Journey
Bend resident Mark Darnell relates how his adventures into Wilderness Study Areas in Oregon’s high desert are turning him into a better photographer and a more committed conservationist. This is part one of a two-part tale.
The hunting knife in my left hand, poised for use, the trekking pole in my right, poking ahead through the brush, my head swiveled as I solo hiked off trail up a narrow canyon with rimrocks looming 30 feet directly overhead. I whistled and sang to cope with the fear. This was the perfect place for a cougar attack. Surely the rare cougar attack that killed one person and injured another yesterday in Washington State was just a fluke. But I couldn’t seem to believe any rational arguments at the moment. What was so damn important that I was putting myself in this situation so far from any help? A simple photograph?
My original plan was to spend two months in the spring visiting lesser-known Wilderness Study Areas (WSAs) and to bring back pictures for possible publication in Oregon Natural Desert Association’s upcoming Wild Desert Calendar. WSAs have been identified by the Bureau of Land Management as having wilderness characteristics but do not currently have permanent legal protection. ONDA is working to obtain the permanent protections these wild places deserve. Although my aim was to photograph these areas, my mission turned in to something unexpected, much larger and much more important.
I began my self-assigned solo mission with the South Fork Crooked River WSA, and, losing the first day to the first flat tire on my pickup in thousands of backroad miles, I returned the second day to start the journey. With six inches of fresh snow underfoot, I followed a Jeep road off GI Road up to a ridge, studying every animal track in the snow that crossed my route. Lots of deer and elk. On the adjoining plateau, I struck off cross-country to the edge of the South Fork Crooked River canyon.
Sun glinted off the snow as I surveyed the confluence of Pickett Canyon and the rushing green rapids of the South Fork. During the return, the loud sounds of rocks tumbling over a muffled snow blanket alerted all my senses as I headed back down the ridge. Fully expecting a large herd of deer, I quietly approached around a blind corner and suddenly confronted a herd of wild horses 50 feet away. The stallion’s defiant stare stopped me dead as the herd quickly trotted into the woods. An exhilarating start to the mission.
Solo exploring is usually necessary for an outdoor photographer to find the best compositions and wait for the best lighting conditions. Cross-country travel alone, although it requires careful planning and execution, is an opportunity to heighten your senses. In a remote landscape, freed from conversation with a partner, your mind is fully engaged in watching every uneven step, every plant, every animal sign and every cloud.
An entire week was needed to explore some of the many WSAs near Mitchell, Oregon. In the Painted Hills Proposed Wilderness Area (PWA) south of the national monument area, seldom visited plateaus, valleys, and colorful paleo-soil hills were revealed, with Sutton Mountain dominating the skyline across the valley.
I had been planning on taking the Rocky Road route into the Sutton Mountain WSA for years, and I was delighted to find that it delivered scenic vistas of canyons, lush springs, and ancient juniper groves high on the mountain. Although early April snows made the final approach to the summit impassable, the morning snows on the summit were a delightful daily sight.
Pat’s Cabin WSA was difficult to reach across Bridge Creek, and the jeep road shown to be ascending the canyon on topo maps is now just a wide wash with difficult footing. Round grass-covered hills surrounded the canyon. I looked for Pat’s Cabin through the misty, cloudy air. Stumbling up the wash, I spied a huge coyote on a high hill, watching me intently. The air was dead still, and the hills soaked up every sound. The canyon began to feel very small and claustrophobic. The coyote turned his head and disappeared down the back of the ridge, out of view. I am not worried about coyotes, but my old irrational cougar fear returned, finally abating as I approached Bridge Creek on the return.
Some sleuthing is required to gain entrance to the Dead Dog Canyon WSA. I found a small public lands area on the east side of Sutton Mountain, along Gird’s Creek Road, that could be used to clamber up the lower cliff faces of Horse Mountain. How glorious were the meadows and canyons that were revealed once I was on top of the first cliff bands! An entire mystical world of hanging valleys, lush meadows, and prime elk habitat is hidden from view from the road and is just across the valley from the impressive dry waterfalls on the east face of Sutton Mountain.
As I walk cross country, my imagination soars back in time to the early explorers and pioneer ranchers in central and eastern Oregon, who navigated long distances cross-country without the aid of our current GPS and mapping technologies. I feel humbled and inspired by their ability to live off the land as they traveled and feel sad that our modern society may have lost more than we have gained.
Summer Lake provided the base for another bout of exploration. Diablo Mountain WSA is located so far east of Summer Lake that it appears as an innocuous hump on the horizon for those who never leave the highway. Reaching it required extensive map planning, on-the-ground recon and conversations with locals. This was not unlike the difficulty of reaching the rim of the Owyhee River canyon in many areas, although the landscape is drastically different. Gravel roads are left behind as they become twisting two-tracks with chest high scrub obscuring the route from even a few feet away. Deep blue skies contrasted with brilliant white alkali sand and impossibly large cumulus clouds as I neared the bottom of a gash in the Diablo rim called Sand Canyon. Beautiful small sand dunes, wind-whipped into artful shapes around boulders, captured my rapt attention as I climbed up the canyon to reach Rocky Butte, a viewpoint over the western rim of Diablo.
The following morning, I climbed up Sand Canyon again to start the long trek to the east side of the Diablo rim, which harbored the most scenic overview of the entire WSA according to Google Earth. Clear skies were replaced by dramatic thunderstorms on three sides. I questioned each additional step as I watched the distant landscape disappear in a black curtain that closed in around me. Recounting the fateful decisions made by the 1849 Death Valley wagon train from my reading the night before, I turned around only a mile from reaching my objective and retraced my steps. I climbed down Sand Canyon with a 40 m.p.h. wind funneling up through the canyon and sandblasting me in the face. I was happy to reach the safety of my truck before the heavens opened up.
Later that afternoon, the skies were once again filled with puffy cumulus clouds and I found my next route starting near the Thousand Springs Ranch. I drove through open alkali flats and hummocky dunes to a spot near the base of the main summit of Diablo Mountain. Hiking up Cat Camp Draw, I climbed a butte opposite the summit for a sunset shot of the mountain, rim and distant valley filled with white sands. On this remote, silent butte, with the sun setting on Diablo Mountain WSA, the stark untouched natural beauty I witnessed overwhelmed my senses.
Oregon’s desert should be called “The Big Full,” not “The Big Empty.” The vast spaces and lack of trees make every desert feature, plant and detail highly observable and fully appreciable in every aspect. It is as if each feature is a work of art on display. It fills the soul with a spiritual food that we crave. The desert is only empty when it comes to trees and people.
Closer to home, in the Steelhead Falls WSA the Deschutes River flows through rugged canyons up to 700 feet deep. This WSA is remarkable for containing wildly scenic vistas in close proximity to the populated area of Crooked River Ranch. A mere one- or two-hour drive from Bend, depending on which side of the river you explore, enabled me to spend many days wandering both sides of the river within the WSA. BLM land north of Crooked River Ranch provides a route to the east rim with an overview of the big canyon area. Views of fancifully-eroded formations in the canyon excite the mind as you hike north along the east rim. Finally, you reach spectacular views of the Deschutes River as it backs up and floods into Lake Billy Chinook.
Finding a way down through the top cliff band guarding the sloping canyon walls required several day trips to probe the east rim above the river. Following game trails, I scrambled down 45-degree scree slopes to an outcropping of small pinnacles apparently formed during a previous fantasy goblin period. They provided the interesting foreground I was seeking for a photo looking across the river to where the artfully sculpted crescent of Potter Canyon joins the Deschutes.
Exploring the Deschutes canyon from the west rim is made possible by game trails zig-zagging down to the river at Potter Canyon. This route offers a lovely view of the striated cliff bands along the upper walls of Potter Canyon. Perhaps the most dramatic scene I found on the west side of the river required a tricky cross-country route north from the Alder Springs Trail to the confluence of Whychus Creek and the Deschutes River. It is possible to find breaks in two bands of rimrock in order to descend and finally stand directly above the confluence of the two waterways, where one of the most scenic and colorful major rock formations on the entire river awaits the hardy.
Consider the nature of an established trail. Early trails, whether created by wildlife or man, represent the combined efforts of those who have considered the best route across the landscape to reach a specific point. Thus trails evolve as the best route to reach important destinations for food, water or a seasonal migration. Later trail followers can relax and know that they are following a path shaped by the wisdom of those who came before. However, creativity and adventure can be regained in today’s world by choosing your own path.
Plush, Oregon served as a central location from which to base my week of exploring the Abert Rim WSA, Warner Valley and Hart Mountain. I arrived during spring round up and ranchers in Warner Valley were on the move, getting their horses in position to drive cattle to new spring grazing lands. Pickup trucks and horse trailers lined the main street in front of the only store, Hart Mountain General Store, wherein the cowboys got coffee and traded information about the day’s plans. I got coffee at the store every morning to soak up the cattle drive atmosphere and listen to local stories. After listening at length to an elder horsewoman talk about a cowboy getting bucked off a new horse twice the previous day, I realized that the entire conversation had no reference to anything in what we consider to be our modern day society. It was an unchanging dialogue that ranchers have had here since 1880. Time feels like it has stopped.
My scenic objective in the Abert Rim WSA was the point where Juniper Creek and Poison Creek spill over the edge of the rugged rim. I heard that the creeks had carved out a bowl that would grant me a possible view of a long section of the rim. But despite extensive planning and multiple forays from West Coyote Hills Road into rolling hills and dry canyons, the jeep roads became impassable for my pickup. I swallowed my disappointment when a longtime local rancher told me he had only ever been there once while chasing lost cattle on horseback 30 years ago. Leaving the rugged country of the Abert Rim plateau, I parked along the highway at the bottom of the rim and climbed up Cold Creek. Storm clouds, rain and wind greeted me as I climbed up the creek toward the massive, sculpted sections of vertical cliff banding along the entire rim. Yet another remote and improbably beautiful spot added to my list for return trips during better weather.
Springtime finds Warner Valley and Plush flush with water, with large lakes lapping at the foot of the long rim of Hart Mountain. Gazing across Hart Lake with the sunset lighting the length of the mountain rim, I could see the beauty of “Canyon Row,” a two-mile stretch featuring four big canyons that gouge the mountain from summit to base. Although not in a WSA, they called out to be explored. The next morning I entered Hart Canyon alongside Norton Creek, scrambling across steep scree slopes and through heavy brush. After a mile a cliff band closed out my route, teasing me with glimpses of a high basin and open meadows that only the animals would enjoy that day.
Much of the inspiration for these off-trail explorations came from reading the history of the early trappers, explorers and pioneers of eastern Oregon. Their broad capabilities, knowledge of the natural world, resourcefulness and extreme self-reliance stand in glaring contrast to today’s highly specialized, modern society. However, one small segment of today’s world still retains these qualities: the ranchers making their living in the remote sections of southeast Oregon. I admire and deeply respect their love of the remote lands and their pioneer way of life. But I do become upset when encountering range cattle on a beautiful section of public lands. I constantly wrestle with the conflict.
My wife, KJ, joined me for the final week of exploration in the Pueblo Mountain WSA near the Nevada state line. After setting up our base camp in Fields we spent the first evening next to a roaring fire on the playa of the Alvord Desert. Watching the embers blow safely away into the dark, where they seemed to merge with the brilliant stars on the horizon, created a mind-bending experience in utter isolation.
The dirt road to Domingo Pass rises steeply amidst sharp drop-offs as it climbs the final ridge at the north end of the Pueblos. The vertical rock towers that jut skyward along the road edge near the pass are covered with an explosion of brightly colored lichen, which prompted KJ to commission a lichen photo at dawn the next morning.
As we sat at our camp in Fields that evening planning the dawn shoot, we looked up to see two airplanes taxiing down the main road through Fields, a few hundred yards in front of us. The small sport planes paused at the only stop sign in Fields, then one at a time roared down the highway, briefly out of view as the road sloped away. They swooped back, engines roaring, to climb into the sky on their way to take part in air pylon racing at the north end of Alvord Desert. Fields never disappoints.
The Pueblos mainly consist of two long mountain ridges rising from the desert floor, containing a valley full of springs and meadows. The dirt road along Arizona Creek provided an initial approach toward the main valley but became so uncomfortably narrow and steep that KJ wisely jumped out of the truck to walk while I slowly backed the truck down to safety. After two months of making good decisions while exploring alone, I felt embarrassed about making this bad one.
I returned the next day, parked the truck before the grade became death-defying and continued on foot. Walking up the center of the verdant, sunny valley with Arizona Creek gurgling below, I saw a high pass in the distance that should lead me south to the main valley between the ridges of the Pueblos. To my surprise, I encountered a fence at the top of the pass but was able to pass through the gate. A rough trail continued up and began turning south, leading me to a stunning sunset vista. Lupine and Indian paintbrush were at my feet. Lifting my gaze past a small aspen-filled valley, I watched the sun and clouds alternately brighten and darken the round overlapping hills in the distance, while the dark blue silhouette of massive Steens Mountain loomed on the horizon. I stayed for a very long time, lost in sublime appreciation of the moment.
The trail climbed further until it entered Stergen Meadows. The meadow harbors numerous springs, each surrounded by dense stands of lily flowers. From here, the true summit of Pueblo Mountain appears on the east side of the valley and strongly beckons a summit attempt across grassy upper slopes with no visible cliff bands. Across the valley, the western ridge of the range has an imposing shadowy presence as the sun sinks behind it. I stood thinking about how many eons shaped this beautiful valley, perhaps the loveliest sight yet in my journeys.
My bliss was suddenly shattered by roving herds of cows. I shooed them out of my way repeatedly and dodged cow pies as I climbed toward Ten Cent Meadow. Reaching my turnaround point, I tried to photograph another natural scenic gem, but could not compose a shot with all the cows and their waste in the frame. I became outraged — how can this gorgeous spot be defiled by cattle that could care less about this special place? As a society, can’t we find a better way to feed the cows than letting them trample the beautiful landscapes that have formed over so many millennia?
And then, I finally found the answer I had sought in that first canyon. I wasn’t doing all this just for the photographs. I was doing it to learn first-hand the meaning that our public lands held in my own life. I found that I had developed an intimate relationship with the natural landscapes of the Oregon desert. I need these places in my life. They provide fulfillment. These wild, remote landscapes grant a sense of time-travel. This is where you can see what nature created before man touched it. They have filled my soul and recharged my spirit. My experiences in the “Big Full” have given me a new perspective on what is important in our modern world, and what is not. This knowledge has no price. I have much to learn, but now I clearly know why I will continue to support ONDA’s mission to protect these vital treasures.
Originally published at Oregon Natural Desert Association on October 29, 2018.
