is a fork in the road, it's always the trail going up. One note about the trail markers, some of them must have been put up by a Paul Bunyan type because they are way above eye level.

The Shire makes another appearance as the trail winds through more normal sized trees. After awhile, you can hear the sounds of the river again and soon you're walking alongside mini-falls and across several log bridges (with a handrail on one side) until you come upon Triple Falls. The trail continues down until there is another fork. This time, going straight down leads to Horsetail Falls and continuing on the more level path leads back to the same trail head you started at. Coming down this trail from the opposite direction was almost disorienting, until I saw my car parked across the road and knew I really was back again.

PS I can't explain the spacing in this post, maybe someday I'll learn to speak HTML.