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.

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.)

Shellburg Falls (1st hike of the 33)

This adventure began with a wrong turn. Those who know me, know that I have a tendency to get lost. However, just as I lose my way I learn to find it again, though not always by turning back. That's how this morning began. I turned early off the highway onto the road I knew I was to take. My old car chugged up the hill groaning a bit at the incline. Well past the 1.3 mile spot where the trailhead should have been the country side was covered with golden grasses, isolated country homes and aging barns. Not a trickle or stream in sight. Without them a waterfall seemed unlikely. I contemplated my wrong turn and considered doubling back. The road had risen up the ridge and the vista with hills glowing in the morning sun seemed more appropriate than the raging tunnel of the highway. I rightly assumed that the road I had taken must wind back down to the spot where I should have turned.

Tucked into the rolling Santiam foothills off Highway 22 on the way up into the Cascades is Shellburg Falls. From the five car parking lot on Fern Ridge Rd. with a bent day-use recreation sign I headed up the gravel road. At 9:30am it was already warm and humid. The sky wasn't quite blue, but streaked with a bright cottony haze. The road passed through overgrown fields lined with tall and overgrown Christmas tress. I had been hoping for a myriad of wildflowers dotting the roadside, instead a few blackberry brambles, some Queen Anne's lace, an occasional thistle and a bright yellow flower shaped like miniature daisies were all that noticed. Despite it being the first weekend in August, the blackberries, with the exception of those right close to the trailhead, had not yet ripened. Gravel crunched under my feet and beads of sweat began rolling down my temples less than half a mile up the way. The smell of drying grass hung in the air. Occasional cattle grids in the road caused me to step more carefully.

Soon I passed a grove of five to six foot Christmas trees all lined up perfectly. It seemed a great place to play hide and seek, if I were younger. After that point trees and forest more closely lined the road, offering more shade, but little relief from the humidity. My GPS indicated that the official trail had not yet been reached and I fought the urge to wander off on the paths leading off into the woods. When I first caught glimpse of the forest boundary sign, I let out a little whoop eager to escape the crushing sound of gravel under foot, but it was few tenths of a mile too soon. Just about where William Sullivan's guide book said it would be, there appeared a trail marker and signboard. Unfortunately, some vandalous hiker had removed all of the signs from the board. I gave myself a pat on the back for having grabbed a copy of the trail map at the trailhead.


Here I paused to snap a few pictures out to the south, a landscape of seemingly infinite mountains. With the light and the haze, only at certain angles did the photographs appear to have any depth to them. I pondered how many climbable peaks there may be out there, and what treasures they might hide. Then I drank down a good portion of water and ascended the shored up stairs behind the trail marker. Not but a few steps down the path the sensation of sticky spiderwebs clinging to my limbs sent me into a semi frenzied dance. I'd free myself only to take a few more steps and begin the dance again. I couldn't help but wonder when the last person had trekked up that trail.

Almost too quickly a sign post for the lower falls came into view. I scrambled down to the lookout point through more spiderwebs. The thought had occurred to me that I might arrive to find a dry waterfall. after all, the last rains were already erased from my memory. Record temperatures had oppressed us for nearly a week. The trickling of water gave me hope, that I had not come to see an imaginary cascade, but that in fact there might be something tangible there. Water was indeed falling, but it was falling like from a shower head with weak pressure. More impressive than the water, was the giant rock formation over which it tumbled.



After a short scramble down to the puddle beneath the falls I decided to continue on my trek. I had forgotten that the trail description had mentioned how the path cut under the boulder behind the waterfall. The view was beautiful with the sunlight catching on the water so it fell like shards of crystal. However, soon the realization that tons of rock were balanced above my head and a decent earthquake might change the shape of the local scenery, squashing me in the process, sent me scurrying out from under the outcropping.

Once above the falls I walked happily, briefly imagining that everyone else in the world had disappeared. There was no work to return to, no stores to shop at, no farmers, no restaurants, civilization was suddenly gone. And for a few moments, it didn't disturb me. For that brief period of time, I was willing to eke out a livelihood there in the forest. As soon as the path ended at the upper trailhead I sighed, not relieved, but accepting.

Once again I was dumped on a gravel road to trek back down to my vehicle. Had I paid a bit more attention to the legend on the trail map, I might have taken a more picturesque, perhaps even longer, trail part way back. Instead, I crunched on down the gravel road, the upper portion dotted with slowly withering purple foxglove.

Trail distance R/T: 4.3 miles according to my GPS, but it cut out for a little bit around the waterfall. Sullivan lists it as a 4.8 mile loop.

I found this trail thanks to William L. Sullivan's 100 Hikes in the Central Oregon Cascades (3rd ed.)

Drift Creek Falls

The temperature in the valley is beginning to reflect the summer season. The mercury is climbing upward, so A, his dog and I gladly clambered into his car and migrated to the coast for a few hours. The heat was already pushing 80 as we raced out 22. As the elevation climbed we threw glaces at the in cabin thermometer. It dropped a few degrees as the miles passed.

At Devil's Lake near Lincoln City we checked out prices for renting kayaks. The sun shimmered on the water's surface, but we didn't stay. We wanted to save that adventure for another day.

A few miles further at the coast fog nestled up to the shore. We stopped to introduce A's dog to the Pacific. They'd never met before and she wasn't too sure she liked its cold salty waves.


After a stop for lunch we sought out the road to Drift Creek Falls. Our directions were one step short of accurate, but after a few tries we found the way. Blue skies and sunshine welcomed us. It was a long trek up gravel forest roads lined with foxglove before we reached the trailhead.


The trail was easy though a bit crowded. Near the end was the 200 foot suspension bridge that crossed the creek. A few minutes further down the trail and we reached the creek just below the waterfall. Bugs attacked me on arrival. As I moved closer to the waterfall their pestering lessened. We splashed around in the water while A's dog watched the small fish swimming between the rocks.

The hike back, though not strenuous seemed much longer. The drive back to the coast was much shorter. And the coast was still shrouded in fog. We stopped for dinner to watch the sunset, but the fog was too thick and the wind was cold. Once back in the valley where we live, the heat hugged the earth hours after sunset. We wished we could have smuggled back some of the cooler weather like the bags of taffy we brought back from the coast.

Chasing Waterfalls and Smelling Roses

Rounding out two months in a new location I thought it was time for a new hiking adventure. The weather was cooperative today with cool, crisp air and a clear blue autumn sky. After spending nearly $50 on a tank of gas with the gas gauge extended beyond full, I was ready to drive my old car anywhere the roads would take me. I decided on a trip to Silver Falls because there is always something magical about a waterfall. What it is about them that mesmerizes us, draws us out in masses I cannot explain; but anywhere I've lived waterfalls have coaxed dollars out of peoples pockets time and time again. Why does gravity at work fascinate us so?

I debated stopping at the bank bank first. I knew that the state park required a $3 day use fee and I had less than one in change. My feet, however, were eager to trample through the mud and convinced me that I could find one somewhere along the 25 mile route to the falls. No need to drive three miles in the wrong direction I reasoned. Ha!

That warm sun and a fully functioning heater kept me toasty and smiling. Driving on out of town I sang along to my favorite country stations, selecting songs happy and upbeat like "All American Girl". The speed limit creeped up as I rolled on out. 25 mph and I was still shivering. 30 and I was just praying the car would make it up the steep hill. Forty and I started looking for some sign of a bank, but there wasn't one. 45 and I thought maybe I should have stopped at Walmart because they would at least give me cash back. 55 and I just hoped that there would be an AMT in one of the towns along the way. At that seven mile turn off I looked out at nothing but fields and an empty road. I considered turning back, but optimistically pushed forward. At the first junction with a road leading elsewhere I turned right and raced 55mph toward a settlement of 3,000 people. If there was a bank, I didn't see it. There was a grocery store. So I bought some water and apples, (good for hiking), and a cucumber to take home to my falafels. As I went to pay with my new debit card I forgot the pin number, but it didn't matter I wasn't going to be able to get cash back anyway. So that was three miles out of the way to make a tastier falafel when I meant to be hiking.

Back on the road to the country highway I debated turning back again, but rationalized against it by telling myself there was one more even bigger town along the way. So I sped through the sunshine until I saw that sign for my next detour. The Oregon countryside, hilly and green, spread out like a hundred other views, more ordinary than the short rolling hills of Wisconsin and none dotted with fences and horse pastures so familiar in the hilly Kentucky countryside. The occasional Christmas tree farm reminded me that beautiful bright days like this are coming to an end and maybe, just maybe, we'll have snow this year. As I continued, I wondered what it was about my driving that caused my engine light to turn on and off at random intervals even after it had just been reset. A good twelve miles later, the town finally emerged from behind a clump of tall dark green trees at the top of a hill. Unfortunately, when I reached the center of town I turned the only way I could on a one way street. It was unfortunate because I soon realized I was at the end of town, any ATM there might be was definitely behind me, and I couldn't find a street to turn left onto. Finally, I did, and had to share the narrow space with a large black truck going the other way.

Headed back into town I still couldn't locate an ATM. As I was about to turn left to head back up that one way street I saw a sign for a grocery store ahead of me, so I changed my mind and my lane. But as I was about to pull into the parking lot, I remembered that they too do not give cash back, so there was no need to buy more stuff there to romance up my falafels. Instead I turned into a fast food place, ate, and mentally regrouped for my ATM hunt. Again behind the wheel I still couldn't find one. I was doing 27-30 in a 25 zone despite trying to go slower and there was a cop in my rear view mirror. Frustration had me unwilling to care, I figured he could go ahead an pull me over, maybe then at least he could give me directions to an ATM too. Instead, after following me for several blocks, he disappeared from my mirror when it seemed there was no place to go. Having passed another supermarket I stopped and turned my car around on a narrow road with ditches on either side. This time I loaded up on enchilada sauce and shoe polish, proudly getting my cash back!

With two crisp tens rubbing against each other in my wallet I motivated my little car up the hills back to that main road. As I go closer to the state park, I found more people set on the same adventure. The car two spots ahead of me set the pace for the slalom into the park. At the entrance to the parking lot I happily got in the long line of cars leading up to the ranger booth. I was going to go hiking! I didn't even mind paying for it. But then, I noticed that people weren't paying at the booth. They were using the automatic machine. No big deal, I thought. That is, until I saw the sign that they only took ones and fives. I could have risked putting my ten in, but didn't want to. I made a u-turn around the empty booth and checked my change, but no there really wasn't enough. Briefly, it occurred to me that I might just park without paying and risk getting caught. After coming all this way, it was disappointing to turn around. I wasn't about to give up just yet. So I went back out to the road and further down in search of another alternative. A few miles down there a smaller parking lot appeared. Needing to use the facilities, I parked and got in line to use the smelly, sink-less outhouse style toilet. Under other circumstances I might not have, but well, sometimes you use what you find. Next to the same was another automated parking machine, unwilling to accept anything other than ones and fives. So I shuffled back to my car shivering at the chill still stiffening the air like starch on a shirt collar.

I figured there must still be some place where a real human being would happily accept my Mr. Hamilton. If anywhere, there ought to be someone at the campground entrance. As I tried to pull back onto the road from the outhouse experience, a car came rushing down the blind hill honking angrily at me for pulling out in front of it. In all fairness, I couldn't seen it when I started; it only appeared in my rearview mirror. Annoyed already, that honk pushed the last button I had to push. At the first chance, I pulled off the road and was thanked with another angry honk. I sat there for a moment fuming, mentally throwing pebbles at the little red car zipping away. I know it isn't nice, but I figure if they felt inclined to honk twice they'd given me a few new not-so-nice names and modified them with a few unnecessary expletives.

Eventually I got out of the car and headed over to the fence to grab my only glimpse of a waterfall. Gravity in motion.

Back in my car I ventured over to the campground and once again found a closed up booth, this time without even an automated pay machine. That was enough for me. I could have just gone on and not paid. Probably most people out there would have, and no doubt they think I'm stupid to drive around in circles and then leave without getting any exercise, but that is exactly what I did.

When I got home I walked over to the large park two blocks from my apartment and took a half an hour walk around it. That worked off most of my frustration. Then I stopped in the rose garden section because I felt I really needed to stop and smell the roses. Fall really does seem to be coming. Most of the blooms are post peak, with bleached, withering petals and a thickening carpet of them on the ground. But there was still was still beauty there. I wished I had brought my camera. I sniffed around, but only found one type of rose with a deep, intoxicating fragrance. It was pale yellow with a blushing pink on the petal tips. Beautiful and seductively innocent. Cliche as it sounds, after a long annoying drive to nowhere two whiffs of that rose made it a not-bad day.