Hiking map: Hikes taken so far...

View 33 Hikes in a larger map

Nineteen down, fourteen to go.

North Loop Silver Falls (hike 7 of 33)

4.10 miles RT

There is something quite gratifying about starting a hike out with a short jaunt to a waterfall with the prospect of finding others later on down the trail. So began this afternoon hike. Almost immediately the rush of the northern falls pounded down in front of me. Continuing on behind the waterfall, I emerged to a fine mist of rain.


I left home late and the sky, though grey, had not yet given way to rain. Despite the light rain near the beginning I was happy to continue with the perfume of autumn tickling me at each squeeching step through the mud.

I miss the yellow glow of early autumn. Nevertheless, I am not disappointed by the view. The barren branches open up the landscape revealing new perspectives otherwise hidden.


I could have looped back sooner, but I was nowhere near ready to head back. The promise of several more waterfalls packed together in the next mile made the detour inevitable, and worthwhile.



Winter Falls, the final waterfall of my hike, had more water cascading down it than I had ever seen in my previous trips around the southern loop. At times, it is a pathetic trickle hardly worth the steep switchbacks from the turnout at the canyon rim.

The only downside to this hike was that the last mile shadowed the road and the view from the rim trail did not feed my imagination with the richness of the canyon floor.

Sawmill Falls, Opal Creek, and Jawbone Flats (hike 6 of the 33)

It was supposed to be a 4 mile round trip hike. We were only going to Sawmill Falls. That was all I meant for us to do. I knew A was not keen on long or strenuous hikes and I wanted to respect that. Otherwise he might skip hiking with me altogether and that would be less fun. So we only meant go to the falls and come back. But somehow in scanning over the directions I missed a few key bits of information. In the end, our four mile hike became a 7.1 mile hike.



We parked at the gate near the end of the gravel road, put on an extra layer of clothing that the cooler weather now requires, and started down the wide dusty trail. I kept expecting it to branch off onto a smaller more typical forest trail, but not emerged. Steadily we climbed up. The incline was not so strenuous as to require us to stop for breaks, yet there were no real disruption from the calf burning slant to the road.

The remains of the old mill littered the side of the trail. We scouted them out and followed the sound of rushing water down to the waterfall. There was no sign, but we follow a small path through some bushes. A found his way out to a rocky outcropping and his dog eagerly followed him. I on the other hand, stayed away from the wet rocks enjoying the view from a safe distance. I've noticed a pattern here. He'll stand out on the edge, even hang from the side of a cliff to take in a view or capture a picture, while I take a step back for every inch I think he's gone too far. I've sometimes wondered if I'm not taking enough chances, if I'm missing something by being afraid of the edges. But then, I'm still getting out there, enjoying the view, finding new places to explore. Sure, I once missed the view of a waterfall for not hanging over the edge of a cliff, but if I had fallen off, it would have been my last.

Back to our hike. After a quite break for each of us to ponder the waterfall, nature, and anything else that flitted across our minds we decided to continue on. This is where I misread the directions. I thought that we could cross the foot bridge and loop back to the car. Well we did, but it didn't return back to the car. Rather it continued along the creek further up into the canyon. We enjoyed the ferns by the trail side and the more trail-like path to walk upon, so we didn't comment on how the trail never veered back in the other direction.


We took a break to enjoyed some sunshine on rocks in the creek. I wiggled my toes in my new hiking boots, thankful to have them on. A stretched out on a smoothed exposed rock in the middle of the creek while I sat on a large rock near the edge. It was starting to sink in that the trail was not doubling back, that either we would have to turn back or continue on for the entire loop. The warmth of the sun and the rush of the creek relaxed us and the concern flowed away.

Back on the trail, the sun was fading behind the trees and the canyon slopes. The air felt crisp. We passed several cleared spaces for back packers and I thought it would be nice to stop and camp for the evening. But the idea of packing in all of our gear made me glad to just be passing through. Soon my hip right hip began to ache. I was shivering. A started looking down at the creek for a place where we might safely cross to the other side and regain the wide road. We saw a building on the other side and figured it must be part of the village of Jawbone Flats. It meant that the bridge must be close, but I still had no idea how much further. A wanted to continue and I to turn back. He figured that we would make much better time on the other side with the wider road. So we pressed on.

Not but ten minutes further up the path the Opal Creek bridge appeared and we slowly started on back through the remnants of the old mining town. We stopped at a shelter to rest a bit, but the cool air and an eagerness to keep moving encouraged me to persuade A to get going again. It all seemed deserted. There was even a row of useless rusting cars. But then we walked into a clearing of cabins and a few people. I no longer felt like I'd survived the apocalypse. The trip back down to the car passed quickly, though my leg muscles began to ache with the steady downhill trudge.


Reflecting back the hike wasn't bad, but we did start out too late to hike it comfortably. I'd like to do it again on a warm summer day and take time to relish splashing around in the beautiful clear water.

Peavy Arboretum - Loop 36/Powder House (hike 5 of the 33)

I woke up to a dreary day off work with grey sky as far as I could see. No clouds outline, just a smooth infinite grey. The urge to stay curled up in bed was strong, but the desire to take advantage of a day off finally took over. My plan was to head southwest where I hoped the skies were clearer.

Nearly there, the clouds appeared to clear in the west but still strangled the sky above me. I pulled into the parking lot and the clouds showed the promise of parting.

After checking out the signboards at the trailhead, I turned back to look at my old car. It sat there turquoise and beaten and I hoped it would still have the wherewithal to carry me home at the end of my hike.

The map I picked up at the signboard looked confusing and I wasn't too sure about the intersecting trails. The first bit was up a wide gravel forest road. My first wrong turn came about as soon as one could be taken. A good twenty yards up suspecting a mistake I turned back and continued up the first road. At a small cabin I found the beginning of the footpath.

Most of the first 3 miles continued slowly, steadily uphill. The sun burned through the clouds but the forest provided a shady cover. I stopped for a packed lunch on a bench. It was difficult to determine how far I had traveled in relation to the map. Much further than I had anticipated, the path dove downward and I broke into a trot, my backpack thumping on my back. Mostly I hoped that I was not lost and that the hike would not be too much longer than I had expected. It seemed doubtful that the trail was as short as my book claimed. A few crossings of the forest road on the back side of the hill and a clearing appeared.

The foundations of an old powder house sat near the beginning of the clearing. However, after so much time under the heavy boughs of the forest I was eager to jump back out into the sunshine and capture the view with my camera. A few sparse trees stretched upward fencing off the farmland in the valley below and the distant peaks of the Coast Range. When I had my fill of warming rays, I headed further on the trail and back into the woods. The trail weaved down more steeply into a lush gully and I imagined how vibrant and varied the colors would be in autumn.

Only when I reached Lake Cronemiller did I feel certain that the hike was nearly over. Fifteen minutes later I had passed the locked cabin and shuffled down the forest road to my waiting car. Despite leaving it unlocked it was still there to carry me home. The route home ,though less than thirty miles, saw the reemergence of the clouds. A grey blanket greeted me in town hiding all evidence of the blue skies that shone all afternoon over the McDonald-Dunn forest.


Distance: 4.98 (from the parking area)

I found this hike in William L. Sullivan's 100 Hikes/Travel Guide Oregon Coast & Coast Range.

Olallie Lake (4th hike of 33)

A actually wanted to go with me, so my plan to go up something became a plan to go around something. We drove up miles of gravel roads to a beautiful mountain lake. Along the way we passed a dozen or so people taking advantage of the opportunity to haul their own firewood out of the forest. A few chainsaws buzzed as the the 1pm shutoff deadline neared. When the long gravel roads finally dumped us off in the crest trail parking lot, we parked and rushed across the road for our first look at the lake. The deep blue of Olallie Lake in front of Mt. Jefferson towering in a cloudless blue sky made me let out a sigh of joy. Pictures cannot justly capture the excitement of catching that first glimpse warm sun shining on a beautiful clear lake in the foreground of a shining snow-capped mountain standing tall in a blue sky.

The trail was harder to find than it seemed it would be. It meandered through a campground sometimes fading between campsites. After twenty minutes or so, we finally cleared the tents and followed a trail right along the edge of the lake. A identified huckleberries growing along the side of the trail, mostly well picked over, but enough still on the bushes to pick snacks along the way. We determined to pick some on the way back in order to sweeten our pancake mix.

About a mile in we entered the remnants of a forest fire. I imagined we had entered a science fiction story set in an apocalyptic future. A few steps and it was a whole new world. Tin-like towers glistened where trees once stood. The sun shone brighter, and yet a chill ran up my spine. Tall skeletons littered the southern shore freeing up the view of Mt. Jefferson. A was surprised at how slowly the forest was returning. There were a few wildflowers and a occasional tree no higher than my hip. But nearly 10 years after the fire, new growth was not rushing in to replenish the landscape. Maybe we just didn't grasp time the way nature does.

We had originally sought to take an even longer hike with a detour around Monon Lake south of Olallie, but could not identify the trail offshoot once we reached the southern end. Perhaps we were still too much in awe of the bleached steely spikes rising above us to look for the fork. Having reached the furthest point on the lake, we started searching for a shady spot outside the burn area for our picnic lunch. At this point, A voted for the shortest route to return to the car. His dog even conked out for a nap while we took in the view a little longer. After relaxing for a bit we located a great clump of huckleberry bushes on the edge of the southern campground and pilfered their sweet plump berries.

Along the way back A threatened to hitch a ride back to the car. He insisted we follow the main gravel road since it would be faster than retracing our steps on the narrow trail. The lake was more frequently hidden behind the trees and the angle of the sunlight over the mountains left us mostly in the shade. I secretly wished we had gone back the way we had come. By the time we reached the car I was ready to jump in the smaller lake near it to cool off. However my toes tested the water and convinced me that I didn't really want to take that plunge.

The huckleberries made some of the best pancakes I've had in a long time.

Distance: 4 miles

I found this hike in William L. Sullivan's 100 hikes in Northwest Oregon and Southwest Washington.

McDowell Creek Falls

This hike was quite probably too short to count toward my goal of 33 hikes within the next 13 months (only 1.7 miles according to the book). Nevertheless, I found it quite enjoyable to wander through the woods and along a stream searching for these three waterfalls. My goal was actually quite far removed from hiking, it was just a bonus. I wanted some good material to play around with using Microsoft ICE program for photo stitching. Last weekend when I hiked Coffin Mountain I took single shot panoramic photos. As I reviewed them at home, it occurred to me that by now someone must have created a program to take those lovely, but limited, shots and create a giant panorama. Unfortunately, I hadn't done any research on the matter and so I was limited in what I could piece together. This time I went out to get some more hands on experience. Waterfalls, especially tall ones, are difficult to do justice with my tiny Cannon Power Shot, so it all fit together nicely.


Lower McDowell Creek Falls...


Royal Terrace Falls...

Because of the lighting the straight on series of pictures came out looking obviously fake when put together. This side shot looks a bit better.



















Majestic Falls...

And finally, one of the trail. I missed part of the upper sequence so I had to crop it narrowly.

All of these photos were stitched together using Microsoft ICE.

I found directions and information for this hike in William L. Sullivan's 100 Hikes in the Central Oregon Cascades (3rd ed.)

Ankeny National Wildlife Refuge (3rd hike of 33)

I still feel the need to get out and go. Even after a hike up Coffin Mountain. But there's time and distance that make it tiring for me and trying for my car. So I found some place nearby. After driving south and fumbling around the refuge the long way I came upon the egret boardwalk. There was little water to form a marshy much under the elevated walkway. The weather's been too dry. At the end the trail dumped me out into a shelter for bird watching. I looked out into the marshes. One egret in the distance ignored me. I stared at him until I was bored with the lack of interaction.



At my second stop I followed the trail along a string of blackberry bushes. I picked one and it exploded tartly in my mouth. A butterfly fluttered back and forth in front of me, landing on a leaf and looking at me expectantly. So what could I do but grant the beautiful insect his photo shoot?



The trail transformed into raised boardwalk, but the ground beneath it that should have been mucky or swampy was cracked and dry. There were no turtles. There were no ducks. There weren't even birds in the trees as far as I could see. I hurried on to find a vantage point where I might catch sight of something with wings. And right there around a turn on the boardwalk was a tall blue heron standing on the railing 100 feet ahead of me. As soon as he caught sight of me he took off to hide in the marshy field. I scanned the pond for him and his head poked out slightly from the grasses. At the end of the boardwalk I walked north on the mowed path to gain a better view of the heron. He moved slightly but never took flight. Impatient, I continued the walking to the end of the path and then turned to take the trail around the south end of the refuge. The wintering grounds were also very dry. The duck ponds were shrunken, more reeds than actual water.

At the furthest end of the park I spotted a second blue heron wading in a pond. After waiting a few minutes to find out whatever it is that blue herons do my attention waned and my march continued. Grasshoppers now bolted at lightening speed from in front of my path. Cut grass slipped down into my shoes. Occasionally it felt like grasshoppers were jumping down my socks. Shaking my feet occasionally as I continued on I eventually emerged near the blackberry bushes and the grasshoppers returned to hooping through the grass.


distance: 3.35 (with detours)

Again this hike was found thanks to William Sullivan's book 100 Hikes in the Central Oregon Cascades.