Tag Archives: Oregon

Joseph, Oregon

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Joseph, Oregon, is not a big town, but it’s a fun place to spend a morning or an afternoon on your way to or from Wallowa Lake. Last week on our way back from staying at Wallowa Lake, my friend Marilyn and I spent some time walking up and down Main Street, window shopping and admiring the local art and ordering drinks at the soda fountain in Mad Mary & Company.

The main attraction in Joseph is the bronze statues you see along both sides of Main Street. I tried to take photos of all of the ones I came across, although I found some of them more appealing than others. Here are a few that I liked best…

Chief Old Joseph

 

three bronze statues on a corner in Joseph, Oregon

 

cowboy statue in Joseph, Oregon

If you’re looking for a meal in a place that the locals frequent, try Cheyenne Cafe on Main Street. The food was good and hearty, and all the old-timers and ranchers gather here in the mornings for coffee and breakfast.

a great breakfast stop in Joseph, Oregon

In addition to the shops and restaurants in Joseph, I would also recommend stopping by some of the Nez Perce historic sites in the area. Between Joseph and Wallowa Lake you’ll find the grave of Chief Old Joseph on a hill overlooking the lake.

at the grave of Chief Old Joseph

I also highly recommend stopping by the Nez Perce Wallowa Homeland Photography Exhibit on Main Street. Then-and-now photos are on display, and you can read more about the history of the Nez Perce struggle with settlers and the U.S. government over this amazing corner of northeastern Oregon.

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Wallowa Lake, at last

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The second try was a charm for me and Wallowa Lake. After hearing extensively from my friend Marilyn about the state park in northeastern Oregon and the beauty of the Wallowa Mountains, Wallowa Lake, and the Wallowa River, I had attempted to drive over there and camp in June, but was turned back by snow (!!). Marilyn has given me excellent travel advice on Oregon in the past (she introduced me to Cannon Beach, for instance, and many great places in central Oregon, as I wrote about here), and the area is special to her and her family, so I was excited to be able to visit Wallowa Lake with Marilyn herself for an overnight trip this past week.

smoky skies in the Wallowa Mountains

 

the view along the opposite edge of the lake, the peaks of the “Little Alps” behind us

 

The weather was fine, but the skies around the Wallowa Mountains were hazy with smoke from the Cache Creek fire that continues to smolder after burning 73,000 acres. My photos of the mountains aren’t as nice as those you see with perfect blue skies and the crisp outlines of the 8,000+ foot peaks known as the “Little Alps,” but I was more concerned with capturing my memories of the area than perfect photos.

a great spot for drinking morning coffee — on the Wallowa River near the Wallowa Lake Lodge

We spent the afternoon wandering around in the forest near the West Fork of the Wallowa River looking for a waterfall Marilyn had visited years back with her family. Somehow we managed to spend three hours hiking around the area in search of a waterfall about twenty minutes’ walk from the road — we’re blaming it on bad directions from a well meaning local, when we should have gone with Marilyn’s gut instincts, which turned out to be correct three hours later.

three hours later…

Despite being lost, it was a gorgeous day for a walk, great weather, fall colors on the trees, and good conversation. The next morning we drank our coffee on chairs under some trees on our hotel lawn, with a sun-sparkling view of the river running into the lake and the peaceful sound of the water. More walking, more talking, more taking in the forest and river and mountains — it’s a wonderful area, and I wish I’d had more time to spend there earlier in the summer.

My plan in June had been to stay in a yurt at the state park — there are two yurts available amidst the tent sites, and when I saw the campgrounds I was even sadder that my camping trip was preempted. It’s a lovely location and would be a great place to camp.

This time around, Marilyn and I stayed in the Wallowa Lake Lodge, built as a hunting lodge in 1923. It’s the oldest hotel I’ve stayed in in recent years — a decade older than the Stone Village Tourist Camp I stayed at in Fort Davis, Texas, last March. The interior of the Wallowa Lake Lodge was recently refurbished, and the rooms have a charming antique appeal. The fixtures and the decor are so quaint and unique, yet everything worked well in the bathroom. No phones or televisions in the rooms, but they do have wi-fi.

the charming Wallowa Lake Lodge

There’s one telephone in a booth in the lobby — Marilyn told me it used to be the only phone available in the entire lake area, and when they first started camping here decades ago, she would have to come to the hotel if she needed to make a phone call.

I promise the Oregon State Parks don’t pay me, people, but once again I’d like to recommend this latest park I’ve visited, Wallowa Lake State Park. I truly have loved visiting each park I’ve been to in Oregon.

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Crater Lake

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A couple of weeks ago I went with friends to camp at Crater Lake in Oregon — well, we actually camped at nearby Diamond Lake, but our purpose in driving down there was to see Crater Lake. I’ve wanted to post a blog with a few photos since I got back, but time gets away from me these days. I miss blogging regularly, but I also have enjoyed all the other things going on in my life (both creative and personal) that have been taking up my time and kept me from posting.

So here they are, a few photos from the beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, amazing, jaw-dropping, breath-taking corner of God’s creation known as Crater Lake.

Our first view of Crater Lake after entering the park from the north entrance

So much BLUE!

My favorite photo from a day of driving around the rim

View of the Phantom Ship volcanic rock formation

Laura, after our hike down to the lake’s surface that was supposed to be comparable to 65 flights of stairs — we decided it’s not nearly as bad as 65 flights of stairs sounds.

The water is warm after your feet have gone numb from the cold.

 

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Painted Hills, Oregon

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Call this a prequel. On my way to Bend, Oregon, last week, I added an hour to my drive in order to see the Painted Hills Unit of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument outside Mitchell, Oregon. Well worth the extra hour on the road, I might add.

view of the Painted Hills from Overlook Trail

I’ll spare you all the geological details, but suffice it to say that something to do with lava and ash from the Cascades mixed with clay turned out to be these strange and subtly beautiful hills in Central Oregon. I say subtly beautiful, in contrast with the majesty of the snow-covered peaks of the Cascades, but both are beautiful in their own right.

along the Painted Cove Trail

There isn’t a visitor center at this unit of the national monument, but there are restrooms and picnic tables on a side road near the entrance. If you happen to miss those restrooms, never fear — you won’t see another soul for most of the rest of your solitary tour of the Painted Hills, and you can find a nice tall-ish sage bush to serve you just fine near the Painted Cove trailhead. Not that I know from experience. Except I do.

close-up of bentonite clay on the side of a painted hill

It’s a free park, people. Go to Central Oregon!

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Lava Butte

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After I checked out of my yurt at Tumalo, I headed south again to the Lava Lands Visitor Center in the Deschutes National Forest to see the lava fields up close and to go up to the fire lookout station on Lava Butte. The ranger at the entrance booth gave me a 30 minute pass to drive up the road to the parking lot on top of Lava Butte — there are only 10 parking spots at the top, so they limit your time to give everyone a chance to drive up. But I opted to park at the bottom and walk up the 1 3/4 mile road instead. How did I know I only wanted to spend 30 minutes up there? And why drive when you can walk? I was feeling a bit Edward Abbey-ish at this point. Get out of your car and walk for a change, people.

fire lookout station in the Deschutes National Forest,
Lava Butte

I talked to some ladies in the parking lot who assured me it would only take 35 or 40 minutes to walk up to the top, so I rearranged some stuff in my car, filled up my water bottle, and set off. As I was leaving the parking lot to get onto the road up the hill, a guy in a beat up hatchback came down the hill and swung into the parking lot past me.

“You’ve got water and a good pair of shoes, what more do you need on a day like today?” he called to me out his open car window.

“True. It’s a good day for a walk.”

He drove slowly past me, blond hair and sunglasses. I kept walking, thinking he had just called out as a greeting. But he continued talking to me through the window. “Your shoes are better than mine — you wanna see my shoes?”

Is this guy for real?

Yes. Yes, he was for real. He stopped the car and contorted to stick his right foot out the driver’s side window to show me a flapping sole.

“You may be about ready for a new pair of shoes,” I said.

“Well, Johnny Cash says to walk hard.”

Actually, Johnny Cash walked the line, but who am I to point that out?

“You wanna see my tattoos?” He held out his wrists. “This one says ‘patience,’ but you have to come read the other one.” He held out his left wrist for me to read. This is the point, I was thinking, where he’s either going to pull a knife on me or his other wrist is going to say “faith” and he’s going to witness to me. I wasn’t getting a knife-pulling vibe at all (and I’m usually pretty paranoid about strangers), so I walked back over to the car to read his wrist. “Serendipity.”

“It’s why I stopped to talk to you,” he said and looked at me sincerely.

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help myself. Nice line, friend. The fact that you have the word written permanently on your skin leads me to believe I’m not the first girl you’ve used that line on. Probably not the first today even.

“You wanna go walk on those trails with me?” He indicated the trails through the lava fields by the visitor center on the other side of the parking lot.

“Nah, I haven’t been up here yet.” I pointed to the butte. “I wanna go there first.” Please, please, don’t want to go back up the hill, Mr. Serendipity.

“I’ve already been there, so I’m gonna go this way. But you’re gonna love it.” Pause. “Man, I haven’t had a smoke in five hours.”

“Sorry about that,” I said, waved over my shoulder, and walked on. I looked back once to make sure he wasn’t following me, and he gave me the peace sign as he drove towards the visitor center. Peace, bro.

Back to Lava Butte…

Walking instead of driving was the right choice. The whole way up the hill you have the chance to savor the view, winding around the cinder cone that once “exuded lava” (so much less violent than erupting, so mellow, so Oregon) through the surrounding countryside. You alternate between views of the lava field, forest, and the Blue Mountains to the east, and amazing views of the Cascades to the west: Broken Top, the Three Sisters, Mt Washington, Mt Jefferson, Mt Hood, and Mt Adams across in Washington. Be sure to go on a clear day, without a cloud in the sky, only the contrails of jets going from Seattle to Los Angeles.

view of the Cascades from the road up Lava Butte

At the top of the butte is a fire lookout station, one of several active stations monitoring the Deschutes National Forest. You can also walk a 3/4 mile trail around the rim of the butte and peer into the center of the cinder cone. I took my time wandering around, admiring the mountain vista one last time on my Central Oregon trip, rejoicing that I’d had the opportunity to be here this week, reflecting on the Majestic Creator who displays His majesty through snow-covered peaks. For reasons I don’t understand, He is good to me.

outside the Lava Lands Visitor Center

I headed back down the butte to check out the visitor center and lava field trails before making my way back to Washington. The sun was high overhead and the temperature near 80, warm enough to make me wish for a moment that I could hitch a ride back down the hill with Patience-and-Serendipity. (I’m just kidding, everyone — I promise I never, ever hitchhike. Not in America, at least.)

Goodbye, Central Oregon. It’s been real.

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North of Bend

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On the third evening of my stay at the yurt in Tumalo State Park, I was joined by a dear friend from the Tri-Cities, Marilyn. It turned out that she needed to pick up her grandson in Central Oregon the same week that I would be there camping, so she called and asked if she could come see me there and check out the yurt. Of course I welcomed the company and told her to bring a sleeping bag along and stay the night — the yurt sleeps five, so there was plenty of room.

Marilyn is originally from Portland but knows all of Oregon very well, and since the day I arrived in the Northwest, she has been my travel consultant — but this was the first chance we had to actually do some touring together. I was more than happy to let her take the driver’s seat and show me around. It’s easier to crane your neck and look at all the glory of Creation surrounding you if you don’t have to worry that you might run your car off the road over a cliff.

Our first stop was the Lava Lands Visitor Center in the Deschutes National Forest 15 miles south of Bend, but we learned upon arrival that they were closed until the next day. After my drive on the Cascade Lakes Byway the day before, I really wanted to stop and see a lava field up close, so I decided it would be worth it to drive out of my way to come back to Lava Lands when they opened again (look for that blog post tomorrow) — how on earth could I drive all the way back to Washington without seeing the lava fields and the fire lookout tower on Lava Butte up close and personal?

From there, Marilyn drove us back north of Bend to the Crooked River Gorge, 9 miles north of Redmond, not far from Smith Rock State Park outside Terrebonne. I happened to be looking down at something in the car when she pulled onto the bridge on Highway 97 that crosses the gorge, and when I looked up I saw we were 300 feet over the river at the bottom of the gorge. I gasped out loud — some of you may know that I’m afraid of heights and of bridges in particular (remember my Capilano Suspension Bridge story?), and I wasn’t quite prepared to find myself in that spot. Truly breath-taking. We stopped for a while to walk around on the old two-lane bridge. This photo is of the nearby railroad bridge over the gorge, and you can’t see it because of the angle of the sun and the color of the sky at that time of day, but the Three Sisters of the Cascade Range are sticking their heads up over the bridge.

the Crooked River Gorge

Next, we headed further north towards the town of Madras and the Cove Palisades State Park, where the Crooked River flows into Lake Billy Chinook, and you can stand on the edge of the cliffs and look down into the water hundreds of feet below, or miles and miles into the distance at Mt Hood, Mt Jefferson, Three Fingered Jack, the Three Sisters, and Broken Top.

Broken Top and the Three Sisters from the Cove Palisades

By this time I was feeling like old friends with the peaks of the Cascades. Each time I saw them from a different vantage point was a reunion of sorts.

view of Mt Hood from the Cove Palisades

Thank you, Marilyn, for making my day.

another view of Mt Hood

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Cascade Lakes Byway

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On my recent writing retreat in Bend, Oregon, I spent part of one afternoon driving the Cascade Lakes Byway, proclaimed (by whom?) to be one of the top ten scenic byways in the U.S. I would have to agree that it’s in my own personal top ten — but have I even been on more than ten scenic byways? It’s hard to say.

The drive starts out with Mount Bachelor, majestic and spectacular in all its snow-covered glory. I don’t know why it is that snow-covered peaks are majestic, whereas rocky ones are rugged and jungle-covered ones are lush, but that’s just the way it is — there is no other word for the Cascades but majestic.

Now, I read before going on the drive that just around the bend from Mount Bachelor I would pass a lake with a perfect reflection of Mount Bachelor that rivals that first glimpse of the mountain in its majesty. I cannot attest to the veracity of this claim, however, having made my drive in the middle of June, when many of the lakes on the north end of the byway are still covered in snow.

Sparks Lake

I’m sure the drive would be all the more breath-taking later in summer when these lakes are no longer frozen, but this Texas girl is still impressed with vast expanses of snow that locals to this area might not find all that interesting. It was such a treat to me to drive along a road with plowed snow packed to within a couple feet of my lane.

near Mt Bachelor, on the Cascade Lakes Byway
- snow in June!

Elk Lake was the first of the lakes I came to that wasn’t covered in snow or frozen. The views of the mountains weren’t as stunning as I would have hoped, with a layer of clouds settling in over the peaks, but I took what I could get.

Elk Lake

Several miles on, I came to what I think might have been part of Crane Prairie Reservoir. This is the best I could get on my phone’s camera without distorting the picture — the white birds in this photo are cranes (or pelicans or storks, I honestly don’t know, I’m sort of making this up) hanging out with some Canadian geese.

waterfowl

After I took this picture, I noticed a huge dark bird circling directly over my head. It perched in a tree right above me and didn’t take off again until I began to drive away. I got a good look at its white throat and belly and consulted the North American bird app on my phone (don’t laugh — it’s come in handy several times, except as far as cranes go, but that’s a topic for another blog post) to decide that it was an osprey. I swear it winked at me as I headed on down the byway.

Somewhere along in that stretch of road, you begin to see miles and miles of lava fields — lava flow frozen in time. Miles and miles of black lava. It’s fascinating to think of the volcanos that produced this rock, once burning hot, now solidified in a 100-foot tall river of rock.

There you have it. Go drive the Cascade Lakes Byway the next chance you get.

(Still to come: North of Bend, Lava Butte, and the Painted Hills)

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Writing Retreat in Bend, Oregon

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As I said in my previous post, I booked a yurt in Central Oregon for a little writing getaway and had to take the only reservation available between June and October. In my mind, June is late enough in the year to qualify as summer, but my mind still isn’t used to winters in the Northwest — winters that last longer than mid February, like I grew up knowing in Texas. So last week’s trip to Wallowa Lake got snowed out, and I regrouped for Bend this week.

Oregon, oh you wonderful, beautiful, amazing Oregon, I cannot begin to decide on a favorite spot in all the state. I have a deep fondness for the coast and for the Columbia River Gorge, but now Bend and Central Oregon are competing for my affections. I couldn’t have picked a better spot for a writing retreat, and thankfully the weather cooperated this time around. I spent four days camping in a yurt at Tumalo State Park on the Deschutes River just outside of Bend — it was a little more crowded and noisier than Ft Stevens was in early April, but it proved to be perfect nevertheless. Easy access to town, to gas and food, to the highways and byways leading to all the glorious wonders of our Creator’s creation nearby.

the Deschutes River at Tumalo State Park

I got to have dinner the first evening with friends I hadn’t seen in a few years, and they showered me with recommendations and maps and tour information for the remainder of my time. Look for a post on Cascade Lakes Byway soon, a spectacular driving tour I wouldn’t have taken if it weren’t for their suggestion. They also gave me a copy of a guide for a walking tour in historic downtown Bend — and unlike some towns that claim “historic” downtown areas, I felt Bend actually qualified, with its architecture dating to the early twentieth century and its ties to the Oregon lumber mill industry. (Random facts gleaned from the Heritage Walk info: Clark Gable once worked at the Brooks-Scanlon mill, and Amelia Earhart’s home with her husband G.P. Putnam is on the tour.)

Drake Park in Bend, Oregon

For a good 360-degree view of Bend, the desert and Blue Mountains to the east, and the snow covered peaks of the Cascades to the west, I walked up Pilot Butte one afternoon. Don’t make the mistake, like I did, of calling it a “mountain” to a local. I guess it’s bigger than a hill but doesn’t qualify as a mountain when you’re in sight of the Three Sisters, Mt Washington, Mt Bachelor, and the like. Whatever you call it, it’s a good way to get an overview of the surrounding areas, with great interpretive displays (and a restroom, for the record) at the summit.

And lest I be accused of just gallivanting around Oregon every chance I get, I actually did write each morning in my yurt. I kept my regular writing schedule, working breakfast to lunch time, and put more words on the page each day than I had been averaging the previous week. A productive and beneficial writing retreat, indeed.

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Clams vs Oysters

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At some point on my birthday/Easter road trip with my friend Jen — I think it was somewhere after wine tasting but before going crazy on cheese and fudge at the Tillamook factory — one or the other of us asked the question, “What is the difference between clams and oysters?”

Is there a difference? Seafood varieties are an important question when you’re on the Oregon coast. And we needed to know if clams and oysters are basically the same creature with two names, or if there’s really something else going on here in the mollusk world.

To satisfy our curiosity and put an end to this conundrum, Jen pulled out her iPhone — because, really, what’s a road trip these days without an iPhone? She googled “What is the difference between clams and oysters?” and was led to this brilliant page on the Big Site of Amazing Facts: “What is the difference between oysters and clams?” Slightly different from our original question, but as you can see, more or less getting to the gist of our quandary.

Now, the true brilliance in the link Jen discovered is not just the answer given in the brief article: “Both clams and oysters are a class of mollusks, called bivalves….

“One big difference between oysters and clams is that the oyster spends all of its life except its first few weeks attached to one spot. The clam moves itself around throughout its life by means of a foot, a hatchet-shaped muscle which protrudes from the shell.

“The clam pushes its foot out, hooks it in the sand, and pulls itself along. Oysters have a foot like this when they are very young, but it disappears when the oyster finds a place to settle.”

This answer was perfectly adequate to cover what we wanted to know: yes, in fact, there is a difference between clams and oysters. However, the true joy of the link is in the comments. I’ll let you scroll down on the site to read them all for yourself, but suffice it to say that people are amusing. And demanding of their anonymous internet sources.

Getting past the whiners, there are a couple of priceless comments that helped sum up part of the lessons Jen and I had been discussing as we read Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s The Wisdom of Stability (see my review from last year) during our road trip. I know it’s a leap to get from mollusks to a book by Wilson-Hartgrove, but hang with me here.

“Oysters are much cooler than clams. Oysters know what they want from life and are comfortable just the way they are. Clams are always running around seeking an identity. The only good place for a clam is in my chowder. Who’s with me? Oyster supporters unite! Oyster crackers rule!”

And then another commenter: “by the way for the clam vs. oyster, i think clams are MUCH cooler than oysters. i mean, who likes sitting around in the same spot all day? not me! though i agree the clam’s right place to be is in my chowder.”

Right there you have a nugget — a pearl, if you will, haha — of telling insight. Some people are oysters, some people are clams. Wilson-Hartgrove makes a fair case in favor of oysters. There’s something to be said for being certain of your identity, settling down and sticking to one spot, finding stability within a place and a people.

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Yurt Camping on Easter

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When Jen and I first started talking about taking a little trip to Oregon this spring, we intended to backpack along the Pacific Crest Trail for a few days. Until we realized 1) it’s cold in Oregon in the spring and 2) we don’t have backpacking gear. I do, however, have friends in the Tri-Cities who are happy to loan me the gear for car camping, so we decided to switch tactics.

We further switched plans when the date for our trip got closer and it was still in the mid-30s overnight, raining, and windy in the Columbia River Gorge. Not the kind of weather I want for tent camping. The Oregon State Parks website, though, informed us that we had another option for camping on the coast: rustic yurts. These are sturdy shelters modeled after those used by nomads in Turkey and Mongolia, and they’re perfect for a camping trip where you (read: I) are feeling too lazy to put up a tent or too coddled to sleep in the cold. They’ve shown up in parks and campgrounds across the U.S., but Oregon in particular has been a popular place for yurts. I, for one, am now a huge fan of yurts.

Here are a few photos from our yurt at Ft Stevens State Park in Oregon:

Behold: the yurt.

 

one angle inside the yurt

 

another angle inside the yurt

 

making coffee outside the yurt

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