Tyler Blue

It’s been a long time since I’ve camped four nights in a row. That sort of repeated exposure to nature makes it seep in on a cellular level. On this trip, each experience in widely variant terrain leaves a reel of snapshots in my mind. The first morning I sat on a fallen log jutting into the Metolius River, watching the rising sun illuminate the gentle ripples. The next morning I stood spellbound by the mirror image of a pine tree forest captured in a lagoon. The third morning I saw a giant bird cruising down the Rogue River, just a little too fast to reveal its mysterious identity. On the final morning, we watched a family of Native American fisherman suit up to hunt for salmon where the Klamath River meets the Pacific Ocean. The common thread on all four of these days was that each time we were faced with settling for the average but a dash of luck allowed us to skirt the ordinary. Each night fate guided us to a cherry site directly on a river or lake. During the summer without booking in advance, this is no small feat. Of course we still would have been grateful to for any sort of immersion in nature but once the standard is set, it’s hard to go back.

After spending several months near Portland, it was time to head south and get a better taste for Oregon’s diverse topography. Our first destination was the aptly named campground called Smiling River in the Three Sisters Wilderness. Blanketed on each side by ponderosa pines, the Metolius River rolled through like a lazy August breeze. Driving through the valley the next morning, snow-capped mountain peaks protruded from barren, volcanic plains. I was finally about to enter the realm of Bend – a town I had been yearning to see. Our first stop was the Bendistillery – one of the most extraordinary boutique distilleries in the country. We tasted tiny swallows of all their spirits; most of which clearly stood out as exceptional products. I knew as soon as it passed my lips, the Desert Juniper Gin was probably the best gin I’ve ever had. It was so smooth, even Raven liked it. We were blown away by their infused vodkas with basil, ginger and hot peppers. We tried the Mazama Pepper Vodka in a small cocktail with mango juice and it was bewitching. Cofia – another one with coffee and hazelnut – was dangerously delicious.

Raven had been to Bend a long time ago and remembered it as a cowboy town. I guess it has come a long way since then because the whole downtown area looked very new like everything had been built in the last decade. I was immediately drawn in by the vibrant energy of the shops and the overall approachable character in general. It was bigger than I expected with more than enough going on to make it seem like a viable place to live. The main attraction is the Deschutes River winding through the town. It looked so clean and inviting as people tubed along at a mellow clip. We didn’t spend a lot of time in Bend but it was enough to know at the least that we want to go back soon and, at the most, call it home.

Closed roads from construction made it a bitch to get out of town and we were struggling to figure out our next camping destination. We settled on a spot called Cinder Hill which had been listed as one of the best in the state. Nestled on one side of East Lake southeast of Bend, it required a drive deep into Newberry Volcanic National Monument. When we got there, the prospects looked grim as almost every site at the large campground was occupied. Just when we were on the verge of settling, we saw a handicapped site which could not be reserved until 7 p.m. The clock read 7:02. Not only was it right on the lake, but it was huge compared to most of the others. We set up our site and admired an extended sunset accompanied by some mystifying, extra terrestrial clouds. The stars were especially electrifying that night. I was wishing my Google Sky Map app was working so I could identify the constellations.

The next morning I took a solo hike around the lake up to a vantage point to get a better view of the lake. It felt so good to climb the jagged volcanic formations and connect with the rocks. My lust for climbing continues to swell. Upon return, I took a dip to cool off and nip a bad hair day in the bud. Back at the site, Raven and I marveled upon a prairie dog (at least that’s what we think it was) living in a stump with its baby. It would emerge periodically, stand on its hind legs and emit this shrill chirping sound. We wondered what it might be saying and to whom. It was an interesting deviation from the chipmunks at all of our other destinations.

From East Lake, it was an easy drive to Crater Lake. It was surprising to see so many patches of thick ice still present in that area despite the baking sun. We were thrilled to have the opportunity to use our annual national parks pass. We’ll be lucky if we have any more chances before the year is up. I pulled Crystalina over at an empty spot and we laid out a blanket for a picnic. Our rice bread from Trader Joe’s had gone moldy but we were more than content munching on sliced turkey with pickles, baby carrots, tortilla chips, mustard and New Zealand raw cheddar. A trio of Harley dudes remarked upon the beauty of our spot. It’s pretty cool how no matter who you are, the breathtaking nature of Crater Lake is bound to stop you in your tracks.

On the way up in October, one of our most memorable stops was the Rogue River Gorge which not only was stunningly gorgeous but had one of the best smells on earth; like candy-coated pine cones. We knew this might be the tallest order yet to score a campsite on the Rogue on a Friday night. Driving through Union Creek campground, there were a few passable sites but nothing on the water. Moving on down the road to Natural Bridge, fate was on our side as site #2 was there waiting for us as if it had a big bow tied around it. We were all smiles in assessing the spacious site with lots of privacy, big trees and the Rogue running through its backyard. The next site over, a group of 60-somethings were already getting rowdy, blasting Old Blue Eyes. Raven and I forced ourselves into the icy emerald river and managed not to get swept away. The campground was kindling heaven as we gathered armfuls before building our first and only fire of our four night run. Other than some chili which had a firm disagreement with me, the experience was bliss.

I awoke early for a solo hike along the river; savoring the sacred silence apart from my footsteps and the flow. Virgin light illuminated the river’s altering personalities around each bend. Just a little ways up, it narrowed into an intense section of rapids rocketing through a mini gorge. The Rogue was formed out of volcanic activity; a reality which is accentuated in observing the rocks which comprise its banks. After we packed up, Raven and I ventured over to the natural bridge trail where the river’s volcanic elements came into greater focus. One cave which had formerly been a lava tube sucked in the water and propelled it out in a hypnotic sheet-like pulsation. The natural bridge is a point where the whole river is siphoned underground below a solid mass of lava rock. Any river holds intrigue but few are as dynamic as the Rogue. Plus, it has the coolest name.

Naturally as the oenophiles that we are, we couldn’t leave the Rogue River Valley without sampling some of the fruits of the vine. We started at Crater Lake Cellars where the owner and winemaker Steve Gardner generously poured about nine wines covering a wide gamut. His straightforward style leaned towards an old world proclivity. His wife’s photographs graced the labels adding a fine personal touch. There was one with an owl which used to live in a tree outside their home. We enjoyed all the wines but I think my favorite was a combination of two Rhone varietals – grenache and mourvedre if I recall correctly. The cab was awesome too. He finished us off with a port-style red which he had the good sense to complement with a piece of dark chocolate. Wine and chocolate are sexy bedfellows. On our way out, we freaked out over a pair of malamute puppies owned by a family from Portland.

Getting a totally different taste of the Rogue Valley, we ventured out into the sticks, in an area called Gold Hill, where we reached a state-of-the-art facility which is home to Folin Cellars. There we were greeted by tasting room manager – Steve – who quickly presented himself as a kindred spirit. He was so passionate about each wine and every aspect of the winery’s operations. It didn’t hurt that he was playing Jack Johnson’s always welcome “Sitting, Waiting, Wishing.” We started with the viognier which knocked our socks off with its complex minerality. He poured us several wines that weren’t on the official tasting sheet, each showcasing the estate’s impressive terroir, attention to detail and patience in bringing out the best in each varietal. Perhaps my favorite wine, the tempranillo, was a 2007. That says a lot about Folin’s approach in that they have the good taste to wait four years to pour this rich, seductive wine. Another super classy touch was their use of glass corks. Costing four times as much as ordinary corks, this is a new innovation which keeps the bottles airtight. We wished we could have afforded to walk away with a couple of cases.

From Folin it was a hop, skip and a jump back into the Golden State. Even though we had recently spent the night near LAX on the way back from Mexico, it felt significant to drive back into our old home state. After all the easy camping in Oregon it was a rude awakening when we attempted to score a site at a state park. Our fee to camp on the Rogue River was $10. The standard fee at all California State Parks: $35. Ouch! We drove through Prairie Creek State Park which was filled with gargantuan redwoods and some of the coolest sites ever, but all that was left was the dregs. We stopped in Klamath to get some fresh smoked (overpriced) salmon and contemplated forking out $91 on a cozy cabin. It just didn’t feel right as we couldn’t ignore nature’s call. We swung down a random road and found ourselves beckoned towards the Requa RV Park. It was Saturday night yet the place was practically empty. It almost seemed too good to be true (and just a little bit eerie) considering its placement right on the Klamath River where it runs into the Pacific. The office was deserted and this would be a rare night of free camping. Other than the hard, rocky ground and a few bizarrities we don’t have time to go into right now, Requa was an unexpected revelation.

The next morning driving on the 101 just a mile south of the campground, dozens of people were perched on a bridge looking over the edge. A fellow camper named Joe who seemed like a paranoid schizophrenic had mentioned a whale swimming in the river but I figured he was delusional. Sure enough, we made our way to the center of the bridge to see a full-sized grey whale swimming in circles a 100 feet below. We’ve been whale watching before, but seeing this massive mammal from an angel’s perspective made for a surreal novelty. Probably about 50 feet long, it glided through the jade water, holding everyone’s attention with each movement. At one point when it crossed under the bridge, it was a spectacle to see the mob hustle across the street. Each person had a look of awe painted on their face.

We thought it might be sick or confused, but it appeared to be perfectly healthy and lucid. A friendly cop on the whale beat later told us it had been there for six weeks. At one point we watched it do this feeding dance where it was obviously rounding up fish by swinging its tail to create a vacuum of sorts. Strange as it may be for this ocean-going creature to set up shop in the river, I like to think it’s a little bit more cunning than the rest of the pack. What’s not to like about an all-you-can-eat salmon buffet and steady droves of admirers snapping your photo? Don’t we all want to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond?