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ENLARGE
From the top of Soda Mountain, Mount Shasta can be seen in the distance. On the valley floor is Irongate Reservoir.
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ENLARGE
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Ray Jensen admires the view toward Mount Ashland from a small ridge viewpoint during a Soda Mountain hike.
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ENLARGE
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A butterfly looks for food on a horsemint plant.
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To liberally borrow from Sarah Palin: You can see California from Oregon! But not last summer.
Last year, Mrs. O'Neill and I hiked up to the top of Soda Mountain to enjoy what my guidebook said were “terrific vistas” and “magnificent views.” However, an impenetrable haze of gray smoke and ash prevented us from seeing all but Soda Mountain itself. Disappointed, we turned back and wound up hiking nearly 14 miles inhaling smoke and probably 23 different kinds of carcinogens in a sweltering heat.
The aforementioned Soda Mountain lies in the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, which was created in 2000 to protect one of the more diverse ecosystems in our state. Earlier this year, Soda Mountain made news when it was incorporated into the newly minted namesake Soda Mountain Wilderness; it seemed some celebratory hiking was called for.
Soda Mountain is accessed via the Pacific Crest Trail at a trailhead that bisects a meadow colored bright yellow due to profuse quantities of golden yarrow. Within the first half-mile, the variety this trail has to offer becomes readily apparent as the trail leaves the meadow, enters a rocky barren festooned with the white parasols of Queen Anne's lace, then passes through a shaded and grassy fir forest, and traverses a rocky slope with a nice view of Soda Mountain. The frequent scenery change typifies hiking in the monument.
Leaving the Pacific Crest Trail, a short tie-in trail took us to the Soda Mountain Road, a rough road used by hardier species of vehicles; some might even say foolhardier species of vehicles. The last three-quarters of a mile on the road are fairly steep but gasping hikers can attain respite by playing the name-that-flower game. The meadows and woods were rife with a veritable kaleidoscope of colorful wildflowers such as lavender Oregon geranium, yellow salsify and blue penstemon, just to name a few.
Arriving at the outlandish scene atop Soda Mountain comprised of black lava pinnacles interspersed with white microwave towers and satellite dishes, we were treated to those “terrific vistas” mentioned in the guidebook. What a difference a year makes!
Gone were the days of yesteryear where California exported smoke and ash in exchange for the right to buy cars with no sales tax; a totally inequitable arrangement, if you ask me. California now exports clean air and in return, we get to literally look down our noses at California.
Due south, snowy Mount Shasta, all 14,179 feet of it, dominated the view above the rugged brown terrain of the Klamath River drainage; Irongate Reservoir added a nice touch of blue to the scene, thereby appealing to my inner exterior decorator.
We climbed up the rickety stairs of the lookout tower where a helpful watchman pointed out the peaks and prominent landmarks such as Mount Ashland, Ashland (without the mount), Emigrant Lake, Mount McLaughlin and Pilot Rock.
I could just imagine the watchman telling us on last year's visit: “Over to the east, you can see smoke ... to the west, that would be smoke, yesiree ... to the north, yup, you guessed it again ...”
After a lunchtime lollygag spent soaking in the views, we returned to the trailhead, crossed the Soda Mountain Road, and continued on the Pacific Crest Trail toward Hobart Bluff. At that bluff, the terrain took a turn for the dry and rocky. It was about 90 degrees and the sun struck the rocks and the little heat waves bounced and ricocheted around the rocks until the cumulative effect was that of about 154 degrees of heat, or so it seemed.
This was before the scorched-earth heat wave of late July, causing the wry observation that in this age of global warming, 90 is the new 70.
Apart from a few gnarled stands of mountain mahogany, not much grows on top of Hobart Bluff; the vegetation tends toward the desiccate and stunted. However, the views of Bear Creek Valley (Medford and Ashland for the uninformed) are superb. The valley looks like the bobsled run of the gods, if one overlooks the fact there is no snow, no sled, and no bob. After a bit, we left the bad metaphors and magnificent views behind and returned to our friendly local Pacific Crest Trail. Those who are satisfied with a moderate 6-mile hike that bags two peaks can simply return to the car at this point. However, for the mileage-addicted, continue on another 3 miles to Greensprings Summit where, one hopes, a shuttle car has been left.
The trail from Hobart Bluff to Greensprings Summit is one of my favorite places to hike. Of course, in late summer, all the meadows go brown and lose their luster; May through early July is the preferred season for hiking when all is green and abloom in the monument. What fascinates me is the patchwork quilt nature of the scenery. The trail alternates through wonderfully shaded forests and dry stony barrens where golden yarrow and Queen Anne's lace vie for floral supremacy. The scenery and flora change more often than the diaper on a baby that ate green peaches.
As previously mentioned, the monument vegetation is extremely diverse. However, for all the diversity, the flowers practice a kind of floral apartheid. That is, one can see an unusual specimen abundant in a particular trailside locale and yet never see it again on the hike. For instance, Hooker's onion was plentiful in the trailhead meadow but nowhere else. I photographed white hyacinth at Hobart Bluff Trail junction but never saw another specimen. The aptly named elegant brodiaea was elegantly profuse in a large meadow, but was nowhere else to be seen; and so on and so forth.
One particular plant of note is the phantom orchid. Having no chlorophyll in its veins, the flower is cold alabaster white; it's the Edward (hello, “Twilight” fans!) of the plant world. It obtains its nutrients by associating with a particular type of fungus which in turn needs to associate with a particular type of conifer. If it sounds complicated, it is, which may explain why this plant is so rare.
In all my miles of hiking, I have only seen this plant one other time. Yet here I was, standing alongside a patch of several hundred of them.
The last little bit of the trail was severely overgrown with vegetation and we had to wade through a chest-high thicket of thimbleberry. The trail had suffered from too much bush, and I'm talking vegetation, not politics ... although the two may be indistinguishable now that I think about it.
At any rate, this was a much better experience than last year due to the clean air. And we really could see California from here!
Richard O'Neill is a member of The Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club. Club members make frequent hikes, usually within a couple hours drive of Roseburg. For information, see www.friendsoftheumpqua.org.
Last year, Mrs. O'Neill and I hiked up to the top of Soda Mountain to enjoy what my guidebook said were “terrific vistas” and “magnificent views.” However, an impenetrable haze of gray smoke and ash prevented us from seeing all but Soda Mountain itself. Disappointed, we turned back and wound up hiking nearly 14 miles inhaling smoke and probably 23 different kinds of carcinogens in a sweltering heat.
The aforementioned Soda Mountain lies in the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, which was created in 2000 to protect one of the more diverse ecosystems in our state. Earlier this year, Soda Mountain made news when it was incorporated into the newly minted namesake Soda Mountain Wilderness; it seemed some celebratory hiking was called for.
Soda Mountain is accessed via the Pacific Crest Trail at a trailhead that bisects a meadow colored bright yellow due to profuse quantities of golden yarrow. Within the first half-mile, the variety this trail has to offer becomes readily apparent as the trail leaves the meadow, enters a rocky barren festooned with the white parasols of Queen Anne's lace, then passes through a shaded and grassy fir forest, and traverses a rocky slope with a nice view of Soda Mountain. The frequent scenery change typifies hiking in the monument.
Leaving the Pacific Crest Trail, a short tie-in trail took us to the Soda Mountain Road, a rough road used by hardier species of vehicles; some might even say foolhardier species of vehicles. The last three-quarters of a mile on the road are fairly steep but gasping hikers can attain respite by playing the name-that-flower game. The meadows and woods were rife with a veritable kaleidoscope of colorful wildflowers such as lavender Oregon geranium, yellow salsify and blue penstemon, just to name a few.
Arriving at the outlandish scene atop Soda Mountain comprised of black lava pinnacles interspersed with white microwave towers and satellite dishes, we were treated to those “terrific vistas” mentioned in the guidebook. What a difference a year makes!
Gone were the days of yesteryear where California exported smoke and ash in exchange for the right to buy cars with no sales tax; a totally inequitable arrangement, if you ask me. California now exports clean air and in return, we get to literally look down our noses at California.
Due south, snowy Mount Shasta, all 14,179 feet of it, dominated the view above the rugged brown terrain of the Klamath River drainage; Irongate Reservoir added a nice touch of blue to the scene, thereby appealing to my inner exterior decorator.
We climbed up the rickety stairs of the lookout tower where a helpful watchman pointed out the peaks and prominent landmarks such as Mount Ashland, Ashland (without the mount), Emigrant Lake, Mount McLaughlin and Pilot Rock.
I could just imagine the watchman telling us on last year's visit: “Over to the east, you can see smoke ... to the west, that would be smoke, yesiree ... to the north, yup, you guessed it again ...”
After a lunchtime lollygag spent soaking in the views, we returned to the trailhead, crossed the Soda Mountain Road, and continued on the Pacific Crest Trail toward Hobart Bluff. At that bluff, the terrain took a turn for the dry and rocky. It was about 90 degrees and the sun struck the rocks and the little heat waves bounced and ricocheted around the rocks until the cumulative effect was that of about 154 degrees of heat, or so it seemed.
This was before the scorched-earth heat wave of late July, causing the wry observation that in this age of global warming, 90 is the new 70.
Apart from a few gnarled stands of mountain mahogany, not much grows on top of Hobart Bluff; the vegetation tends toward the desiccate and stunted. However, the views of Bear Creek Valley (Medford and Ashland for the uninformed) are superb. The valley looks like the bobsled run of the gods, if one overlooks the fact there is no snow, no sled, and no bob. After a bit, we left the bad metaphors and magnificent views behind and returned to our friendly local Pacific Crest Trail. Those who are satisfied with a moderate 6-mile hike that bags two peaks can simply return to the car at this point. However, for the mileage-addicted, continue on another 3 miles to Greensprings Summit where, one hopes, a shuttle car has been left.
The trail from Hobart Bluff to Greensprings Summit is one of my favorite places to hike. Of course, in late summer, all the meadows go brown and lose their luster; May through early July is the preferred season for hiking when all is green and abloom in the monument. What fascinates me is the patchwork quilt nature of the scenery. The trail alternates through wonderfully shaded forests and dry stony barrens where golden yarrow and Queen Anne's lace vie for floral supremacy. The scenery and flora change more often than the diaper on a baby that ate green peaches.
As previously mentioned, the monument vegetation is extremely diverse. However, for all the diversity, the flowers practice a kind of floral apartheid. That is, one can see an unusual specimen abundant in a particular trailside locale and yet never see it again on the hike. For instance, Hooker's onion was plentiful in the trailhead meadow but nowhere else. I photographed white hyacinth at Hobart Bluff Trail junction but never saw another specimen. The aptly named elegant brodiaea was elegantly profuse in a large meadow, but was nowhere else to be seen; and so on and so forth.
One particular plant of note is the phantom orchid. Having no chlorophyll in its veins, the flower is cold alabaster white; it's the Edward (hello, “Twilight” fans!) of the plant world. It obtains its nutrients by associating with a particular type of fungus which in turn needs to associate with a particular type of conifer. If it sounds complicated, it is, which may explain why this plant is so rare.
In all my miles of hiking, I have only seen this plant one other time. Yet here I was, standing alongside a patch of several hundred of them.
The last little bit of the trail was severely overgrown with vegetation and we had to wade through a chest-high thicket of thimbleberry. The trail had suffered from too much bush, and I'm talking vegetation, not politics ... although the two may be indistinguishable now that I think about it.
At any rate, this was a much better experience than last year due to the clean air. And we really could see California from here!
Richard O'Neill is a member of The Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club. Club members make frequent hikes, usually within a couple hours drive of Roseburg. For information, see www.friendsoftheumpqua.org.
