Sipsey Wilderness - June 2009

Okay ... It was hot! It was the Sultry South in all its glory! For some reason, I have to put myself through this every summer, at least once ... sweat, and more sweat ... but, I'm a Southern boy (well, I once was a boy ... ) and I feel the need to hike in the woods when nobody but me and the feral pigs are happy ...

When I turned east on Cranal Road, I felt the temperature cool a little in my mind, because I was headed toward the woods and streams that I find

comforting.Separated from my vehicle at the Randolph TH about 6:00 PM or so on a Friday evening.I was the only car in the Randolph TH parking lot ... not a surprise at 97 degrees on the church sign when I came through

Haleyville. After I tried to lighten my pack, I locked my car and headed north to the fork of the Rippey and Randolph trails. When I turned northeast on the

Randolph Trail (FT 202) I spotted some blackeyed Susans along the way and couldn't resist stopping for a picture ... It always takes me a little longer to get to my destination because I cannot pass up a flower ...

When I got to the Johnson Cemeteries, I found that someone had done a heck of a lot of work cleaning the east side and mounding up the graves between the head and foot stones. I don't know who did this, but they need an extra pat on the back for honoring the long-dead in that cemetery. I know it's somewhat dishonoring to the dead there, but I looked at those mounds and thought what a great place to take a group of kids in October and tell some spooky stories ... it was kind of spooky during the day.

Not too long after I started down the narrowed trail past the cemeteries I heard a racket of leaves and sticks andspotted five coal black piglets headed away through the woods. As I looked up the trail, I saw their mother run across the trail to them ... those little piggies were flying through the woods to get away from the crazy man hiking alone at 7:00 o'clock in the evening ... At 2.67 miles on my GPS, therewas a big old oak--barely alive--that marked the start downhill to the river. That old tree didn't have many leaves, but sure had a lot of fern-looking stuff growing on the limbs. I didn't remember themileage on the trail descriptions, but I knew I had to be less than a mile from the river ... I could smell it!

If you've hiked the Randolph Trail you know that there is a fairly good-sized campsite on the slope down to the river ... I hadn't been down the trail before, and, since dark was coming on soon, I checked out that campsite--decided that it wasn't very inviting--and then went on the trail straight down the hill to the river. What I didn't comprehend, but should have paid attention to--was that FT 202 cut back south to slab the hillside back to the waterfall on Little Ugly Creek. As I said, though, since I had never been on this trail before, I was hunting for a campsite down by the Sipsey River. I turned left at the trail crossing and followed 202 down to where it crosses the river and meets FT 209.

Finding nothing but sand and creekside undergrowth there, I went back along what I saw was 202 and found a nice level campsite along Little Ugly Creek -- a good water source, since I had already consumed most of my water supply hiking in. It was getting pretty dark, so I quickly pitched my REI quarter-dome and threw my pad in to self-inflate while I found something in the bottom of my pack to eat. I had sweated 10 lbs off my old body, I was sure, so I sat on the log by the fire ring and drank for a while.I had picked up some powered pomegranate green tea and decided to add it to flavor my water for supper ... I ate some beef jerky and a power bar and after securing my gear on a tree, decided to turn in. It must have been about 9:15 at that point.

When I hike in the Deep South during the summer months, I don't carry a sleeping bag--just a twin sheet that I spread on my sleeping pad. I had not put the fly on my tent so that the air would circulate

through the tent when it cooled down a bit in the early morning. I lay in my tent listening to a small owl staking his territory and to the small stream gurgling ten feet from my tent ... what a wonderful

way to fall asleep. I thought that the Whippoorwill and the reverse Whippoorwill (I never can remember what that bird is that sounds somewhat like a Whippoorwill, but isn't). Maybe someone

will finally read one of my blogs and comment on the bird that sounds like a Whippoorwill, but isn't ...

Saturday morning I woke up about six and lay there listening to the morning birds that were asleep when I lay down the night before. They were singing me awake that morning ... I've always wished I knew bird sounds better so I could identify the birds that live in the deep woods ... I know the Whippoorwill call because there was one down at my grandfather's farm in Walthall County, Mississippi, that used to keep me awake at night with its incessant cry. Before air conditioning we used to open the windows at night and turn on the attic fan to cool the house. The fan was loud, but the Whippoorwill's cry was penetrating and would drive me to bury my

head under my grandmother's feather pillow.

But I digress ... (Duh! I'm an English major) ... after a nice breakfast of French pressed coffee and freezedried granola with blueberries (I'm addicted!), I decided to cross the Sipsey and hike on 209 for a while. It was already pretty warm when I strapped on my fanny pack at about 9:00. The Sipsey was cool and the sandy bottom comfortable on my bare feet. Of course, climbing the steep and muddy northside bank, cleaning and drying my feet, and putting my boots back on was a little bit of a hassle, but I had that done before too long and decided to hike west toward Bee Branch.

Not far down the trail I came upon my first of four copperheads ... He was lying across the trail and I had stepped over him before I saw him between my feet. I am usually more observant than that, and scolded myself for not keeping a keen eye out for the critters. I passed the intersection where FT 204 comes down from the Bee Branch Ridge to meet 209. There is a nice post there for a trail sign, but no sign ... fortunately, someone with a ballpoint pen wrote a "204" on the sides of the post. It wasn't too long before I got to the big campsite at the intersection of the trail to Big Tree and 209. I've always come from the northwest to the East Bee Branch Trail, so I've never seen that campsite. It's a great campsite for a group of tents ... very spacious and level.

Why I decided to hike up the trail to Big Tree I don't know, but decided to go up to the intersection of that trail and the trail coming down off the top of the ridge along the West Bee Branch. The trails intersect where West Bee Branch and East Bee Branch join. It's a nice shady little area near a big boulder, so I sat down to eat a power bar and drink most of my water. After cooling off a while, I headed back toward the confluence of Bee Branch and the Sipsey. Along the way, I came upon the second of my four copperheads ... not a large one (oh, a couple of feet long, but not very big around). I encouraged him off of the trail with my hiking staff, and continued on ...

Heading back to the campsite I always hike a little faster--as my father would say, like a mule headed toward the barn after plowing all day--and it was only an hour before I got back to the 202 crossing. There are good signs here for those hiking either direction on 209. I went through the boots off wading and drying process and will have to admit that that Sipsey water felt wonderful on my feet.

When I got back to my campsite, I decided that, even though I felt like an afternoon nap, I'd better take care of 

business and fill a few water bottles for supper, breakfast, and the trip out Sunday morning. I took one of my closed-cell foam pads down by the creek and began pumping the cool stuff through my Sweet Water filter. I always carry in a couple of extra bottles to fill after I get to my campsite. During the winter I will just boil the water to kill the bacteria, but the cool filtered water hits the spot during the summer.

After changing into dry clothes and putzing around with my gear for an hour or two, I decided to see if I could drift off into a late afternoon nap ... which I did. It was hot, but my campsite was shady and I had drunk a lot of the cool, freshly filtered water to rehydrate and cool off. I could have stayed down for a couple of hours, but decided that I wouldn't sleep as soundly that night if I slept too much in the afternoon.

In the winter I would have been spending the evening gathering wood for my night-time fire, but I rarely build a fire in the summer, so I had extra time to mess with my gear and rummage through my first aid kit to see what needed to be replaced. I started the water in my JetBoil for supper -- a pretty good lasagna and meat sauce meal from the northwest freeze-dried company. The pomegranate green tea was especially tasty with the lasagna.

Sunday morning I woke up at first light needing to use the facilities (the woods, in this case) and spotted my third copperhead who was up really early ... or had been out all night snaking around the stream for frogs and such. Whatever the reason, he was up pretty early.

I took my time eating breakfast and packing my gear. I struggle to rush back to civilization from the peace and quiet of the woods. About 9:00 AM or so, I grunted to sling my pack on my back and headed up the trail the way I should have come down, had I not been in a hurry to get to a campsite Friday night. I cursed myself for taking the shortcut, because a few hundred yards up the trail there was the really nice falls that fed Little Ugly Creek. There were a couple of small, one-person campsites near the falls that would have been really nice for my two nights. Oh well, I didn't hate my campsite, but believe that I will have to go back down the Randolph Trail to that falls sometime. I almost always leave the woods seeing something that I wish I had seen on the way in and planning to return sometime ... that's always the best way to end a camping trip--longing to come back again and experience something you missed.

At the top of the elevation climb I came across the fourth and largest of the copperheads. He was about three feet and a fat one ... probably older and loading up on toads that live in all of the downed firs and pines. The weekend had taken its toll on my tired, old body and I hiked most of the way out with a slow, plodding gate. I was happy to get back to the old oak that marked the top of the

main elevation climb. There were a few other elevation gains, but nothing as steep as from the river to the tree. I got a picture of a small blue flower on the way out ... enough to make me smile and want to return.

Tumalo Mountain, Oregon - June 2009

This terrain, climate, altitude, views, etc. are a little different than north Alabama ... to say the least. My wife and I flew out to Portland, OR, to visit with our son and daughter-in-law. I was determined to bag a peak of some kind. After seeing a blurb in Backpacker magazine about Tumalo Mountain and searching Trails.com, I decided that even an old man could make it the mile and a half to the top.

We left my wife at the Barnes & Noble in Bend -- severely strained right thigh hiking in the Sipsey with me -- and headed west to the bottom of Bachelor Mtn and Tumalo Mtn, which are right across from each other. Since we believed that we would encounter snow, we were uncertain that we would be able to get to the top ... but we were game to try. When we got to the sno-park, I called my wife to say that there was a lot of snow and didn't know whether or not we would get up the mountain.

It was a very bright, sunny morning, and we had nothing but time. We walked on the snow mobile road a little and the snow was very hard packed, so we

decided to head straight up toward the summit and see how far we could get. The snow was about three to four feet deep, but very hard packed, so we didn't have any trouble digging our toes and edges in to walk up the steep incline. As you can imagine, the climb of about 1200 feet elevation gain in a mile and a half makes for a pretty steep climb. Since there was no trail to follow--but lots of old footprints--we just headed straight up ... thought about switchbacks, but decided shorter was better on the hard-packed snow.

About 200 yards from the top we found a false summit (which we had seen through the trees and thought we were at the top) and decided to lunch on a log. After some water, power bars, and GORP, we decided to head on the final 200 yards. Keep in mind that I'm an old man hiking at 7000 feet higher than I live and work, so my son and daughter-in-law were forced to be very patient. I

know they wanted to sprint to the top, but they waited respectfully.

The summit was well worth the sweat ... we could easily see Mt Bachelor to the south and the Three Sisters to the northwest. One of the peaks that we thought was on of the Three Sisters was a blown out volcanic remnant that my d-in-law had dubbed the Ugly

Sister, we later discovered was called Broken Top. South Sister was easy to see; Middle Sister was easy to see; but North Sister was almost hidden beyond Middle Sister, so we didn't see it until it was pointed out to us. I made far too many pictures from the top, but the 360-view was so wonderful, I couldn't stop pushing that shutter button.

About ten minutes after we got to the top a lone hike came walking in and offered to take our picture. We struck up a conversation with him and he pointed out several hikes around the area. He showed us the North Sister and told us that the Ugly Sister was, in fact,

Broken Top. He told us about a great hike to the back side of Broken Top to which a 4-wheel drive would get a person most of the way. He told us about hikes up South Sister and several others he had made. He told my son and d-in-l that their upcoming hike on the Wonderland Trail around Mt Ranier would be a spiritual experience for them.

After about 30 minutes of conversation, we said good-bye and headed down to the parking lot. I could have stayed on the top another hour, except for the fact that my wife was in a bookstore and surrounding shops and would be trying to personally restart the Bend economic downturn. The solo guy said although he had made this Tumalo Mtn hike several times, he always had trouble hitting the parking lot because you can't see it or any landmarks through the massive forest near the bottom. Don't know how long it took us to get down, but it was certainly easier than the climb up. I was worried about my 90-lb daughter-in-law digging in the snowpack, but she did fine. She is a crackerjack woman and could have sprinted up the mountain had it not been for the old man she had to wait on.

We missed the parking lot about 50 yds ... and the lone hiker-guy came in about ten minutes after we did. I'm always sorry when I get back to my vehicle that I didn't take a hundred more photos than I did ... well, that's always a good reason to return.

Tumalo Mountain was a good choice--if I do say so myself. Thanks to Backpacker magazine for the idea. Hiking with my son and d-in-law was special. I fear that we won't be doing too many more together ... We chatted with the lone hiker some more, ate some more GORP, and drove down the hill some more to see a trail head that he had mentioned--Todd Lake. The road in was still snow blocked, but some snowmobile trailers were parked there. Would have been nice to drive up on a snowmobile ... but I'm a hiker-dude ... what can I say?