Tales from Oregon, 2014

T.Shadow, have enjoyed catching up on your excellent ride report. Thanks for posting it.

Was very surprised to see the person in the background of the 4th picture of post #14. I do believe that is my sister, Linda who lives in Portland and went to school in Corvallis. Amazing. Living so far apart, we rarely get to see each other. Good to see her and that she is buying healthy food.

DFW Tom said:

Was very surprised to see the person in the background of the 4th picture of post #14. I do believe that is my sister, Linda who lives in Portland and went to school in Corvallis. Amazing. Living so far apart, we rarely get to see each other. Good to see her and that she is buying healthy food.

Click to expand...

Wow! What a small world!
I would be happy to send you the original photo file if you would like.

Thanks so much for sharing TS, great read and pictures. I love that area when summer happens up there. Lush, fertile and fast describes the growing season and it's good !

TexasShadow said:

I would be happy to send you the original photo file if you would like.

Click to expand...

Thanks for the offer T Shadow but there is no need. While I think it is her, my wife is not so sure. I sent a copy of the pic to my sister asking for a ruling. Will PM you when I get a reply from her.

How Great the Great Basin

Here is the northern area of the the North American continent's largest desert region: the Great Basin. It is noted for its largest expanse of arid to semi-arid and basin and range topography on this continent. It is a land of variety: from sand dunes, to the most recent volcanic activity (excluding the Cascades), to wetlands that are oases in the midst of sagebrush and range.

In eastern Oregon the biome is marked by giant fault blocks, cinder cones, lava beds, basalt spires and columns, and marshlands that millions of water fowl and inland water birds call home. These waters surrounded by miles of waving grasses that provide seed are on the Pacific migratory flyway. It is an ecosystem that teems with ancient life running head on into impact by modern humans, and exacerbated by climate change.

It is also the home to a gentle folk heralding back generations raising cattle and sheep for market, asking nothing more than just a simple and satisfying life. I have seen more cooperation here between private landowners and public lands managers than anywhere else. Simply due to one fact: they all share this land with natural organisms that have weathered millions of years on their own that can teach all of them many things. Or two. It's more than just a recognition that they not only derive their sustenance from this land, but a recognition and respect that they have to all work together with the weather, the land, the other life that lives and visits there, and a big degree of uncertainty. They are okay with that and they make the best out of it.

Regardless, a lot of mistakes have been made. Without careful consideration, the US govt. introduced hundreds of common carp to the seasonal lakes here to help provide local ranchers and others with an additional food source during the Depression. In doing so, they unleashed a monster.

The carp has thrived here, adaptable as it is, disrupting and destroying a delicate ecological balance. Because of their bottom feeding behavior, the overpopulation of carp has created a water environment that has pushed out the native species of plants and invertebrates. And the impact has been far reaching. Native aquatic species have decreased to the point they can't support the migrating and nesting bird life, and the water tables shrink faster than historically, even despite climate change influences. And the latter has also caused rapid changes.

Cheatgrass took a hold here in the late 1800's, again introduced by man, and spread like wildfire. Unfortunately, it also encourages grassfires. Cheatgrass made its way to eastern Oregon brought by humans during the late 1800's. It is extremely flammable, and areas of the Great Basin where the grass dominates burn every three to ten years. The normal has been 30 to 70 years. The year after a fire, cheatgrass outcompetes any native grasses that survive, and forever changes the area’s fire cycle.

Historically, this has been an area of sagebrush, and is often referred to as a sagebrush and grassland steppe. Indeed, anyone that has visited here, and down to northern Nevada, knows the aroma of sagebrush. Like most of the Artimesia species, the leaves contain a wonderful cocktail of aromatic compounds that scent the breeze from their grayish-green leaves. During a light rain and wind, the aroma is intoxicating; astringent and sharp compared to the heavy musky smell of creosote.

Sagebrush is vital for several species of wildlife that have adapted to a sympatric evolution and ecosystem. The chest-thumping and showy-tailed (and delicious) sage grouse nests only under the foliage of sagebrush. But sagebrush has poor tolerance to fires, and has poor recovery rates after frequent grassfires fed by cheat grass.

Another plant concurrent with sagebrush is rabbitbrush. Although two species are dominant here in conjunction with sagebrush, they appear to repel the sage grouse. However, these small shrubs are decent native fodder for cattle. Thus there is a compatibility between the cattle and the range here, where the cattle eat the cheatgrass, deposit seeds of the native bunch grass, and thereby help to restore the historical ecosystem.

In fact, a program between public land agencies and local ranchers are working together to develop and implement cattle management to help reduce cheatgrass, increase native grasses, and reduce fires, which helps to preserve or restore the sagebrush and increase populations of the sagebrush grouse. Everyone wins here.

The carp issue? I'll get to that in another post! The wildlife refuge fish biologist, Linda, is young, full of ideas and willing to take risks. She convinced several funding agencies to hire hard-core carp fishermen (professionals, believe it or not!) from Minnesota to come to the refuge on a pilot program. The caught thousands of carp, by the dump truck load. While the catch was successful, the next hurdle was to find a market for the caught fish. That's later

On my patrol, I visited with one of the highly intensive, custom-built fish screens and sorters installed to limit carp movement up and down stream in the Donder und Blitzen River that empties into the giant playas (they are really only seasonal lakes, thus not really lakes in the technical sense) that are now managed by the Wildlife Refuge.

Three of these intensive fish controllers exist along the 46 miles of the river from near the headquarters and the large playas to south nearer to the watershed of the river: the great Steens Mountains.

Here is a fish run, a fish screen and trap, and a sorter. It's all powered by solar panels and point-of-use power storage.


Looking inside the fish trap after the fish screen. This separates out the carp from several other of the native fish species that come downstream.

This is the fish sorter. The trap compartment is raised, fish are flushed into a tube and they exit into the sorter. Any native species are returned back to the downstream water flow, the carp are measured, counted, checked for ID tags, etc. Then carted off. They don't go back into the water.


I'll post more later on other control methods that have been used and the most recent successful 'big catch' by the team from Minnesota later. The event was on a segment of NPR and I have the link to the podcast somewhere.

Meanwhile, Sunday evening we had a widespread thunderstorm. Although we (the Refuge) was on the southern edge of it, the lightning was fantastic. Unfortunately, with record temperatures here in the Pacific Northwest, and a relatively dry winter, nearly every ground strike started a fire. So there are many fires to the NE, E and south of us. Even the Willamette Valley experienced a widespread thunder and lightening storm, which is rare.

The edge of the fires are a bit too close for comfort here, but the wind is blowing in the opposite direction. The fire boys have been on duty non-stop and I noticed this evening there are a few more vehicles at the fire bunk house. More recruits.

I spent part of the day last Saturday doing some repairs on the DR350 (fuel line leaked), washing it, cleaning and lubing the chain, and setting it up with its bags and getting it ready for use. The knee hematoma is small enough now I can ride. So a-camping I will go this coming weekend. On top of Steens Mnt where it's cool and quiet.

Later: Refuge wetlands, Frenchglen, and Diamond Craters.

My last career was in emergency freight transportation. One of the best parts was driving along beside various bodies of water. I love to look at the water as I travel. Definitely one of the top 3, and maybe the best ever, was crossing Oregon from east to west, most of it being beside the Columbia River. What a beautiful river and scenic drive. Oregon has some beautiful scenery.

LDB said:

My last career was in emergency freight transportation. One of the best parts was driving along beside various bodies of water. I love to look at the water as I travel. Definitely one of the top 3, and maybe the best ever, was crossing Oregon from east to west, most of it being beside the Columbia River. What a beautiful river and scenic drive. Oregon has some beautiful scenery.

Click to expand...

The Columbia River is......... amazing. The largest and most powerful I have ever seen.

Smoke and Wheels

My plan for the return to the road on two wheels was to spend three days camping and exploring on Steens Mnt. But best laid plans fall like dominoes sometimes. No matter. It was a good day all in all.

The primary reason for postponing this camping trip, which I have craved since first arriving to eastern OR, was smoke.

Lightning storms from last Sunday and Tuesday have touched off fires all up and down the entire Cascade chain. Even the Willamette Valley had a few fires from a storm. Cloud-to-ground lightening in the Valley is rare. But, apparently, they had a doozy last Sunday. A small area outside of Eugene recorded 400+ strikes within an hour!!

Here in eastern and central Oregon, where grasses are already dry and a lot of standing dead timber from pine beetle damage serves as fuel, the fires took off and ran. Near the John Day area, a large fire went rampant in the national forests, closing a major highway that runs west-east. In the Malheur and Burns area, it was just as bad if not worse.

This area is a semi-arid sagebrush and grassland steppe. Cheatgrass is a major invasive species and is highly flammable. One spark can set a fire that travels at considerable speed, especially with winds fanning it. And it did near the Refuge.

To the near east and NE, three small fires converged into one large fire by Wednesday. Here is a map of the active fires as of last Tuesday morning.


As of Wednesday late afternoon, all three had converged into one large fire called the Buzzard Complex fire. It had crossed Hwy 78 several times. People were evacuated and the road was closed as of Tuesday afternoon through yesterday (talked to two guys today riding bikes down from Washington).

The governor of OR called an emergency yesterday. Too many fires and not enough resources. All hot shots have been deployed since Tuesday. Time to request help from out-of-state firefighters. I overheard the Refuge manager on many conference calls yesterday coordinating help where needed.

Fires had not touched the Refuge lands, but they were darn close (within 7 miles due east). I saw several BLM back country trucks here in the maintenance yard yesterday afternoon, along with several dirty and tired young men. We have our own Refuge fire fighting crew and two trucks. They've been on 24-hour standby the last three days. Looks like one BLM truck and their company stayed at the fire bunk house the last two nights.

Depending on the winds, the smoke here can be thick and asphyxiating. Like it was the past two mornings. After talking two a visiting couple yestrerday that had been on Steens Mnt, and a few locals, I postponed my camping trip up into the Steens to another time. The couple reported they were above the smoke for an hour. When the wind changed, they were engulfed in it. Steens Mnt is in between two major fires: the Buzzard and the one in the Pueblo Mnts just to the south of Steens. Winds can blow smoke one way, away, or another way and dump it right down on you. Seems that its a crapshoot, but I decided to postpone my camping trip this weekend.

(This morning the smoke was so thick, I had a sore throat from breathing it. Headquarters lost power last night through half the day today, and we had no water or Internet communications, which is why this didn't get posted last night. The fire boys on hand had radios since they are in contact with the fire command center 24/7. As of early afternoon the fire has burned over 300,000 acres with a high mortality of livestock.)

Meanwhile, when the winds had shifted about 1pm, I got geared up and ready to ride somewhere. I gave the gas tank a shot of Seafoam to mix with the old gas in it and some new gas. Started it up (it started right up!) and took off.

I stopped in and got gas at the Hwy. I keep forgetting that drivers have to allow a gas attendant or clerk to fill tanks. The main exception is motorcycles. The clerk hands you the nozzle and you fill your own tank. They know me now, so we chatted while I filled the tank. Noticeable difference in the gas color and smell. One can still find and buy non-ethanol gas in Oregon.

I headed south with no particular place to go. I noticed the more southerly direction, the less smoke. I was heading to the Steens Mnts area and it seemed a shame to be there and not follow through with my plans. Yet, several hours later, I knew I made the right decision.

I parked the bike in front of the historic Frenchglen Hotel, a wonderful place to stay and eat. All their meals are home cooked from their own kitchens. No microwaves, no frozen fast food. It's all 'home-style' cooking.


I missed their lunch hour, darn. So I wandered down the road to the general store, bought an ice cream and water, chatted books, fire and weather with the clerk, and sat out on the grass next to the Hotel under the shade.

Three crows in the trees above me chatted back and forth. They had distinct 'voices', which I thought was interesting. Not one crow sounds the same as the other. They might use the same 'language', but their inflections and tone are all different.

The yellow-headed blackbirds, their bright and vibrant yellow caps and capes are clowns. They chase each others, sit a spell together, then get bored and start the chase anew.

After the refreshing ice cream and half the water bottle downed, I wandered across the street to get a shot of Steens.

The gravel road access to the mountain is only a few hundred yards past the Hotel. I heard the distinctive hum of two motorcycles coming. Sure enough, two riders pulled in front of the Hotel, both from Washington state. One on a GS1200, the other a DL1000. Both loaded with camping gear. Turned out, the two were brothers on a riding vacation into Oregon.

They related that they had taken a forest road south from Hwy 26 after discovering that the road was closed due to the fire near Mitchel/John Day area. They exited onto Hwy 78 in the midst of hot shots, fire trucks and other emergency vehicles covering the road and in the parallel fields.

"Hey, didn't you guys see the 'Road Closed' sign? You aren't supposed to be here!!"

"Um, no. We saw no signs at all! At least, not where we rode!"

"Huh?"

They explained they rode SE on a forest road from Hwy 26. The crew leader nodded them on to continue south on Hwy 78. They had ridden the Steens Loop today, recounting that the smoke was really bad this morning there, too, but lifted in and out for most of the rest of the day. Now they were looking forward to a hot shower and good meal at the Hotel.

I offered to take their photos together and that's when I learned they were brothers. Although they didn't look very much alike, but there was probably at least 8 years difference between them. They wandered over to examine the DR. Apparently the older brother on the V-strom has discovered first hand that his bike is not all that terrific in real loose stuff. I nodded my head in agreement and commented the Wee-strom isn't any better. Which is why I have the DR. His brother exclaimed, "See! What have I been telling you! You really need one of those DR350's! They supposedly go everywhere!"

As the younger brother walked away, the older brother whispered, "He's not much better in the loose stuff on that Big Pig than I am on mine!"
I smiled.


After chatting with the innkeeper for several minutes (with an invite to the Frenchglen Jamboree in August), I got ready to head out.

I love this area. With it's wild and gently geology and topography. The reddish-brown basalt columns, the rims watching over the valleys below. Canyons peaking out from around curves, the yellow and blonde grasses dotted by blue-gree aromatic sagebrush and mountain juniper tree tops spiking the upper hills and mountain sides. Birds, butterflies, and dragonflies dart in and out, sweep through and above the marshes. The rushes, sedges and tall grasses wave and dance in the breezes. It's a magical area here. Where deep time and recent millions of years converge to give abundant life.


The topography here tells a story. It's right in front of you.
Although it began in the early Miocene epoch: 22-20 million years ago, the main story occurred in the middle Miocene period, starting about 17 million years ago. There was a lot of volcanic activity during this time; half of Oregon was covered with products of volcanic eruptions.


Most notably were the lava floods of basalt in the Columbia Gorge and in SE Oregon 16.6 to 15 million years ago. Lava flooded the Columbia Plateau and Oregon's Basin and Range. And they both had a common source: the Yellowstone hot spot.

At that time, the NAm continental plate was moving westward over a large plume of magma that that today powers Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park. That hot spot is like a festering boil under the continental shelf. It is stationary and sizzles thin spots of the continental crust as it glides over this spot. As the plate moves westward above it, explosive eruptions take place and leaves a chain like breadcrumbs of where the hot spot has left its mark all the way to Wyoming. There, it is only five miles under the crust and attracts millions of people with its antics. If only they knew what they were standing on


But 16 milliion years ago the continental plate had not crept as far as it is now. And it was positioned right over that same hot spot, underneath what is now Steens Mnt, in eastern Oregon.

Tectonics again created a flurry of crustal activity 12-5 million years ago, creating what we now see. What I see when I ride north from south of Steens Mnt towards the Harney Basin: a beautiful example of the largest arid area in North America.


During the late Miocene, folding and faulting of the North American continental crust lifted mountains and dropped valleys. The Cascade and Coastal ranges crept westward along with the rest of the plate. Meanwhile the Pacific coast seashore shoved underneath the leading west edge of the plate. Consequently, the Oregon crust shifted and stretched like taffy candy between the stable portion of the continent and the moving ocean floor. And this created the topography of the Basin and Range.


But rocks don't stretch. Neither do the hundreds of feet thick basalt crust that had formed from the prior lava flows. As the crust stretched, faults developed in the broad plateau of Steens basalt. The land broke into huge blocks of this crust and some of these pieces of crust sank into the mantle below.


Mountains were created by tilting. Crustal blocks of basalt were broken apart and sank lopsidedly into the mantle. And that is what you can see as you ride on County Road 205 which runs south from Burns and along the west lower side of Steens Mnt. You can see many of these examples of faulting and dropping; the uplifts have a steep face on one side and a long slope on the other. The flat floors between the ranges that have pulled apart are the basins (grabens).


And this uplifting and down dropping is still active today.

While I was working on this post last night, sitting in the common lounge, I saw a blood red sun. In a smoke-filled sky.

Storms, Birds and Soggy Shoes

Started helping with bird surveys this week. The Refuge tries to obtain weekly data on nesting birds in several of the various marshes and ponds in the Steens Mountain area. And it's always easier to scout and record data with two people. I was the new recruit.

Conducting a bird survey means being out on location as the sun is rising. That means getting out of bed at 4am. To avoid a 42 mile commute to the first location, we stayed overnight in the renovated bunkhouse that was once part of the first ranch headquarters here in this area: The P Ranch.

After gathering all my overnight stuff and a change of warm clothes, I drove a Refuge car south. Just in time to see a heck of a giant storm come in from the south and east. As I pulled into Frenchglen, just before the Steens Mnt turnoff, rain was falling to the east and a fierce electrical storm as black as a bad injury was thundering its way from the south.


Two GS650's were parked in front of the Frenchglen Hotel along with a Jeep. Chatted with the couple in the jeep for a bit and answered questions about the status of the big fires east of the Refuge area. The information I got from the crew from New Mexico that were helping with the big Buzzard Complex fire (burned 400,000 acres) was that it was 85% contained and most of the work was mopping up. They had been called to a few strikes in the Steens, but they had been quickly contained by the local BLM crews. The highway was reopened and the smoke had decreased to everyone's relief.


The couple were National Park rangers from the Fossil Beds and Painted Hills district on a mini-vacation. I had an invite to stop in for a personal tour and guided to a few choice camping spots not well known with the public. I thanked them heartily for that and intend to take them up on it!

The town was relatively quiet, not surprising since it was during the week and with the fires everywhere. As I turned on the Steens Road, I saw a BLM Fire Crew flag attached to a fence post. One way to let folks know of their presence up on the mountain (I had to give directions to crew from New Mexico for the Loop Road. They had no idea where 'Steens Mnt' was.) Good idea.


Heading towards the ranch barracks (in the distant cluster of tall poplars in the top photograph), the rain hit. In buckets. Meanwhile, the sun lit up the western escarpment behind the town of Frenchglen. A real juxtaposition. While sitting in the car waiting for a lull in the downpour, I took a photo of the lit escarpment through the windshield. And headed in with an armful of stuff before I got too wet!

The ranch headquarters, built in the mid-1800's and situated on the west bank of the Blitzen River (first name 'Donner und Bitzen River'), was assimilated into Refuge property in the 1935. The main house unfortunately burned to the ground in 1947 with only the foundation and the main chimney remaining. A bunkhouse has been renovated into a refuge service building with three bedrooms, communal bath, kitchen, living room and office. Basic, but lovely with the western rim in the distance and surrounded by giant poplar trees.

Spent time chatting with the intern in charge of the bird surveys. As an ecology student, we had some interesting discussions while we ate dinner. Until we got slammed with straight winds, hail, lightening and thunderous downpour. We both delighted in it.

We both set our feet on the floor from our beds at 4am and walked around like zombies. We drank an entire pot of strong coffee between us before we said a word. I pulled on sweatpants, sweatshirt, polar neck gaiter, ball cap and topped it off with my Army jacket, which I love because it has so many pockets. I use them all.

Slung with binoculars and clip board case, we drove out to the first pond in the breaking sunrise. Water fowl were already out having breakfast. Hens with many chicks were scuttling around, diving, dipping, with little language except when another bird got to close when they shouldn't.

Michaela set up the spotting scope on a tripod in the back of the pickup truck and I set up the data sheets. Since she has been doing the scouting thus far, it was best to maintain that protocol for consistency. Each location is spotted on a grid from exact points which helps with accuracy.


We surveyed three ponds and one marsh. I enjoyed getting the chance to get into these area as they are normally off limits during nesting season. And decided that sunrise here is a phenomenal time of the day to enjoy the high desert area.

When we were done, our return to the bunkhouse was time for more coffee, and some lunch. Then Michaela grinned and asked, "Hey, want to go for a hike along the river up on Steens??"
"Heck, yeah!"

After changing and grabbing water bottles, we drove up the Steens Rd to the larger campground near the Blitzen River. Parking the vehicle at the trail head, I suggested to Michaela that she read the educational display on how the river got its name. I added a few other details that I had read a few years ago on why the German 'Donner und Blitzen' and she was quite amused, especially since she has a minor in German.

Our hike left a grassy bank area and began weaving in and out of lava and basalt cliffs. Pumice rock mingled with mountain junipers, and wildflowers dotted the tall grasses here and there. I always get the botany questions from the Refuge folks, and they get the bird questions from me. so I didn't mind sharing some of the information on how to key plants, identify patterns, and toss around ideas of adaptations and evolutionary mechanisms of plants within their habits and ecosystems.


We came to a narrow but rapidly flowing runoff from the cliffs, swollen from the rains the night before. Being a runner and very lithe, Michaela had no problem vaulting over the grasses and to the opposite bank. Me, with a bum knee that still wasn't bending fully, wasn't sure about repeating her performance. I decided to give it a try and made it with the balls of my shoes on the edge of the bank. And slipped down into the cold water.

I burst out laughing. While Michaela just looked at me startled, not sure whether to be concerned and help me up or to join me in laughing. After getting out of the water, and still laughing, she joined in.

After another mile, the knee was starting to protest. I asked that we find a rock to sit while I take off my shoes and ring my socks out. We found a large boulder to sit in the sun on the edge of the river. It was so peaceful, I think I could have sat for hours lost in thought.

After awhile, I slowly pulled on the cold wet socks, slipped them into cold wet shoes and we headed back.

When we came to the same flow, I was intent on not making the same mistake. Well, after trying to step on a wide rock that was submerged in the water, I ended up in the water again, this time nearly up to my knees.

I stood there just laughing so hard, and thinking it funny how true it is that when your feet are in water, you get this almost irresistible urge to go pee. With both of us now laughing, we continued on. Slosh, Slosh, Slosh! Evcen Michaela could hear it this time!

Luckily the day was sunny and getting warm by now. I found a grassy area with another rock, where I sat and wrung out my socks again and dumped the water out of my shoes. When we got back to the vehicle, I drove towards the vault toilet and got rid of the four cups of coffee and a bottle of water I had earlier. When I returned to the vehicle, I removed my shoes and socks and drove back to the bunkhouse in bare feet.

Good thing I had my sandals with me!

I returned to headquarters, gassed up the vehicle, unloaded my stuff and drove the vehicle back to the office area. As I drove around the structure that serves as the office and 'garage' for the fish biology program, the sprinklers blasted me with water through the windows. By that time, the temps were back up in the 80's and I didn't mind the spray. I let out a whoop!! punctuated with laughter and the fish interns that were cleaning the nets laughed and gave me thumbs up.

Tammy asked how I got wet, and I gave her a short "Are you really sure you want to know?" She laughed and retorted, "You must have had a good day!!"

And I did!

On a Bike and a Pelican

Aaah, summer - that long anticipated stretch of lazy, lingering days, free of responsibility and rife with possibility. It's a time to hunt for insects, master handstands, practice swimming strokes, conquer trees, explore nooks and crannies, and make new friends.
- Darell Hammond


Except for the handstands, this is a good description of my summer thus far. And, well, the swimming strokes have been more like how to avoid slipping in the water by executing fancy foot work. Or wearing waders.

I spent one day on the DR just going here, there, where, and back again. Meanwhile stopping for a BLT and milkshake at a small local cafe. It was my day off from working the Refuge. And it seems that many from the Refuge had the same idea. About a dozen and 1/2 fire boys came trapsing in; the Refuge crew and the crews from NM and SD. They had a lull in fire work and wanted some food other than meals in boxes and their own cooking.

"Hey, haven't we met before? I can't seem to get away from you guys!"
Then the Refuge senior biologist came in; "I'm hungry, too."

They all sat at several tables and placed their orders with the waitress. The cook shook her head and started in on them. No sooner did she begin making their meals when a buzzer alarm went off on a hand radio. It was a call to action.

Wes, the crew boss, stood up and said, "Sorry Refuge boys, but we gotta go. Now. On to a fire. Let's go." On the way past the lunch bar where I sat, he apologized to the waitress explaining they just got called out to a fire and they would be back to pay for their meals, but they won't be able to eat them. She nodded, waved them on, telling them, "No problem, boys. That fire is near my folks ranch. Y'all get done, you came back here and we'll cook you your meals fresh. Be safe and on with ya."

Meanwhile, the other two crews from out of state are grinning and rubbing their hands; they get to eat their meals. Before they can wipe the smiles off their faces, in comes Wes and calls them out. "Both of your crews and trucks have been summoned now. Let's go!"

Same story from the waitress. They take care of their own here. And then some.

I sat at the bar, reading my paper (the flora of Steens Mountain), milking my milkshake, and writing notes. Then a tall lanky gray-haired clone of Sam Elliot comes strutting up to my chair. Long gray handlebar mustache, gold fillings and dirt-worn fingers playing leather suspenders like they were a Stradivarius strung over a clean but dingy button down shirt, and,
"Honey, whatcha reading so earnestly?"

"Um, plants that grow on Steens Mountain and the east side of the mountain."

Squinty eyes looked at me and a head nod. Then a finger pops loose from a suspender and he launches into a scientific treatise of botanical flora to be found on the Steens Mnt, along with seasonal flowering and medicinal uses as discovered by the local Paiutes. I grinned from ear to ear having been fooled by an old cover of a rare book and finding a gem inside.

I had stopped to see how the large playas were doing in this record heat lasting several weeks. I was told the average evaporation rate of water off them is about a foot a day. They were vastly different than when I last saw them three weeks ago.

These playas are not real lakes because they have no outlet. They are giant depressions in the ground where the runoff from Steens Mountains to the south and water from the Silvie River from the north collect. Although drought and flood cycles have been common here in the Harney and Malheur Basins for thousands of years, the droughts are now longer, and the precipitation less. Sound familiar?

The spring runoff provides huge acreages of shallow water for birds on the Pacific Migratory Flyway. Which is one reason the indigenous peoples, from the Paiutes and before them, used to camp along the shores and harvest fish and fowl for food. It's not uncommon during severe droughts to find human bones or artifacts such as points and stone tools in the dried playas.

Right now, the shore is filled with stinky dead carp and vultures. The pelicans have migrated further east in the deeper part of the water. And Harney Lake has receded to nothing more than large puddle.

I collect some photos and leaves from a Woolly Mullein plant, stuff the samples in a sample bag and stuff that into my side bag. Pull stuff together, check my leaky front tire and decide to head south again.


Tomorrow was going to be an early and long day. I was helping to band pelican chicks with crews from Oregon State University and the Pacific Migratory Bird Association. I wanted a good nights sleep.
After another evening with a recent diversion: watching the first season of 'Game of Thrones' on DVD........

Groan.

It's 5am and I am up.

(continued.....)

The night cooled off and I put on a tank top, T-shirt, thick button placket sweater, and my army jacket over that. Got wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, two full water bottles, a snack, boots, thick socks, gloves, and........what am I missing. Oh! Coffee!!!!!!!

I walked to Linda's office and met up with the three interns for the summer: two from Willamette College in Salem, Sarah from U of Montana. One works with the senior biologist, one with Linda, the fish biologist, and the other works at the Field Station. We gather life jackets (known as PFDs, personal floatation devices. Seems everything is a 'device' these days.....), ear protection muffs, and waders. I've never worn waders before. Seems my big feet give me an advantage. I can walk around in them unimpeded.

Throwing our stuff in the Refuge truck, we drive down to the boat launch on Malheur Lake. The two airboats are already in. John, the Refuge law enforcer and john-of-all-trades, is out checking the water levels and clearing floating vegetation in the slough for easier navigation. Lots of vehicles and people milling around. The OSU crew are already out in their boats with the big gear. Their boats are small and with skimmer motors; much quieter than the air boats and can get closer to the birds. All that's left to go now are the rest of the crew members.


It's 6 am now. The sun is above the horizon now and blinds me. John takes off with a boat full and Linda takes a crew out with banding equipment. We're the last ones left and wait for Linda's return.

Linda gently executes a turn then steps on the throttle with a roar. Man, those things are loud! But cool


I watched John handle that airboat like a dance. Including loading it on the trailer. Inch it sideways, then swing the rear out, position it with the nose facing the trailer and open it up, and chop the engine. It's loaded. Awesome...... (found out yesterday he teaches airboat driving.)

We get on the boat when Linda returns. I notice each and every time she is in that seat and starts the engine, she grins like I've never seen her before.
We put earplugs in our ears, and then top those off with the hearing protector muffs. And it's still loud.

We inch through the curvy slough and out into the lake. It's shallow and its almost like we are floating on air as we whip across the water. It takes a good 30 minutes to get to the far north side where the pelican chicks are. Because of the noise, we have to dock several hundred feet off shore and wade in.

On the shore we are briefed by the crew leader from OSU. He's been doing this for 4 years now and knows the routine. He offers very good instructions and patiently answers questions. No cameras until the birds are rounded up and in their corrals. It's too precise and we have to rely on hand signals; no voice commands or instructions.

He said that sometimes things go well, other times they don't. The population of chicks is higher than previous years and they only need to band 75-100 birds. So trying to herd and cut out chicks was not fun. Nor were they very willing. Their safety is paramount, so we had to avoid trampling. At one point, two of the birds locked wings and one of the crew bosses had to step in and untangle them. They were subsequently free to go.

It took an hour or so to surround them, slowly bunch them and then cut them into their corralls made from rolled fencing wrapped in black plastic mesh. Once that was done, two gazebos were set up and three tables.

The system was to place a metal band on one foot, then a plastic band on the other foot at the next station. A vet at the second station checked each bird for injuries and treated them thusly. There were a few scratches, but luckily no broken wings or feet.

I was one of the handlers.


Imagine being handed a large bulbous body with a long neck topped with a foot or more long beak that has a sharp little hook on the end, all above two strong webbed feet that has a sharp hook on each of their four little toes. To hold and carry one of these big chicks, you have to slip a finger between their bill and hold it firmly but not too tight; make sure their wings are folded and next to their body, all tucked underneath your arm. The hooked feet will push and fight you no matter what you say to it. Then hold them for anywhere from 15-30 minutes while their feet get yanked and fiddled with, a wing pulled out from underneath your arm and measured, then carefully put in a cloth bag and hung from a scale, and then back again underneath your arm and walked about 300+ feet towards their buddies to be let go.

They are big, can weigh up to 8 lbs (of fighting squirming lice-infested feathers), and can scratch out your eyes if you let go of the beak. They aren't that heavy when they don't struggle, but that's rare. And they have to be held for a long period of time.


The OSU crew had three prototypes of restraining jackets. One was an instant "Nope. This one is useless." Linda, being a jovial person, was the first to try out the fashionable yellow jacket. She also named every bird she handled. The first one was named 'Jeff', in honor of Jeff who never showed up. The second was named 'Jorja'. (not sure if that is correct spelling, pronounced 'hore-hay'). The chicks seemed to love Linda and cuddled up under her arm.

"Please release me, let me go......." I was about done for it when we were done. The bad knee had swelled up and resisted bending much, and I was hot. Not yet willing to peel off the bib of the waders and shed some of the layers. As soon as we heard, "The last bird!", I did just that. Peeled down to a bright yellow Terlingua Ranch T-shirt that was soaked with sweat.


We all broke down and packed gear, transported it all to the shore, while most of the OSU crew walked back to retrieve their small boats. The refuge crew were the first to go back after loading the boat with fence posts and other stuff. We all sat in the boat lost in our own thoughts on the water and drowned out by the loud roar of the airboat engine (essentially a small airplane engine).


Eventually, I walked back to my travel trailer, stripped off all my clothes outside the door and deposited them on the cement pad. Quickly reached in and grabbed the pile of towels, toiletries, change of clothes and hit a hot shower. All the clothes, everything except the leather gloves and my boots, went into a washing machine with hot soapy water and then into a hot air dryer. I saw the lice on those birds. I was not going to let any of them come home with me.

I did put my gloves and boots into the dryer and let them heat up in there for a good 30 minutes.

I got my book and fell asleep on the couch in the mid-afternoon and in the cool of my AC. It was a good day dancing with pelicans.

When you travel, everything is interesting.
Places, people, sounds, weather, food, wildlife..... everything.

This recent trip was my first solo camping expedition since 2009. It was a rediscovered freedom; and I spread wings. It's been way too long.

I saw and met many new places, things and people. They all enrich my life. It makes me who and what I am and I am grateful I am living this life here and now.

THIS is how life should be. Living it.

Spending six days camping along the John Day River at various places was probably the most memorable adventure here in eastern Oregon (yet).

It began with a leisurely drive through the Divine Canyon, which was indeed divine, in Malheur National Forest. There was little traffic except for an occasional truck and crew of firefighters on their way to the rapidly expanding fire on the South Fork of the John Day River, just south of my destination for the day.


I noticed patches of pine with burned bark from a previous fire, possibly last years fire season. And piles of brush where burned or dead trees were removed or trimmed to reduce fire fuel. Fire doesn't always kill these pines. They evolved in ecosystems where fast fires are a seasonal occurrence. They adapted to fast moving fires by growing large plates of thick bark. The exterior of the bark may burn, but the thickness of the bark protects the heartwood and the trees have a greater chance of surviving.


Eventually I arrived at a small town I had wanted to visit back in 2010: Seneca. It is a small ranching town in Bear Valley along the Silvies River. It has a small general store, a small post office, and a two-room school house. It also now has a new restaurant.


Smoke from the fire was thicker the more north I went, so everything was hazy. I stopped to buy an iced tea from the general store. Two locals were sitting outside on the small porch while one of the owners painted the exterior. The red really stands out and we all nodded our heads with approval on the paint job.


Why was I so eager to stop here? If anyone has seen the video "Get Lost: Oregon", you might remember the Seneca Lodge. It is well-known on ADV forum.

In the movie a group of adventure riders from all over the Pacific Northwest ride the Oregon backcountry from the CA border to WA. On their bikes, from GS's, KLXs, and KTMs, they have some adventures for sure!

Two of the riders were from New Zealand and not very accomplished riders. One of them got lost (hence the name of the movie) and spent a night up in a tree in the forest near Seneca. The rest of the crew spent the evening and entire night searching for their lost partner. Including the county sheriff, local hunters, local citizens, etc. He eventually was reunited with his buddies at the Seneca Lodge, and they celebrated with a wild party.

Here's the Lodge:

But the owner and self-professed musician is no longer there.
While sitting on the porch with the two local folks, I was told the story about the Lodge and the owner. He was described as....... "out there." Apparently, he was a constant source of conflict with unpredictable and violent behavior. He was nice one day and a nutcase the next, speeding down the road on his big ATV with a bobcat in the back and pointing his rifle at the locals. Some of his clientele would cut their stays short at the lodge because he was rude and confrontational (including some motorcycle riders). He boasted playing guitar with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. According to the locals, this boast reached the agent of the group, who actually called the store asking about the claimant when his calls to the Lodge were always received with calls that were abruptly terminated.

When he and his wife went through a violent divorce, it came to light that the guy had embezzled some money and skipped town. Along with thousands of dollars of debt owed to several local residents for work done or good sold.

So, the legend is gone, the building has been bought and is being renovated. And they're doing a good job Meanwhile, another resident decided to pick up the tourism track and installed a small RV campground and a nice log cabin. When I went by, there were a few toy haulers and dirty dual sports leaning on their kickstands. I imagine they are doing well. There is some great back roads and forest campgrounds in the area!

Climbed the summit -5200'- and started back down towards the Silvie River Valley. Looks like the entire valley is owned and ranched by one entity, but I didn't stop to check it out until on the return trip.

Finally descending down to the JD River valley, I reached the town of John Day.


Turning west, I followed the river to Dayville.


Found the place I had camped back in 2010. And to my surprise and relief, there was Mike. Still there, still managing the campground, still washing towels, still asking me if I want to buy the place.

We chatted for awhile and I set up camp in the same spot I had back in 2010. The only thing different was the plume of smoke from the fire that was only 6 miles to the southeast. It looked like a volcano.


Although the campground hadn't changed, several other changes had occurred in the tiny town. The cafe had sold, now managed by a couple who had a successful restaurant on the OR coast (and good food!), the gas station also sold to a young couple and had non-ethanol gas and expressos, and a new store opened up next to the campground that had ice cream.

So guess where I went after I set up camp......

The new store was a renovated old building, owned and run by a woman who grew up in Dayville, as did her parents, had good ice cream, local crafts (good wood carvings and interesting welded stuff). I was invited to sit in on the local gathering of women chatting school kids, school boards, taking care of the fire crews, beer sale inspections, etc.
Life is the same everywhere

I was getting hungry. One Cliff bar and an ice cream doesn't satisfy an entire day's hunger, so I meandered down to the cafe for dinner.


I had a wonderful fish and chips basket, chatted with other diners, including an entire table of visitors whom had to leave a running event in the forest. Most of the area around the fire was being evacuated; the fires (there were three of them at first; they converged into one big one) were uncontrollable and staff from all the agencies evacuated the campgrounds in the forest within a 50-mile radius.

Finishing my dinner, three trucks pulled in with at least 4-6 guys climbing out covered with soot and sweat. A private company that responds to fires when called by state agencies from CA to Idaho. I was told it costs an instant million dollars when they are called in to fight fires, but I can't verify that. But these guys are definitely seasoned hot shots.

As I walked back to camp, the volcano-like plume was still puking into the sky.


The cows didn't care about too much.


As I sat outside my tent for a bit as the sun set, the fire guys pulled in to use Mike's showers. It was a waiting line outside, some of the guys just laying on the cool grass. A large tanker from Bend pulled in and a woman climbed out in fire gear. She stayed the nights at Mike's inn with a couple of the other out-of-town agency admins. The rest of the fire crew stayed in tents set up on the grounds of the BLM headquarters a mile east of town.

An older man came over and chatted a bit. I learned quite a bit about managing fires. He teaches school in Montana and does fire duty during the summer. He mentioned I might want to attend the community fire meeting and update at the Dayville community center the next evening. Especially since I was staying in this area for the next five days. I agreed.

Meanwhile, I slept like a log. But not before I got to see the Big Full Super Moon.


I was looking forward to some serious hiking the next day.......

"It is only in appearance that time is a river. It is rather a vast landscape and it is the eye of the beholder that moves." - Thornton Wilder

After rising and making coffee, some simple breakfast, and gathering stuff, we went off on a jaunt.


Standing on a peak in the early morning and watching a fox trotting along a trail below, stop, and then roll in the dirt was a wonderful greeting for the day.


Then we began our travel through time....

The first stop was the John Day Fossil Bed Visitor Center. There one can take a guided tour alone through paleohistory in the Thomas Condon Paleontology Center. Here are a large collection of fossils found within a large radius of this area. The tell an amazing story of the natural history of not only the Pacific Northwest but of the entire continent, dating back millions of years.


It is indeed a walk through time. And I could do it again, time after time.

The Sheep Rock Unit is the largest of three within the National Monument. Within the location are half a dozen or more hiking trails to choose from. In addition to the visitors' center is the Cant Ranch homestead.

Too much to do all in one day and really immerse one's self, so I hiked all but one of the hiking trails, the longest, intending to do it the next morning when it was cooler.


This area is also the John Day River valley. It winds its way through canyons and valleys on its way north to the Columbia River. Many back roads parallel the river, also winding their way alongside. Great roads for riding motorcycles and bikes.

The Center provides one with a basic introduction to the geology of the area, but hiking in it is the only way to really experience it.

Occasionally one can find a spot to sit and just ponder the views, take a break and sip some water.


If you are quiet enough, one might meet some of the local inhabitants.


Or run into colleagues. While on one of my hikes, I heard a familiar voice with a southeast drawl; "You know it's time to move on when you meet one of your colleagues on a hike in the middle of nowhere over a hundred miles from work!!!" Jeff, a consulting biologist from Georgia for the Refuge, was doing a whirlwind tour through two Monument Units the same weekend. A friendly guy, whose drawl reminds me of friend Dan from eastern Tennessee. Seems we had more in common that we realized; we also had trained at the same gym in Corvallis a number of years ago.

After several hours hoofing it I took a break at the Cant Ranch which is maintained by the Park Service. It is the only location within the entire Park Service that employs a full-time 'farmer'. In addition to hay fields, two orchards provide a variety of fruit to local wildlife and human visitors. Having a couple apples, plums and apricots picked off trees as I walked by was a treat.

The ranch homestead was built next to the John Day River, so I also took a leisurely stroll down to the river and watched plump fish in pools near the riverside. A view of the homestead from the river.


All surrounded by great and colorful mountainous terrain, on which bighorn sheep are a common occurrence.


Starting to feel whipped, I headed back to camp where it was nice and cool. I was surprised to learn that I had been gone for 12 hours!


I hit the shower before the fire crews came back and fixed myself a good dinner on the camp stove. Wiley looked at the illustrations in the book I picked up at his nagging request. He was tickled to learn that the coyote was the only wild modern canid species that originated on this continent.


The wolf and fox had traveled to N. Am. over the Bering Sea land bridge. However, all of the ancestral canids - that of the wolf, fox, etc- evolved from a common ancestor that lived only on this continent. All but the coyote migrated from N. American continent to northern Eurasia, where they evolved into modern wolves and foxes.

Wiley was so elated to learn of his ancestral attachments, he celebrated with an iced mocha from the gas station down the road.


The winds had shifted and the wildfire had grown. It was to have a damper on the next day.

Waking in the morning, half choking on the smoke, I was hoping the air might be clearer up the river. It wasn't.

I stopped in at the Visitor Center and chatted with the two rangers at the desk. They were advising visitors not to spend too much time outside with the 'orange flag' air quality alert. Officials were warning locals to stay indoors to avoid the thick smoke from the wildfires.

There went my plans to do the big 9 mile hike today.

When I inquired into the air quality at their other unit, the Painted Hills, one of the staff called Scott, the ranger there. I had met he and his wife a few weeks earlier and they invited me to come and visit. Which I was planning on doing, except a day early now. Scott reported that the air was 'clear as a bell'. So I changed my plans and headed towards Mitchell and the Painted Hills unit.

On my way out of the building, I saw a group of three motorcycles: a BMW F800 and two V-stroms. A DL100 and a DL650; the newer adventure model that I lust for. The riders were from Washington and heading east. They asked me if I knew about the fires and conditions to the east, so I filled them in with information I heard at the fire briefing the night before.


This area is incredibly beautiful. Away from the river, the region is on the northern edge of a national forest and in ancient volcanic lands. Canyons, jagged buttes and sweeping hills mark the landscape with only one highway leading west and east. Even that is a treat as it winds up and down with curves and sweeps. It is a favorite amongst long-distance bicyclists and motorcyclists alike.

The Painted Hills is a large area of special interest to vertebrate paleontologists, as are the other two units managed by the US Park Service and part of the overall JD National Monument. Because of the exposed geology an abundance of fossils have been found here and at the Clarno area, the third unit in the system. For more than a hundred years, scientists have unearthed fossils of land plants and animals dating back from 44 million to 5 million years old. Such findings have helped advance our understanding of pre-historical earth, especially of the Pacific Northwest.


What attracts most people to this unit is the colorful hills in which many geological eras are exposed like a book. Most people are just awed by the colors. Some are also overwhelmed by the start evidence of the geological history exposed here like a silent story painted by a timeless brush. I'm one of the latter.

The varied layers marked by hues of red, orange, black and tan found in the exposed volcanic layers, are clues to the geological eras. When you are standing here on a hot summer day, it's hard to comprehend that this area was once a flourishing river flood plain. Ancient tropical plants and early mammals comprise many of the fossils found here.


Now this location is mountainous with dry hills and gaping basalt mouths that are frozen in a timeless gasp. But here, where erosion has exposed these mesmerizing colored layers that curve and curl, sweep and bow curtsies to the air, their stories are endless. If only one looks beyond the blatant beauty to the paragraphs of violent volcanic eruptions, earth-shattering quakes, and millions of years of life and death. This is their testimony to a history that few of us can even comprehend.


I spent the better part of that day walking through time. The day grew hot and dry. The colorful layers, -yellows, golds, blacks, and reds- are beautiful at all times of the day, but are best lit in the late afternoon around 5pm. The changing light and moisture can drastically affect the tones and hues visible in the hills. And, like my first visit here, the mid-day harshness of the sun was not conducive to capturing it with a camera.

Regardless, I continued my walk through time, marveling with reverence of the reminder how small and trivial many things are that surround us now.

When the smoke from the fires further east started infiltrating this area by mid-afternoon, I headed for some shade and water. A recently constructed picnic area with trees, tables and grass beckoned. After pulling off my T-shirt down to a tank-top, I opened up the water spigot and stuck my head under the cool stream of water. With a Cliff bar and the remainder of my diluted Gatorade, I lay down on shaded green grass and put my hat over my eyes. The headache that was brewing was now fatiguing me and a spell of quiet time was needed.

After an hour or so, I headed towards the small town of Mitchell. While setting up camp for the night in the small town park, I met and chatted with a group of three long-distance bicyclists; a man and two women. The former was from Houston, and from his accent I surmised he was originally Australian. The two women were from Portland. All were on a long leisurely ride to Idaho.


I wasn't very hungry, but I knew I needed food. So on to the local bar/cafe I went. Inside was another bicyclist eating a giant carbohydrate-laden meal. Thinking to myself that it would kill me if I ate that (literally), but also acknowledging that this very skinny guy would need all he can eat to power his quads and hamstrings for the mountains ahead.


The poor air quality and fatigue hit me quick and I fell asleep even before dark.

Up and brewing my coffee before sunrise, I watched the riders pack and prepare for their day on wheels. Thought about having a light breakfast at the cafe, but they were not opened. So I went to search for the Post Office and some stamps. The walk through the small town was refreshing and the air was better. Picking up a cup of coffee to go at another small cafe, I saw the riders eating their breakfast, and a fully loaded Concours outside.


Packed up and ready to go, I headed east. As I approached the turnoff for the Sheep Rock unit, the air was still full of smoke there. I resigned myself that my long hike will have to wait until my next visit to the area and headed for Dayville again.

Stopped for gas in town and ran into a retired police officer from NYC. I had to admire him for his interesting custom method of travel with his dog. He has been riding all over the country living mostly off his bike and trailer.


He loved his Tenere and I immediately thought of friend Bill C. I took a photo of the attachment for his canine passenger and attaches the trailer. This guy is quite resourceful having constructed it himself.


On to John Day to find a base for the next two days. I was ahead of my planned schedule, but flexibility is the key Found a state park right on the riverside and out of town. And the best spot in the park; under tall trees for shade, large grassy area and next to the wooded river bank.


A day of relaxation and a leisurely hike along the trail paralleling the river was in store. After I dried off from the brief shower I got caught in.

Final Tales from Oregon, 2014


Some days are like a new beginning, a new adventure, a new exploration. And at the end of each day is a new experience, some days many. I will often think back of how the day started and how it went full circle in knowing a place for the first time. Even places I have been before, I see and know with a different perspective. Many times it is as if knowing for the first time.

This summer has been the richest and happiest I've known for many years. The poorest in financial terms, but the richest in people, places and experiences. A new world has opened and embraced me. I've lost most of myself and gained a new life. And I couldn't be any happier.


"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware."
- Martin Buber

Little things take on new meanings, both at their little microcosm to their interconnectedness in the vast world around them. And us. From the sharp tips and symmetry of a dried thistle head.......


....to the stories of two very opposite Chinese men that touched the lives of hundreds of people in a tiny mining town in north-central Oregon in the early 1900's.


Having the opportunity to touch so many lives, like a swallow dipping down and sweeping past each and every place, catching glimpses and learning stories. People here are so welcoming and willing to share their stories, little bits of their lives. From tiny communities nestled in mountain valleys......

....to towns that cluster in river valleys.

Roads enchant with winding elevations and inviting horizons.......


.....or the thrill of standing on an 800-foot high point while a storm rushes in from the basin below; feeling the power and force of the winds and the sharp biting rain hit your face as it smiles so wide I almost sprout wings and fly.


All these opportunities present themselves to those that may be unaware, but receptive to all things new.

"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."
- Mary Ritter Beard


This summer has had so many new adventures: camping six days along the John Day River, four days on Steens Mountain, four days on the east side of Steen Mountain in the Alvord Desert area, a day on the Pacific Coast, visits with old friends and colleagues, exploring a former life I left 15 years ago, and three months immersed in wildlife on the high desert area of the northern Great Basin.

Steens Mountain

East of Steens Mnt.

Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, my home for three months.

I go to bed every night a different person than I was when waking. But it seems less of 'me' and more of 'everywhere'. New friendships have developed, renewed friendships and experiencing places I've never been as well as those visited before.

It truly is a changing process that goes on and on, in ideas and ways of living that linger and inform.


Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
Matsuo Basho

This will probably be my last post here on the forum.

"Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world."
- Gustave Flaubert

Ciao. Good travels to you all and maybe see you on the road sometime.