Thursday, November 19, 2009
New Orleans French Quarter
Pictures from the French Quarter. My days were spent at the Social Security Ticket to Work Mental Health Summit, which is why all the pics are at night or dusk.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Grassy Knobb
Grassy Knobb Wilderness Area on the South Coast not far from Port Orford. Pictured in October 2009.
It's a moderate hike up to the summit of Grassy Knobb. It's steady incline with no surprises. The view from the top is quite nice on a clear day, overlooking the Pacific.
It's a moderate hike up to the summit of Grassy Knobb. It's steady incline with no surprises. The view from the top is quite nice on a clear day, overlooking the Pacific.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Devil's Staircase Ordeal
It seems foolish we would even go there I suppose. I don't think either of us really expected to see the Devil's Staircase itself. After all, it was only a rumor for years until the site was finally documented in the 1970's. This was after multiple attempts to locate it by teams who spent days traversing the wilds of the Wassen Creek bed. It is, apparently, one of the most remote and difficult to find locations in the Oregon Coast Range. Here is the description from Andy Stahl, who finally put it on the map: The Devil's Staircase.
Sarah and I thought the initial trail to Wassen Creek would make a good day hike. The trail leads from a logging spur road down to the creek bed, but, of course, there is no trail to the Devil's Staircase. At the head of the trail, we saw a sign put up by the forest service warning off potential hikers. The sign explained that the terrain is steep and rugged without maintained trails; GPS units fail to work due to steep ravines and thick overhead canopy; and several parties have had to be rescued with the involvement of the Douglas County Sheriff Dept. (the strongest warning, it seems).
The sign was a bit ominous but the trail ahead seemed clear enough, so we took our hike down the steep trail until we had enough. The trudge back up to the car was difficult as it was a wet October day and the trail was mostly mud. Going uphill was a struggle but we made it back to the car without incident.
Then the trouble was apparent. We were parked on a narrow stretch with a tree fall in front of us. We needed to get turned around carefully without slipping over the steep drop on one side. The problem was that the road surface was all mud which made it quite slippery and sloping uphill in the direction we needed to go.
I managed to get the car turned around with quite a bit of slipping and sliding, but luckily without tumbling over the edge. Unfortunately, once the car was oriented correctly on the "road" the tires spun uselessly in the mud. I wasn't too concerned at first as I assumed there would be a bed of gravel somewhere under the mud. But, as the tires dug deeper into the mud, it became clear there was no gravel and we were stuck.
A little bit of panic set in. Sarah, already thinking ahead, estimated it would take a good day's walk to make it back to the highway on foot, and on this Saturday we had not seen a soul on the logging roads on the way in. It was already late in the afternoon, so, if we couldn't get unbogged, we faced the choice of walking into the night, or waiting until the morning. I didn't like either choice and preferred not to have to make it.
My next attempt was mostly half-hearted as I didn't think it would work and involved taking every branch, twig and bow I could find and jamming it into the ruts in front of the tires. It did no good and the tires slipped on the wet branches just as easily as in the mud. I tried pushing while Sarah worked the accelerator, but it was muddy and I had no purchase, plus I ran the risk of the car rolling back over me or the tires kicking up the branches that I had so cleverly stuck under them.
Then, my final backup plan was to put on the snow chains. Sarah said she was thinking the same. I hoped it would work because I didn't have any other ideas. It was dirty work getting the snow chains on in the carved out ruts of mud.
After wiping off the excess mud from my hands and clothes, we got back in ready to drive off. I started it up and accelerated and the tires spun in the mud. Yet, there was just a little more traction than before, just enough for me to rock the car forward and backward in the ruts building momentum until we finally burst out of the ruts and drove without stopping until we reached the main logging road, less than a mile up, with it's beautiful bed of gravel. I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see gravel!
Sarah and I thought the initial trail to Wassen Creek would make a good day hike. The trail leads from a logging spur road down to the creek bed, but, of course, there is no trail to the Devil's Staircase. At the head of the trail, we saw a sign put up by the forest service warning off potential hikers. The sign explained that the terrain is steep and rugged without maintained trails; GPS units fail to work due to steep ravines and thick overhead canopy; and several parties have had to be rescued with the involvement of the Douglas County Sheriff Dept. (the strongest warning, it seems).
The sign was a bit ominous but the trail ahead seemed clear enough, so we took our hike down the steep trail until we had enough. The trudge back up to the car was difficult as it was a wet October day and the trail was mostly mud. Going uphill was a struggle but we made it back to the car without incident.
Then the trouble was apparent. We were parked on a narrow stretch with a tree fall in front of us. We needed to get turned around carefully without slipping over the steep drop on one side. The problem was that the road surface was all mud which made it quite slippery and sloping uphill in the direction we needed to go.
I managed to get the car turned around with quite a bit of slipping and sliding, but luckily without tumbling over the edge. Unfortunately, once the car was oriented correctly on the "road" the tires spun uselessly in the mud. I wasn't too concerned at first as I assumed there would be a bed of gravel somewhere under the mud. But, as the tires dug deeper into the mud, it became clear there was no gravel and we were stuck.
A little bit of panic set in. Sarah, already thinking ahead, estimated it would take a good day's walk to make it back to the highway on foot, and on this Saturday we had not seen a soul on the logging roads on the way in. It was already late in the afternoon, so, if we couldn't get unbogged, we faced the choice of walking into the night, or waiting until the morning. I didn't like either choice and preferred not to have to make it.
My next attempt was mostly half-hearted as I didn't think it would work and involved taking every branch, twig and bow I could find and jamming it into the ruts in front of the tires. It did no good and the tires slipped on the wet branches just as easily as in the mud. I tried pushing while Sarah worked the accelerator, but it was muddy and I had no purchase, plus I ran the risk of the car rolling back over me or the tires kicking up the branches that I had so cleverly stuck under them.
Then, my final backup plan was to put on the snow chains. Sarah said she was thinking the same. I hoped it would work because I didn't have any other ideas. It was dirty work getting the snow chains on in the carved out ruts of mud.
After wiping off the excess mud from my hands and clothes, we got back in ready to drive off. I started it up and accelerated and the tires spun in the mud. Yet, there was just a little more traction than before, just enough for me to rock the car forward and backward in the ruts building momentum until we finally burst out of the ruts and drove without stopping until we reached the main logging road, less than a mile up, with it's beautiful bed of gravel. I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see gravel!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Weekend in Bandon and the South Coast
In mid October we spent a weekend in Bandon at the Table Rock motel. The same friendly owner greeted us who was there 17 or 18 years ago. We drove down to the Redwoods and back. It weather was pleasant--cool and foggy in the mornings and very little wind. There are no crowds to contend with this time of year either.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Triangulation Peak area
These photos were actually taken a couple weeks ago after the first good Autumn rain. Oregon is temperate, the 45th parallel runs through the state capital to prove it, but, at least in the western half of the state, there are really only two seasons, the dry season and the rainy season.
When the first rain comes in the fall, it can be after two or three months without any significant rain. The grass is yellow and brittle. Sadly, the slugs never disappear completely, but at the height of the August heat, they look miserable.
Then something happens; the world shifts. The meteorologist says something about the jet stream and occluded fronts in movement. The anchorwoman is sad and makes a wry comment about the end of summer.
Away from the TV, in the world, you see it first off the coast. If you’re on the beach in Seaside or Coos Bay, looking out over the ocean, where in the dry season you would see crisp line demarking the eternal division between ocean and sky, you instead will see the new season building, coalescing and looming. At its most dramatic it looks like an immense wall of cloud, stratified in gray and white layers slowly churning, preparing for the onslaught, like puffed up Napoleonic soldiers sitting tall on their steeds decked out in shining breastplate and topped with delicate plumage, not moving but at attention, pristine and beautiful, just before the charge into the tempest of battle.
Likewise, the wall of cloud appears to hang over the ocean unmoving. It looks harmless so motionless and so far away while the sky above is blue and peaceful. But, if you are patient and you watch very carefully, you will see that the wall is in motion. Ever so gradually, it approaches the shore, too slow at first for anyone but the keenest to notice, but as it approaches, the momentum builds and soon it is unmistakable. The storm is heralded first by the advance guard of feral shifting winds harassing away the last calm of summer.
When the churning wall overcomes the shore, the season turns. Blue becomes gray. The rain begins—not the whimsical storms of other places that arrive violently and expend their energies quickly, but the persevering tireless rains of the Pacific Northwest.
Over the Coast Range, the seasonal change in the Willamette Valley is a little less dramatic. The wall of cloud has broken up after crossing the hills and above the valley it becomes a ceiling of gray, undefined and without pretense, but it is perfectly efficient at what it does best, veiling every last glimpse of blue. The summer sky will be only a memory for next six months.
Further east, in the Cascades, there is more drama. There, the clouds break like waves against the jagged uplands. Some clouds get trapped in the mountain valleys, others rise up angrily and fly swiftly over, dropping their rain to lighten their load and speed them on their way.
Triangulation peak is midway up the western slopes of the Cascade range in the Willamette National Forest. We went there hoping to hike in as far as Boca Cave. Unfortunately, we had to stop and turn around about a mile short of the trailhead because of snow. Our little Kia just isn't adequate for a snowed in logging road. But, at least, I was able to snap a few photos from the road.
When the first rain comes in the fall, it can be after two or three months without any significant rain. The grass is yellow and brittle. Sadly, the slugs never disappear completely, but at the height of the August heat, they look miserable.
Then something happens; the world shifts. The meteorologist says something about the jet stream and occluded fronts in movement. The anchorwoman is sad and makes a wry comment about the end of summer.
Away from the TV, in the world, you see it first off the coast. If you’re on the beach in Seaside or Coos Bay, looking out over the ocean, where in the dry season you would see crisp line demarking the eternal division between ocean and sky, you instead will see the new season building, coalescing and looming. At its most dramatic it looks like an immense wall of cloud, stratified in gray and white layers slowly churning, preparing for the onslaught, like puffed up Napoleonic soldiers sitting tall on their steeds decked out in shining breastplate and topped with delicate plumage, not moving but at attention, pristine and beautiful, just before the charge into the tempest of battle.
Likewise, the wall of cloud appears to hang over the ocean unmoving. It looks harmless so motionless and so far away while the sky above is blue and peaceful. But, if you are patient and you watch very carefully, you will see that the wall is in motion. Ever so gradually, it approaches the shore, too slow at first for anyone but the keenest to notice, but as it approaches, the momentum builds and soon it is unmistakable. The storm is heralded first by the advance guard of feral shifting winds harassing away the last calm of summer.
When the churning wall overcomes the shore, the season turns. Blue becomes gray. The rain begins—not the whimsical storms of other places that arrive violently and expend their energies quickly, but the persevering tireless rains of the Pacific Northwest.
Over the Coast Range, the seasonal change in the Willamette Valley is a little less dramatic. The wall of cloud has broken up after crossing the hills and above the valley it becomes a ceiling of gray, undefined and without pretense, but it is perfectly efficient at what it does best, veiling every last glimpse of blue. The summer sky will be only a memory for next six months.
Further east, in the Cascades, there is more drama. There, the clouds break like waves against the jagged uplands. Some clouds get trapped in the mountain valleys, others rise up angrily and fly swiftly over, dropping their rain to lighten their load and speed them on their way.
Triangulation peak is midway up the western slopes of the Cascade range in the Willamette National Forest. We went there hoping to hike in as far as Boca Cave. Unfortunately, we had to stop and turn around about a mile short of the trailhead because of snow. Our little Kia just isn't adequate for a snowed in logging road. But, at least, I was able to snap a few photos from the road.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Coyote Creek
Coyote Creek near Fern Ridge Reservoir and Veneta, Oregon. A short pleasant walk. It's a secluded and quiet trail with some wildlife around including osprey, blue heron and meskitos. We saw a huge heron but it flew off before I could bring my camera to bear.
An Osprey family.
This one's waiting for prey.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Alcea Falls
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wheaten and Wiry
Wheaten and wiry, is his windblown hair.
Proudly he patrols this plot of a yard.
Seeking, he scavenges the remains of our supper.
Running and leaping, he lands on his feet.
No bird is allowed; he barks and bounds after.
Vermin are forbidden; he evicts them abruptly.
He is pet, he is friend, he guards us intently,
and at the day's end he curls on us meekly.
Inside and outside he is decidedly different.
In his yard, he yaps and yields to no one.
In the house he is humble where humans watch over.
Cats there contrive to conceitedly stalk him.
Sneakily he searches and scraps are his plunder.
Shame enshrouds him, shrinking when caught.
His foes are feline, a feud hard-fought.
He defers to us supine, this he accepts, his lot.
Rags (AKA Strummer)
Proudly he patrols this plot of a yard.
Seeking, he scavenges the remains of our supper.
Running and leaping, he lands on his feet.
No bird is allowed; he barks and bounds after.
Vermin are forbidden; he evicts them abruptly.
He is pet, he is friend, he guards us intently,
and at the day's end he curls on us meekly.
Inside and outside he is decidedly different.
In his yard, he yaps and yields to no one.
In the house he is humble where humans watch over.
Cats there contrive to conceitedly stalk him.
Sneakily he searches and scraps are his plunder.
Shame enshrouds him, shrinking when caught.
His foes are feline, a feud hard-fought.
He defers to us supine, this he accepts, his lot.
Rags (AKA Strummer)Monday, June 22, 2009
Hell Hole
Northeast of Oakridge, Oregon, the Forest Service has tried to keep Hell Hole a secret, but we found it. It was Fathers Day, Summer Solstice, 2009. It was raining. We had kids and a little dog with us, but we braved the mud and the cliffs and climbed down into it. The climb back out again was treacherous and exhausting, but we survived the ordeal.
Deer Butte
Pics from our hike on Deer Butte Trail on Saturday, June 20. Mt. Washington wilderness area.
Oregon June weather, the last day of Spring.
I don't know what did this, maybe a bear?
A close-up of the claw (or tooth?) marks. It was a little creepy up there, very high up in the Cascades--there was no sound at all, no cars, very few birds.
Oregon June weather, the last day of Spring.
I don't know what did this, maybe a bear?
A close-up of the claw (or tooth?) marks. It was a little creepy up there, very high up in the Cascades--there was no sound at all, no cars, very few birds.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sweet Creek Falls
Sweet Creek Falls are near Mapleton, Oregon. We went there a few weeks ago with our trusty Cairn Terrier. It is a nice pleasant walk. There are more little waterfalls along this trail than anywhere else I've been. It is an easy walk with many rewards for a little effort. Great for kids.
Sadly there was someone on the trail with an Akita off leash and uncontrolled. It went after our little Cairn, but he defended himself bravely and in the end, Sarah had to save him by picking him up, but the Akita wouldn't relent until it's lackadaisical owner finally saw fit to take her Akita by the collar and move on.
Sadly there was someone on the trail with an Akita off leash and uncontrolled. It went after our little Cairn, but he defended himself bravely and in the end, Sarah had to save him by picking him up, but the Akita wouldn't relent until it's lackadaisical owner finally saw fit to take her Akita by the collar and move on.
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