Well, the blogger is back up and here is the highlight of the first week of our recent vacation. But before that, some sad news. Ermina Henderson passed away and her funeral is tomorrow.

Steens Mountain Hike
The first rays of bright, golden sunlight streamed through the blinds about the same
time that the daily wind picked up. Our next-door neighbors chirped happily, as they
flew through the air, because of the abundance of mosquitos. At first light, dozens of
cliff swallows began their swoop and scoop show.

I’d like to say that we also leapt out of bed at first light, but that would not be true.
Anticipation for the day ran high, but while the spirit is willing... We did eventually roll
out of bed, get our stuff together and out the door we went.

The sun grows ever more intense, bathing our home away from home in a wash of light
as it sits in the middle of a rocky, weedy field. Yes, this is where you get away from it
all, even trees or any tall vegetation. But you give up something and you get
something back. In this case, the dividend was mosquitos--swarms of them. It’s ready,
set, go out the door and run for the truck before you get bitten too many times. Back
and forth, from truck to trailer, then spend the next half hour swatting all those that
came in with you.

But today, we plan to rise above the swarms, literally. Our destination is the Steens
Mountain Loop Road, the road that takes you within a few feet of the summit of Steens
Mountain, at 9733 feet. Unfortunately, it is only early June, so very unlikely that the
road will actually be open all the way to the summit. We have a Plan B, which is to go
as far as we can, then hike the rest of the way to the Kiger Gorge.

It is a forty mile drive to Frenchglen and we feel the webs in our feet start to crack and
fade as the dryness of the area takes hold. We acclimatize once again to the strange
terrain of sagebrush surrounding marsh land and begin to recall the birds that had
become familiar on our last trip: the white faced ibises that look like cormorants in flight,
the yellow headed blackbirds with their strangled song, the black terns that look more
sooty than black. It’s been two years since we were here, but it does not look like
anything has changed. It seems that time has stopped here.

In “downtown” Frenchglen we turn off the highway on to the gravel road and look east
as the Steens completely fills the view. After a few miles we come to the junction at
Page Springs where the sign gives us the not-unexpected news: “Road Condition:
Closed at Gate 2.” Looks like we go with Plan B.

The road starts to slope upward and as now experienced gravel road drivers, we speed
up to about 40 miles an hour so that we can’t feel the washboards. As we climb, we
begin to see trees again and one lonely pronghorn antelope. For a road that we have
only driven once before (okay twice, once up and once down) things look surprisingly
familiar.

We bypass Lily Lake where we ate lunch two years ago. And then the Fish Lake
Campground turnoff. Sure enough, not far past Fish Lake, the big yellow gate just
before Jackman Park ends our vehicle trip. We scramble out of the truck and prepare
for the hike.

Just around the corner where we leave the truck we look across and down into to the
small woods that is the Jackman Park campground. Here it is June and the place is
totally deserted. Of course we are at about 8,000 feet and everything would have to be
packed in because of the gate, but hey, where are all the hardy campers?

After rounding the hollow of Jackman Park we begin climbing. We discover this is not
an easy task at this elevation. It requires a few more stops for breath than we might
otherwise do. But onward and upward, then a slight downward, where there is another
small grove of deciduous trees and a sign telling about the Basque sheepherders who
used to work the mountain. Just past the sign, we come across our first large expanse
of snow that completely covers the road. We skirt the edge of the snow, drawing near
to a bubbly creek that has formed from the snow melt. We continue climbing and are
surprised to see a family of three overtaking us. (They were probably from Colorado
and used to the elevation.) They have the same goal-to reach the Kiger Gorge. Brief
pleasantries and they marched on ahead of us.

The view is tremendous on one side while the mountain looms on the other. Patches of
snow cling here and there on the dark rock face of the mountain, while the vegetation is
still spring green. We skirt the Little Blitzen Gorge. We encounter a few more snowy
areas, some of which we are forced to walk through. The sun off the snow is so bright
that our eyes have to readjust after leaving the snow. I catch some movement up on
the ridge as high as we can see, three pronghorn antelope pause to look at us before
bounding over the top of the ridge.

After walking for a few hours, Cal is starting to feel light-headed–presumably the effects
of the altitude. We decide to stop for lunch, sitting on some rocks for awhile and being
visited by some horned larks. We decide to continue for a ways, but soon Cal is feeling
poorly again, especially when we come to another hill where the road is covered with
snow.

We discuss whether to turn back at that point but Cal decides he will wait for me while I
climb the ridge to see if I can get an idea of how close we are to our goal. I slush
through the snow to a dry spot off the road and climb up. Upon reaching the top of the
ridge, I can see the road continuing on and scan ahead with my binoculars. Wait!
There’s a sign! I can’t quite make it out. I try to yell down to Cal, but the distance and
the breeze must block the sound because he doesn’t even look up.

The ridge drops away and I have to return to the slushy road to continue on. As I try to
get back to the road, my feet sink in knee deep for a few steps, but then I reach the
road and the snow is packed and not so deep. I walk another hundred yards to be
sure, but yes, the sign says “Kiger Gorge, 1/4 mile.” I trot back down the road until I
reach the snow, then carefully pick my way down the hill. Good sport that he is, Cal
agrees to continue on. Just as we crest the hill, we see our fellow hikers making their
way back toward us.

When we meet again, they tell us that it is definitely worth the effort to go. One more
minor hill, then we reach the turnoff to the gorge. Just as we are about to turn down,
we hear a huge rumble. We turn and look in the direction of the noise just in time to
see a fighter jet appear over summit of the mountain and then plunge over the sheer
east side. A few seconds later, another jet follows. Quite bizarre to see in the middle
of nowhere.

The road levels off and even starts downhill where we reach a small gravel parking
area. As we approach, we can get a preview of what is to come, but then we reach the
edge of the gorge and just stare. Hundreds of feet below, a small stream churns and
drops, surrounded by aspens and a green U-shaped valley. The other side of the
gorge looms even higher than where we stand. Giant banks of snow are corniced at
the top of the gorge looking like big chunks may drop at any moment. Small streams
pass us and disappear under the snow banks, presumably forming tremendous
waterfalls over the edge of the cliff. We hold tight to our hats, the wind here could carry
them away to never be seen again.

It felt like the top of the world, except that we could see that the mountain was still
higher. We plot our next trip that will have to be later in the summer when we can drive
the road–and zoom over the miles that we trudged.
posted by Cathy Crandall at 6:18 PM