John Day River trip - old friends, peace, and elaborate geology

I wasn't expecting much from our mid-May float trip on the John Day River in North Central Oregon.

A couple decades ago, PK and Chris (when he was between 8 and 11) floated the river a few springs with two other dads and their young sons. I heard stories about fishing, sleeping on tiny prickly, rocky beaches with rattlesnakes, and running one significant rapid.

No thank you.

Not once did my husband or my son mention the John Day River's fantastic scenery and fascinating geology. I'm glad I saw it. I came away with a camera load of eye candy and warm feelings induced by longtime friendships forged, in part, by shared river trips through the decades.

Sue Orris nearing the top of an overlook behind one of our John Day River camps. 

The John Day cuts through 281 miles of Central Oregon's high desert before converging with the Columbia River. One hundred and forty-seven miles of the John Day are designated Wild and Scenic, including the 72-mile stretch we navigated. It is the longest undammed river in Oregon, and one of the longest undammed rivers in the USA. On the map, our put-in at Clarno is just off the bottom (sorry) and the take-out is at the Cottonwood Bridge. In between is a serpentine river whose curves and canyons have been formed over millions of years. On the scenic scale, I give it a 7+ with the Grand Canyon being 10.

I all but gave up river trips about 14 years ago.  (Links to river-related blogs follow.)

However, running rivers remains WAY high on PK's must-do-whenever-possible list. I've I agreed to one trip a year with him. This year, I'll do two. The John Day trip was the first. 

The trip reminded me of what I like about river running, and what I don't.

What I really like is great scenery, and crazy geologic features such as this.

And this jumble of folds, creases, and layering.

Next time, we must have a geologist along to interpret. Google led me to the fact that the John Day basin is part of the massive Colombia River Flood Basalts, one of the largest of such formations on the planet.

The outrageous rock formations and land forms just kept coming.

What's good about river trips

• Camping in sublime surroundings with a few good people.
• Being untethered from technology - five days and the only screen time witnessed was me using my iPhone to take photos.
• Experiencing total quiet, except for river and wildlife sounds. (Occasional 💤 noises coming from certain tents)
• Starry skies without light pollution
• If the trip is longer than a few days, getting into nature's rhythm: up at dawn, to bed when darkness descends.
• Seeing wildlife up close, even bears and snakes. (Not rattlers, though)
• Beautiful natural surroundings - of course

In addition to osprey, we saw bald and golden eagles, ducks and geese, California big horn sheep, scarabs, thousands of swallows and boatloads of small mouth bass.

• 
  
• Being self and group reliant
• Traveling with my life partner, who is happier on the river than anywhere else, except perhaps with his grandchildren.
• Photographing everything. It helps me see and appreciate.

• 

  Clarno Rapid is the only significant rapid on this section of the river. We scouted on the left and also ran it on the left. At this water level, it was probably Class 3.5 on a scale of 6. It is reportedly not runnable at low water. The boating season ends sometime in June once snows in the Strawberry Mountains, where the river's water originates, dry up, and agricultural operations continue to draw irrigation water. The water quality when we ran the river in May was already compromised by agricultural run-off.
  
  Cattle (pic below) are a major pollution source. These guys were miffed because we took their spot our first night out. It was evident that they favored this campsite as cow pies of various ripeness were all over the place. PK and I pitched our tent not too far from a fresh pile, which we marked with a shovel, and also a red ant hill, over which we placed sticks so as not to step on it.
  
  

What's irksome about river trips

• Getting ready - requires planning, packing and prep sometimes out of proportion to trip enjoyment.
• Setting up our 30-year-old old Moss tent. The damn thing never wears out!
• Lugging heavy containers up steep river banks, then down again to the raft
• Sitting for hours at a time, even with great scenery (Even in the Grand Canyon!)
• But the worst thing? Using the loo.

The loo is always situated in a private spot with a scenic view.

The lid opens to a plastic bag, supported by a mesh bag, with a scoop of chemical beads that somehow renders the contents acceptable for tossing into waste receptacles. 

Once closed,  the plastic bag, called a Wag Bag, joins previous days' bags in a plastic bucket with a secure lid. Then somebody gets to carry it on his or her boat. Lucky us!

Overall, this toilet system is good. Common sense and wilderness etiquette dictate that human waste — all waste— be carried out. No trace left behind, even it it comes from behind. Ha ha.

But here's the thing. Liquids are are no-no  in the loo. Instead, river trippers  pee in the surrounding area, the river, or into a can. Only solids are directed into the Wag Bag.

I find separating elimination functions problematic, as may other women past a certain age. Enough said!

Overall, this river trip leaned heavily into the pleasure category, despite the few disconcerting moments at the loo or fleeting boredom floating for hours at a time. 

Just the dog and I were up early enough to admire the sunrise at this, our first camp of the river trip. Three nights to go. I loved this camp. Loved them all, really.

The John Day River experience reminded me that a majority of people who read my blog (thank you!)  haven't experienced self-guided wilderness river trips. Here's what it's like.

First somebody gets a river permit, or a wild hair, and sets in motion the mandatory planning and preparation, which I do not enjoy.

In our group of eight, Beth and Jeffrey had the wild hair and they instigated and led the trip. Permits are required, but anybody can get one. (On the John Day River, at least. Other river-permit applications are lotteries that disappoint the majority.)

Once a permit is secured, meals, transportation, shuttles, toilets, trash disposal, composting, water, clothing, etc. etc. must be organized, which requires people with better-than-average organizational skills.

I admire well organized people.

I'm not one, but I'm married to one, and at least four in our group could be in that category.

Beth is top dog. She has her shit together, always. On this trip, she used a 20+-year-old guidebook, plus experience with two previous trips on the John Day, to help us locate camps, petroglyphs, and keep track of historic events that had transpired along this stretch of river. Although a current guide lists 92 camps (!), few are obvious.

Beth may be addressing the wind on this blustery day.
She is unable to organize wind and weather.

Beth rows as Jeff, a fishing aficionado, tempts small mouth bass with lurid flies. He was not disappointed. The catch-and-release victims did not like the surprise, I'm guessing.

But back to the beginning.

Somebody gets the river trip urge. We plan. We pack. We drive close to 300 miles (on this trip) to the river. We look at all our stuff piled on the boat ramp. We balk.

Rafters are not minimalists. The packing-light conversation happens but does not result in restraint. Gotta have options. Right? We got em.

The put-in for our 72-mile trip on mostly flat water began at Clarno, where a bridge crosses the river and easy access is provided by the BLM, which manages the area.  According to the BLM website, one other party was putting on the river this day, but we never saw them. We had the ramp and river to ourselves

A fraction of our gear stacked up at the Clarno put-in.

What do we need for our river trip?

Everything! Including a toilet, water treatment (and/or clean water in containers from home), tents and sleeping bags, pads, food for five days, shelter in case of rain. We also bring a kitchen including stoves, Dutch ovens, charcoal, and every person's coffee-brewing device.

On a long-ago river trip, someone even brought a gasoline-powered blender to make margaritas. At least we got over that.

But I may be the worst offender since I packed clothes I never wore, food we never ate, and
a recently purchased solar panel to charge devices I never used. 

Finally we're on the river, which meanders through agricultural flat land for several miles before squeezing into scenic canyons.  In mid-May the river was still flush with snowmelt from the Strawberry Mountains, where it originates. We had strong currents, gentle wind, moderate temperatures and ideal spring conditions. By the end of June, I understand, snowmelt stops, and irrigation draws down the river until li's suitable only for canoes or kayaks. Agricultural runoff was evident even with spring flows. 

Downstream vista under a cotton tufts  sky.

What goes out of the raft must be repacked and reloaded, which requires
a couple hours each day, altogether. 

Sue and Ferron brought their dog, which fulfilled our needs for canine charm. The dog was easy to pack. I like that about well-behaved dogs. He also scarfed up leftovers.

Curry, rescued from the Curry County Animal Shelter, worries about his people.  He doesn't want to be apart from either one, hence he traipses back and forth, benefitting from their patience and skillful rowing. A reluctant swimmer, he fell in only once.

The kitchen set up includes two three-burner stoves and three tables.The tarp was erected because we'd had heavy but brief rain earlier in the day. 

PK spent hours every day performing catch and release operations on small mouth bass.
Sometimes I rowed while he fished.

I loved that Beth figured out where some hard-to-find petroglyphs
were located and led us to them, despite our doubts. 

Who were the people who survived this harsh land without
portable toilets,inflatable mattresses, and more food than they could eat?
 More resourceful than we are, no doubt. But it's unlikely any of them
lived as long as our group of mostly sixty-somethings.

Lichen decorates petroglyphs.

Margaret has been rowing for at least 30 years. Greg isn't interested, but he goes along for the ride. Near the end of the trip here, I bet he's thinking about baseball. 

We saw scarab beetles in most camps. 

Sheep in the John Day River wilderness are primarily California Big Horn sheep, which are smaller than Rocky Mountain Big Horn sheep. We saw a lot of them, including one that picked its way down an impossibly steep cliff to reach the river as we watched from our camp.

Our tent across from the cliff navigated top to bottom by a sheep.

Lichens, natural rock hues and a bit of photo enhancement give this wall a mid-day
glow. I'd love to see this in magical light - sunrise or sunset. 

A wind turbine and power towers signal we're back to civilization.
We'll see hundreds of these on our way to Moro.
Goodbye, John Day River.

BLM How to get a permit for the John Day River

Posts about earlier river experiences

A River to Run  - the Mighty Rogue

Near Drowning at the Picket Fence

Camp cooking on the river

Korbulic family history regarding the Rogue

Bears on the river

Second thoughts about running the Rogue

Loving the Rogue and why I mostly gave it up

Nomad kayaking son....Will I survive?

Easy as falling off a cliff?  

Nile River - Class 5 Fright

Winter Camping along N. California Coast with Four-Wheel Camper

E-mail subscribers, please click on the headline to view this post on the website.

This huge Roosevelt  elk trotted past our camp along the Pacific Ocean in the Redwood National Park's Gold Bluffs campground. We saw hundreds of Roosevelt elk in the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park area.

We guessed his rack was three- to-four-feet.

PK and I have lived in the Rogue Valley of Southern Oregon since the early 1970s. Through the decades, we mostly stuck close to home. Limited funds. Two kids. Two jobs. Two-week vacations. You know the no-thrill drill.

No complaints, though, as we had the Wild and Scenic Rogue River at our disposal and all the weekend rafting, kayaking, hiking, camping, we could handle. Now that we're retired, we've started the exotic explorations we've always fantasized about, and in the past two years are fortunate to have visited South Africa, Uganda, and Nepal.

But we haven't forgotten where we live, not just Oregon's Rogue Valley, but the State of Jefferson, a collection of rural counties in Southern Oregon and Northern California where folks don't necessarily cotton to the mostly urban dwellers who govern both states. Hence various attempts to form a separate state have been launched, only to fizzle. Statehood probably won't happen, but in the meantime, residents of this mythical state cherish the flora and fauna that define the region. 

Elk hoof prints are large and distinctive, and
surprising to find on the beach.

PK and I hear the local forecasts on NPR each morning, which include most of the State of Jefferson. Lately, our Rogue Valley forecast has been foggy and cold, while the Northern California coast has been sunny and warm, temps in the high 50s being considered comfy. Let's go there, we said on a recent unacceptable morning during which the sun was not expected to penetrate the low-hanging gloom.  We drove a couple hours to reach our destination, but it's still close enough to call "home." And we were reminded once again why we love where we live.

One of the gold bluffs that give the campground its name. 

PK readies kindling for a campfire at our beach camp in the Redwood National Park.
Our Four-Wheel camper is perfect for such places, where large RVs, or trailers of any type, are not allowed due to the four-mile narrow rutted access road. But what a gift! An oceanfront campsite!

An early January sunset as viewed bundled up in our camp chairs. 

White crowned sparrows hung around awaiting crumbs. They didn't get any.  Multiple messages from national and state parks beg visitors to NOT feed the wildlife anything, even crumbs.

The next morning a minor stream crossing was necessary to reach the Fern Canyon trailhead, one of the Redwood National Park's favorite trails. But the car in the background could have navigated it.

Fern Canyon wasn't up to its usual glory as the bedraggled maidenhairs appeared to have suffered from cold. Or maybe they always die and come back. It's winter! What did we expect?

The redwoods, however,  never fail to inspire awe. We explored several trails winding amidst the ancient giants. 

Sore neck time.

Young redwoods cozy up to a much older tree. In time, their trunks may merge.

On the way home, we meandered along the Redwood Highway to Grants Pass, which follows the Smith River for a time. The Smith's delicate turquoise and breathtakingly clarity thrill me every single time since I first saw the river more than 40 years ago. 

Being alone on the beach is not unusual along coastal areas in the State of Jefferson. We'll be back to take advantage before the hoards descend for the summer tourist season. As daily listeners to weather updates for the N. California coast,  we believe summer visitors may not find summer conditions much different from winter. Year-round, temperatures range from high 40s to lower 60s.
However, we DID get lucky. The annual average January rainfall in this area is 11 inches.

EARLIER POSTS ABOUT GREAT PLACES IN 

THE STATE OF JEFFERSON 

Oregon Coast Getaway with Four-Wheel Camper

Bear Trip on the Rogue River

There You Have - The Mighty Rogue!

Camping and Cooking on the Rogue

Quick Getaway - Crater Lake

Oregon's Illinois River with Four-Wheel Camper

NOTES ABOUT WINTER IN THE FOUR-WHEEL CAMPER

When we first graduated from tent camping to the Four-Wheel Camper, we were old, relatively, in our 60s. We about died of happiness. After decades of erecting our faithful Moss tent in wind and rain, crawling out at night to pee, enduring an occasional rock under a sleeping pad, struggling to read with a headlamp, and waking in the dark with no place to go, our new camper was thrilling.

Oregon Coast Getaway with Four Wheel Camper

This is what you don't want to see when you visit the Oregon coast—a band of
thick fog sitting on Highway 101. It bodes ill.

Because when you see that fog bank ahead, here's what the

usually stunning scenery looks like. 

PK and I are always ready to charge off in our little Four Wheel pop-up camper, if even for a few days. Since the Four Wheel is the self-proclaimed "only true off-road camper," and we chose it so we could go places people driving boxcar-sized RV units can't, we usually shun massive campgrounds and opt for Forest Service camps, or we tuck into undeveloped pull-outs, cliff overhangs and shorelines. We weren't entirely successful in crowd avoidance during our recent two-night trek to Oregon's southern coast, however. More on that below.

When we left for the coast a couple weeks ago, we were fleeing the heat. We'd endured triple-digit temps alternating with high-nineties for what seemed like forever, but was really only most of July.  (Now we're living in smoke from numerous forest fires. See previous post if you like depressing stuff.)

This beach is in Northern California just a few miles from the Oregon border. We considered camping in the deserted nearby parking area in the spirit of our dear little camper, but dang, it was chilly, windy, and smelled of rotting fish. Also, fog was rolling in. Sometimes we have to practice tough love with the camper.

The Southern Oregon/Northern California coast is famously cool when the inland valleys are roasting. We left the ranch sweltering in 100+ temps and two hours later were shivering on the beach (alone, of course) with stiff winds challenging the worthiness of our wind jackets. We wanted out of the valley heat, but not in to coastal chill, wind, and fog.

 We ended up about 12 miles inland on the Chetco River just outside of Brookings, Oregon, completely out of the fog and into perfect weather. This is a Forest Service camping area, but without formal sites. There may have been as many as 50 people around, but we couldn't hear them.

We couldn't see them, either. We like this. (It looks like PK is
staring at the trees, but the Chetco River is the blackness beneath the trees.)

We weren't offended when a sweet little family used the swimming hole in front of our camp. 

Camping is a "special occasion" offering an excuse for drinking wine. I don't need much of an excuse, of course, but there are worse things. The slanted light did wonders for our plastic glasses. 

Easy dinner, mostly from the garden. Simple cucumber salad,

fried spuds with zucchini, onions, chard and basil, and Trader Joe's
hot Italian sausage.  

Next day we were ready for another go at the coast, but alas, the fog persisted and, for the most part, hid the Oregon coast's spectacular beauty.

This was the view from atop Cape Sebastian, which is usually mind-blowing. 

We stopped for lunch at the picturesque Griff's restaurant on the dock at Port Orford, having read positive reviews on Yelp! PK gave thumbs up to his fish and chips. My crab Louis ($17!!) was dinner-salad sized, came with a packet of Ritz crackers (!!) and left me hungry and crabby (hahaha). 

Here we are at the second-night camp, cheek to jowl with cold grumpy campers on both sides, at Bullard's Beach State Park. Oregon has a great state parks system, but our camper does not like super developed and crowded campgrounds.Bullard's Beach has more than 300 sites plus a bunch of yurts and an equestrian camp. Sites are neatly divided by vegetation, but it didn't work for us. 

The indignities! The Four Wheel camper (she needs a name!) gets embarrassed when out of her element. We can get by without power and water hook-ups for several days, but we use them when available, especially when we've paid for them. The white bucket catches sink water. Having campers directly across the way and on either side is, well, just not fun.

PK on the last steps of a mile+ trail from camp to the beach. 

Another beach to ourselves! At least 600 people, probably more like 1,000, were in the campground, but truthfully, this beautiful beach wasn't that inviting and I don't blame them for sticking close to their RVs. The temperature differential between camp and the beach was probably 20+ degrees, so people we saw along the trail were mostly underdressed. A tee shirt is not going to do the trick here. That's grey fog blowing in on a stiff ocean breeze. Sand is skittering across the beach, and I guess we gave it five minutes. Or less. The Oregon coast isn't like California with nearly naked people frolicking in the surf (Here you could die! And you would most assuredly need a wetsuit.) The Oregon coast in July .... unknown to tourists who have not visited during summer months.... is often chilly, windy, and foggy. My sister came all the way from Minnesota one summer, traveled the Oregon coastline from north to south, and didn't see the ocean for more than a few minutes. Best time to visit? Late August and September. Then you can get by with shorts and tee shirts and the Oregon coast will blow your mind and make your eyes and your heart ache at the beauty of it all.

More posts about Southern Oregon/Northern California

Bear Trip on the Rogue River

There You Have - The Mighty Rogue!

Camping and Cooking on the Rogue

Quick Getaway - Crater Lake

Oregon's Illinois River with Four-Wheel Camper