10 Days in southern Oregon and far northern California

[OTG_1]

After fueling up in Merlin, we followed Galice Road to the start of the track, the 311 mile Siskiyou Crest Adventure Trail. When we headed out, there were some new trails that we'd be exploring to see if we could update the original iteration of the route to include more dirt, and extend the track further to the north. The new route was largely dependent on our ability to connect the Chrome Ridge area with the Illinois River gorge via a crossing at Briggs Creek. I'd found some old public tracks in Gaia GPS showing that folks had indeed crossed the creek, but the maps that I came across didn't always show it connecting, and satellite views were unhelpful as well. I'd even tried to get in touch with one of the road engineers for the national forest but never got a call back. So I guess we'd need to figure this one out on our own!
After airing back up at the Rogue River, a few light sprinkles began to fall on our vehicles. We made the drive through Merlin and followed Galice Road to the northern terminus of the Siskiyou Crest Adventure Trail. The pavement gave way to dirt and immediately we were surrounded by views overlooking the rugged mountains. Climbing higher into the mountains, rust red serpentine rocks appeared all around. Serpentine soil is highly alkaline with high concentrations of heavy metals like chromium, nickel, lead a zinc which stunts the growth of plants and trees in these ecosystems. It's precisely why the forest isn't nearly as dense and the trees tend to be much smaller. The serpentine environment is home to many endemic species, like the Kalmiopsis flowering bush as well.

As we reached the top of the rideline along Chrome Ridge Road, the wind was whipping as we drove through the clouds. I'm sure the views are fantastic on a calm and sunny day, but e the mist covered ridgetops creted a surreal experience-- but certainly not the sort of camp setting we were after (at least with all of the wind and moisture in the air). It was now mid-week so I wasn't as adverse to staying at a developed campground. We drove down the mountain to Sam Brown Camp, a pleasant campground that is well sheltered from the elements and sits beneath tall stands of Doug Fir and Ponderas Pines. Sam Brown is a popular OHV staging area on weekends, and there was one small group in the day use area that was also target shooting, and apparently they had hundreds of runs to waste! I was hoping the shooting wouldn't continue into the night, but by dinnertime, they'd abandoned camp and we were the only ones left in the campground. Having the campground and forest to ourselves was quite nice. I did some exploring of the surrounding area with Shasta and found several large campsites down the road, and the equstrian camp was one of the nicest I've come across. I befriended a local who was camped down the way with his two boys, and he said there was definitely a road that crossed Briggs Creek, but being that it was the first week of summer, he though the creek might be running to high for a safe crossing. Well, at least we knew a road crossed the creek!
The next morning we woke to the familiar sound of scrub jays calling throughout the forest floor and canopy. The sun had come out and was illuminating the meadow adjacent to our campsite. After breakfast and tea, we climbed in our rigs retracing our tire tracks back up to Chrome Ridge. I hoped the weather would hold so I could launch the drone, as the scenery atop chrome ridge is second-to-none, and definitely one of my favorite stretches of track along our adventure. Reaching the ridgetop, clouds dotted the sky, but the wind wasn't whipping like it was the previous evening. I launched the drone and managed to get some nice video shots. We continued south towards Briggs Creek, and then we encountered a massive ponderosa pine across the trail. After much deliberation, we determined our 18" chainsaws were not much for the giant, but we could drive around it-- and then more deadfall! Luckily the next 3 trees were all less than 2' in diameter. They took a bit longer than anticipated, but we were on our way within about 45 minutes. We began the descent into the Illinois River Gorge, which like many of these canyons has seen massive fires come through in the last decade or so. Apparently, the unique climate of the Klamaths makes them one of the most fire prone mountain ranges in all of North America, and with warmer temps, shorter snow seasons, and agroforestry practices that create densely packed plots of immature trees that are highly fireprone-- these forests are not well equipped to deal with wildfires like they once were. Which is really a shame because the Klamaths are absolutely beautiful and one of the wildest places left on the West Coast.

Driving slowly through the burn zone, there were branches and shards of wood everywhere. A giant shard of wood managed to lodge itself into one of my front tires. We tried to remove it with a pair of pliers, but eventually resort to a drive to dislodge it. I nervously stuffed the gaping hole with several tire plugs, hoping it'd hold. We continued down the trail eventually reaching the the flood plain of Briggs Creek-- so far so good! Then we arrived at the creek, from what I could tell, it didn't look deeper than 30", which would be a cakewalk for our rigs. And sure enough, it was. In fact, I don't think it was deeper than 2 feet at any given point. We plowed on through and a couple of miles later we were in the deep reaches of the Illinois River Canyon. The 50 mile stretch upstream of where we'd popped out is one of the most stretches of wilderness in the lower 48. We passed a beautiful ranch and a couple of homesteads that had been spared from the massive fire that blew through the canyon. Lunch would be had at Miami Bar-- it seemed like we were the only people out for the day. Our next stop would be the swinging bridge and if the gate was open, I wanted to drive up towards Pearsoll Peak.
The drive along the Illinois River Gorge is incredibly rugged and not for the faint of heart. If you're not a fan of shelf roads, especially those that cling to the side of a mountain 500+ feet above a river, then this may not be your cup of tea! We passed one vehicle that was pulling a horse trailer on the way out (I can't imagine pulling a 30' trailer on this road!), eventually making it to the swining bridge. The swinging bridge is a popular place that locals hang out on summer weekends, and I can see why. With its deep emerald pool and huge dirt lot, this portion of the Illinois is perfect for cooling off in the inviting emerald waters of the Illinois. Unfortunately, the bridge is closed, so while we were able to walk up to it, we decided it was in our best interest not to attempt fate and cross the bridge. The more daring folks jump off the 60' span into the deep swimming hole below. The road to Pearsoll Peak was also gated as well (check out Adenture Taco's blog as he made the hike to the lookout-- absolutely beautiful).
A buddy of mine had turned me onto a campsite further downstream the Illinois. We jumped on pavement for a few miles before turning back onto dirt. Arriving at the location, it was filled with tons of trash, lots of high grass, not much shade and really no nearby access to water. We decided to push on to see what was further downstream, and that's when it happened. On a narrow piece of trail, a massive boulder was sticking out from the bench of the road cut. It looked like my full size rig had a good 4-6" inches to spare, so I rolled through at around 5mph, and then my 5 ton steel bast jolted to a sudden stop. I managed to hit the boulder right at axle height on front right tire. It was a BIG hit!! Everything seemed fine at the time, but later on the trip, I noticed at the very least the alignment was way off. Not thinking too much about what just happened, we continued on finding a series of small campsites along the river. Some looked more promising than others. Eventually we made it back to pavement to see what else might be in the vicinity, and after a bit of searching we concluded that one of the camps upstream was our best bet. The camp was surrounded by massive tailings of river rocks, so we dubbed in Tailings Camp. A flat spot big enough for both of our rigs was perched over the Illinois with no one around for at least a mile in either direction.


Watch the Adventure On Youtubez





Back on dirt! The views on the way to Chrome Ridge Road are impressive the entire drive up.


By suppertime, we had Sam Brown camp all to ourselves.


A beautiful old wooden site that pre-dates the conjoining of the Rogue River National Forest with the Siskiyou National Forest. Can we just do away with cheapo plastic signs altogether?


Drone friendly weather!


The views atop Chrome Ridge are impressive.


This pesky wooden shard would turn my damaged tired into a persistent bother over the next few days.


The crossing at Briggs Creek turned out to be a cakewalk.


Miami Bar along the Illinois.


Driving the Rugged Illinois River Canyon

 

[OTG_1]

Continued from my last post since ExPo won't let me create a post than exceeds 10k chars (C'mon Scott, I think you guys have enough $$$ to allow longer form posts these days )
It turns out that Josephine Creek, about a mile downstream from camp was one of the earliest gold discoveries in southern Oregon, which explained the tailings that surrounded us. By 1852, hundreds of small scale placer mines dotted Josephine Creek and the tributary creeks of the Illinois. Remember where I said that many geologists believe the Klamath mountains along with the Blue Mountains are an extension of the same geological province of the Sierra Nevada? It doesn't seem to be a coincidence that plentiful gold deposits can be found in all three ranges, which share similar geological traits.
It was cerveza time once again. I through on my Tevas, grabbed by camp chair and headed down to the river bank. The bank consisted of several larger rocks like the tailings, and they all seemed to be covered in super slippery algae. Event with an inviting deep pool about 10' out, the cool weather had dissuaded me from taking a dip. I deciced to set my chair in the river and enjoy another Scrimshaw Pilsner. Both Andreas and I would cook our dinners while overlooking the bubbling river just 20 yards from camp.

The next day we'd arise and begin making our way into the Siskiyou Crest. I'd done some preliminary research and was aware there were a couple snowdrifts around Mt Ashland that could impede our pass into town. My hope was they would melt off since checking the NOAA Snowdepth layer before venturing out on our trip (over a week ago). Would we be able to make it into Ashland, or would we need to detour once again, potentially backtracking, or drop down to the Klamath River on the California side of the Siskiyou Crest?


The Illinois River Canyon is sublime landscape of serpentine.


To reach the swining bridge parking lot, you'll need to drive across this really cool wooden bridge.


Simply awesome!


Looking downstream at the Swinging Bridge.


Swimming hole at swinging bridge.


Tailings Camp.


The reason we named it Tailings Camp!

 

[OTG_1]

“I always find it amazing the Chetco Bar fire burned so close to the coast given the colder, maritime climate.”

In the large forest fires, they actually create their own weather. Pulling in cooler dry air, as the heat rises. It of course heats up as it gets closer, At the same time, there is still super-heated air at the flame front. This pretty much dries everything out. It’s not uncommon to hear trees explode, as the moisture inside tries to boil out of them.

Sounds like you know a thing or two about wildland fires in the west. Any idea why the klamaths are so fire prone? It is the unique climate and relatively lower elevations compared to the High Cascades and High Sierra? For an area that sees relatively few visitors, and it's not like PG&E has a lot of equipment up this way, I'm generally curious why there have been so many fires up this way over the last two decades, starting with the massive Biscuit Fire back in 2002.

 

[Pacific Northwest yetti]

The short answer would be

" fire suppression policies in the Klamath Mountains have led to the forest becoming dense and overgrown and have shifted the composition of the forest from fire-resistant hardwoods like oak and more fire-sensitive softwoods like Douglas fir"

https://www.pnas.org/doi/abs/10.1073/pnas.2116264119?af=R

Which is a pretty common answer, when we hear questions like those. The unfortunate part is, we as humans made it worse, thinking we were making it better. A pretty wide known version of this was also published about Yellowstone in the late 80’s. And are still figuring it out as we go. It’s a bit like chasing a moving target. As things change on a global scale however.

When it comes to that area, you also hear some experts mention more lightning strikes in that area, just due to the rain shadows/storms.

Cooler air coming from the coast, in comparison to other places in the west. Where they are a few mountain ranges away from the coast.
Biscuit fire, was caused by a Lightning strike. There is probably not a catch all answer though, but that may be pretty close.

 

[OTG_1]

The short answer would be

" fire suppression policies in the Klamath Mountains have led to the forest becoming dense and overgrown and have shifted the composition of the forest from fire-resistant hardwoods like oak and more fire-sensitive softwoods like Douglas fir"

https://www.pnas.org/doi/abs/10.1073/pnas.2116264119?af=R

Which is a pretty common answer, when we hear questions like those. The unfortunate part is, we as humans made it worse, thinking we were making it better. A pretty wide known version of this was also published about Yellowstone in the late 80’s. And are still figuring it out as we go. It’s a bit like chasing a moving target. As things change on a global scale however.

When it comes to that area, you also hear some experts mention more lightning strikes in that area, just due to the rain shadows/storms.

Cooler air coming from the coast, in comparison to other places in the west. Where they are a few mountain ranges away from the coast.
Biscuit fire, was caused by a Lightning strike. There is probably not a catch all answer though, but that may be pretty close.

I consider myself more knowledgeable than 99% of folks on the topic of wildfires in the west, but certainly, it’s the 1% of the 1% that are experts on this-- and always enjoy talking those folks who consider the many variables at play with forest fires. The problem I have with the fire suppression argument is that it assumes our forests of today are exactly as they were prior to westward expansion. Yes, it's certainly true these old growth forests (and there's not much of them left) were wellequipped to deal with mostly low intensity fires to medium intensity burns on a regular basis. In a mature forest the canopy can extend upwards of 200-300’, the trees are much further spaced out, and the canopy is much higher and as, such prevents the sort of undergrowth and underbrush that dominates forests filled with immature trees (like today, especially in agroforests like those managed by Sierra Pacific), and mature trees have much thicker bark that is better equipped to deal with fires.

Consider modern forests, especially those managed for agroforestry are akin to kindling in a campfire. Densely packed trees, often homogenous in their species, with tons of underbrush because the canopies are not nearly robust as an old growth forest. These agroforests are prone to the laddering effect, where a low intensity burn ladders up the trees into the canopy of immature trees, and then finds its way to the canopy of mature trees, typically with devastating consequences especially when heavy winds are present. This also fails to consider bark beetles that weaken trees. And guess what, with longer, drier summers, the bark beetles are much more active and making once healthy trees much more fire prone as they are weakened in their attempts to fend of the attacking beetles. It was father winter who once kept them at bay, but as temps warm, their numbers have exploded across the west.

I feel like I'm really only scratching the surface with the many variables at play, but from everything I've read, the transformation of the west to immature forests, plays a huge part in this, and these forests are not well equipped, even for low intensity burns. I've seen it first hand in places like Mendocino NF (home to 2 of the 3 largest forest fires in CA) and the Dixie (largest fire in CA history), which burned the northern Sierra and southern Cascades back in 2021. The densely packed sections of immature forest went up like match sticks, and in some cases mature trees burned as well. But in many cases, it was the matures sections of forest that escaped the fire, or at least with minimal consequences compared to the immature sections.

But going back to my original query, I do think something must be at play within the Klamaths that has made them more susceptible to fires than other places within the west. It's not like the Klamaths underwent a record level of fire suppression compared to other places... My uninformed theory is that the same climate that allows a record number of conifers to thrive in the unique Klamath-Siskyou Region (more conifer species are found in these mountains than any other place in Norther America), also has something to do with it.

 

[AbleGuy]

This has been an enjoyable thread to read…nicely written and well illustrated.

 

[OTG_1]

Okay-- onto the final leg of the adventure and into the Siskiyou Crest, and a short story about me cutting my trip short and limping home.

It was another clear day along the Illinois River. We'd be hitting into the heart of the Siskiyou Crest, but knew there was a chance we might encounter a snowdrift or two going up and over Mt Ashland. While the dirt road is only a couple of miles to the pavement, it was slow going. The previous day Andreas didn't want to drive back down the road to secure camp, and he's typically the last person to complain about the trail conditions. But he did agree that when we arrived, it was worth the 25 minutes of teeth chatting we endured! So here we were again driving at 4mph on this awful stretch of trail.

I'd spotted a shortcut that might get us up to Whiskey Peak a lot faster than taking the pavement around Applegate Reservor. I know there was a chance we'd encounter a locked gate, and sure enough we did. Turns out the Rogue River-Siskiyou NF will provide a gate code to visit a historic cabin up the road, but we weren't up for driving into Cave Junction. Instead, we jumped back on the pavement and detoured around Applegate Reservoir and then began the ascent back into the Siskiyous. The section that wraps around Whiskey Peak is filled with impressive views, and it contains perhaps the most treachours stretch of trail on the route, and I'd hardly call it treacherous! More like a narrow, steep and loose jeep trail with plenty of exposure, especially when you're driving a 1-ton full size rig! We marveled at the views and began the ascent down the Whiskey Ridge viewpoint, which features fantastic views of the Red Buttes in the distance. And that's when it happened, again. Earlier in the day not long after leaving camp, I'd needed to replug my front right tire as it was leaking, and there it was, leaking once again. It had become apparent the tire plugs weren't going to hold, so we opted to swap our the tire for the spare. And one couldn't ask for a better setting with the Red Buttes behind us! 10 minutes later, we were back on the trail.

We explored some of the trails below Dutchman's Peak, and realized the late afternoon was quickly turning into evening. It's easier to forget about time when you're exploring the PNW in late June, when the days are long. Complete darkness typically doesn't set in until around 10pm, and the sun is up early as well. After about 45 minutes or driving around, we settled on a clearing next to where the PCT crosses the road. With the Sierra seeing record snowfall that winter (our trip is from June of 2023), many north bound through hikers had skipped large portions of the Sierra and made their way up the Klamaths. We chatted with a number of folks who hiked through, and even offered a few takers a shot of Buffalo Trace. Suddenly our camp was filled with half a dozen or so tents from the PCT crowd, and they all went to bed well before the sun went down. Shsata and I ended up exploring a skid road around the corner and came upon some amazing views where there was a small clearing. Flying the drone later that evening, I also discovered an impressive meadow a few miles downslope from our camp-- we'd need to check it out the next day!

By the time I crawled out of the camper at 6:30am, some of the PCT hikers had already departed, and others were packing up there gear intent on making it to the Canadian Border a month or so later. We followed suit and followed a series of side roads on our way up to see if we could find the meadow. The meadow was enough to find as the PCT cut right across it, and we even managed to find some fantastic views of Mt Shasta to the south, its north slope still covered in plenty of snow the first week of summer. It turns out this was Donomore Meadows, a strip of brilliant green grass stretch well over 500 yards up the mountain. And there was a fantastic campsite beneath a grove of mature douglas fir that provided plenty of shade and shelter. Upslope, there was an old cabin, but due to time constraints, we decided we'd need to get on our way without visiting the cabin.
So up we went on our way to Dutchman Peak. The fir and pine forest opened up as we climbed higher, explosing fantastic views of the Siskiyous and Mt Shasta to the south. We were able to drive all the way to the lookout tower. We poked around the vinicity of the lookout. One of the buildings had several broken windows-- it was clear this lookout had seen better days, but the views were second to none! Since we'd made it to the 7,418' summit of Dutchman peak without hitting any snow, things looked promising.

Continuing along towards Mt Ashland, we hit a big, icy snow drift. If you're familiar with Sierra cement (snow in the Sierra), the snow up at Mt Ashland is quite similar. While it certanly wasn't the deepest snowdrift, it was hard and icy. Andreas started to drive his rig across and then started to slide downslope. Rather than dig through several hours of icy snow, we felt our best option was to find a detour. With our passage to Mt Ashland blocked, it look like we'd be dropping down to the Klamath River on the California side of the Klamaths. Our attempts to go over one of the mountain passes looked promising at first, then with about 200' in elevation to the pass, we hit a snow drift, and looking up trail, they didn't stop. So off to plan C. I held my ipad in my lap, scouring for trails that would get us down the mountain without backtracking to Applegate Reservoir. I'd found a network of dirt roads in Gaia GPS, and it appeared they were primary roads. My hopes were that it would be smooth sailing, but given that it was still relatively early in the season, as least in the high country, I was concerned that our chainsaws would be seeing a significant amount of work.

My premonintions about a long and arduous journey down the mountain turned out to be unfounded. It was smooth sailing the entire way down and we found ourselves on the pavement of Highway 96 a little over and hour later. We stumbled upon an old general store and deli called Quigley's Outpost, and we both agreed it'd be nice to have some sandwiches next to the Klamath River.
During lunch, I'd proposed exploring some nearby trails, but Andreas admitted that he was ready to go home and see his family. I wasn't quite ready to go home yet, so we said our good byes, and I'd head out south planning to camp somewhere in Shasta-Trinity NF.




The road to and from Tailings Camp is filled with rocks. I do wonder how the pioneers managed to navigate similar roads and trails with wagons.


Whiskey Peak jeep track, Red Buttes wilderness in the background.




Red Buttes again, this is where I changed my tire.


Which peak is that?


Camp next to the PCT.


While taking Shasta out for an evening walk, we stumbled across this amazing view.


Donomore Meadows, I think I need to camp here one day!


The perfect camp!


Our first glimpse of Mt Shasta to the south!

 

[OTG_1]

The view on the drive down from Dutchman Peak.


Shasta enjoyed her time at the first snowdrift, impeding our passage to Mt Ashland.


Our Plan B option turned up more snowdrifts.


We made it down the mountain and said our good byes at Quigley Station.

 

[OTG_1]

With Andreas headed back home, I decided to continue my adventure deep into the Klamath Mountains. I had a couple of ideas where I might stay-- perhaps next to the east fork of the Trinity, or a quiet alpine like about an hour up the mountain. So I pointed my rig south eventually jumping onto Highway 3. Highway 3 parallels the incredibly scenic Scott River. I'd never driven through this part of the state, and this part of the mountains and forest as absolutely beautiful. I rolled through the town of Etna, and the high mountain peaks were still covered in snow. It felt more like spring as the skies greyed once again, and the occasional light rain drops began to fall on my windshield.
Eventually I made it to the east fork of the Trinity, but it looked like it was about to rain. I'm not sure what drove me to the decision, but I decided I'd try to make it to Tamarack lake, that sits just under 6,000. I began the ascent up the mountain, and was a bit disheartened to see that the area had burned within the last year, but at least many of the larger trees had seemed to survive. As I crestested one of the passes, a small downed pine was leaning across the trail. I estimated I could squeeze under it and I was right! About half a mile later, I hit a huge piece of deadfall. I could probably clear it in about 15 minutes, but I was concerned there would be more. Somehow during the process, i looked under my truck and noticed my right front shock dangling. When we'd swapped out the spare tire the previous day, it wasn't hanging like this! Apparently that rock from the previous day had done quite a bit of damage, and now I'd need to drive to camp, and then home without any damping on my front right wheel.

With the amount of snow we'd seen in northern California from the past winter, it didn't look like the roads and trails had seen more than a few folks up this high. So I turned around and encountered that same pesky leaning pine. Except this time I didn't make it. The leaning pine got hung up on my MaxAir fan and I could hear the sound of shattering plastic. Crap! I hopped out to survey the situation and it was clear, the best option was to cut the leaning tree. A light rain set in. I pulled the chainsaw out of the back up my truck and climbed atop my camper's roof, which was tilted at an angle due to the path I'd attemped to drive under the tree. So now I was staning on top of of the slippery and slanted steel root of my camper-- I nearly slipped off a couple of times, but was saved by the crossbards atop the camper. After 20 minutes of stress, I finally had the tree cleared. The biggest challenge was trying to cut it in such a manner that the falling chunks would fall on the side panels of my truck!

I was finally free and ready to go, but without a broken front shock mount and shattered max air fan, I figured my best option was simply to call it a day. I limped back to the pavement, and later that night, finally made it home, bruised and battered, but certainly not defeated! Upon telling Andreas about the rest of my day, he had a good chuckle but was glad I'd made it home safely.


The Scott River and Scott Mountains are beautiful, with very few people. I need to go back!



Oh boy, this is going to be fun to fix when I get home!


The first time was a charm, the second time not so much!


This was a tricky job trying to cut from atop the camper without having pieces of the tree fall back on the side of the truck, especially while standing atop a slanted, wet, and slipper camper roof.