ODT Part 1: Redmond to Peters Creek CG
Day 1 | September 11th, 2023
The morning was filled with eager anticipation, excitement, and a stressful hustle to catch an early flight from Burbank to Redmond, Oregon.
Leslie, a friendly trail angel we connected with on Facebook, picked us up from the airport. At first, she thought we were Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) hikers heading west to Santiam Pass. When she realized we were actually embarking on the Oregon Desert Trail (ODT), she remained enthusiastic and drove us without hesitation to Tumulus Trailhead, even though it was in the opposite direction of her initial plan.
The drive to the trailhead quickly transported us into rural Oregon, setting the tone for the rest of our hike.
Our journey began at the western terminus of the ODT (Tumulus Trailhead), on the north side of the Oregon Badlands Wilderness. It was me and Cosmo, along with our very new friend Stephen, aka “Showers”. We had actually met Showers a few months earlier near Griffith Park in Los Angeles. Our introduction happened when we noticed Showers walking in a manner that prompted Cosmo to shout, "Hey, are you a thru-hiker?"
It was an easy start, walking along established trails and old dirt as we made our way into the Badlands.
For the first half mile, we walked next to a canal, which was the only natural water source for the next 36 miles. We were well aware that the initial 160 miles of the ODT would be the driest stretch, making strategic water caching essential. Thankfully, a few weeks prior, we had connected with a local thru-hiker named William, aka "Shaggy," through the ODT Facebook page. He was gearing up to start his hike a day before us and had plans to cache water at four different locations. He generously offered to cache water for us as well.
We left the Badlands, crossed Highway 20, and picked up our first cache. It was a relief to spot the gallon jugs of water hidden among a patch of juniper trees, although carrying four liters each proved less exhilarating.
After passing through the first of many barbed wire fences along the ODT, we embarked on a brief yet steep climb up Horse Ridge. As I climbed, I felt an ache in my lower back, likely caused by the extra weight of water and the uphill trek through the thick, sandy terrain. It was only the first day, and my body was still adjusting to the physical demands of the hike.
The next few miles consisted of a short cross-country section, marking our first of many trail-less stretches along the route. The navigation was easy as we walked among patches of golden bunchgrass and short sagebrush.
We found a nice spot to camp on top of Horse Ridge nestled within a tranquil juniper forest.
Although the sunset was stunning, it brought with it the scent of wildfire smoke and a pastel palette of colors that darkened against the hazy horizon. In the west, wildfires are always a concern, and we were well aware of the possibility of one interrupting or even prematurely ending our hike. We smelled smoke from fires far enough away not to be an immediate threat, but it still served as a sobering reminder of the wildfire situation in the area.
We set up our camp and then rejoined for our first evening meal together. We were still getting to know each other, but the shared experience of hiking was already bringing us closer. Thru-hiking has a way of expediting the closeness of friendships, making one day on the trail feel like a month of everyday life.
As we ate, we exchanged stories about our evening routines and learned more about each other's hiking styles. I pulled out a bulb of fresh, raw garlic and began peeling a clove for my meal. Cosmo, familiar with my joy of packing garlic, showed no surprise, but Showers' expression bore only intrigue. I offered to share, and both Showers and Cosmo promptly accepted.
Showers and I both incorporated pieces of garlic into our dinners, and as we ate, our faces involuntarily scrunched up in response to the unexpected bursts of intense spiciness hidden within random bites. The fiery kick took us by surprise. Cosmo, amused by our reactions, playfully suggested that we might consider keeping the garlic on the side and taking smaller, more manageable bites during dinner, instead of risking large chunks getting lost in the meal.
Feeling united by our shared experience and a little embarrassed that I might have ruined Showers’ meal with the spicy garlic, I proclaimed, "Now we’re Garlic Brothers!" This caused the boys to break out in infectious laughter, and thus, The Garlic Brothers Trail Family was born.
Day 2 | September 12th, 2023
We woke up to unexpected condensation and decided on a late start to allow our gear to dry. The air still carried a subtle hint of wildfire smoke, but aside from that, the weather was perfect for hiking.
Our path followed a dirt road through an open sage and rabbitbrush landscape, leading to a daunting 2000-foot climb up Pine Mountain, featuring sections of deep, challenging sand.
As we climbed, the steep trail tested our endurance, while the shaded pine trees and cooler temperatures provided a welcome relief.
We stopped at the Pine Mountain Observatory, the high point of our climb, to pick up water cache #2 and have lunch.
As we descended Pine Mountain on Forest Road-2017, we were treated to expansive views of the sagebrush steppe and distant volcanic buttes.
After more dirt roads and another barbed wire fence we eventually reached Sand Spring, which was the only reliable water source for miles.
Despite its unappealing brown/yellow appearance, we filled our bottles and decided to set up camp at the undeveloped campground.
The campground was empty, and the day's challenges left us feeling drained and satisfied. We found solace in the tranquil solitude and set up camp, where we slept soundly under a vast, star-filled sky with the Milky Way spanning across. As the nights went on, we all came to appreciate these dark sky nights as one of the most remarkable aspects of the ODT.
Day 3 | September 13th, 2023
It was a cold, chilly morning, and, as if on cue, I got my period. Over the years, it has seemed that nature has a knack for syncing my cycle with my backpacking and camping trips. Although I have learned to expect it, my period always adds an additional layer of complexity to my wilderness adventures.
We spent much of the day on remote two-track roads that traversed a flat terrain, dotted with sagebrush, stands of pine trees, and views of distant volcanic buttes.
We trekked through cattle-grazing land, and, like the cows, our primary water sources were troughs, many of which were listed as “unreliable” on our downloaded water report. This meant we had to be prepared to take what we could find along a very dry stretch of the route.
The Plot Butte Waterhole (fancy name for a trough) held water, but it also had a dead bat floating upside down in it. We drank down a few liters thirstily.
At the second trough stop, "The Guzzler," aka "The Buzzler," we encountered a swarm of vigilant and thirsty bees guarding the precious water. To collect the lime-green liquid without risking stings, I suited up in my rain gear, donned mittens, and secured a bug net over my head. This ensemble gave me the appearance of a beekeeper more than a hiker, ensuring my safety while procuring the much-needed water.
Our journey continued along two-track roads with occasional cross-country stretches through sage flats and juniper forests as we headed towards Lava Mountain and Twin Buttes.
We followed the northeast edge of the East Lava Field, where we were faced with a series of perilous barbed wire fences that needed to be opened and securely closed behind us, or occasionally crawled under. These dangerous, rusty and obtrusive barriers stretched for thousands of miles across the Oregon Desert. While some of these fences had the obvious purpose of keeping cows in or out, many were falling half-over and posed risks to migrating wildlife and thru-hikers.
During one particular encounter with an apparently insurmountable and dangerous barbed wire gate, our patience and problem-solving skills were put to the test. We had to carefully unlatch the tightly woven gate lock without letting the heavy fence spring back and strike someone in the face.
This fence crossing was our last obstacle of the day, and we set up camp on the other side under the shade of a great juniper tree.
Tomorrow, we would hit Peter’s Creek, our first resupply point. A text from Shaggy, who had become a virtual member of our trail family and was graciously sharing beta from ahead, came in while we ate dinner: “Just made it to Peter's Creek. The water isn't on, but I don't know why, so I'm drinking from a bird bath." It was hard not to laugh.
More messages clarified that he'd mixed up water sources, missed The Buzzler and hiked to Peter’s Creek with just one gallon from Pine Mountain. A mix of concern, astonishment, and bemusement played across our faces. Showers exclaimed, “That’s 40 miles with barely any water!”
Not overly worried, more puzzled, we planned to call Peter’s Creek's owner the next day if needed (fingers crossed).
As we settled in, we couldn't help but embrace the rugged beauty of this unique landscape. The sky was clear, and the deafening silence invoked a sense of awe and contentment. The smell of sage filled the air, and the stillness of the desert night enveloped us.
Day 4 | September 14th, 2023
I woke at 4 am before the sun, emerging from the tent to behold the vast sky adorned with countless stars. It was a serene and quiet morning, accompanied only by the melodious hoot of an owl and the distant howls of coyotes.
It was perfect, until suddenly, my tranquil moment was shattered as a searing pain seized my midsection and forced my attention back to my body. I felt a relentless throbbing and tightening, as if a powerful snake had coiled around me and refused to relent. Ah, the joys of menstrual cramps.
After taking ibuprofen, I returned to sleep, waking up at sunrise with the meadowlark's sweet serenade.
The day included stretches of two-track roads and cross-country sections, offering solitude and the freedom of off-trail hiking. Cosmo and Showers navigated the cross-country swiftly and effortlessly while I trailed behind, frequently adjusting my bulky reusable pad that stubbornly refused to stay in one place within my shorts. I walked with a unique gait to keep the pad from slipping out from between my legs, as if thru-hiking wasn't challenging enough.
At home, with access to abundant clean water, I can easily rinse my reusable pads several times a day, ensuring I always have a fresh, dry one at hand. But out here, where water is a precious resource, I have to make do with the same pad until every inch of fabric is completely saturated. As a result, I folded my current pad into fourths, pressing the remaining dry fabric against my skin.
The pad became bulky and uncomfortable, frequently shifting within my shorts and causing me to walk with a waddle.
Arriving at the designated meet-up waypoint, I spotted Showers and Cosmo. They were lounging comfortably, snacking away, seemingly oblivious to the unique hiking challenges I was facing due to my period. I stopped, put on a smile, and joined them, trying my best not to reveal the discomfort I felt. As would become usual, they continued their hike before I was fully packed back up, leaving me trailing behind. It was a poignant reminder of the inherent differences in our hiking experiences, something men would never fully comprehend.
In the afternoon we reached Peters Creek Campground. It was an empty yet well-established campground, providing us with ample space to spread out. I was particularly grateful to collect my food package, have access to water (which was working just fine for us, no bird bath necessary), and use the porta-potties.
To our delight, we discovered a surprise six-pack of IPA waiting for us, a generous gift from Shaggy, who was still a day ahead of us on the trail. We spent the afternoon relaxing at the campground, hand washing our clothes, and organizing our food.
Peters Creek Campground, owned by Dan Damewood, a local trail angel, plays a crucial role in supporting hikers like us. He not only held our food boxes but also shared valuable knowledge about the area. Dan was happy to provide affordable camping and proudly stated that he didn't believe in inflation, resulting in a flat rate of five dollars a night for his campground.
With all the information we needed, Dan left to return to his house on the property, leaving us with the campground all to ourselves. In the privacy of our Garlic Brothers group, I ingeniously fashioned a Tyvek Toga to change into while I hand-washed my bloodied garments. Despite the challenging circumstances, I took pride in my resourcefulness and adaptability.
We considered staying at the campground but ultimately decided to hike on.
That night, a profound sense of accomplishment filled me. My clothes were a little cleaner, I had beer in my belly, I was one day closer to being done with my period, and we had made it past our first checkpoint.
Under the vast night sky, I drifted off to sleep, serenaded by the meadowlark's song, and comforted by the soothing numbness of ibuprofen.