It was a particularly hot summer in Oregon when I pulled the Jeep out onto Highway 26, which is a major west-east route connecting Oregon’s ocean beaches to near the Idaho border. Highway 26 goes over Mount Hood, where I planned to turn south and travel down a series of U.S. Forest Service Roads to Crater Lake, near the California border. Though I only live an hour away from Mount Hood, there is one place there that I had never been to, and that was Trillium Lake. Lying at the base of Mount Hood at 3,600 feet, Trillium Lake with its diminutive size and mirror-like surface, provides one of the more iconic photo opportunities in northwest Oregon, with the snow-capped 11,000 foot Mount Hood reflecting off the surface of the lake. I had heard that if you want to get the best reflection off the lake, you need to get there early before any breeze picks-up. I made it down to the south end of the lake, which is several miles off the highway. The sun was already up, and there were already small ripples traveling across the lake. I was only mildly disappointed though, as the view was everything that I had heard about and hoped for. Mount Hood towered majestically above the treeline, while also reflecting directly towards me across the surface of the lake. It was quiet solitude, still too early for chirping squirrels or singing birds and I was lost in the moment for some time. It was still early, though, and in my haste to make it too the lake I had forgone my morning coffee ritual, so I headed back to the Jeep for a shot of caffeine and continue my adventure.
I was looking for the turnoff to Clear Lake which would finally get me off the pavement and onto more primitive traverses. I was heading around Clear Lake to Timothy Lake further south, and although these were graveled Forest Service roads they were heavily cratered due to the heavy traffic these recreational lakes receive, and the extreme climate conditions that these roads endure throughout the season. Mount Hood is primarily a ski destination, but both Clear Lake and Timothy Lake are summer recreational destinations. As a reminder that this area is only about an hour from Portland, the largest city in Oregon, I drove past a burned-out SUV on the side of the forest service road that skirts around Clear Lake. The police tape around the vehicle told of its stolen origins. I stopped for a brief period near the dam on Timothy Lake and enjoyed the sunshine, as the day began to warm. My goal for the morning was Summit Lake, which sits nearly 1,000 feet higher than the previous trio of lakes that I had visited that morning. Summit Lake is also a natural lake and shares an important characteristic with Crater Lake; it is fed entirely by snow melt and rain. It was really beginning to warm up, so I was happy to see the road getting into taller timber which kept the temperature down. This southern slope of the Mount Hood National Forest is much less traveled than the area around the recreational lakes, and I was now on narrow dirt roads with even narrower cuts between downed timber. The winter weather is harsh up here and the trees are subjected to snow load and high winds. Fortunately, I was not one of the first vehicles through here, and did not have to clear the trail of downed timber – an annual ritual in late spring. Unfortunately, another annual ritual that comes with the snow melt is the mosquito hatch. The mosquitos in the Cascade Mountain Range are brutal all summer long, as they attempt to take full advantage of the narrow window of temperate climate. The Central American jungle is bad, but those flying hypodermics have nothing on their cousins in the Cascade Mountains.
Just south of Timothy Lake, several motorcycles came up behind me and I squeezed off the trail to let them by. We would get to meet and chat at Summit Lake where we all took a much-needed break and got to compare notes on our day’s travels. They were riding Adventure Bikes, a cross between road and motorcross bikes, and had begun their day in Hood River, Oregon in the Columbia Gorge. We all had some lunch at Summit Lake and they were happy to get out of their protective gear for some fresh air, as even at 4,200 feet the temperature was well into the mid-80’s. I have to hand it to those guys, all they have is what they can squeeze into a pair of saddle bags, while the Jeep has a tent with a large mattress, and a refrigerator. Also, a screen room to get some respite from the mosquitoes. Yes, it is almost embarrassing, but I remember the hard times and I have no desire to revisit them. After lunch, we all packed-up and continued south towards the mountain town to Detroit. Detroit, Oregon is about as far from Motor City as you can get, unless you count log trucks, skidders and yarders. Oregon’s logging industry was decimated in the 1980’s and 1990’s, so today Detroit is primarily a recreation destination with their large reservoir, called Detroit Lake. Unfortunately for Detroit and a lot of other locations up and down the Pacific Coast, the lack of logging combined with aggressive fire suppression has led to forests choked with underbrush and unhealthy standing timber. Detroit and much of the surrounding area were nearly wiped out by a major forest fire in 2020 and it is still trying to recover, today. This is the terrain that I was now moving through, as I worked my way south from the Mount Hood National Forest, towards Detroit through the Clackamas and Opal Creek Wilderness areas. This area had been closed to vehicle traffic for several years, because the standing dead timber from the fire could fall at any time and was too dangerous. Now, the dead timber within falling distance of roads has been mostly cleared and the forest has begun its process of rejuvenating itself. It is not a pretty area, though, and the roads have been reinforced with more gravel to handle the heavy equipment needed to remove the dead timber, making for a very dusty environment.
Detroit was crowded with recreational boaters, which was nice to see, and I stopped in at the local grocery store, which had survived the fire, to purchase a few snacks. These people have been through a lot, so I could not pass through town without supporting them in some small way. I have a connection to Detroit in that I grew up in a small logging town in Oregon’s Coast Range Mountains. Detroit was our bitter rival, and we continuously traded positions in making the high school district playoffs. Alsea in the Coast Range, Detroit in the Cascade Range. 100 miles apart but joined at the hip in Oregon’s logging industry. It was getting late in the day when I passed through Detroit, and I was now climbing up into the Santiam Wilderness Area, looking for a place to camp for the evening. The stretch south of Detroit climbs rapidly towards Santiam Pass and the Hoodoo Ski Area, at 5,300 feet, and has large stands of timber untouched by the previous fire. I found an overgrown spur road and squeezed the Jeep between the encroaching trees for nearly a mile, where the road ended in a grassy clearing. I quickly discovered that mosquitos also like grassy clearings. I do not always carry a screen room, but I did have it with me on this trip, so I got it setup while constantly swatting the relentless creatures, and it made for a fantastic and peaceful place to enjoy my meal, mosquito-free. It had been a productive first day, traveling about 110 miles from Trillium Lake on Mount Hood, to somewhere in the Willamette National Forest, south of Detroit.
I was now leaving the lush fir forests that cover much of northwest Oregon and entering the volcanic eastern side of the Cascade Mountain Range. Gone are the granite-gray graveled Forest Service roads, replaced with crushed orange volcanic rock. I was heading towards the very touristy and western-themed town of Sisters, Oregon. Sisters gets its name from the three 10,000-foot volcanos, west of the town. The Three Sisters Wilderness is a vast roadless area and actually contains another one of Oregon’s many crater lakes. Called Teardrop Pool, it is Oregon’s highest lake. I would love to see it, but it is not something that should be attempted solo, or on a whim. A man has got to know his limitations. Or perhaps more importantly, people should respect the humbling power of extreme environments. I approached Sisters through the pine forest about two miles west of the town, and in homage to my home town of Portland, I steered the Jeep through a homeless tent city in the treeline, just off of the highway. Sisters is a small town with a population of several thousand people, but its touristy nature makes it deceptively difficult to navigate due to the amount of traffic. I could have bypassed Sisters, but summertime is the Forest Service’s road maintenance season, and the major Forest Service Road heading south around the western side of Sisters was closed. I was heading towards the much larger touristy city of Bend, Oregon but fortunately I could skirt the city to the west. Working my way south, I saw another vehicle approaching, so I pulled over to let it by. Low and behold, it turned out to be another Jeep! And not just any Jeep, but nearly an identical sibling to my own. Dan from San Diego stopped and we chatted for a while. We both had somewhat rare pop-up tent camper tops on our Jeep’s – similar to Volkswagen Westfalia campers – so it was fun to compare notes. Dan was traveling north with a small group of other vehicles. We exchanged contact information, and I would end up joining Dan and his group sometime later for adventures through Arizona and Utah. For today though, I needed to get south of Bend and locate a camping site for the evening.
At 100,000 people, Bend is not a large city by most measures, but it still has its urban sprawl so camping can be a challenge around the city. I was already southwest of the city center, so I continued west until I thought that I was safely far enough from civilization to pick one of the many Bureau of Land Management roads in the Deschutes National Forest, to find some evening solitude. I traveled several miles off the main road and ended up in a stand of pine trees at the base of Round Mountain. The high Oregon desert was thankfully free of Mosquitos, and I thought that I had the place all to myself until later in the evening a gentleman on a bicycle with several dogs came by, heading up towards the butte. I was a bit shocked, as these roads are very sandy and, I thought, not the best environment for bicycles. Anyway, he rang his bicycle bell a few times and we waved at each other. Perhaps he was as surprised to see me, as I was to see him. I had traveled another 110 miles and was quite a bit more tired than I was on the first day, so I slept well that night. Day three would mark the final push to Crater Lake, which was now only 75 miles to the south.
I got an early start in hope of making the north gate early enough in the morning to beat the traffic. I knew from previous visits to the park that the line at both the north and south entrances grows exponentially as the clock ticks towards noon. I worked my way south through a series of BLM roads, skirting Wikiup Reservoir and Crescent Lake, until finally coming out onto Highway 138 at Diamond Lake, about 10 miles before the entrance to Crater Lake. I was quickly through the gate and up onto the rim road, which runs some 30 miles around the rim of the caldera. Crater Lake was formed by the collapse of Mount Mazama 7,000 years ago, so it once did have a crater, but that crater is long gone. The caldera formed by the mountain’s collapse is several thousand feet deep, making Crater Lake the deepest lake in the United States and one of the ten deepest on earth. Like Teardrop Pool in the Three Sisters Wilderness, Crater Lake is fed purely from snow melt and rainfall. The water is eerily blue and clear, and the long hike down from the rim road to the water’s edge is well worth the effort. Admittedly, most of that effort comes during the trip back up to the rim. In true Cascade Mountain Range form, the mosquitos on the Crater Lake rim road are relentless.