Since we have nearly a month to wait, we talked about rockhounding somewhere this weekend. I'm a member of some rockhounding groups on Facebook, and lo and behold one of the members posted an open invitation for rockhounds to mine on his fire opal claim for free! The photos of the fire opals found there show gorgeous, clear red opals the color of a fire engine. I was practically drooling. So we chatted with the incredibly kind owner, Jamie Lant, and prepped for the drive and then camping at the claim.
We got a small grill to take with us, bought a pickaxe and a rake, loaded up all our other tools and camping gear, and headed out on Saturday morning around 8am. We live in Eugene, so we drove out highway 58 to highway 97, drove south on 97 and then cut over at Chiloquin, and drove south along the Sprague River towards 140.
The claim is up on Juniper Ridge. We drove through a lot of smoke on the way, which I thought was from the 200 acre Flinn fire, but it turns out that was not the smoke we were seeing. I did note the area from Chiloquin to highway 140 was incredibly beautiful, much more so than I had expected. After 10 years of living in Klamath Falls, I realized I'd never driven that stretch of highway. I think the marshes and the greenery surprised me the most, but I do realize it's still spring and not full blown summer.
We got to the correct forest road off highway 140 and, not 50 feet in, a woman in a small red Subaru stopped us on her way out and said the snow blocks the road less than 10 minutes up. We thanked her and kept driving, figuring we didn't drive all that way to turn around unless we saw it ourselves. The opal claim owner hadn't said anything about there being snow, but all the signs said we were already at 5,800 feet, so we were a little apprehensive.
We got to the first few snowed in parts of the road and my Subaru went through the snow like a boss. Now, as background I feel I should tell you I named my car G.I. Jane when I got her, mostly because she's a weird Crosstrek-khaki-green, but partly because she can pretty much drive straight up a tree when she's in first gear. I call her Gijjie, for short. So Robert was driving my Gijjie and, although I know my car better than he does, he was raised in Michigan. He knows snow. Still, the next part of the road maybe a quarter mile further up was snowed in a good deal more than what we expected. I got out. We eyeballed the snow. Robert made an attempt to drive through it. He failed. He backed up and tried again. He failed. He opened the car window, looked at me, and said he thought he could clear a path if he kept trying. I fretted on the sidelines.
After about six or eight attempts, Gijjie started to smoke from under the hood. I was not pleased. We decided to turn around and limp the car to Lakeview, 30 miles away. But once we hit 140 again, Robert announced we were leaving a snail trail of some sort of liquid on the highway. Couple that with a sudden nasty wobble in the front end, and we started discussing whether we needed to pull over and have it towed.
We pulled over. I could see heavy snow, almost turned to ice, inside the wheels. I assume that can throw tire balancing off, and cleared it out using some of our digging tools. Robert popped the hood and tried to find the leak, but nothing was visible. The car smelled strongly like burned up clutch, and I may have glared at Robert a time or two while discussing what might be wrong with Gijjie. We discussed our options and the possibilities.
After letting the car sit for 20 minutes, we got it back on 140 headed for Lakeview. Sure enough, the wobble was gone and the slug trail was gone. The car wasn't smoking and it shifted just fine. I googled mechanics for Lakeview and found one that was open: Mile Hi Tire Service. So when we got there, Kim and Cody got her up on the rack, looked her over, refilled all our fluids, blew out the air filter, and pronounced her safe and sound. They refused to take a dime for looking at her. They were so amazing. Note to self: carry cash on these trips so we can flip guys like this a $20 out of appreciation.
Next we headed to Paisley, thinking maybe we could check out the Paisley caves. We couldn't find any information on how to get to the actual caves, though. Google searches came up with a bar named Paisley Caves, so rather than spend 30 minutes Googling crap, we decided to just look for a good campground. We identified the Chewaucan river campground and headed that way. But if you've ever been on that road, you know there's a particular part, just past Valley Falls, that has a glittering obsidian field on both sides among the desert sage. You know you're there when you can see flat, painted mesas far back on both sides of the road.
We stopped and gathered obsidian and quartz for a while in the desert sun. I carry a cloth shoulder bag I made for our trip to the Yucatan, and I know the rules on quantity of rocks allowed. But when a big police truck pulled over and a stocky County or BLM guy got out and came over to talk to me, I'm not gonna lie: I got nervous. So I chatted with Officer Tague and I asked if I was in trouble for collecting obsidian. He said only if we found and took arrowheads, of course. I know better and I told him so.
We chatted about camping and rockhounding and he mentioned Hart Mountain as a coveted place to explore for us rockhounding types. My brain filed that away. Turns out, the police officer was helping to look for a missing woman from Paisley.
https://katu.com/news/local/state-troopers-ask-for-help-finding-missing-endangered-oregon-woman
The officer was really kind and asked if we were enjoying our trip and chatted with me about campgrounds and such. As an interesting side note, I asked him if it was possible to visit the Paisley Caves, and he never did answer my question. But we shook hands and he went on his way and I kept picking up rocks, in my floppy orange sun hat.
Robert and I started thinking we needed to find whatever campsite we were going to stay at, so we hopped back in Gijjie and headed to Paisley and the Chewaucan River campground. When we got there, we hated it. Was it pretty? Sure. But there were no *rocks* around there, nor in the area. So we compared all our options. Silly us. We decided to head for Hart Mountain. Ho ho ho.
I did a quick Google search on my phone and found a page that insisted there's jasper, petrified wood, and fire opal at an ancient dry seabed at Flook Lake. So after driving South back to Lakeview to get gas, we drove back to Valley Falls, then turned East and headed towards Plush on the way to Hart Mountain. Once we got to Plush, we turned right and headed towards the Hart Moutain National Antelope Reserve and Warner Peak. You're talking about 8,000 feet in elevation. In April. The only reason we justified going is because the nice kid at the gas station said, "It don't snow up there in April. It's too cold."
We drove a long time and even noticed a handful of lakes or marshes along the way. We finally turned and drove up Hart Mountain. It was a long ass gravel road with a sheer dropoff. Fun! When we got to the very top of the sudden, huge Mesa, it was cold and late, about 7:30. We knew we didn't have much daylight left. So we passed the Ranger building and passed by the Hot Springs Campground turnoff. We drove along that eerie, high Mesa road, surrounded by these massive white capped mountain peaks on all sides, looking at the antelope and praying the roads were open.
I knew French Glenn road was open because I had googled it while we were in Lakeview. But the road my GPS wanted us to turn on to get to the coordinates I'd put in was SO NOT A ROAD. I told Robert to keep driving and was mildly surprised when my Google Maps app recalculated another, different entrance to Flook Lake. The newly identified road was fairly passable looking, so we turned and started bouncing along towards the ancient seabed. I could even see the white dust tuft circle on Google Maps. It was so exciting!
GPS Coordinates to Flook Lake: 42.5756, -119.531
After about a mile and a half, Robert said we should stop and pitch camp because we had reached the water. I looked up from my phone and realized the road was literally leading into the water of a small remaining lake. Yep. Time to stop.
We pitched our tent. The sun started to set. Robert grabbed the grill box and then dumped it all out on the ground in his rush, only then realizing it had to actually be put together. I used to carry an "Oregon will eat you" emergency kit in my car, but when Robert and I met he was driving two hours in the snow each way to see me so I'd given it to him. This meant I did not have a screwdriver in my car. I managed to come up with: tiny sewing scissors, a nail file, and a dime. Robert made due like a trooper.
We fired up our tiny grill and spiced the chicken and set up our bedding. The sun actually set. We cooked 4 chicken quarters and salted up the corn on the cob. We parked the car near the tent as a sort of windbreak and set the camp chairs near the grill. I turned over a long plastic milk crate to suffice as a table. The sun got serious about leaving and it got pitch black. Stars started to appear in that deep black sky. Interestingly enough, we never did see the Milky Way, but we saw 3 twinkling planets.
We cooked our chicken for about 40 minutes and ate it like two starving wolves. The very first bite of that crispy cooked skin on the chicken was like heaven on earth. We cooked 2 cobs of corn and ate those, and then Robert made 4 roasted marshmallows on that tiny grill, using the grill fork. He cracks me up. I ate two of the marshmallows. But by then I was starting to shiver, even in my Patagonia. So I went into our great big tent and changed into long johns, fleece lounge pants, a tshirt and a sweatshirt, my winter hat, my winter gloves, and my Patagonia on top. I was still cold.
Eventually we climbed into our wonderful double sleeping bag with our awesome pillows and the extra sleeping bags underneath us for padding and I started to warm up. Robert put out the grill fire and came into the tent, stripped off everything from the waist down, and climbed in bed. I loudly pronounced his distinct lack of sanity and cuddled up to him and tried to fall asleep. Then the wind showed up. It was so windy that night, the sides of our 12 person tent were bowing in so far that the panel on my side was pushing downward on my head! The noise was deafening. I was sure we were being stalked by whatever predators live at 8,000 feet. Then I realized no predators live at 8,000 feet when there's no trees and no cover and only sage for 30 miles. So I fell asleep.
I slept until about 3:30am, when Robert woke me up while getting up to go to the restroom. I decided to brave the cold and join him. It was nice though, because the wind had slowed down a lot and the night was black and peaceful. While I was doing business, I looked at the dead black horizon and noticed a tiny orange light. I asked Robert what it was but he had no idea. It looked a long way away but I couldn't imagine it being a house out there, even 30 miles off. But then it started to grow and it turned blood orange. I realized it was the moon rising! I called to Robert and we met over by our grill and watched that gorgeous moon rise above the flat Mesa horizon, until it was partially obscured by cloud cover. It was gorgeous, and so lucky we awoke at exactly the right moment.
We left smoking tennis shoe tracks behind to get back into the bed and warmth! I slept like the dead for the next 3 hours. When I finally stirred, Robert said, "Well are you going to get up? Those rocks won't find themselves, you know." I got up and went outside and saw a lovely yellow morning sun to the East, behind our tent. It was still cold as hell. We agreed to lock up our car and spend a little time looking for rocks. We were dying to find fire opals, just laying on the ground, right? We knew the Reserve rules allowed for 7 pounds' worth of rocks one person could take home, but no digging was allowed. So we set out for the east side of the road, following the waterline of the rapidly evaporating marsh. We found such treasures! Yellow common opals, brown opals, red jasper, some kind of green jasper that matches the images I found online of turquoise jasper, opalized petrified wood, and a few blood red opals with a rind on one side. We were so hooked. We kept exclaiming loudly every time we found a precious piece, and we'd look across the sage and the white hard baked clay to find one another to ooh and aaah and share our treasures, each time we found something particularly odd or beautiful. It was fun. But dammit, it was still cold.
I went back to our tent and tried to drink a bottle of water. It was frozen. I yelled to Robert that our supplies had frozen. I looked at Gijjie. She was frozen. Plus, her tires looked like a hay machine's innards from driving the slightly moist road in to the site, the night before, and then turning around on the tiny sagey stuff. I complained to Robert that my water was frozen, but eventually we just laughed about our frozen supplies. We warmed up in the tent and ate cantaloupe, blueberries, banana bread, and meat & cheese for breakfast. With our tummies full we decided to pack up before looking for more rocks.
Robert said as long as we stopped rock hounding by 6pm, we'd get home by midnight or 1am, just in time to get up for work Monday morning. I may have glared. We packed up our camp and loaded Gijjie and went back to rock hunting. We spent 3 hours collecting specimens. Then at 11 am, we decided to head home. We turned the car towards the exit away from Flook Lake and bumped our way out. Robert stopped at French Glenn road and looked both ways, then asked, "Can you see any car coming from anywhere?" I looked at 30 miles of sage in all directions and said, "How do you feel about Cleveland?" We laughed. He turned. We drove off that crazy, cold Mesa. The drive down had a stunning view, but if you've ever driven on gravel, you know how nerve-wracking it can be when there's a 2,000 foot dropoff on a slim road.
Once we were back on the main road, Robert said we should go to the Spectrum sunstone mines. We went together once, when we first met, but he wanted to go again because it was so close. I explained nothing is really close in the Oregon Outback, and we timed everything on paper, and then I found a few shortcuts and off we went.
At one point along the trip a truck was pulled over on the dirt road ahead of us. I couldn't see why, until we drove up behind them and I looked around. On the lake to our left there was an entire flock of snow white trumpeter swans, idling in the water. My guess is the driver ahead of us was taking photographs. We also came across a cattle truck coming towards us on that long dirt road and we had to pull off at one of the many cattle guards and get out of the way of that huge truck. Robert and I decided the folks who own the sunstone mine are also probably cattle ranchers.
We got to the sunstone mine and stopped at the free public collection area. Now, we've done this part before AND we've paid for a big slew of stones to be mailed to us, too. I'm of the opinion the public area is fairly disappointing. The stones are colorless, mostly, and very small. But we hunted and pecked and gathered a nice bag of tiny stones. The area is hot and dry and the only thing for a hundred miles in every direction is sage and red fire ants, so we were glad for the cool April air. The desert is a mix of hard packed beige clay and yellow dust, and the stones themselves typically are found in the black rock or matrix found deep underground. So I couldn't help but wonder whether the tiny ones laying all over the desert in the public collection area are planted there from the mine tailings to entice rockhounds.
I think sunstones look best when the sun is actually hitting them, when they're laying on the ground. They look like diamonds tossed on sand colored velvet. There's also a characteristic with sunstones called Schiller. That's the translucent red layers of metallic sheen you can see in certain high grade sunstones, which are normally pale, clear yellow. The small sunstones only have a little bit of it, if any. The Schiller looks so cool, but we didn't see much of it that day. The one gorgeous stone I saw was held proudly by a little kid who's dad (also a Robert) had introduced himself while I was waiting for my Robert to come back to the car. Turns out the kid had gotten a rockhounding book and had been begging his dad to bring him to get sunstones. They were from Canada (B.C.).
I told them it was worth every penny to get the high grade ore while you're there, on site. That young boy looked ecstatic to hear that, and it looked like they could afford the $200. Even if all that kid gets is a huge bag of boring yellow sunstones, he's never going to forget the day he and his dad made the trip together, and I bet his dad will remember it, too. Maybe they'll get a gazillion dollar sunstone and it will become a legend.
So after a little collecting of the sunstones, I got frustrated with the small size of all the ones on the ground, so Robert and I finally got back in the car and headed towards home. We calculated we would get home around 8pm with all our dilly dallying, so we wasted no time plotting a route back to Valley Falls, north through Paisley and Summer Lake, past Silver Lake to Lapine, then across a back road from 97 to 58, and home from there.
I realized we'd be driving right past Cowboy Dinner Tree in Silver Lake, so I googled it. They would be open by 4pm and it was 3pm already. We would pass by at the perfect time, if I could call and get in. I tried to explain it to Robert, but he didn't seem interested at all. In case you don't know, Cowboy Dinner Tree is the weirdest hole-in-the-wall restaurant with the biggest and most incredible steak on earth. I think my mom has been there twice. We didn't stop.
The drive is long and really the only thing to look at is sage and mountains. Even incredible mountains get tiring after 800 miles, though, so we talked a lot on the way home. I remember my trip to Eastern Europe and how, after visiting a few dozen overly opulent castles, your brain gets numb and it stops looking impressive. I never would have believed that could happen. But it does. That's how I felt about sage and impressive mountain ranges, by about 3pm on Sunday. We did make one stop on the way home, at the obsidian desert near Paisley. We drove in on a dirt road this time and we realized the obsidian shards are only found in one small area of that location. There was no obsidian a mere 1000 feet from the previous place we'd stopped. So we weren't there long.
We also stopped and got cheeseburgers at the Dairy Queen in Oakridge. That's when I noticed how filthy we were and how dusty and dirt-covered Gijjie was. Needless to say, we didn't go inside. When we finally dragged ourselves in the front door at home, we were ready for a shower and Game of Thrones and some pajamas. I will say I played with all our rocks and cleaned them and separated them into bags. We may not have been able to mine for fire opals like we thought, but we sure did get some incredible pieces of opalized petrified wood and jasper, along with obsidian and some true opal. It was such a good trip.
2 comments:
So much fun to read this! I laughed out loud at the substitute "Oregon will eat you" kit. I also remember how damn cold it can be in the desert at night. One of my favorite memories of camping at Hart Mountain was the night sky. We were sitting in our chairs and the stars were all the way down to the horizon, as brilliant as they were straight above us. It is a sight I have never forgotten. We have been camping at Hart at the Springs a couple of times, back in our tent days. Makes me miss the tent. We wont take the motorhome up there because of that 22 miles of gravel. She could do the road, but the gravel is a killer. So we camp down below and drive up for the day. Never been to Flook lake though, gotta look that one up! We have also camped at Summer Lake. You are becoming much more astute at rocks and rockhounding than I ever was. My rockhounding is basically random and by accident. But Summer Lake is full of birds, and that is another reason we love the desert refuges. Great fun reading this story about your trip, so much fun.
Well,I'm slowly learning the roadside geology and the working geology, which is great. But you still outrank me in actual education about this stuff. I'm also not retired, so travel has to either fit our weekend schedule or be built into our vacations. I'm just so lucky Robert likes doing this stuff with me! Someday we'll get a teardrop or a moho. Then we can plan a little better. Woohoo!
Post a Comment