Opal creek has quite the mining history with a lot of memorabilia left behind for those so interested. 

Bits and pieces of what was once a thriving mining community set the stage for a gentle stroll towards Jawbone Flats.

For some unknown reason, I like the picture below.  Maybe it was the contrast of old and new technology.  Maybe the rotting corpses of planetary gears, pulleys, axles, tracks, sprockets, and large boilers just made my pack seem a little brighter in color.

Along the trail we found mines and an old, run-down shed that had once tried to be repaired, but was losing the test of time.

The trail bobbed up and down while slightly tilting up, following the creek.  There was enough snow melt to turn the creek into a torrent of optical delight.  I just wish I had a camera worth a crap with me.

The sun poked through the trees as we headed to Opal Pools.  I had to stop and take in the rays that I have felt only two times this year.

The water was constantly a emerald green and no matter how deep, always clear.

We stopped and had a snack just before the bridge.  Normally, on nice, sunny, summer days, this area is crammed full of all sorts, like Eagle Creek in The Gorge.  Today it was amazingly peaceful as I had only seen a handful of people.

We crossed the bridge to Jawbone Flats while gazing into the crystal clear falls.

Duane and I talked about where else to go today.  As he has never seen Cedar Flats, we decided that was the place to head after Jawbone.

I glanced up at Whetstone Mountain's summit.  It looked a bit intimidating from here, knowing that there had to be several feel of phlumf to make our efforts longer than we had planned today.

Jawbone Flats was a nice piece of history and is, still, "off the grid".  Miners arrived in this area in 1859 and discovered gold as well as copper, zinc and lead. The water comes from the creeks and the electricity comes from water sent down pipes from higher elevation into a water turbine that you can actually witness.

We wandered through the area looking at all the carts and buildings that are still standing after 150 years.

Although I would not want the job to get one of the trucks working, they were neat to look at as I imagined the magic my uncle could do to one.

In a sense, I felt like a kid again.  Anyone that knows a piece if my past would also know what I was talking about.  I chuckled to myself while staring at an old engine block.

Cabins were also offered that one could stay along with a caretaker and meal plans.  The place seemed a bit busy as there was a band of kayakers preparing for a journey down the North Santiam.

We took off east towards cedar flats, crossing another bridge that was flagged as out of order.  I had a hard time understanding this as bridges in the Olympics were half of what this one was.  We stopped at a site for lunch before I spaced out while boiling up some tea.

Just a short way further up the trail the snow started abruptly and deep.  Post-holing was instant and to the hip making hiking difficult.

I stumbled around some blow-down while waiting for Duane to slog his way out of his snow-bound dilemma.  The day was fine, but there is still a lot of snow on the ground which meant alpine scrambling was a long ways away.

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