ODT PART 6: FRENCHGLEN TO FIELDS
Day 23 | October 3rd, 2023
The damp morning set the tone for our hike as we left the South Steens Campground and made our way along the Big Indian Gorge Trail into the heart of the Steens Mountain Wilderness. The trail gently meandered along an old two-track road until it led us to Little Indian Creek. Its strong flow was imposing; not perilous, but deep enough to guarantee soaked feet, a situation I was hesitant to confront. Pausing, we contemplated whether to continue. The boys were enthusiastic and self-assured about moving forward while I remained alone in my hesitance. Our gear was still wet from the previous night’s rain, the sun was hidden, and I was concerned that having even wetter and colder feet would worsen my mood, especially with the sun setting earlier each day and leaving no opportunity to dry out. Despite my reservations, I reluctantly followed the group and crossed the creek.
We followed the trail east and subtly climbed up the gorge. The sweet aroma of wet sage filled the air.
Shaggy stopped to point out an edible green he identified – wild plantain – a discovery I had never encountered before.
We pressed on through the thick, verdant underbrush. The narrow path was lined with wet leaves heavy with moisture, hanging over it and brushing against us from both sides. Their cool, damp surfaces glided over our clothes and gear, reminiscent of the bristles of a car wash, spraying droplets of water with every brush against the foliage.
The canyon walls rose with grandeur on either side of the trail, marked with layers of rock in earthy browns and subdued reds, interspersed with hardy green plants clinging to the crevices and ledges.
We journeyed past patches of dense aspen stands, their leaves quivering in the cool breeze as if whispering secrets to each other, carried on the wind. The meadows we crossed were awash with the gold of tall grasses and dotted with the bright yellow of wildflowers. The array of colors was perhaps the most vibrant we had seen so far on the ODT. A thick blanket of clouds hung low overhead, their mass a dramatic feature that seemed to compress the expansive sky. This ever-present cloak moved steadily, engulfing the mountain peaks and cascading into the valleys, infusing the air with mist and mystery.
Despite the cold and dampness, our campsite offered one of the most stunning vistas on the trail. It was perched above a valley where the vibrant fall foliage unfurled below us. Our spirits lifted as breaks in the clouds revealed patches of blue sky, hinting at the promise of clearer weather.
I ran out of fuel to cook with, and I felt thankful when Shaggy shared his hot water for dinner. Backpacking epitomizes the beauty of simplicity; it distills experiences to their essence and enables me to savor the joy nestled within often-overlooked moments.In the urban comfort of my home, the availability of hot water is an unthinking expectation, and its source and provision scarcely cross my mind. Yet, in the wilderness, it transforms into a precious commodity. I can feel the warmth of the water heating me from the inside out, providing a comforting sensation that penetrates deeper than layers of clothing. Encountering these essentials in their elemental form accentuates my appreciation for the mundane yet vital aspects of life, too easily taken for granted in the hustle and bustle of city living.
The warm food was essential as it turned out to be one of the coldest nights on the trail. Inside my sleeping bag, my feet felt frozen, the cold penetrating deep into my bones. Despite wrapping my puffy around my feet inside the sleeping bag, they wouldn’t warm up.
I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, not thrilled about having to step out into the cold night and then warm up all over again. But nature calls. Stepping outside the tent, I walked a short distance to find a suitable spot. As I squatted down, I looked up and was met with a sky bursting with stars. The breathtaking view was a glimmer of hope that the clouds were finally clearing.
Day 24 | October 4th, 2023
Morning arrived with the tent covered in a layer of frost. True to form, Shaggy and Showers packed up quickly and were soon on their way, tackling the day's initial challenge: a grueling 1.5-mile ascent up the headwall of the gorge, with no defined trail. Cosmo packed up just as quickly as the others but sat patiently and waited for me.
My fingers, numbed by the cold, delayed our progress packing up. We began our climb around 9 AM under a clear sky, with the sunrise coaxing a shimmer from the dew-laden foliage. It wasn’t just the landscape thawing; the warmth seeped into my limbs, loosening the night's cold grip with every step. The trail upward was less a path and more a natural staircase carved into the mountain’s flank. Each rise revealed a new angle of the mountain's vibrant geology. The steepness of the climb helped to warm my body, getting the blood pumping right away.
Around us, the shrubbery was connected by a delicate network of spiderwebs. Their gossamer lines spread across the landscape like a sheer, silken doily glistening in the sunlight. These impressively long strands occasionally hitched a ride on our backpacks or clothes as we navigated through the terrain.
At the top of the steep ascent where the route joins the paved Steens Mountain Loop Road, I found the boys circled around an RV, energetically engaging in conversation with Tim and Jen, a vacationing couple. Their lively conversation was sprinkled with the hope of trail magic, which they successfully achieved. Before walking off, Tim handed us some fresh fruit and a beer to split amongst the four of us. While they chatted, I hung back, not really in the mood for small talk (but happy to have a few sips of beer once we were on our way).
After conquering the most challenging part of the day, we pressed on toward the summit of Steens Mountain, with the majority of the ascent now behind us. We followed a gravel road and headed toward the foot of the mountain's final ascent.
The wind picked up, urging us to layer up. We decided to ditch our heavy packs at the parking area and travel light for the last mile to the summit. As soon as Cosmo shed his pack, he dashed up the hill with unrestrained joy, like a freed puppy.
The views from the top were expansive and incredible. The landscape extended endlessly in all directions, featuring towering mountains and arid valleys—a classic depiction of the basin and range topography. After soaking in the scenery, the time came for a tough farewell. Shaggy had to make it home in time to attend a wedding to which he had previously committed. He was a fast and determined hiker, unafraid to sacrifice sleep and comfort when necessary. We knew that the social nature of our group would only slow him down. After exchanging hugs and taking photos at the top, we bid our goodbyes and watched as he swiftly descended and disappeared down the mountain.
A series of steep switchbacks led us down to Wild Horse Lake, the only alpine lake on the ODT.
We enjoyed a picturesque trail, skirting the glistening shores of the lake, before continuing our descent through the trail-less canyon, bushwhacking our way through the most overgrown section we had experienced thus far.
We picked our way through the dense shrubbery, staying within sight of each other but apart enough to navigate the prickly undergrowth and whipping stinging nettle individually. Progress was painstakingly slow. As the day wore on, the terrain became increasingly treacherous. The bushwhacking was manageable; it wasn't dangerous, but rather more of an annoying obstacle.
It was when I reached a rocky ledge with a steep drop-off and loose rocks that I really hesitated. The path ahead was anything but clear, and the safety of each step seemed dubious. The guidebook's vague advice for this section – "Between EB026 and EB028, there is no clear route, so do the best you can to bushwhack up and over the rocky ridge to meet Straw Hat Pass" – offered little reassurance. Showers moved ahead with confidence, but as I hesitated, mulling over each move, I quickly lost sight of him. Cosmo caught up with me, and together we cautiously tried to find our way.
Getting lost in the woods can happen quickly and unexpectedly. For what felt like an eternity, we had no sign of Showers. Yelling through the canyon was futile. I tried calling his cell phone, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. Cosmo and I grew increasingly worried as evening fell and darkness enveloped us. Our concern intensified with each passing moment. Showers did not carry an InReach, and if he did not have cell service or if his phone was turned off, we had no way of getting ahold of him, or knowing his status. The harshness of the terrain and the unforgiving nature of this tricky landscape heightened our concern; we had no idea what might have happened to him. Showers is a strong, fast hiker, and it's not unusual for him to be in the lead, but it was out of character to be separated for this long, especially in a trail-less area.
It had been over an hour since we had been separated from Showers, and I was getting tired. The prospect of navigating the steep, rocky slopes in the dark felt not just daunting, but also unsafe. We were at a crossroads: to continue searching for Showers or to camp for the night. I was leaning towards setting up camp, but Cosmo was torn and uneasy about stopping without knowing Showers’ whereabouts.
Then, in the midst of our growing anxiety, I noticed a flicker of light from a saddle high above. It had to be Showers. We could see the outline of a person walking back and forth along the ridge. The figure was in the exact spot that our map would lead us to on the route.
We yelled across the canyon, but our voices fell into the dark depths before reaching the other side. I tried calling Showers' phone again, but once more, it went to voicemail. We flashed our headlamps and shouted until we finally caught Showers' attention. The relief of making contact was palpable, but we still weren't out of the woods (pun intended) yet.
Eventually, his phone caught a signal or he turned it on, and we clarified our plans to meet in the morning through text. The immense relief of knowing everyone was safe washed over us. That night, Cosmo and I set up camp on a sandy, loose ledge. It was a serene, albeit somewhat tense, end to a day that had taken us through a gamut of emotions and challenges.
Day 25 | October 5th, 2023
The hike from our campsite up to the saddle where Showers was waiting was surprisingly easier than I expected. It was just a quick scramble through some shrubby terrain, and we were back as a trio.
Our path took us across the rocky ridge to Straw Hat Pass, where the vast emptiness of the Alvord Desert suddenly unfolded below us. The pass seemed to signify the end of the Steens' mighty chapter and the start of something new and unknown. Here, the landscape presented a mosaic of rugged terrain and expansive open spaces. It was a relief and an accomplishment to be out of the Steens.
We got our first glimpse of Pueblo Mountain in the distance, and nodded to each other. The Pueblos were another crux of the ODT, a section frequently mentioned by previous hikers.
Continuing our cross-country hike through the open sage to the southeast, we eventually reached the East Steens Road. As we made our way, the air was filled with the rhythmic ticking of meadow katydids, their sound eerily similar to that of sprinklers.
Following East Steens Road south along the Alvord Desert, we reached the edge of the dry desert playa after about a mile and stopped to get water at Frog Springs. Frog Springs is also a public access point for the playa, and folks were definitely exploring. Upon reaching the playa, the sight of cars driving across it struck a discordant note against the wild beauty we had been immersed in. The white dry lakebed was marked by long lines of OHV and car tire tracks. We filled up 5 liters of water at Frog Springs and continued on a nice, flat road walk before another cross-country section through the sagebrush.
Finding an alternate dirt road, we pressed on until we made camp in a dry mud bed. Initially, we attempted cowboy camping, but once again, the desert's nocturnal residents, specifically a couple of curious scorpions, persuaded us to set up the tent instead.
Day 26 | October 6th, 2023
We woke up wet with condensation and spent some extra time drying out in the sun. The terrain was mostly flat, with travel through sagebrush, open desert playa, and dusty two-track roads. We were feeling hungry and running low on food.
Looking ahead, we discovered that the passage through Borax Lake was impassable due to marshy conditions. In fact, Seeking Lost's blog warned, "This area is NOT worth it!! Do yourself a favor and try to find a dry route around this nightmare. It’s no place for a human to be." This prompted us to look for a road alternative.
Seeking Lost's warning proved accurate, as our initial attempt at cross-country navigation led to a muddy, wet slog near Dixon Spring, compelling us to backtrack.
We were unnerved as we crossed the dry Alvord Lake, uncertain whether we were on private or public land. And the distant sound of gunshots did nothing to bolster our confidence. Despite our slight paranoia, walking across the playa was pretty neat. The geometric, cracked, polygonal patterns in the clay-rich soil were unlike anything else. The vast, flat ground extended toward the horizon, bordered by distant mountain ranges.
We headed towards the paved Fields-Denio Road, our alternate route on that shadeless, warm day. We knew it would add extra miles, but we assumed that the road miles would pass much more quickly than crossing the terrain surrounding Borax Lake.
Upon arriving in Fields, Oregon, famous for its tall and creamy non-vegan milkshakes, we ordered lunch from the welcoming staff and supplemented our dwindling food supplies with a few items from the store. Afterward, we settled outside at the picnic tables to enjoy a well-deserved rest and refuel. Various groups of people, mostly older tourists, came and went, many of whom seemed interested and intrigued by our activities. Among them were Tony and Dan, who stopped to chat with us for a while and eventually offered us trail magic in the form of homegrown, very large zucchinis and cucumbers.
From Fields, the ODT follows Highway 205 south for 3 miles before turning right onto Domingo Pass Road. Surprisingly, we spotted another hiker in the distance as we were walking. Jen, aka Zebra, was hiking westbound and appeared just as surprised to see us as we were to see her. We chatted briefly about our experiences so far and what to expect in the upcoming sections. Encountering another thru-hiker was a pleasant surprise, as the ODT is one of the quietest and most desolate long-distance hikes I have experienced.
After meeting Zebra, we set up camp at the base of the Pueblos. There, we shared shots of whiskey accompanied by a giant zucchini. The large vegetable, when added to my usual brown mush, made for a fulfilling dinner. I slept deeply that night, undisturbed by the loud passing cars, and for once, I didn't wake up in the middle of the night for a snack.
