Rock Creek Weekend
(Arachnophobes may want to give this post a miss...!)
I write this sitting at my desk at home in Bedfordshire. But this time a week ago -- and a whole world away -- I was sitting next to a camp fire in the forests on the western slopes of the Cascade Mountains in Oregon.
My trip 'home' centred around final goodbyes to elderly parents in failing health. But almost as precious in my memories will be the camping trip that brought me and all four of my sisters together for a "girls only" weekend retreat.
We drove from our parents' home in Roseburg up the North Umpqua River, passing a seamlessly shifting panorama of scenes from our childhoods. I say 'childhoods' because the age gap between eldest and youngest is 19 and a half years, and our memories from this area span all of that plus another 20 years, then (for several of my sisters) after a long gap, another 7-8 years of hiking in these mountains, camping along its streams and 'ridge running' its spider web of old logging roads.
I was travelling "light". I had my (re-packed) carry-on bag from my flight, plus this:
We took two vehicles, each carrying only two people but towing one of these:
We rejected the larger Millpond site (with its popular swimming hole) in favour of the quieter, more secluded Rock Creek Recreational Site a few miles further upstream.
We positioned the two teardrop trailers:
Our first priority was to get in the water:
A few extended members of the family joined us for the afternoon. My great-nieces (aged 7 and 10) had a great time on the swing installed last summer by their daddy and uncle.
Back in camp, I had nothing to do but sit in the sunshine waiting for breakfast.
Sometimes, you just can't beat camp food.
Remember that pre-departure hose down with pest spray? When setting the trailer into position on arrival, a stowaway fell onto the ground from the inside of Barbara's trailer jack. Fortunately, she (the spider, not Barbara) had been well stunned. I took a closer look the next morning. Her legs flailed frantically when we turned her over to examine the distinctive hourglass marking on her underside, but it seemed certain she would not recover or pose any threat to us the rest of the weekend.
After a leisurely lunch, we decided to hop into one car and drive up to the head of Rock Creek, run along the watershed divide and then drop down into the next draw: a network of canyons with creeks feeding into Steamboat Creek which, like Rock Creek, drains into the North Umpqua River. We then followed the river downstream to the turning back up Rock Creek, thus completing a 65-mile loop.
We stopped a lot. A lot! For anything: wildflowers, vistas, road-crossing birds, butterflies, babbling brooks.
Returning to camp, it was time to pack up and head back to Roseburg.
We drove from our parents' home in Roseburg up the North Umpqua River, passing a seamlessly shifting panorama of scenes from our childhoods. I say 'childhoods' because the age gap between eldest and youngest is 19 and a half years, and our memories from this area span all of that plus another 20 years, then (for several of my sisters) after a long gap, another 7-8 years of hiking in these mountains, camping along its streams and 'ridge running' its spider web of old logging roads.
I was travelling "light". I had my (re-packed) carry-on bag from my flight, plus this:
We took two vehicles, each carrying only two people but towing one of these:
 |
| My youngest sister's family-built teardrop, after she sprayed it inside and out with ant & spider poison (a precautionary step that paid off) |
 |
| well-stocked camp kitchen |
We rejected the larger Millpond site (with its popular swimming hole) in favour of the quieter, more secluded Rock Creek Recreational Site a few miles further upstream.
We positioned the two teardrop trailers:
Our first priority was to get in the water:
 |
| Remains of last year's dam. It'll be repaired and rebuilt by this year's succession of campers and daytrippers. |
A few extended members of the family joined us for the afternoon. My great-nieces (aged 7 and 10) had a great time on the swing installed last summer by their daddy and uncle.
I was woken the next morning by the dawn chorus and went straight out on the bike, heading up the draw (so that I could freewheel back). It's difficult to describe the tranquillity of a mountain forest in the early morning. I was on the lookout for the pair of bald eagles that nest each year in a snag overlooking the swimming hole but didn't see anything 'wilder' than a wild turkey that crossed the road in front of me (and later wandered round through our camp).
I had intended to ride until the asphalt gave out to gravel but was surprised to learn later that Rock Creek Road is entirely paved. This is because, unlike most of the roads in these mountains, it is not owned by the U.S. Bureau of Land Management (which owns the land through which it runs) but, unusually, is in private ownership.
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| I wonder where those BLM roads go... No need to wonder: the left one is almost certainly for access to hillsides (for loggers); the right one down to the water's edge (for firefighters). |
Back in camp, I had nothing to do but sit in the sunshine waiting for breakfast.
 |
| Experienced camp cooks. If you don't know what you're doing, best to stay out of the way. |
Sometimes, you just can't beat camp food.
 |
| Scrambled egg (with bacon) topped with pico de gallo and garnished with grated cheese and sour cream, plus hash brown and sausage patties. |
Remember that pre-departure hose down with pest spray? When setting the trailer into position on arrival, a stowaway fell onto the ground from the inside of Barbara's trailer jack. Fortunately, she (the spider, not Barbara) had been well stunned. I took a closer look the next morning. Her legs flailed frantically when we turned her over to examine the distinctive hourglass marking on her underside, but it seemed certain she would not recover or pose any threat to us the rest of the weekend.
After a leisurely lunch, we decided to hop into one car and drive up to the head of Rock Creek, run along the watershed divide and then drop down into the next draw: a network of canyons with creeks feeding into Steamboat Creek which, like Rock Creek, drains into the North Umpqua River. We then followed the river downstream to the turning back up Rock Creek, thus completing a 65-mile loop.
We stopped a lot. A lot! For anything: wildflowers, vistas, road-crossing birds, butterflies, babbling brooks.
 |
| A Western Tiger Swallowtail feeding on rhododendron nectar. |
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| Grouse hen. She had 3 babies with her (maybe 4), but I didn't manage a photo of any of them. |
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In June, these grasses should all be green. Douglas County
has been declared officially in drought.
Guess what percentage of its average June snow-pack the Cascade Mountains currently has? Zero. That's right, nothing. (From the air, it was extremely difficult to identify the main peaks, as few had any snow at all -- only the highest like Jefferson and Hood and even they don't have anything like what they should have.) |
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| A variety of Fritillary butterfly, pollinating Oregon Sunshine aka 'Woolly Daisy' (a wildflower in the sunflower family) |
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| this year's needle growth on a Douglas Fir tree |
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| a storybook stream that runs into Steamboat Creek |
Returning to camp, it was time to pack up and head back to Roseburg.
A wonderful weekend surrounded by ancient forest, streams and rivers: touchstones to so many facets of my childhood and the perfect re-introduction to my homeland.
And yes, I feel a bicycle review coming on...
And if this post contained insufficient references to mosquitoes or other biting insects (which is quite possible because we were very very lucky), then this may satisfy you. Especially if, like my sisters, you've never heard of midges and the misery they inflict on us residents of the British Isles.
And yes, I feel a bicycle review coming on...
And if this post contained insufficient references to mosquitoes or other biting insects (which is quite possible because we were very very lucky), then this may satisfy you. Especially if, like my sisters, you've never heard of midges and the misery they inflict on us residents of the British Isles.
