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

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.

North by Norhtwest

One of the things I've come to appreciate about the Portland area is its diversity, and I don't mean the politically correct version of the word that is so popular now. By diversity I mean all the different areas you can visit in one day within about a three-mile radius (in this case, forest, city, and island). This past week has been absolutely perfect as far as weather is concerned. Summer normally doesn't come until July 5, but at least for now it's here in full force. Since there was no reason to wait for the clouds to clear or the sun to come out, I headed to northwest Portland early on to begin an urban hike. I drove across the St. John's Bridge and parked in one of the neighborhoods across from Cathedral Park. Driving across bridges takes no time at all, but walking back across is another story. The St. John's Bridge is no exception, but at least it's got a pretty view on the way.

 From up here, it was very easy to see Mt. Hood wreathed in clouds behind the Steel Bridge, as if it just couldn't quite step out of its comfy white cloak. After crossing the bridge, I found the steps that lead up to the Ridge Trail, part of the Wildwood Trail system that makes an approximately 40-mile loop through Forest Park. There were glimpses of the bridge through the trees, and it didn't take long to be almost level with the Gothic spires. The trail wound its way up for some time (much farther and twistier than Google showed, how surprising!) until it joined Leif Erikson Drive. The word "drive" is misleading because really it's a wide dirt multi-use trail, as in bikers, runners, dads with strollers, probably even unicycles at times (the bagpiping Gandolph can't always be riding in downtown, right?) so there was plenty of traffic to keep one from feeling too lonely. There are also well-placed maps at different junctions to keep hikers from getting lost, well usually. There was one intersection where the signage was particularly unhelpful and it does no good to look for moss on the north side of a tree because moss grows on all sides and surfaces.

Enough sunlight does filter in to allow certain varieties of flowers to grow. I have no idea what the flowers on the left are, but they rather remind me of inflated turbans. Columbine also makes an occasional appearance, and it's almost always in this red and yellow combination. At times the trail had rather a Shire look to it. If it wasn't for the posts on the side of the bridge, you could almost imagine elves (and yes I know, elves aren't technically in the Shire) making their way over the stream and tripping lightly up the steps, as opposed to hobbits who don't do anything lightly with those hairy feet.

 I took a wrong turn here and went up the steps because I've learned in the past that when in doubt, go up. This time the "up" trail appears to have been a shortcut to the back side of one of the businesses along Highway 30. I retraced my steps and went along the trail that paralleled the stream. It was then less than a quarter of a mile back to the highway and along the raised sidewalks that are part of what used to be the community of Linnton. From what little research I've done, Linnton used to be a thriving town. That changed when the highway was widened and the roadside businesses became level asphalt. There are still some homes dotting the landscape and businesses along the east side of the highway but apparently it never recovered its past glory. One of the things left behind was a series of staircases and raised sidewalks that allowed the townsfolk easier access to bus stops and businesses. Those are on the agenda for a future hike.

It was at least a mile or so back to the car and on the way I explored the block-wide farmers market on the east side of the St. John's Bridge. There was everything from local berries to salsa and tamales and crepes. Good thing I didn't have any cash or I might have spent it.

Next it was off to Sauvies Island to pick berries. This past week, a co-worker mentioned that her daughter and boyfriend had picked berries at Sauvies Island Farms and that at $2 a pound, the berries were much cheaper than those at the farmers market. I'm not sure if the cheapness factor holds up when you calculate gas, time, and effort, but it was still a fun way to spend the afternoon. The island is connected to the highway by a bridge that crosses the Willamette River. Along the river are houseboats and the area is dotted with farms. I usually leave my car at the park and ride and walk along the road to whatever the destination is. It always feels like walking in a postcard, that is if you ignore the cars that whiz by on their way to the local beach. The clouds were just beginning to clear from the mountains and the fields of flowers made a great foreground. The sprinklers were an unfortunate distraction but you can't arrange real life very easily.

 After about a three-mile walk, I was at the farm. A lady at the entrance was directing people to the proper fields and giving out cardboard flats to hold berries. The road to the berry patch had a view of Mt. St. Helens and flower patches along the way. Lavender, daisies, hydrangeas, and lilies were growing side by side waiting to be picked and turned into a bouquet. After passing corn, cabbage, kale, and other veggies, I finally found the raspberry section. The berries were the size of medium strawberries and were growing in abundance. It was no time at all before my container was filled and it was off to the blueberry patch. Again, the berries were huge and picking berries in a civilized field was quite a pleasant switch from picking thorny blackberries on the side of the road.

On the way back, I was struck again by the beauty of Mt. Hood with the flowers in front of it. Ignoring the idea that I should put my cardboard flat loaded with three plastic containers of berries down before taking the picture, I tried holding the flat and taking the picture. Let's just say, it didn't work. I was down on my knees picking up blueberries when I looked up and realized this was actually the best angle for the picture. Someone on their hands and knees picking up blueberries and then taking pictures probably looked pretty crazy to those driving by, but if I ever see those people again they won't recognize me anyway so it doesn't matter.
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Portland - The Staircase City

One of the fun things about moving to a city you know absolutely nothing about (and this may be the only fun thing about moving to an unfamiliar city) is the exploring you get to do once you've gotten over the shock of moving. Because I didn't have a job when I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I spent my days online searching for work and in between submitting resumes and unpacking, I did a lot of walking. Since I didn't know anyone, it gave me something to do and helped me learn my way around the area without having to spend money on gas.

After I conquered my town, I moved onto bigger things: Portland Neighborhoods. Now, something to understand about the Portland neighborhoods is that the majority of them, at least on the west side of the Willamette River, seem to make a concentric circle as they climb to the top of the various hills overlooking the city. Back in the day (as in the early 1900's) the city was connected by street car. The easiest way for people who lived at the top of the hill to make it to the street car lines below was by staircase. This street car/staircase connection is still evident by the number of bus stops at the foot of a number of staircases.


I first discovered Portland's staircase history after reading  a short book by Laura O. Foster called, oddly enough, The Portland Stairs Book. The book has detailed instructions for four different routes (one for each quadrant of the city) and also lists the staircases by location in the back. Armed with my book, GPS, camera, and trusty iPod, I have spent many a weekend in various Portland neighborhoods in search of staircases. Now, not all staircases are created equal. Some are over 100 steps while others are quite short. There's one in NW Portland that has benches half-way up, no doubt put there by someone with a sympathetic nature. Others travel past beautiful yards lined by picket fences, as seen in the picture above.

One of the more rewarding aspects of exploring neighborhoods is going down a dead end and finding either a trail to another dead-end street or a staircase. This seems to happen at least half of the time, which is good because if there's anyone out in their yard I always feel rather ridiculous traipsing past the "Dead End" sign, going down to the end of the street and turning around and going back out. Some staircases will put you smack dab in the middle of someone's yard, like the staircase on the right, but the homeowners don't seem to mind as long as you stay on the garden path. 



At times, you also encounter how people have a sense of humor about the amount of effort it takes to get up the stairs. One particularly long staircase had a spray painted saying on it referring to the great effect climbing stairs had on one's backside (backside of what I'm not sure since all you want to do after running stairs is to sit on it). On another long, multi-flight staircase, some sadistic soul numbered every 50th step. As if I felt better knowing I was on stair number 189.

While I've done a lot of the staircases in Portland, I still have a number of them to put together into a Saturday hike. That's another nice thing about the northwest, there are plenty of options for climbing, whether it be stairs, trails, or rocks, to see a mountain view.

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.