Trip Report

_________________________________

Returning Home

^{Me and my brother, Nick. Photo credit: Stephanie Jellison}

As much as I consider Colorado my home, I can’t deny that my birth state of Oregon will always hold a piece of my heart. In addition to unique landscapes, Oregon contains one thing Colorado cannot offer– my family.

My family has occupied the Beaver State for my entire lifetime. Aside from my father, who emigrated to Oregon from Germany at the young age of seven, I was the first of my immediate family to live outside the state. I was the first, it seemed, to become bored of the soggy verdant valleys of what I affectionately called ‘California’s Hat.’ Although I loved exploring every shoreline, mountain, and desert of the state, it all seemed so bland and boring when compared to the vivid, fresh scenery I experienced on our yearly out-of-state camping trips. By my early teens, I had sworn to leave what I had at the time considered a miserable, wet, and uninspiring place as soon as possible.

It took me over a decade of travel to understand that I had never given Oregon the credit it deserved in those early years. While living in Victoria, Australia, I desperately missed the two-week rainstorms common of the Pacific Northwest. While traveling Washington, I was able to appreciate how little it actually rained in my home state, at least comparatively. In Florida, I was thankful I had spent my childhood on the coast without fear of man-eating wildlife; and once I found a place in Colorado, I was ashamed to realized I had taken for granted even having a coast all along.

In all these places, I found that I did not only miss the pounding waterfalls, rocky shorelines, scrubby high deserts, and peaceful valleys offered by my home state… I missed my family, too.

Although I’m still not sure if I might return to my first home permanently, these days I make an effort to visit my family in Oregon as often as possible. Returning home sometimes means sacrificing adventures in new lands– an idea my younger self would have scoffed at– but in a pandemic-stricken world, I can only ever appreciate the time I have at home.

Most recently, I visited in early January as a combined celebration of Christmas as well as my mother and my own’s birthdays. Having recently reconnected with my older brother, Nick, who is also exploring a career in photography and videography and is co-building an overlanding business (Oregon Overland), I was happy to plan a a camping adventure with him during the visit.

The Plan

Initially, we had planned a 2-3 night trip into the mountains along Highway 138, up past Diamond Lake and on to Crater Lake National Park. As an avid diver, my partner Jake had always wanted to see the deepest lake in the United States (it is nearly 2,000 feet deep!). Along the way, I planned to show him and my brother several small waterfalls along the Umpqua River which I had visited several years in the past, and stop at Umpqua Hot Springs for a warm soak in the cool weather.

In December, I was elated to hear that Oregon was getting some snow. Snow camping is a rare treat at the lower elevations, and I had hoped to enjoy the peaceful white while soaking in natural hot springs.

Things changed quickly by our departure date January 7th. Oregon was barraged by a confusing combination of climate activity, receiving an inch per hour of rain and flooding the valley, dumping unheard of amounts of snow in the mountains, and burning in wildfire in quick succession. Two days before departure, I nervously called the Umpqua Ranger Station for information on current conditions.

“I know this is a long shot,” I said, “But do you think the hot springs will be open this week?”

The ranger on the line snorted into her phone. “Sorry, hon, not a chance. You can’t even get up here. Landslides– you know, from the rain– they’ve taken out the highway in some places. We’re supposed to be getting a few feet of snow tonight, too.”

I thanked her for the information and tried another spot: Multnomah Falls. This waterfall is the tallest in the state, and I had been dying to see it frozen in ice. But when I called the nearby station, the ranger there laughed like the other and confirmed that not only was the waterfall frozen, but currently under several feet of snow. With the nearby highway closed as a result, Multnomah was also inaccessible.

^{Unseasonably harsh winter weather in Oregon. Photo credit: KATU}

The New Plan

My brother was itching to use the newest addition to his overlanding kit: a diesel-powered heating system which would pipe warmth into our tents during the night. We were determined to go somewhere, at least.

The night before we planned to head out, we sat scratching our heads on what to do. Most places had been shut down due to one climate incident or another. After some deliberation we decided to cut the trip to one night and stay close to home at lower elevation; for my little nieces’ sakes, we didn’t want to risk getting stuck. Nick’s friend Dustin, who had hopped on the bandwagon last minute, offered to show us a tucked away camp spot near Hills Creek Reservoir.

Day 1: Along the Reservoir

Since camp wasn’t far, we set off in the late morning and meandered our way around Lookout Point Lake and Hills Creek Reservoir. I was shocked to find that both were extremely low on water when I had seen them full only a few years ago. It made me realize just how much of a drought the state had been in since I had moved away in 2017.

^{Lookout Point Lake. Photo credit: Braelei Hardt}

As disheartening as it was to see the lakes in such condition, I couldn’t help but marvel at the strange patterns of geometry revealed by the low waters. The landscapes here capture a snapshot of the past. The soil, striped by wave action, tells the story of a slowly receding shoreline. In some places, especially where the reservoir waters are still, this combination can feel both barren and confusing to the eye.

^{A reflection at Hills Creek Reservoir. Photo credit: Braelei Hardt}

Stumps, previously occupants of an aquatic world, now dot the dry landscape onshore. These are remnants of the reservoir’s creation, left intact to provide habitat for fish at the lake bottom. Now they likely serve the creatures of of the terrestrial world, providing cover to small animals while they shelter from the crows, hawks, and eagles that cruise the sky. We even found one occupied by a little brown bat (myotis species), though I wasn’t fortunate enough to snap a photo before he dropped from the stump and disappeared into the nearby tree line!

^{A particularly photogenic stump along Hills Creek Reservoir. Photo Credit: Braelei Hardt}

Setting Camp

Mid-afternoon, we veered sharply from the main road around the reservoir and down a muddy path. Eventually, we piled the cars into a small clearing near the Middle Fork Willamette River. Although we had climbed nearly 1,500 ft in elevation, the area was mostly clear of snow despite the recent winter storms. Perhaps we could have made it up the Umpqua River after all?

The great thing about camping with my brother and his gang is the camp setup they bring along. Nick, his partner Stephanie, and Dustin each have their own overlanding rig complete with a rooftop tent, slide out coolers, pop-up kitchen gear, and more. Setting camp is as simple as finding a flat space to park the rigs and springing open the tents!

We also hooked up the diesel heater; below, you can see the dryer tube we used to pump hot air into two separate tents.

^{An easy camp setup, featuring (from left to right) Nick, myself, Jake, Dustin, and my niece Zoe. Photo credit: Stephanie Jellison.}

With our camp set only a few yards from the river, the cold came quickly. It wasn’t long before we forced into a loose circle around the campfire, huddling for warmth. Recent rainstorms had soaked the forest here, so we brought along a propane fire pit rather than relying on a wood campfire.

But once nightfall hit, air temperature dropped so much that our propane tanks began to frost over repeatedly, dimming the fire to a fist-sized flame. My nieces, Klaira and Zoe, nobly accepted the responsibility of shaking the tanks whenever the fire began to fizzle, making a game of who could flare it back up the fastest.

A few hours and a bottle of Fireball later, we retreated to our tents. I was pleased to find ours a balmy 65 degrees; extraordinarily warm compared to the crisp night chill outside! Sleep came easy that night.

Day 2: Where Does This Go?

Jake and I woke early in the morning to the sound of my brother’s car starting. Minutes later, the pungent smell of exhaust filled our tent and I all but burst out of the zippered door, coughing. Turns out that Nick had placed the diesel heater at the rear of his rig, with the air intake directly next to his exhaust pipe!

He laughed and moved the heater before pausing seriously. “Uh oh,” he said.

“What?” I said, stumbling down the ladder and away from the toxic fumes collecting inside my tent.

“I definitely turned the car on for about 15 minutes after you went to bed last night,” he said, staring at the exhaust pouring from his rig. It’s no wonder we passed out so easily the night prior. Lesson learned– keep the heater away from the car!

^{Our diesel heater sitting much too close to the car’s exhaust pipe. Photo credit: Nick Hardt}

The morning was crisp, and we remained in camp for several hours. Jake and I took the littles for a walk into the forest, and later, Dustin taught me the basics of fly fishing. But the river was swollen with snowmelt, causing a shockingly fast flow that many fish tend to avoid. Instead, we tossed a log into the river and counted six seconds before it disappeared from view, washed away in the rapids.

Packing up camp did not take long, but we were unwilling to return home just yet. Instead, we decided to explore a beaten down dirt road not far from camp. Unsure where it led, we decided to drive as far in as we could in an hour before heading back out.

The road was a mess, and blocked by half a dozen fallen trees. No problem for Dustin, who had worked in salvage logging and doesn’t leave home without a personal chainsaw. He made quick work of the problem, and opened the path to further exploration.

^{Dustin clearing the way for our caravan. Photo credit: Nick Hardt}

A Waterfall, Finally

Having been stuck in Colorado for the past year owing to the pandemic, I had forgotten how green a forest could truly be. Moss and algae covered nearly every surface, and nearly every ravine had been flooded with an inch or more of excess water. It wasn’t difficult to enjoy the drive.

“What’s that?” I asked Nick from the passenger seat, pointing to a blue symbol on his high-tech navigation system.

“Looks like a waterfall. Want to check it out?”

Of course I did! Fifteen minutes later, we parked in the road and dipped down a poorly-kept trail to find a breathtaking set of hidden falls. Marked, but unnamed. I was ecstatic; despite our initial plans failing, I had managed to see a Pacific Northwest waterfall once again after all.

^{An unnamed waterfall near Hills Creek Reservoir. Photo credit: Braelei Hardt}

Conclusion

After spending some time at the falls, we traced our route back out and toward home. Although this trip had not been what we planned, I am grateful for the short adventure we did manage to have. I felt reconnected to the wonderful, wet world of my home state.

As a conservation ecologist, it pains me to see it suffer such extreme climate activity. But at the same time, I have come to appreciate the new and unique experiences such weather can provide.

As a society, we must accept that climate change is here. We can work to slow the extreme environmental shifts it will cause, but we cannot stop it. We must learn not only adapt to this changing world, but for our own sake enjoy the newness of it all. And in a pandemic-stricken world, I am eternally grateful that I may still do so alongside my family.

For more photos and videos from this trip, check out this compilation made by my brother!