John Day River Trip – In January!?!?!

This blog has been quiet. I haven’t had any epic or not so epic extended adventures to chronical…and honestly I can’t seem to access the wonder, words, or desire to write extensively when I have a million distractions in the “real world.” Nature tends to even me out, smooth down the sharp pointy reminders of my to-do list, and leave me with the space to let my mind wander over the scenes and musings of the day. I need at least an overnight excursion to shake off the incessant access to the information superhighway and my weak resolve to find focus in a day filled with distractions.

I must go outside.

And here I am. Outside. A brewing cup of french press coffee waits outside the tent in the early morning darkness as a rising John Day River expands its capacity to hold all the water from rain and rain on snow.

It’s raining in January. In fact, it’s 50 degrees in January. It has been a disconcerting winter so far. One of warmth, ice, snow, rain on snow, then cold…thus more ice. The skiing has been dismal. And as we were looking at another depressing warm spell in the mountains, Kirk and I went to the river.

To our favorite section of our beloved river. In fact, you visited it with me last year on the Columbia Plateau Route….well, not this exact section… a hike is never the same as a river trip. They are entirely different trips in the same geography. A reason to visit a place more than once.

As we floated today, I pointed out all the places that I had packrafted or hiked in the canyon.

Our friend Brian had joined us. And it was his first time down this stretch of the river; I could see the effect of this magnificent place on his face and in his voice. It was simply too grand for photos. There was too much to take in; you could only sit back and grin.

I needed this trip so badly. I have been working from home now for almost a year, and the dreary winter kept us home more weekends than not over the past few months. I haven’t had any big trips, and paired with several ice storms and gray skis that practically shut the state down for weeks, I was bursting at the seams for a change of perspective.

We knew rain was on the menu for the weekend, but there was also the hint of sun and 50 degree tempatures. It could be positively balmy out there.

As we drove in, the muddy roads gave a little warning of what awaited us ahead, and clumps of snow still wedged in deep cracks of rock and shady folds of the earth gave the eye a bright how-do-you-do in the browns and gray of the darkening day.

It was dark by the time we parked the truck at the top of a muddy and washed-out grade down to the river, and we walked our packrafts and gear to a lovely little camp below.

Flash forward: putting up the tent in the rain and mud is a test of patience and relationships. Fortunately Kirk and I passed the test….by a slim margin. We tried to make the best of bringing half the wet and mud with us inside. Of course we could be at home in a cozy bed instead of in the mud, but this was way better. This was living… finding comfort in the uncomfortable. We were soon dry, though…as long as we didn’t move from our sleeping-pad islands.

We played cards and went to bed when it felt late. It had been dark for hours, and we had no time to keep. But one glance at my airplane-mode pocket computer showed some glowing numbers starting in the 7s.. Sunrise is about 7:30am, so we were in for a long night.

It rained and throughout the dark hours we slowly turned over and over in our sleeping bags, settling deeper into our muddy nook of a campsite; the sounds of the rushing water working its way deeper into our dreams.

Shortly after the day lightened, the rain stopped.

We broke open from our long night and started the river prep.

But first coffee.

Bags in bags, drysuit gaskets stretched, and packraft zippers zipped. River shoes and pfd’s on, and when all the pieces and parts were assembled, we had liftoff.

And really, isn’t boating like flying?

The feeling of weightlessness and smooth speed immediately depressurized my brain a few notches. I was so full of ideas and conversations and planning and budgeting and contracts and taxes, that I desperately needed to open a release valve in my brain to let that excess mental heat out. An overnight trip could only accomplish a fraction of the relief needed; a long hike is the better cure, but I had to table that carrot for a while. It wasn’t time for the type of trip where I could really shake off the excess. And there is so much excess in the world right now. Ok, excess isn’t the right word. Maybe weight is a better word? The weight of war, climate change, injustice, the upcoming election, ice storms, gray days…all the things.

What this weekend indicates is that I need to be better about taking these short bursts of joy and freedom so that I don’t blow a gasket from going too hot for too long.

Noted!

Words fail us here. The sun came out and we floated the day away with giant smiles on our faces.

Camp had a view of an intricate basalt wall and mountains all around…but then all the campsites do out here.

Tents drying in the sun, camp chairs, and puffy coats. Ahhhh.

An afternoon stroll up to a ridge hundreds of feet above the river helped me relax into the day even more.

I think a river trip is one of the most calming things out there. The rushing river acts as metronome to the day, and tends to smooth out most frictions.

Did I say Ahhhh yet?

The trip is too short, but has once again proved that the more time I spend outside, the better. I’m better.

This article originally appeared in the Fall + Winter 2023 Desert Ramblings for Oregon Natural Desert Association

Hiking for a plan to permanently protect this landscape.

When I pitched my tent on the edge of the lumbering Sutton Mountain, the views were obscured by heavy rain clouds. My dry island of nylon was an escape from the drenching spring rains, and while I lamented missing out on the scenic vista that was buried in layers of hazy moisture, I knew a good soaking rain was something to encourage and even celebrate in this desert landscape. Some bright bloom or newborn babe would grow an extra inch in this wet, and for that I was grateful.

Luckily enough, my optimism for a dry morning and relief from the low-lying clouds was realized, and when I zipped open the tent fly the next day, the world revealed itself. I could see the brilliant Painted Hills, fresh and vibrant as if the rain dialed the hues up a notch, and beyond, in layers of ridgelines, sat the far reaches of the Ochoco Mountains…with a dusting of fresh snow! Even though I was backpacking in early May, winter’s grip lingered.

I celebrated the views, one: because I would be able to hike the edge of this fault block sentinel and enjoy the unique vantage point that the ancient geology and plate tectonics provided, and two: because I would be ending my exploratory nine-day backpacking trip through the John Day River Basin on a high note. Hiking up and over Sutton Mountain was to be the grand finale.

What is it to know the land? To our hiking hearts, it is to walk through it, to sleep between stands of bunchgrass, to drink from elusive desert springs, and climb up to rocky bluffs only previously traversed by bighorn sheep. Folks fortunate enough to spend time in this area become intimate with the plants, animals, geology, and human history unique to the area. We come to understand the importance of the largest intact expanse of federal public lands in the John Day River Basin, and why it needs to be permanently protected, with Sutton Mountain as the pinnacle of these lands.

I prepared for this hike by printing out pages of text to read in the evenings when my legs wouldn’t cooperate after 15 miles of walking up and down the steep (so steep) terrain along the John Day River. I had information on geology, history, public lands, and even a little poetry. I wanted bits of inspiration and intrigue to help me understand the place I was walking through. I wanted information that would help illustrate why the John Day River basin was so important, and places like Sutton Mountain, so unique.

And what did I learn?

Geologically speaking, I had to imagine myself standing here millions of years ago when this landscape was being buried by ash, lava, and volcanic mud, solidifying and preserving ancient plants and animals.

Ecologically speaking, I learned that Sutton Mountain was the nexus of important migration patterns of elegant creatures like the Rocky Mountain elk, sleek pronghorn antelope, and the nimble mule deer. Above, equally intricate patterns emerge from winged fauna drafting in the air currents; golden eagles and ferruginous hawks soar, while sage sparrows and red-naped sapsuckers flit in the wooded brush below.

Culturally speaking, I was walking through the original homelands of the Warm Springs Tribes and the Northern Paiute peoples, homelands that probably appeared much as they did thousands of years ago, for this area, in particular Sutton Mountain, hasn’t been disrupted by extractive industries, expansive development, or intrusive management. Sutton Mountain is as it has been, and that is why permanent protection for this area is so important: so it stays that way.

Each year, hundreds of thousands of visitors travel to the Painted Hills National Monument just across the road from Sutton Mountain. In fact, the iconic painted hills don’t end at the monument’s boundary. If we step back into the imagination machine when I watched layers of ash and basalt build into the hulking ridgeline of Sutton Mountain, those compounding layers would also resemble the colorful neighbor across the street, as the lower reaches of the mountain continue to reveal.

If visitors turned around to consider Sutton Mountain as their next destination, they would find more than just a stunning backdrop, they would find secluded valleys, rolling grassy hills, and outcrops of impressive volcanic rock…all the things I love to explore on a hiking trip into this special area. But without more consideration and planning, it is easy to imagine the destruction that unmanaged recreation or development could bring and already has to nearby desert destinations. That is why a thoughtful and inclusive plan to permanently protect Sutton Mountain will be so important. It is through improved conservation management that we can sustain the values that make a hike here today, and in 100 years, so compelling.

I think the wonderful thing about visiting Sutton Mountain is that much is left to the imagination. This is a place prime for following your curiosity as very few established trails will tell you where to go. Instead, you can ramble at will, and if you keep the values of ecological diversity, intact habitats, and respect for cultural, historic, and local communities in mind, recreating with respect and intention can be in harmony with this place and its future.

I invite you to climb up to the rolling grasslands of Sutton Mountain’s flank, walk the edge of the dramatic fault, and when you arrive at the 4,700-foot summit, picture what this place will look like in a few hundred years. You won’t have to imagine it, it will look like this.

I don’t know how I made it through.

Do you have weeks like that? Things are at such a level of overwhelm that the only pace you can take is at break-neck speed?

I know I do it to myself, but last week factors outside of my control helped create the perfect confluence of angst.

To start with, I lost my best friend from high school and college: the lovely Missy (Borino, Benard, Zopp) from cancer.

There are no words to describe what an amazing human being she was. Her celebration of life was last weekend in Milwaukee, and I just had to go and see her family and our other friends.

I was so grateful to spend the weekend around friends and her loved ones, and I just had to trust that the rest of the week would happen smoothly. You see, I had scheduled the launch event for my new Intentional Hiking business for Monday evening, and my flight back from Wisconsin was due to arrive back in Central Oregon a few hours before that event. Any delays or missed connections would be unimaginable, so I just didn’t imagine it.

And I arrived back in time…but technical issues presented a nailbiter of a few hours until go time (warning…this is going to get a bit meta…I know some of you attended the launch, or plan to attend future events, so talking about putting them on might be more of a peak behind the curtain than some of you want…)

I couldn’t get the sound to work, but then I did.

I couldn’t get music to play upon intro, so decided not to worry about it.

I hadn’t had time to practice my transitions and the flow of the event because I was in Wisconsin, so did my best to emanate a sense of confidence and ease.

I had some problems with registrations and some folks that REALLY REALLY wanted to be there didn’t get my invites (so sorry NEMO!!!), but I am reinforcing my systems for next time around and am even looking at changing event platforms.

I had lower attendance than I would have liked (I know, I know, I’m just starting…it will take time to grow my audience), but kept on as if there were 200 people on the Zoom.

I had a coughing fit during the event, (embarrassing…and on video), but I kept going like everything was fine.

And it was fine. It turned out great in fact! The folks that attended were wonderful and engaged, and I came away incredibly excited and even more energized for the next events.

Do you want to watch the launch?

So that was just Monday.

Tuesday my Wilderness First Responder recertification course started. Every two years I need to take a 3-day training on responding to medical issues while in backcountry situations. If you don’t keep your training up to date, the consequence is an 80-hour training course for those who lapse. I had to do that a few years ago, and vowed to not let that happen again. It’s an intense program, with real consequences. In fact, I had to decide to evacuate someone for a medical issue from a trip I led this summer! To work with people in the backcountry is to take on a level of responsibility to care for them when things aren’t going according to plan.

So I had class from 8-5 last week, and I had also managed to schedule my first Blue Mountains Trail presentation for Tuesday night. Had I been able to prepare for the talk? Not as much as I would have liked…again. Did I get there in time to help set up? Yes! Did I have help from my wonderful friend Marina? Yes! Did the event go smoothly? Better than I could have hoped.

It was a packed house with about 120 people present!

I was elated that so many folks wanted to learn more about the Blue Mountains Trail and my hike, but why did I have to schedule it the day after my business launch and the first day of an intensive medical training course? Ask Renee from four months ago…

Somehow it all worked, I attended training the next day and practically danced around the block when another event I had committed to on Wednesday after class was rescheduled.

Note to self: try not to overbook yourself like this again.

So, I’m on the other end of that week, and looking at a mellower week ahead: I only have the Oregon Outdoor Recreation Summit to attend, several meetings to host/facilitate/introduce, and a presentation to give, so it’s much more manageable. 🤨

But in good (or not good news) my cold weather backpacking class with Central Oregon Community College was canceled – not enough registrations – so I have a bit more of leeway in my schedule next week…