turbodb
Well-known member
Summer in the Pacific Northwest is hard to beat. So, I wouldn't blame you for wondering why - with a week of sun and 75°F in store before Memorial Day - we were headed for the inclimate weather of the Oregon-Idaho border and Hells Canyon.
So let's start there.
In what I believe to be a tradition that I've stumbled into, Monte @Blackdawg and Mike @Digiratus generally get together for a trip every Memorial Day, and this year the plan was go meet up in Lewiston, ID for a few days of puttering around and enjoying ourselves in the outdoors.
And - always looking for a way to get the most value for the mile we can - @mrs.turbodb and I decided that we'd head over a few days early to explore a place that she'd been bugging me to go for quite some time.
And that's why we were headed to Hells Canyon - where the forecast was iffy - our fingers crossed as we pulled out of the garage; our craziness confirmed.
As it turns out, this was by far our closest destination in a long time - the entire drive doable in 7-8 hours, even at the great-grandpa speeds we'd be travelling. Along the way we passed through the Palouse - a land of rolling hills reminiscent of Windows desktop backgrounds.
We eventually found ourselves on the outskirts of Starbuck, WA, at the Lyons Ferry crossing. There, built in 1914 was what was once billed as the highest (240'), longest (3920') trestle in the world - and it was spectacular.
Was it as amazing as what we'd seen in Anza-Borrego? Well, size isn't everything - the wooden trestle there still takes the cake in my opinion - but this one was definitely worthy of a stop for a few photos.
Even having departed reasonably late in the morning, it wasn't quite 4:00pm when we pulled off the highway and onto a scenic byway that ran along the Grande Ronde (pronouced "Grand Rond") river. Expecting the road to turn to dirt any second we were caught a little off-guard when the pavement continued for the first several miles.
Not that we had anything to complain about - the views were still stunning - and perhaps more importantly, the temps were in the mid-70's, and despite the clouds in the sky, it looked like we weren't at any risk of rain...at least for the time being.
Our departure from the Grande Ronde came just before the town of Troy, OR - and as we turned east towards Hells Canyon, we finally hit well-graded dirt for a short stint up and out of the canyon and past what was quite clearly becoming the ghost town of Flora, OR.
It was at this point that we found ourselves in a very unfamiliar situation. It was the same day we'd left home, we'd reached the location we were going to spend a few days exploring, and it wasn't dark. In fact, not only was it not dark, but we had a few hours until sunset.
Should we just find camp and wait until the next morning - when we'd planned to head up Forest Road 46 - or should we just plow ahead now? It was decisions like this that we were unaccustomed to, with most trips being 17-20 hours away from home; our arrival after midnight an expectation.
Flush with our new-found time, we pushed forward. Surely - we thought - we wouldn't travel very far before we found camp for the night. And then tomorrow we'd continue to Buckhorn Lookout - the reason we'd taken this road in the first place.
Into Wallowa-Whitman National Forest and up in elevation we climbed. The clouds were actually getting thinner here - a great sign - though the winds were picking up and the elevation seemed to cool things off rather dramatically.
Still feeling a bit out of place - or like we needed to find a place to stop for the night - I realized at some point we were just driving by things that we'd normally stop to explore or enjoy. And we nearly did it again with an old barn along the side of the road - likely private, but un-fenced and beckoning us to see what was inside.
Turned out to be not much, but along a small creek just behind it, and something had caught my eye.
A wheel. One that looked like it might be connected to an axle of some sort. And one that didn't have the normal construction I think of when I think of a wagon wheel. And as it turned out, this was no wagon wheel.
This was an early Buick. Constructed of wooden spokes between a steel hub and steel rim, a little research after-the-fact showed this to be from a 1920's vintage machine, the differential just visible under the "pile of wood."
Excited with the find, we headed back to the truck and continued our climb to the top of the ridgeline - full of anticipation of what we'd see when we got there - sure that the views of Hells Canyon, the deepest gorge in North America - would be jaw-dropping.
As we did, we admired spring all around us - the hills green, the flowers plentiful.
- - - - -
Don't miss the rest of the story, and all the remaining photos that don't fit here (due to max post size). Hopefully that can change in the future, but until then...
.
So let's start there.
In what I believe to be a tradition that I've stumbled into, Monte @Blackdawg and Mike @Digiratus generally get together for a trip every Memorial Day, and this year the plan was go meet up in Lewiston, ID for a few days of puttering around and enjoying ourselves in the outdoors.
And - always looking for a way to get the most value for the mile we can - @mrs.turbodb and I decided that we'd head over a few days early to explore a place that she'd been bugging me to go for quite some time.
And that's why we were headed to Hells Canyon - where the forecast was iffy - our fingers crossed as we pulled out of the garage; our craziness confirmed.
As it turns out, this was by far our closest destination in a long time - the entire drive doable in 7-8 hours, even at the great-grandpa speeds we'd be travelling. Along the way we passed through the Palouse - a land of rolling hills reminiscent of Windows desktop backgrounds.
We eventually found ourselves on the outskirts of Starbuck, WA, at the Lyons Ferry crossing. There, built in 1914 was what was once billed as the highest (240'), longest (3920') trestle in the world - and it was spectacular.
Was it as amazing as what we'd seen in Anza-Borrego? Well, size isn't everything - the wooden trestle there still takes the cake in my opinion - but this one was definitely worthy of a stop for a few photos.
Even having departed reasonably late in the morning, it wasn't quite 4:00pm when we pulled off the highway and onto a scenic byway that ran along the Grande Ronde (pronouced "Grand Rond") river. Expecting the road to turn to dirt any second we were caught a little off-guard when the pavement continued for the first several miles.
Not that we had anything to complain about - the views were still stunning - and perhaps more importantly, the temps were in the mid-70's, and despite the clouds in the sky, it looked like we weren't at any risk of rain...at least for the time being.
Our departure from the Grande Ronde came just before the town of Troy, OR - and as we turned east towards Hells Canyon, we finally hit well-graded dirt for a short stint up and out of the canyon and past what was quite clearly becoming the ghost town of Flora, OR.
It was at this point that we found ourselves in a very unfamiliar situation. It was the same day we'd left home, we'd reached the location we were going to spend a few days exploring, and it wasn't dark. In fact, not only was it not dark, but we had a few hours until sunset.
Should we just find camp and wait until the next morning - when we'd planned to head up Forest Road 46 - or should we just plow ahead now? It was decisions like this that we were unaccustomed to, with most trips being 17-20 hours away from home; our arrival after midnight an expectation.
Flush with our new-found time, we pushed forward. Surely - we thought - we wouldn't travel very far before we found camp for the night. And then tomorrow we'd continue to Buckhorn Lookout - the reason we'd taken this road in the first place.
Into Wallowa-Whitman National Forest and up in elevation we climbed. The clouds were actually getting thinner here - a great sign - though the winds were picking up and the elevation seemed to cool things off rather dramatically.
Still feeling a bit out of place - or like we needed to find a place to stop for the night - I realized at some point we were just driving by things that we'd normally stop to explore or enjoy. And we nearly did it again with an old barn along the side of the road - likely private, but un-fenced and beckoning us to see what was inside.
Turned out to be not much, but along a small creek just behind it, and something had caught my eye.
A wheel. One that looked like it might be connected to an axle of some sort. And one that didn't have the normal construction I think of when I think of a wagon wheel. And as it turned out, this was no wagon wheel.
This was an early Buick. Constructed of wooden spokes between a steel hub and steel rim, a little research after-the-fact showed this to be from a 1920's vintage machine, the differential just visible under the "pile of wood."
Excited with the find, we headed back to the truck and continued our climb to the top of the ridgeline - full of anticipation of what we'd see when we got there - sure that the views of Hells Canyon, the deepest gorge in North America - would be jaw-dropping.
As we did, we admired spring all around us - the hills green, the flowers plentiful.
- - - - -
Don't miss the rest of the story, and all the remaining photos that don't fit here (due to max post size). Hopefully that can change in the future, but until then...
Keep reading the rest here
Cold Day in Hell('s Canyon) Part 1 (May 2019)
Cold Day in Hell('s Canyon) Part 1 (May 2019)
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