From Round Lake to Square Lake – Views between the silver poles

Three Fingered Jack standing above Round Lake

From the Northwest corner of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness, where I had hiked into Crown Lake, I headed toward its Southeast section, where forest fires have dramatically changed the landscape. Clearly, new vegetation has established itself among the silver poles, which were once thriving conifers, standing above the fresh greenery.

Round lake through the silver poles

I expected a full campground at Round Lake when I arrived there in the evening. However, no one else was there, except for some fishermen parked near the lake. This was surprising, considering it was the beginning of July, the weather was spectacular and there is only about three (I didn’t count) campsites at Round Lake.

Sun setting over Round Lake

Having planned to hike into Square Lake the next morning, I set up camp and watched the sun drop behind the West side of the high Cascades. The lake has a great view of Three Fingered Jack, which I’m not sure would be as brilliant if the forest was fully foliated, as it was prior to the fires.

Trailhead sign to Square Lake

Knowing it would be hot and shade would be scarce, I hit the trail early the next day. The trail climbs from the West end of Round Lake up over a ridge before flattening out. Here is where, with a little imagination, one can see that views are much more expansive without the foliage from pine trees blocking one’s sight. Although the silver poles left standing are somewhat unsightly, they allow views of the area that one might never have seen had it not been for the devastation. “Unsightly” might even be too strong. “Unusual,” perhaps, is more appropriate.

Square Lake

Although it was only about 8:00 am when I arrived at Square Lake - about 2 miles from the trailhead - the bare forest had warmed quickly. Continuing to the West end of the lake, I chose to go left at a trail junction, which took me South toward the Santiam Pass. After a short and gradual uphill hike, I stopped at a small saddle, where views of Mt. Washington and the Three Sisters appeared. From there, a short scramble to the top of a rock outcropping provided a grand view of Square Lake below and Three Fingered Jack to the North.

 

Mt. Washington and Three Sisters through the silver poles

My map showed a “Long Lake” near the trail between Round Lake and Square Lake, but I didn’t see it on the hike into Square Lake. So, on my way back, I made it a point to look closely for Long Lake or any side trails that might lead to it. None were found and no lake was seen.

Three Fingered Jack from rock outcropping above Square Lake

One thing I did notice, though, was the number of trees growing to replace those that had burned. The numbers of these small pines in some areas are prolific, roughly four feet tall and seemingly growing like weeds. In other areas, there are none.

Black Butte from road 1210

On my way back down out of the mountains from Round Lake, I continued along road 1210 along its southern-most stretch. This section of road provides outstanding views of the Cascades stretching from Three Finger Jack to the Three Sisters.

Three Fingered Jack from road 1210

Opal Creek old growth hike a reminder of past, changing times

  

Opal Creek

It was the epicenter of the spotted owl debate in the early 1980’s, drawing attention from around the country, as the timber industry, so entrenched in the lives of those inhabiting the Pacific Northwest, battled conservationists for the future of forestlands surrounding Opal Creek.

Old Growth Forest along the Little North Fork Santiam River

It was a gorgeous yet somewhat breezy weekend in late April when I drove to the gate across the road (2209) accessing Opal Creek and Jawbone Flats. My intention was to backpack into the area and set up a camp somewhere near Opal Pool, where rushing waters flow through a small gorge and drop into slower moving, deeper  and aptly named waters.

Road leading to Jawbone Flats

The gravel road soon crossed a bridge over picturesque Gold Creek. From there, large trees appeared in greater numbers, until the towering behemoths and regenerating undergrowth indicated I was standing in an ancient forest.

Gold Creek from bridge

Looking out into the forest from the road, immense tree trunks stood high above forests lush understory. It all looked so alive. However, a lift of the chin and look to the sky gives hikers an entirely different perspective. Many of those massive tree trunks are topped with few branches, if any. Many are nothing more than a snag. In fact, many of the largest trees in any old growth forest are dead.

Dead old growth waiting to fall

After about one mile, the road, carved out of an extremely steep slope, is so narrow that bridge-like beams support its outer edge, making the road wide enough for vehicle travel. The road is used by folks living in Jawbone Flats needing to access the outside world by vehicle.

Narrow road widened by beams and planks

After two miles, machinery and parts left behind from the old Merten Sawmill begin to appear. Built in 1943, the steam powered mill utilized timber in the immediate area until it closed not long after opening. Apparently, the company’s log trucks were falling off the narrow and steep section of the road, making it too dangerous to log the area. One building at the site still stands.

Machinery left from Merten Sawmill

Behind the mill from the road, the Little North Santiam River flows over a basalt ledge to form Sawmill Falls. A short side trail delivers explorers to a view of the tumbling waters.

Sawmill Falls

Why I had yet to venture into the Opal Creek area, dismissing it throughout the many years of hiking through the Cascades, was no mystery. For me, the battle for these forests had left a foul impression. It was my opinion that folks were robbed of their livelihood by a movement that enlisted folks who cared more about trees and owls than people. On the other hand, I had witnessed how clear-cutting a forest could virtually destroy it. I understood why those folks would want to conserve a place like this. In a way, the old remains of the sawmill represents what the area was, could have been and is today.

Clear waters above Sawmill Falls

A short distance after the old sawmill site a trail to the right takes hikers to a bridge crossing of the Little North Santiam River. From there, the trail parallels the south side of the river for roughly another 1.5 miles to Opal Pool.

Bridge leading from road to trail

Along this trail are several spots to set up a tent and spend the night. After crossing Opal Creek over a bridge at Opal Pool to the east of Jawbone Flats, I backtracked west through a meadow and sat down inside a small shelter. After eating some lunch, I headed back to the trail, found a camp spot and set up my tent.

Along the trail

t is here where I want to talk about choosing a spot to set up camp. I assume most backpackers know not to establish their camp too close to a body of water or trail. What folks might not realize is to also look at their immediate surroundings when putting up a tent.

Bridge above Opal Creek gorge

On this trip, I debated on two spots as possibilities to establish my tent site. With all the trees in the area and the windy conditions, I searched for those trees appearing most likely to blow over in the wind, which are usually the dead ones. The spot I was convinced had the most stable trees surrounding it was the one I chose to set up my tent. It wasn’t five minutes later when a gust of wind blew over a tree that landed no more than 10 feet from my tent. Had it landed on my tent and I had been in it, the tree would have injured me seriously, if not killed me. The morals of this anecdote are, don’t set up a tent within reach of a tree that could fall on you, and, even when you think you haven’t, anything can happen.

Opal Pool

Then it was time to explore. Again, I hiked back over the bridge near Opal Creek and made my way through the meadow and into the heart of Jawbone Flats. But, before reaching the small community from the East, I stopped to look at the old mining equipment along the side of the road, left over from the days when miners frequented these mountains.

Meadow at Jawbone Flats

Jawbone Flats consists of several buildings, some cabins available for the public, a store, educational buildings and homes for residents. One even houses a turbine used to power the community.

Jawbone Flats

Back across the bridge and onto the trail, I hiked south along Opal Creek. Unfortunately, a bridge once crossing the creek only a short distance from Opal Pool was gone. With the creek flowing too high to wade through and continue down this trail, I turned around and made my way back to camp.

Old mining tools and machinery at Jawbone Flats

I save the term “spectacular” for few areas, and this is not one of them. It is, however, a beautiful area and well worth the visit. I was both glad I finally waIked into it and disappointed it took me all those years to get there.

Camp was set up at the confluence of Battle Axe Creek and Opal Creek



Old growth forest, numerous waterfalls greet hikers along the Clackamas River Trail

Deeply furrowed, old growth fir along the Clackamas River Trail


The promise of blue skies and warmer temperatures prompted another trip into the old Cascades. As I discovered, the break in the rain had the same influence on a lot of other people. Cars and pickups, carrying kayaks and sometimes pulling trailers full of snowmobiles and quads, made their way up the Clackamas River drainage.

Stream crossing near trailhead at Indian Henry Campground

While driving along the river several miles above Estacada, I was reminded of my teenage years, when I had purchased a rubber raft and spent summer days floating the upper stretches of the river with my father or other family members. There were days back then, even in the summer, when my raft would be the only boat on that stretch of river. Since then, the river’s popularity has grown immensely among rafters and kayakers.

Rock overhang along the trail

This day’s destination was the Clackamas River Trail. Having hiked the downstream half of the trail several years earlier, I figured it was time to hike the upper half. I parked at a parking lot for the trail, located across from the entrance to Indian Henry Campground, and started up the trail.

Pair of falls along trail

At the trailhead, two trails are apparent. The trail to the left, which heads uphill immediately, is NOT the Clackamas River Trail. I don’t know where it leads. The trail to the right, the more level trail, is the correct route.

One of the trail's numerous waterfalls

Immediately, the characteristics of a low level trail in the Cascades become apparent. Moss covers nearly everything on the forest floor like a green shag carpet. Ferns grow profusely. Firs at various stages of growth make up much of the forest. In this case, however, along this trail, the trees are a bit bigger than the usual low elevation Cascade trail. Immense, deeply furrowed, old growth trees stand high above these slopes.

Moss covered rock wall above the Clackamas River Trail

The trail gradually rises a few hundred feet above the Clackamas River and remains there for much of the hike into The Narrows, a short stretch where the river runs narrowly between bulbous, fused rock.

Spring along the trail

In a mile or so, the trail skirts what I found to be the most interesting portion of the trail, the lower portion of a rock wall stretching several hundred yards. Not carrying my tape measure with me, I can’t be sure, but the height of this wall likely varies from 60 to over 100 feet high. Along this wall were, at the beginning of February, several waterfalls of varying sizes. I say “were” because some of them had so little water I doubt they could possibly exist in August.

Another of the many waterfalls

Interestingly, the falls that attracted most of my attention were those with the least amount of water. A few of these looked as if someone had taken a 20 foot length of PVC pipe, drilled a hole in it every four or six inches and ran water through it high up on the rock wall’s rim. These streams of water, separated by only a few inches, ran down the wall, dropping through and into thick moss, where they eventually came to rest at the base of the trail.

Small streams drop down the moss-covered rock wall

Along another short stretch, the trail dips into the wall’s face, carrying hikers behind one of the falls carrying the most volume of water. It is similar to hiking behind South Falls in the Silver Creek Falls area, but on a smaller scale.


From behind a waterfall, looking down at the Clackamas River

Eventually the rock wall gives way to steep, fern laden slope. Always within view is one or more of the huge trees likely at least 500 years old.

Trail in cliff wall behind waterfall

As the trail drops close to river level, it meanders along a power line clearing for a couple of short stretches before dipping back into old growth forest. Soon, old growth western red cedar trees become more prevalent. Within a grove of these huge cedars, a short side trail leads to the Clackamas River and The Narrows.

Clackamas River runs below the trail

The morning sun blanketed the grassy flat atop the rocks containing the Clackamas River at The Narrows. The river, running high, flowed through the tight channel with immense power. From the brute force of these waters to the rivulet crossings along the trail to the tiny cascades dropping from the cliffs above, this trail has a wide range of experiences for hikers.

The Clackamas River Narrows

More walks inside the Molalla River corridor

Saturated, mossy trailway in the Molalla River corridor

After having familiarized myself more with the short and abundant trails along the Molalla River corridor, I have come to the conclusion that these trails (and logging roads) resemble what I would describe as “nature trails.” That is not a bad thing, but the experience offered by this trail system is limited – far more restricted than the nearby trails in the Table Rock Wilderness.

Lightning strike evidence of Mother Nature's power

A recent lightning strike and its deadly outcome at a NASCAR race in Pennsylvania reminded me of the time I witnessed the remnants of a lightning strike near Timothy Lake in the Oregon Cascades. It was yet another reminder of how awesomely powerful Mother Nature can be.

Black Wolf Meadows elicit old story and trigger imagination

 A wolf nurses her pups outside their den

Wolves are making a lot of news lately. From wolf hunting in the upper Midwest to the expansion of the habitat, including into Oregon, wolves are a hot topic.. The latest news of wolves jarred loose the memory of a hike taken several years back into the area of High Rock atop the Clackamas River drainage.

Rock Lakes Basin a welcome rarity in the Mt. Hood area

Serene Lake from Viewpoint

Lake Basins make some of the best destinations for a hiking or backpacking trip, especially if you like to cast a line in search of a brook or rainbow trout. A typical lake basin, at least by name, usually contains several lakes. Side trails to the lakes make for great day hikes from a base camp. Unfortunately, compared to other regions in the Cascades of Oregon, these lake basins are woefully lacking around the Mt. Hood area.
 

Bear in the proximity of Timothy Lake teases then vanishes

Winter time at Timothy Lake

It was the early morning when I left the small camp located lying along the north end of Timothy Lake and hooked up with the PCT near the intersection with the trail to Little Crater Lake, a small but deep, turquoise pool created from springs. From there, I intended to hike the Pacific Crest Trail to its intersection with road 58. I eventually had to cut the hike short because of a rare sighting that begged for a great deal more attention.

I can't honestly say whether it was movement caught out of the corner of my eye or if I just happened to look in that direction. Either way, the movement was that of a large animal which, I would like to believe was observed as a result of keen awareness of my surroundings, developed over time in the wilds. After spending a lot of time in the woods, senses sharpen and a feel for one’s surroundings matures.

 Then again, it was probably just dumb luck that I spotted the bear.

Sampling the hazards of driving mountain roads near Badger Creek Wilderness



Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams standing over the fog of the valley from Divide Trail

 

 It was fall and the Divide Trail in the Badger Creek Wilderness was my destination. As I drove to the trailhead, the sun appeared and began its daily climb in the sky. Cruising along road 4410, two does popped their heads out of a cluster of trees hugging the road. A mile further, two more does bounced out of a thicket and bounded directly toward the front of my pickup. While tapping my breaks, they quickly detoured and bounding parallel with the road as if they wanted to race me. It was another reminder of the need to remain vigilant while traveling the network of roads in these mountains.

 

Lost near Rooster Rock? Naahh. I prefer to call it “misdirected.”



Rooster Rock with Mt. Jefferson in background

Summer had withdrawn and autumn crept in, carrying a full bag of tricks as the weather is concerned. Early snow had already fallen on the Cascades as low as 4,000 feet, and I wanted to reach some jagged spires I had studied during the summer while exploring the area near Table Rock. In late October, Noia and I set out to explore the outcropping called Rooster Rock, named by a prospector in the mid-1800s.

Plenty of great viewpoints tower above Diamond Lake

Trail to the slopes of Mt. Thielsen on a smoky day

The greatest reward from climbing a mountain is the accomplishment. The second is the view from the summit. Frequently, when topping a Cascade volcano or one’s remnants in Oregon on a clear day, one can see the two sides of Oregon: green stretching as far as they can see to the West and more arid country to the East. Ridges radiate from mountains before flowing and spreading into forestlands. Still at altitudes of 5,000', those forestlands then eventually give way to flatlands of the Willamette Valley and the high desert of Central Oregon.

Big cat scat on the trail evokes story of cougar attack

Cougar

While preparing for a day hike in the Cascades several years ago, my father asked me if I had heard about the woman in California attacked, killed, and partially eaten by a cougar. He went on to suggest that perhaps I should be extra careful when hiking alone. Apparently, the woman was jogging when the cat pounced on her. They found her body partially covered with debris after the cat had tried to hide it from other predators.

Aware that cougar attacks were more common in California, I listened to the piece of news with mild interest but brushed it off as a problem in California and something I needn't worry about.

Not more than a quarter mile into the hike, which would lead me from Squaw Mt. road to Old Baldy, a butte located in the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness, I ran across some rather large scat I knew was not from a deer or elk or bear.

I continued up and down the relatively uninspiring trail until I stopped near a trailside cliff offering a look at Mt. Hood to the northeast. As I continued toward Old Baldy and neared its namesake summit, I stepped near some deer hair that had clearly been through the digestive system of what I was now sure was a big cat. As I sifted through the litter with a stick, a white bone fragment about the size of a nickel appeared lodged in a chunk of dung. Suddenly I remembered the words of my father from a few days earlier concerning the California cougar.

I proceeded to the summit of Old Baldy that day and looked across the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness to Mt. Hood. This area was designated a wilderness in 1984. Over 70 miles of hiking trails run through its canyons and ridges.

After seeing the scat, as I hiked to the top of Old Baldy and back to the trailhead, the lock blade I usually carry in my pack for cutting an apple or sausage was open and gripped firmly in my right hand.