Sutton Creek Trail, a lovely coastal hike near Florence, Oregon

View from Holman Vista

For a serene hike through beach pines, shrubs, and the occasional dune, check out the Sutton Creek Trail just north of Florence, Oregon. Florence is known for its sand dunes, and part of this trail hits the edge of some dunes, but most of it remains in the woods, a woods that might do Middle-earth proud.

We camped at Sutton campground four miles north of Florence. It is a quiet campground set amid fir and alder trees along Sutton Creek. Ferns, salal, huckleberry, and what looked to be salmonberry surround the campsites and give a good degree of privacy. And Sutton Creek Trail, a loop (or rather, figure 8) trail begins right in the campground.

The part of the loop closest to the creek meandered through beach pines filled in with salal, huckleberry bushes, and tall rhododendrons (not blooming in August). At times the brush and trees became so dense it was like walking through green and gray tunnels. Moss hung from some of the trees and sprinkled across the ground with occasional lichens and a few large—and odd-looking—mushrooms. It seemed like a landscape suited to elves and hobbits.

We heard an occasional jay or crow and, towards the end, the high-pitched shriek of an osprey high above. The only birds I actually saw were crows trying to maneuver the blustery winds, a single robin, and four nondescript wrentits flitting through the bushes.

We enjoyed the view from Holman Vista, looking over Sutton Creek to the wooded dunes beyond. The ocean roared from beyond the dunes, but it wasn’t visible. We tried what used to be the Beach Trail, but found no reliable way to cross Sutton Creek to the dunes. Apparently there was once a bridge there, but now there were only random logs for those more intrepid than I.

We turned onto the Northern Sutton Creek Trail. While the first half of the loop was a hard dirt trail through the woods, much of the second half of the trail became sandier with brushy dunes rising up to the left. Parts of the trail went along the edge of the dunes, and we found slogging uphill through the sand slower going. The area was more open with nice views of the sandy hills. We saw a couple of garter snakes slither off the path as we approached.

The first half of the trail has occasional benches where we enjoyed taking a short break. There were fewer on the return half of the loop. We ate our lunch sitting on a log beside the trail. At the dune near the end of our return—less than half a mile from Sutton Campground—two rope swings hung from a large tree over the sand. My husband tried one out just for fun.

The total hike is about six miles. Some ups and downs, but nothing at all extreme. Weather was nice—high 60s to maybe 70. A cool hike through the woods with a little added warmth in the more open areas made it a lovely coastal hike.

And if you visit the area, be sure to take a short trip to the Darlingtonia Wayside, less than a mile north on Highway 101. Carnivorous plants in abundance.

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Cottonwood Canyon: The Pinnacles Trail

Lone Tree Campground in Cottonwood Canyon State Park

We camped two nights at Lone Tree Campground in Cottonwood Canyon State Park, a quiet little campground along the John Day River in central Oregon. This is a fairly recent addition to the state parks, which includes 21 nice flat campsites with fire pits and with windbreaks and/or sun-sheltered picnic tables, but no hookups or dump station for RVs. There are also four cabins and a number of walk-in tent sites. They are all located in a pretty valley surrounded by picturesque hills. At one end, an old barn remains from the cattle ranch that used to be here.

Valley of Cottonwood Canyon State Park–with old barn

There are several hikes in the area, short ones around the campground and a longer trail on each side of the river. The Pinnacles Trail heads out from the end of the campground, while the Lost Corral Trail requires a short drive across a bridge to the trailhead parking lot. We took the easy way, walking from our campsite. At the Pinnacles trailhead we noted cautions about ticks, rattlesnakes, and cougars, all possible dangers here. Fortunately, we saw none of them during our visit. A reminder to pack plenty of water was also posted, definitely an important suggestion in this dry and warm area.

The weather forecast was for sunshine and a high of 75 (F). I wore a jacket to begin with, as the cliffs along the first part of the hike provided morning shade. The John Day River flowed along at full strength, with occasional ducks and Canada geese along its edges, red-winged blackbirds calling from the bushes, and swallows dipping and gliding above. We saw one cliff swallow carrying straw to build a nest on the edge of the towering cliff.

John Day River

The trail itself was pretty wide and smooth, mostly level and easy. After we passed the cliffs, the views opened up and the sun warmed us—time to remove jackets and roll up sleeves. (And wish I had remembered to pack a hat!) The scenery was gorgeous in a barren kind of way. I kept looking for mountain goats, but never saw any. But we did see plenty of butterflies and lizards. Some even held still long enough for me to get pictures.

According to my app, these are a common side-blotched lizard and anise swallowtails

After about three miles, the trail was blocked by a sign restricting access to protect the nesting areas of golden eagles. We saw one eagle soaring above the hills. Soon a couple of crows went after it, attacking it in flight until it left the area. We rested a bit on a bench nearby, then hiked slowly back, as the sun beating down on us was beginning to take a toll. We took plenty of water breaks and ate peanut butter and jam sandwiches in the shade of a large walnut tree on the appropriately-named Lower Walnut Trail, a short loop off the main trail. After a nice rest break, we headed on back to camp. The Pinnacles trail was our longest hike so far this year—and definitely worth the effort. We plan to return to Cottonwood Canyon State Park, a lovely desert oasis.

along the Pinnacles hike

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Longing for Quiet

Shhhhh.

Have all the noises of life ever made you long for a few moments of silence? Yeah, me, too. And I found it not all that far from home.

Standing in the meadow surrounded by tall firs, I felt the silence all around me like a living presence. Few sounds broke the stillness—only a bird’s call far away and the gentle sighing of the breeze. The quiet sank into me, filled me with peace. If only I could stay here forever, what a joy that would be.

We’d only been camping at Little Crater Lake, a small campground on Mt. Hood, for two nights. A short retreat from the stresses of 2021: Covid, Afghanistan, fires, hurricanes, floods, political conflicts. All of this added to the ordinary stress of modern-day life seemed an overwhelming burden, even though we ourselves were relatively untouched by the disasters. But like many these days, we were bombarded by the news—always the bad news—and it weighed us down.

I had forgotten how much I needed the quiet of nature, of time spent in God’s magnificent creation. We hiked through the woods, lounged in our campsite reading, or just closed our eyes and listened to the quiet. It restored our souls.

We need to find time for quiet in our lives. Even if you can’t get away, perhaps you can walk through a neighborhood park or garden, sit in your backyard, or visit an apartment rooftop. Or make a tiny retreat in your home with pictures from nature and things that bring peace to your mind and soul. Close your eyes and imagine a beautiful place you have been. Imagine the breeze and the sunshine on your skin. Birds singing or crickets chirping. Maybe a river bubbling over the rocks or ocean waves beating against the sand. Then say a prayer to the God who made it all, and let your gratitude be the quiet that washes away stress.

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Hiking Paulina Creek

Beginning of Peter Skene Ogden Trail

Recently my husband, Gary, and I spent a couple of nights at La Pine State Park in central Oregon. It was a pretty park by the Deschutes River, set among open pine woods (hence the name). The campground road was a bit bumpy driving in, and the driveway angled up, but the site itself was level and quite pleasant. The river was out of sight, but within hearing, and a trail passed just behind our campsite. (We had two very nice hikes from there, not included in this post.)

Through the pine forest

The morning after our arrival, we packed some PBJ sandwiches, fruit, and trail bars and drove to the Ogden Group Camp along Paulina Creek, only a few miles away. Parking was plentiful, but cars few (Nice!). The outhouse was clean and fresh, and we noted a couple of picnic tables near the creek. Crossing the creek on a wooden bridge, we set out on the Peter Skene Ogden trail.

Greenleaf manzanita

At first Paulina Creek flowed gently along grassy banks, bright in the sunshine. The trail was fairly level with some small rises and dips, then began a very gradual climb through the pine forest. The creek picked up speed in places where it tumbled over or between rocks. While the trail occasionally wandered away from the creek, it was always within earshot. Little birds moved quietly through the bushes—dark-eyed juncos and mountain chickadees—looking for bugs to eat.

Less than halfway in, we crossed a second bridge, pausing to enjoy the clear water and beauty of the Ponderosa pines. After that the trail gradually grew steeper—but never more than this wimpy hiker could easily handle. We passed an occasional hiker or pair of hikers. Most had dogs, which wasn’t surprising since the hiking book we used (Day Hiking: Bend and Central Oregon) mentioned the many great places for dogs to splash in the creek. Some pretty pink flowers—greenleaf manzanita my Picture This app said—lined the path in places. A nice contrast to the brownness of the trail.

Paulina Creek Falls by McKay Crossing Campground

After about 3 miles, we reached McKay Crossing Campground, which was apparently closed at the time. This was also the location of a beautiful waterfall—not a huge one by any means, but very pretty. We sat on the rocks above it and rested for a bit, taking photos and relishing the view.

The return trip was a pleasant, gently downhill tromp. I’m always glad when the uphill comes first and the downhill later when temperatures are higher and energy lower. Reaching the beginning/end of the hike, we stopped at one of those picnic tables to eat our lunch before heading back to camp. A lovely little hike for a warm spring day.

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Summer Hiking Surprise along the Breitenbush River

With Covid still in full swing, my husband and I have searched for out-of-the-way places to camp and hike. While we carry our masks with us, it’s much nicer if we can keep them in our pockets and enjoy a solitary hike. There are other benefits to hiking lesser known trails. We love the quiet of the deep woods, the soothing sounds of a clear stream rushing over stones, bird calls that echo through the stillness. These are all more fully enjoyed without other voices breaking the quiet.

We recently camped two nights in a forest camp along the Breitenbush River in the Oregon Cascades. The first full day we drove some distance to a hike that climbed to a nice viewpoint, where we rested and ate lunch. We only saw two other people the whole time. On the day we were leaving, we decided to take a short hike from the campground. The trail began above the river, partially visible through the trees and brush. Nothing special, but we would at least get our steps in, we thought. But then things changed.

The trail turned away from the river, entering some woods. Suddenly we felt like we had entered the Hoh Rainforest. The ground was green with moss and thick strands hung from the trees. Ferns grew amidst the salal, Oregon grape, and huckleberry plants. Sunlight slanted through maple and fir trees, adding to the beauty. And all of this just steps from a dusty trail above a river.

We hadn’t expected much of the trail—just a pleasant stroll before breaking camp. What we received was a special gift from God, beauty to carry with us as we returned to our home. What if we hadn’t gone for a morning walk? We would never have known what we missed. How often does that happen in my life? How many times do I stick to what I know, rather than trying out something new? Maybe I need to try new things more often—cook a new recipe, read a book outside my usual genres, develop a new skill, make a new friend. What beauty might be waiting for me just around the bend?

 

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Covid Hiking: from Panther Creek Campground, Washington

beginning of the hike

Only about an hour’s hike to a viewpoint, the camp host told my husband and me. It was uphill, but not steep, he said. So we headed out from Panther Creek Campground to the Pacific Coast Trail—and immediately the path sloped uphill through tall trees. Not steep? Well, it probably depends on one’s definition. We hit our first switch back and continued to the next. And the next. And the next.

After an hour, we were still going. Every so often we saw bright areas ahead, like the top of the hill. Not long now, we thought. But then the next switchback revealed the trail continuing onward and upward, with no top in sight. Two hours and still no viewpoint. Did I mention I am a lousy uphill hiker?

phantom orchid

Another switchback, another long uphill stretch. Was that the top of the hill to the side or just another illusion? I plowed forward without my usual rest breaks, up the last two switchbacks. I strode into the sunlight and gazed at dark green hills below. A few steps more, and Mt. Adams came into view. Finally, we made it. We rested a bit, enjoying our achievement—and the scenery—before heading back down to camp (a hike which, for some odd reason, took half the time of the hike up).

tall trees on the way

That hike is a bit like our current situation with COVID-19. We bought our masks, tried ordering groceries online, holed up in our safe, little home, expecting normal life to be just around the next switchback. My husband and I discussed taking a May trip to Japan to see our son and daughter-in-law. So glad we never made reservations. Then we thought summer might bring a reprieve. We might at least get out to Pittsburgh to see our other son and his family. Nope, still struggling up the hill. And now, who knows when it will end? My legs are getting tired and my heart is pounding as we work our way up this hill—or perhaps this mountain.

tapertip onion

But our hike was a success. We kept going and made it to the viewpoint. Our reward was a lovely sight and a feeling of accomplishment. So hang in there, friends. We can ask God for extra strength when ours is running out. Better yet, we can rely on His strength, rather than our own. It may not be easy. We may get tired well before we reach the end. But with God’s help, we will eventually make it to the viewpoint and be very glad we didn’t give up.

Mt. Adams

 

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Canyon Creek Meadows, Oregon

Posing at Upper Meadow

Written July 11, 2016

Picturesque lakes, mountain meadows, views of jagged peaks, a forest being reborn after a disastrous fire—all elements of the beautiful Canyon Creek Meadows hike from Jack Lake, not far from Camp Sherman, Oregon.

Getting to the trailhead from our campsite at Smiling River campground on the Metolius River was a bit challenging. Finding the forest road signs to make sure we took the right roads and bouncing along miles of washboard gravel were the main issues. They were quickly forgotten once we hit the trail.

The morning chill didn’t stop a group of school-aged children from splashing in Jack Lake while their teacher/caretaker watched from the shore. It made me shiver—don’t kids feel the cold?

Ghost trees

We hiked through open pine woods—including several areas of bare “ghost trees” left from a 2003 fire. Small pine and hemlock were growing back, an encouraging sight. Farther along the forest got thicker as we entered unburned regions.

Lower Meadow was a green oasis of merging streams and flower-filled fields, although most of the flowers were yet to bloom. Apparently late July-early August is peak season for blossoms. Still we did see lupine, Indian paintbrush, cat’s ears, and other flowers scattered about.

lunchtime

Crossing a couple of small creeks, we ascended higher (and a bit more steeply) to Upper Meadow, which provided a spectacular view of Three Fingered Jack, still spotted with snow. As we hiked the even steeper trail past Upper Meadow, we had to cross a couple of large patches of snow before reaching the open rock area that led up to a viewpoint. The view was already amazing, and I was hungry and tired, so I wimped out and found a big rock to sit on while we ate lunch. My husband hiked a bit higher to a notch in the rock, but decided that was far enough. While a tricky scramble up a rocky hill will supposedly give views of the other Central Oregon mountains, we never made it there.

The hike down was lovely and we took the loop trail from Lower Meadow, which seemed empty of hikers but teeming with mosquitoes. (Could there be a correlation between the two?) Canyon Creek tumbled along next to the first section of the loop, milky with glacier water. More ghost trees stood sentinel around us, poking like needles into the deep blue sky. When we returned to Jack Lake, the group of children was gone, and a serene stillness filled the air.

Jack Lake in the afternoon

We returned to the Metolius, which was beautiful and remarkably mosquito-free.

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Camping at Kalaloch, A Mother’s Day Gift

Our first camping trip of the year—and extra-special because our son who lives in Japan would be coming. In fact, it was planned especially for him. We had done a lot of camping and hiking when he was young, taking two-week camping trips every September (one of the advantages of homeschooling) to places like British Columbia, the California redwoods, Yellowstone Park, and a wide range of sites in Oregon and Washington. He had also camped a lot in Boy Scouts. But now, with trips home mainly taking place around Christmas, he missed spending time in the great outdoors.

We did a lot of planning, trying to find a place that would be dry in May, a bit of a challenge in the Pacific Northwest. However, as the time drew near, forecasts were mostly positive, so we set our sights on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. Kalaloch Campground—right on the Pacific Ocean—sounded good for our first stop, once we learned how to pronounce it (Kah-lay-lock). And it turned out to be a good choice.

We pulled into the campground mid-afternoon Saturday, relieved to find many campsites still open (First come, first served can be scary at a popular campground.). The beachside places were all filled, but we found a lovely, large site with plenty of room for the trailer and a tent for our son and a local friend who had come along. Lots of privacy and a Middle Earth feel to it. Surely elves lurked nearby. Sunshine filtered through twisting, mossy branches onto ferns and wildflowers as we set up our camp. A fresh sea breeze blew enticingly, and a feeling of peace settled into my soul.

Soon we were down on the beach, drawn by the surf’s roar. The wind blew us along the rock-strewn, sandy beach, causing us to zip up sweatshirts and pull up hoods, despite the sunshine. We walked and we talked and we enjoyed being out in nature, away from computers and work and all those other things that crowd our lives. Just the four of us and the mighty ocean. We admired agates, watched gulls glide by overhead, noted the scraggly pines above the beach, all bent in the same direction.

The ocean is so big, its motion ever-changing yet ever the same. I feel connected to eternity by the ocean, a tiny part of something great and wonderful. To share that with a son I rarely get to see was the best Mother’s Day gift possible.

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Reflected Beauty: the Lightning Lakes Trail, British Columbia

A couple of weeks ago we spent some time hiking in British Columbia. We saw many beautiful places–from snow-topped mountains to rushing waterfalls to turquoise lakes. However, one of my favorite hikes was the Lightning Lake Trail in Manning Provincial Park. Although one of the longer hikes we took, it was a pleasant ramble through green forests along quiet, little lakes. And it contained very little elevation gain: a big plus for a wimp like me! When I called for a camera break, it was actually to take pictures, not as an excuse to plop down on a log and pant until I had the strength to continue.

Later on the Joffres Lakes Trail, we saw beautiful, turquoise lakes, their color coming from glacial silt that fed into them. At Lightning Lakes, on the other hand, the color of the lake itself was hard to determine. The lakes were so still and silent that they simply mirrored the world above: tall, green conifers, summer blue sky, white fluffy clouds. Rather than calling attention to themselves, they modestly drew one’s eyes to the beauty around them. Even the paddles of two early morning kayakers scarcely raised a ripple. They appeared to paddle through the treetops in their lake reflection.

If only I could be like Lightning Lake–so calm and peaceful that when people look at me, they see the love of God shining from my face. Lord, in all I do, let my life reflect your beauty!

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Disconnected

We’d been camping for three days without cell phone reception. The campground was gorgeous with tall, mossy cedars and maples. A melodic stream rushed past the campsites. Yet I had a hard time adjusting. It took me three days to finally feel comfortable being out-of-touch. And even that acceptance might have been related to the fact that we would be leaving the next day.

Why do I feel such a strong need to be connected? Well, what if our sons needed something? Sure, they’re grown and have moved far away, but still, you never know. What if I have an email waiting, asking me to take on a new work project or a business trip? If I didn’t answer promptly, I could lose out. Someone else might get that trip to Sacramento or San Antonio.

How did we ever manage in the good, old, days? Hubby and I used to take off camping for two or more weeks at a time back before the invention of cell phones. We might call our parents once during the trip to check in, but generally we just sent postcards. One time we returned home to discover that my mother had spent two days in the hospital. Thankfully, she had been released and was doing much better by then, but it gave me a scare. Would we have cut our vacation short had we known? Maybe, maybe not, but we definitely would have called more often. I’m glad we have cell phones now, so the communication is easier.

Yet sometimes it is good to disconnect. In the stillness of the woods I can relax and feel closer to God, feel more a part of nature, and open myself up to awe and wonder. I can relax from the stress of daily life, including the stress of trying to keep up with my email and text messages. I can just be me. The world of people can somehow manage without me for a few days, and the likelihood I will return home to urgent phone calls and emails is small.

In a way, disconnecting is actually re-connecting. As I step back from the hassles of my daily life into the greenness of towering maples and the enchantment of birdsong, I connect with my soul, I connect with God. An empty well within me fills to overflowing with joy and peace, as the living water pours through me.

How could I forget how much I need the woods?

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