Here it is only April and the weather feels like June here in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. So time has come to take a hike. I think Oregon has turned into California. The weather today tops out at 75 degrees. That's generally an early summer temperature. But in reality, good weather seems to have arrived, so its time to lace up the hiking shoes and hit the trail.
Leaving Salem at 9:00 AM, I headed south on I-5 to the Hwy 20 exit east toward Lebanon. That little verdant stretch of valley conjured up every color of green. Lebanon seems to be a vibrant community with everything an urban environment should offer it's citizenry. Even a medical school and a hospital are there.
After Lebanon, the highway starts to rise and the Cascades can be felt looming. Soon the turnoff to Waterloo comes up. Waterloo, what a great name for a rural community! The South Santiam River flows right through the midst of this area. Leaving Waterloo I crossed a bridge spanning the river. Rapids and blue pools beckoned my camera and me. There at the end of the bridge a parking place awaited. Across the road from the parking spot I found a tree-lined meadow filled with yellow flowers, snap, snap, snap.
Back on the road the sign directed me to McDowell Creek Falls County Park, my destination. The two lane paved road wound through five miles of rural farmland planted with everything from rye grass to Christmas Trees. The road to Waterloo had an elevation of 250 feet that soon became 1200 feet in a few short miles to McDowell Creek Falls.
Stepping from the van the first assault on my senses emanated from the roaring sound of falling water. Next up on the senses meter came the sight of tall Douglas Fir trees draped in moss with wild flowers dancing around their rooty toes. And then the air: So fresh, damp, and aromatic with promises of more as the sun did her work throughout the day.
Just as the path leaves the parking lot a foot bridge crosses over the creek. Standing there on the bridge allows for a perfect opportunity for the first water fall viewing, Lower McDowell Falls. Of course I needed a different vantage point so I went under the bridge and snapped away with my feet inches from the water. While standing there enthralled by the falls I nearly missed the most beautiful little jewels twinkling around my feet. About a dozen blue butterflies were flitting around. They were smaller than most butterflies I see being only about an inch across their little wings. I have learned that they are an early spring variety called Spring Azure. Since they were so lively and didn't stay still it seemed out of the question that I could catch them in the lens finder. So I just soaked them up and enjoyed their blueness while I could.
Back up on the trail the beauties abound wherever I put my eyes starting with the trail which had been cut from a steep bank ending in the creek. So on my right, at shoulder level, bloomed wild flowers as new spring plants cropped up. On my left the steep slope dropped into the creek. Tall Firs were everywhere. Every foot of the creek had mossy rocks catching the flow and as it's elevation shifted, frothy riffles set up a chatter telling of the "big one" coming up. And the "big one" roared out down the canyon telling all who walked there "come see me, come see me".
When I actually got to the spot on the trail where I could see what the ruckus was all about it stopped me in my tracks. Named the Royal Terrace Falls a triple-decker cascade of water washes over rocks worn round from eons of the creeks caresses falling 119 feet to the bottom.
A rock stairway zig-zaged up the side of the hill to reach to top of the falls. I don't know how they roped Paul Bunyan into the job but I cannot think of anyone else capable of building such a stairway. The rocks were large, square and numerous. Each step measured higher than the distance from my foot to my knee. This meant that I didn't climb the stairs. This meant that I had to negotiate each step like it was Mt. Everest, or so it seemed. Were I really 36 years old like I think I am and not the "older version" that I actually am, those steps would be no problem. But, I am indeed, incapable of leaping tall steps in a single bound. Well I couldn't allow that to stop me. It took an effort, but I made it to the top. The advantage of slow going rewarded me with going slow enough to notice the flowers waving to me at each step. I stopped to say hello to trilliums, oxalis, salmonberry blossoms, fairy bells, bleeding hearts, dog wood and johnnie jump-ups.
Once I arrived at the top I was able to enjoy the scenery. An overlook had been constructed to allow visitors to step out over the brush and rocks for a visual vantage of the top of the falls. I looked down that wide, deep cascade to the bottom and felt light headed. I could put it down to the climb up the stairs, but not so. My lightheadedness can only be attributed to the view. Looking down that misty canyon, hearing the roar of the water, feeling the sun on my face, well, I knew the view paid it's way. Every step would be worth repeating.
Having recovered from my "steps" I set off up the trail. At one place a small trickle of water from an uphill spring ran across the path and on the upper side of the muddy soil grew a patch of Skunk Cabbage. The sun's rays poked through the Firs just at the right place to strike the huge leaves of cabbage rendering them semi-translucent. The leaves of the Skunk Cabbage took on the gleam of a Peridot as the sun soaked through. What a gem sparkling from under the mossy limbs covering the little spring. And the aroma! Well I love the smell of Skunk Cabbage. If you have never experienced it up close and personal let me tell you it smells just like a skunk had a hostile encounter right on the spot. With the fresh forest air to dissipate the harshness, it can be quite a pleasing fragrance.
Skunk Cabbage looms large in my childhood memories and has forever been a favorite of mine. My father was a boat builder. In front of his boat shop on an estuary of the Umpqua River there grew a large patch of Skunk Cabbage. As children, my brother, sister and I would use the blossom portion of the plant which is shaped like an ear of corn. We sawed the "ear" into pieces and nailed the pieces together in the fashion of cars, trucks, boats and travel trailers. They would be played with all day while we took trips with them in our imagination. No wonder I love that plant. It sparked my first travel adventures. But I digress...
Back on the trail I came to a post with a laminated map of the park mounted so I could see "you are here" and have a general idea where I needed to go to proceed in the right direction. First more stairs presented themselves, going down this time. Only these were constructed of wood. At the bottom of the ravine a beautiful falls awaited. Well, in for a penny-in for a pound, so off I went down those very steep stairs. Since they had been constructed for someone with much longer legs than mine, I had to take them one step at a time. To add to the uncertainty they only had a stair tread and not a back plate. This allowed viewing through the stairs to the bottom of the ravine. And what a rocky, deep ravine! Well I may have been intimidated but I had met bigger challenges so down those stairs I went.
The stairs went to a landing at the canyon's bottom ending with a bridge which crossed the creek right in front of Majestic Falls, a 40 foot water fall roaring over huge boulders. Moss covered every surface. Lime colored moss, dark green moss, yellow-green moss, well if you are a member of the moss family you would be represented here in this canyon on those rocky walls. The heavy mist created a refreshing fog. The photo op from the center of the misty bridge proved to be worth every drop.
Since I had viewed the map, I had a good sense of my location and where I needed to go. It looked like I had less than a mile to hike to the van and the parking lot. Back at the van I had lunch and a rest. Then, climbed behind the wheel for the drive home.
I think the challenges I encounter and overcome are part of the draw; that need to stretch my old self on the hikes I take. It's not so much to prove to myself that I'm not "that" old as to prove to myself that I am still young enough! I'm still young enough to get out and smell the Skunk Cabbage. Roses can wait until I can't hike.
