RETIREMENT TRIP #7

Interesting Adventures in Oregon

                                                                    It was cold this morning when we got up in Christmas Valley.   Not cool, but cold.  Andy went to the local market for coffee and.

A young man said, “You’re a lot tougher than I am.”  He had on a winter coat.

Andy, dressed in tee shirt and jeans, answered, “No, I’m just dumb.”  Even he agreed it was cold.

By the time we left the motel, the temperature had warmed to 50 degrees.   We would be driving for a while, so shirt sleeves would still suffice.

Historic wooden buildings, remnants of Homesteaders in
the 1900's, are preserved near Fort Rock State Park.

Fort Rock Valley Historical Society Homestead Museum, founded in 1984, was closed.  “Come see us in May,” said the sign.  Across the road from Fort Rock State Park, the Homestead Museum preserved some of the wooden buildings of an old Oregon town of the 1800’s.  The electrified fence protected the old buildings from would-be vandals, but we could still take pictures and read a little of the history.

The Enlarged Homestead Act of 1909 fueled a land rush that had begun in 1862.  It qualified individuals to claim 320 acres by building a residence and cultivating 40 acres.

The old General Store even has its original gasoline pump.

Thousands headed west.  More than 1.3 million claims were filed in the U.S. before 1900, but less than half proved successful.   The original law had allowed heads of households, widows and all single people over 21 years old to purchase 160 acres at $1.25 an acre or by paying a $15 filing fee after five years of residence and cultivation.

Farming came with the Homesteaders in the early 1900’s. Many first-time Homesteaders in this region arrived after 1909. Life on the land was not easy.  Dryland farming was a laborious and expensive venture, and many would-be-sod-busters simply left when their backs gave out or their money ran out.  The advent of World War I saw many drafted into service, while others left for “good jobs” in the city.

In the distance Fort Rock stands high
above the flat plain where the town
 from olden days is on display.

Deep plowing and sowing drought-resistant crops became the norm.  The development of deep well irrigation technology in the 1960’s made agriculture profitable.  Today, locally grown alfalfa is highly prized and shipped as far as Japan.

The sun and clouds cast shadows on Fort Rock across the road.  It was a great view of the entire lava tuff, a view we hadn’t seen from inside the state park yesterday. 

At Hole-in-the-Ground, another enormous feature in Oregon’s Outback, the floor of a crater sinks 490 feet below the surrounding ground level and the rim rises 110 to 210 feet above the surroundings.

From where we stand on the rim of Hole-in-the-Ground crater,
the distance across is about a mile.

A mile across the crater, a trail traced an arching path up to the rim.  We walked about half way down in the powdery, ashy dirt.  It had been 4.4 miles in, driving on a rutted gravel road without signs, so we had almost turned back.

As we stepped back onto the rim, a jeep or truck crawled down what we thought was only a trail on the other side.

“That’s just amazing,” said Andy.  “Look at how slow he’s going!  That road must be awful.”

Interested, we watched for a long time as the far-off explorer, just a tiny dot even with the zoom lens, walked around the belly of the crater and let his vehicle cool.

“What we thought was just a trail around the rim is actually a dirt road,” said Andy.  Our little car would never make it, and we certainly weren’t going to try.  But watching was fun.

Hole-in-the-Ground is between 13,500 and 18,000 years old.  It was once under water but quite near the shore of Fort Rock Basin’s ancient lake.  At first scientists suggested it was a meteorite impact crater, but study showed Hole-in-the-Ground was volcanic, caused when Basaltic magma intruded near the surface groundwater, turning the water to steam.  The steam blew out overlaying rock and soil.  As the material slid back down the sides, it closed the vent.  But the explosions repeated again and again with blocks as large as 26 feet being flung as far as 2.3 miles.  It’s quite a sight and delightfully silent!

Paulina Falls in Deschutes National Forest gushes over
soft igneous rock that crumbles and gives way.

We pulled out onto Route #97, lined with traffic and logging trucks.

“We could have stayed at that motel,” said Andy, pointing to a sprawling Best Western.

“I’m glad you chose the tiny Desert Inn in Christmas Valley.   It was clean and adequate,” I said.

“I like to see how others live,” he explained.  “I try to experience different lifestyles to understand.  It also makes me very grateful for what I have.”

I understood completely.

Ahead of us rose the Cascades, black silhouetted peaks against a cloud-filled sky.  Snow lingered in patches.  Soon there would be more.  The weather was changing and cumulus clouds were moving in.

A visitor from Atlanta captures Andy and Sue
together at Paulina Falls.

In Deschutes National Forest the Forest Service was selective thinning to minimize the chance of fire.  Piles everywhere waited for burning once the winter snow covered the ground.  “They could get snow out of those clouds,” said Andy, looking at the sky.  “They are heavy enough and high enough in the mountains.”  He was thinking about our already cold morning in the Outback.

From the overlook in Deschutes National Forest, we could see the Three Sisters and other snow- crowned peaks.



Undergrowth at Paulina Falls is tinged
with color as autumn temperatures
plummet at night.

East Lake was cloud covered, but there were still rowboats on the shore.  A few cabins named Goose, Honker and Gull were occupied, probably for the weekend, and a group of adults, dressed for winter, picnicked at a table near the lake.

Paulina Falls had two major viewpoints.

Andy, Sue and our new friends
from Atlanta hike down
to the base of Paulina Falls.

We walked the 800 or so feet to the upper view and then tried without success to find a river crossing.  The quarter-mile switchback trail to the lower falls looped back and forth to the basalt jumble near the base.  Some visitors from Atlanta offered to exchange photographic opportunities.  It was nice to get a quality picture of both Andy and me at a beautiful location without using the timer.  But we held our collective breaths every time the sun disappeared.  A couple sprinkles near the falls from a big grey cloud warned us of what could be.



Newberry Crater, a sleeping volcano, is one of few in the world
to spew obsidian as a lava during an eruption.

Paulina Falls is like a hydraulic jackhammer, pounding away at the softer rock beneath.  But since the volcano that feeds the falls erupts about every thousand years, the solid rock that the falls wears away is periodically replenished.  Geologists think the falls was 200 feet downstream about 2,000 years ago.  Today water tumbles over the falls at a rate of about 20 cubic feet per second.

At the base of Paulina Peak, 7,984 feet in elevation, we took the Obsidian Flow Trail into the crater.

Obsidian Dome is otherworldly.

Newberry Crater, a 500-foot climb of stairs ad trail in the center of the crater to the top of the spewed Obsidian Dome, was actually above the tops of the Ponderosa pines.  Wind whipped in waves, but intermittently the sun broke through.  The trail, a half-mile around the dome, climbed to the top and circled the inner dome of lava and obsidian.  “You wouldn’t want to fall here,” said Andy.  It would literally be falling on glass.



Climbing the trail is
actually walking on glass.

Obsidian, actually formed from molten silica, is just superheated sand with a drop of iron oxide.  Sand is what is used to make glass.

Ancient peoples treasured obsidian and used it as money, but it doesn’t occur in many places of the world.

Here, the explosion that produced the Obsidian occurred about 1,300 years ago.  Where people lived near obsidian, their lives and cultures were transformed.  They used the “glassy” volcanic rock to manufacture tools, weapons, jewelry, sculpture and ceremonial objects.

Life is tough on the rocks
of Obsidian Dome.

To ancient Central American people, the importance of obsidian for their economies was similar to that of steel for the economies of modern industrial nations.  I found the informative sign fascinating.

We stopped once more at the overlook at 3:00 p.m. because the sun was out with blue sky.  The view showed Lookout Mountain, Mount Bachelor and the Three Sisters far in the distance.  It’s beautiful country.

From inside the crater on the Obsidian Dome we can
see the top of the old volcano rim.

Andy turned into La Pine State Park in the hopes he could rinse off the back window at a campground dump site.  We found the Don McGregor Viewpoint with views of a big bend in the Deschutes River.  The color was just creeping into the undergrowth across the river for perfect pictures.  The area was dedicated to a man who had given much to Oregon parks.

The Don McGregor Viewpoint memorializes a man who
cared for and loved the natural world.

At Big Tree in La Pine State Park, Oregon’s largest Ponderosa pine is protected.  A circle of wooden fencing keeps visitors from further compacting the soil immediately around the roots of the 500-year old giant.  The age is an estimate, but the height is measured at 162 feet.

Oregon does an incredible job of establishing and maintaining its state parks.  Other states could learn a lot!