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Middle Deschutes
River,
BLM, Oregon |
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Enthusiasm flared as I read Anna's report and gazed jealously at pictures sporting freedom beyond the trees and thick brush I had grown so used to over the years. The night before, I wasted no time packing my rucksack with the bare essentials, trying to stay light as I knew the terrain would be trying on my unconditioned body. Amber, my mentally co-joined twin, now has the experience to go through our gear room, choosing her desired weight-to-comfort trade offs, making the packing quick.
Morning coffee, a pastry, and a long drive saw us to the start of our journey. I parked in the large parking area and was greeted with a stiff, cold wind that bit through my clothing with efficiency. We geared up and made our way through a gate before sauntering down a dirt jeep trail. We followed the muddy, gravely road for a little while before letting our intense need for exploration take us over.
Once the local of the Criterion Ranch, nearly ten years ago the Bureau of Land Management acquired the area. The only activity I could observe here was the leasing for grazing purposes. Although there were various barbed-wire fences running throughout the area, most were quite weathered with some completely rotten, offering unobstructed wandering.
We wandered. We found handheld radios. We mooed at cows grazing along our unstructured route. We Talked. We dodged seemingly endless swaths of cow pies.
After romping towards nowhere in particular, I suggested we head west, towards a shed that was leaning on it's last sturdy plank. Along the way, Amber found yet another rock embedded in the dirt in the shape of a heart. As this happens on almost every trip, I snapped the mandatory picture before we moved on.
We plodded our way towards the head of the ravine to find it void of any shed-type structures. I found out later it was just north of where we were. I hardly had to talk Amber into using the ravine as our path to the river as she was already well in front of me.
Water means life. Life means drama and that is what we were looking for. There were signs of life everywhere in this barren landscape that sported the seasons last scum ponds. Soon the snakes, ticks, and heat would be out in force, making exploration much less pleasant.
We followed a game trail leading down as I made sure Amber stayed directly in front of me. Cougars like to ambush from tree limbs, you see. I led away from the ravine, just a small jaunt up the ridge to a shady, grassy, rather beautiful area to camp and found what I thought should be there; the complete remains of a cougar kill was in the shade, sprawled out within a hundred square feet.
Amber took her time looking over the bones while I sat in the shade and watched the whether improve. It was warm here in the ravine as the wind was non-existent. With the sun poking through the clouds before being filtered by the trees, it was a place I could curl up with a good book for a day or two. But with water being the motivational fact, we set out up the ravine and pushed our way through the sage to find an old use trail.
The ravine cliffed out rather abruptly forcing us to take the use trail to another parallel ravine. We side-hilled our way around the steep cliffs while trying to endure the sustained 30 mile per hour winds. Every direction we took looked to be a dead end with steep drop-offs that promised injury to anyone foolhardy enough to down climb them. We finally found a more mellow descent towards the river.
Some easy and not-so-easy down climbs were required as we made quick progress. About half way down we got cliffed out once again. Amber had a rest while I scurried around on the rocks, thankful for the route I found and the fact the snakes were not out yet. The picture below shows the bottom of the ravine and where I was standing, scratching my head (at the top of the falls, bottom of the V).
Once again on good, albeit slippery, ground we quickly dropped towards the Deschutes.
Looking back up at our route made me proud of Amber. From the point we were at, I could see the cliff we skirted around, but noticed the ravine was bent to the right above it. As much as we wanted to explore the various caves surrounding us, it was getting late and I wanted some time at the waters' edge to read.
After all we had been through today, including one spot where Amber had to jump down into my arms, she was still smiling. We stopped to much on fruit snacks and almond-Snickers bars before setting off once again.
Plus the river was in sight and getting wider by the hour, tantalizing us with it's promise of a great camp site. The thought of a cool dunk did not sound so bad either. Yet, more bones were found by Amber and time was taking to store the prized artifacts.
The winds picked up as we headed out of the ravine. At this point it had turned quite ominous sporting more trees and swampy footing. We traversed this whole section before picking a direct route down. Smiles were abundant as we were finally on flat land at the waters' edge.
A cool, steady breeze blowing over the water in its opposite direction, made for a picturesque camping spot. I treated four liters of water before finding a spot to pitch the tarp. Afterwards, I laid down in the soft green grass and did nothing.
Amber played with cat tail reeds while I did nothing. We could have made a fire, but I thought the breeze too strong so I did nothing. I thought about reading, but decided to do nothing. Admittedly, I was actually doing something. I was staring, gazing, and gawking, trying to take in as much beauty this land held as possible while laying back, letting the breeze caress my body.
The breeze picked up as I made sure the tarp was a hummer pitch. Amber and I huddled in the tarp while I cooked up a double batch of ramen. Everything, even the most simplistic of meals, seems better while hiking or backpacking. For example, hot cocoa in the middle of a bitterly cold snowshoeing trip is inexplicable, comparatively speaking, to having a cup at home mid-day while watching TV. As the ramen cooled, we changed into our respective base layers. I managed to find only a single tick on myself and flicked it off, but Amber was unloved by the parasites and a fifteen minute search turned up nothing.
I was up and moving early. I hadn't slept too well due to the pounding winds that would whip up in a half second, beat the tarp violently as if fists were pounding above your head on the thin material, then disappear just as quickly as they came. The train, opposite the river, also woke me up twice, lighting up the entire canyon offering an eerie landscape.
While Amber slept, I wandered around in my long johns, while drinking a liter of tea, and surveyed possible routes out of the canyon. Although I was feeling fine, I did not want to punish Amber during the ascent and mentally chose the phone line route. It looked downright easy from this vantage point. When Amber woke up, I had most everything packed and hot couscous waiting under her nose. She awoke with a smile and dug in before changing and packing the remainder of our gear.
The climb out was easy as the elevation came without effort, for me at least. Amber chugged her way up the canyon wall taking frequent, albeit necessary, breaks from time to time. We were actually following ATV tracks that bordered the insane at times as they wound around steep cliffs, sometimes on a 40 degree tilt.
As we worked our way to the last hill, the winds picked up. We strolled through a large grazing area, finding more bones and scores of evidence of life before the final climb.
Deep holes dug by who-knows-what littered the landscape in random patterns. The dirt was too fluffy to get prints from, so we just drew up our own conclusions while huffing our way up.
I topped out and plopped down before donning my rain jacket to shield me from the bitter winds. While I waited for Amber, I looked over the land beyond the river, Indian land. Such beautiful terrain was all theirs, I thought, as I gawked in envy.
The final almond-Snickers were wolfed down before Amber started talking about a return trip. The place was pure beauty, pure magic and the freedom it offered was as intoxicating as it was addicting. Most would not want freedom like this and are happy in their confined and secure lives, but security is an illusion and freedom, once tasted, is too good to let go of.
On our way back across the flat portion of our trek, I spotted something in the grass. I thought it a cougar as there were cattle nearby, but the color was not right. It then thought it a deer, but it would have scampered off long before I got this close. As I called Amber closer to me, I could now see it shaking, huddling, curled up into a little ball.
It was a new-born calf as part of the umbilical cord was still unconsumed. I was incredulous as the whole trip, we mostly discovered death, but here was new life in the wild. It was a fitting end to such a fulfilling trip. We came within three feet as he bolted up, but did not run off. We slowly backed away before I named him Norman. "Curley would be proud", I said out loud as Amber and I laughed all the way back to the truck. Only one thing was left to savor; the food and drink at Full Sail on the way home.
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