Forest Hiker

September 25, the day before my birthday promised to be a lovely Indian summer day, and all the myriad domestic duties just couldn’t keep me out of the woods! It was late in the morning when I finally got off on highway 26 and headed into the Coast range. Turning south on the Salmonberry Road, I had soon crested Coyote Corner passing groups of hunters target shooting in preparation for the opening of hunting season. Further in, past Camp Nine, I would pass the discreetly parked cars of the bow hunters along the lip of the Salmonberry Canyon. But I was going further down – all the way to the bottom of the North Fork of the Salmonberry – or at least as far down as I could in my Odyssey.

Surprisingly the North Fork Salmonberry Road is much gentler in grade and smoother than the infamous Beaver Slide Road. About 2.75 miles beyond “Camp Nine”, I parked the car in a small meadow just as the road turned northwards into a series of switchbacks that descended 1.5 miles and 725 feet in elevation down into the North Fork of the Salmonberry.

At the bottom, I followed the old track (the road has long since been washed out) that remains thanks to the elk that travel 1.4 mile along the North Fork of the Salmonberry down to reach the confluence with the main stem of the Salmonberry. In parts it’s a “linear scramble” where fallen trees, landslides and eroded banks have obliterated the original road grade.

At the end of this trail sits a beautiful little clearing situated at the apex of the two valley and overlooking the Salmonberry about 50 feet below. A trail leads around the crest of the promontory down to the rocky beach marking the confluence of the North Fork of the Salmonberry with the main stem of the river.

Across the river a rough track leads up the embankment and connects with a side rail spur that goes around Tunnel 29. You can follow the rail spur in either direction to rejoin the main track. The distance to the Beaver Slide Roads is about 2 miles, or about an hour’s walk. Heading west it’s a 12.4 mile trudge to the intersection with the Nehalem River and the next road.

The sense of isolation is pretty palpable as you enter the Salmonberry River. Perhaps its the steep hillsides that block the sun, the long climb to any  navigable road, or the evidence of recent malevolent power visible everywhere you look along this savage river canyon.

I grow fearful as I stare upon mansion-sized log jams, see huge boulders tossed carelessly into the forests, and gaze upon old growth tree trunks torn from their foundations and crushed beneath the pressure of the surging water. I can imagine the roar of the river’s rage as the winds whips through the churning spew of molten mud, heaving boulders and cartwheeling trees.  In the midst of this wild chaos, the mountains released their own tumultuous contributions as the surging streams and collapsing hillsides poured their earth, rocks and trees upon the roiling torrent.  Just imagining the utter brutality of nature’s rage makes me feel insignificant and  helplessness as I tiptoe up this ravaged canyon expecting at any moment that some huge force will wrench the world around and crush me like some inconsequential ant.

Each detour between the river’s gargantuan boulders, each slippery traverse across clinging elk trails, each dark and muddy tunnel distorts the time and distance covered and unravels my reasons for being here, at all. I struggle on through the foreboding isolation, picking my way through the twisted iron carnage, feeling the minutes unraveling like a rope from which I dangle.  Each bend in the river is a tedious obstacle course I  have to retrace, each detour into the tangled undergrowth another scramble added to my retreat, and each minute spent walking deeper into the encroaching shade will guarantee more gloom for my long ascent. I feel a surging tide of isolation as I survey a final  broken bank of fallen rocks and earth entangled in a twisted skein of iron rails. From the gloom seeping down the forested canyon walls I sense a vague danger, some forest consciousness warning me that my trespass is becoming intolerable… and I  turn back to follow the receding sun, and to climb up the canyon walls even as the suns slips quietly up ahead of me. Even as I regain the heights and the shadows fall in step with me, I know the forest has relinquished its malevolence and is once again enfolding me in the dark golden afterglow that baths the forest floor on one of the last days of summer.

You know, I’ve got to stop doing this! I’m supposed to be completing my guide for the two overland routes from Portland to the Coast and focusing on filling in the detail on all the walks north and south of US 26, but then I get this urge to scout out another remote and dramatic feature of the Coast range – like Roger’s Peak – the highest peak in the north Coast range Mountains at 3706 ft.

Consider that Sandy, Oregon is situated at about 1,000 feet in elevation and Government Camp at about 4,000 feet in elevation. To ascend the 3,000 feet US 26 takes 30 miles to make the ascent. From the Salmonberry River (880 feet) to the top of Roger’s Peak (3706 ft) it’s only 3.5 miles as the crow flies – that almost 10 times steeper than the slope of the Cascades!

Someone actually made it up here on a scooter? Amazing!

So there I was last Sunday, parked flush up against the gate that barred access to the private logging land around Roger’s Peak.  Just a word of advice the road is pretty narrow up near the gate, so turning around is a bit problematic. You can either turn first and back up the the gate or back down again until you can turn.

To get to this gate drive just beyond Lee’s Camp on Highway 6 and turn right. Follow the North Fork of the Wilson River past Diamond Mill Park. Eventually you will come to a bridge that goes straight up the North Fork of the Wilson River – turn left and follow this fork of the Wilson river in a westerly direction. presently, you will encounter a bridge on your right that crossed this Fork of the Wilson and climb up into the Morris Creek watershed. Follow this steep tertiary road (dotted line) that leads up to the head of the Morris Creek canyon.

Max and I walked up over the ridge line and looked down into the Ripple Creek watershed. We proceeded onwards walking around Roger’s Peak to find the beginning of the Belding Road –  that infamous 3,000 ft. descent down to the Salmonberry River. But given the time required to get to the top of the Belding Road it was not feasible to descend the 6.6 mile to the river. So instead Max and I decided to climb Roger’s Peak – a 14 mile circuit.

It was remote, rugged and beautiful with view across the North Coast range that couldn’t be beat! Here’s a beautiful shot from the internet taken in the winter snows.

What I was really reconnoitering was the southern access road to the Salmonberry River.  At the base of Beaver Slide Road there used to be a bridge that crossed the river and ascended the southern shore, climbing all the way to the Standard Grade road that runs alongside Roger’s peak. I wanted to locate that road so that I might eventually walk down it to the Salmonberry River.  The maps show the Belding Road descending from near the top of Roger’ 3706 foot peak down to the river at about 880 feet – a drop of almost 3,000 feet in less than 2 miles horizontally.  Sure I might be able to get down to the river, but getting back…?

Two and a quarter miles from the gate we did finally encounter the 5 -way intersection that marks the beginning of the Belding Road. But by then we had decided to walk the circuit of the peak climbing over the top on the return leg. This route took us to the Northeastern corner of the mountain where we could look out and see King’s Mountain and Saddle Mountain to the north. To the northwest was the deep Salmonberry valley with massive escarpments shining pink in the late afternoon sun.

At the north end of the mountain, we took the circuit route and then another steeper option that takes you up the shoulder of the face on to the top of the mountain. The grade gets progressively steeper and the rock underfoot chunkier, but eventually four and a half miles into the hike we arrive at the first north-facing promontories that appears to represent a “high point”. From here we gained a spectacular view of the North Coast range all the way to Saddle Mountain. Spread out before us were the watersheds for Ripple Creek and Bathtub Creek – both of which we crossed on our way down the Salmonberry a couple of week before.

The track we were on exhibited much elk and deer traffic, but no evidence of bears – although the berry bushes had certainly been stripped base.

From the first vantage point at 3415 ft, we continued to climb another half mile eventually reaching a narrow ridge that separates the southern flank from the northern flank at an altitude of 3568 ft. Moving along the top of this mountain the road dips a bit (3517 ft.), but quickly ascends again to to about 3553 – before finally slopping down a southwards facing ridge. On the south side the slope is very steep and falls away to Morris Creek about 1000 feet below.

The descent continues over an overgrown route eventually intersecting with a well maintained road that traverses the southern slope. We turn right on this road and follow it back out to the gate. In all the circuit was 7.15 miles in length and took about 3 1/2 hours to complete.

Final thoughts: great views, rugged terrain, exposed to coastal weather – well worth the effort.

Yesterday I reconnoitered the western end of the Salmonberry River railroad corridor, which can be accessed by road from Elsie. For 12 miles this scenic back road (with vicious potholes at the southern end) follows the Nehalem River down to its juncture with the Salmonberry. The bridge that used to stand here and allowed passage through to Nehalem Bay was destroyed in the 2007 storms, which also destroyed the railroad that goes up the Salmonberry River.

The Salmonberry is one of Oregon’s most beautiful wild rivers, in my estimation ranking up there with the Grand Ronde River in NE Oregon and the Rogue in Southern Oregon. But the Salmonberry has two other attractive features – it’s close to Portland, and it’s infrequently traversed on foot or by water. With the exception of fly-fishermen who prize this stretch of water, or the occasional hiker hardly anyone goes up or down the Salmonberry.

And above all the Salmonberry is gorgeous! This untrammeled mountain river spills its way from Cochran Pond near the the summit of the Coast Range for 18 miles all the way into the Nehalem. If there were one place in Oregon to build a cabin and live off the land, this would be it. few rivers can match the Salmonberry for its sheer beauty and wild environs. This stream shows off all of what’s fantastic about the coast range: its rugged almost rain forest terrain, the emerald pools interspersed by white water rapids, the enormous boulders strewn along the banks, the moss covered cliffs that overhang the twisted course of the stream, and the best steal head fishing in the state. What more could you ask?

Well, for Loki and myself it was a long soak in the Buick Canyon pool pictured above. About 1.4 miles above the juncture with the Nehalem just far enough to have left behind the campers congregated along the Nehalem River… or so I thought.  After lounging about in the crystal clear water and sunning ourselves dry on the sandy bank we wandered upstream around the bend. There I was drawn to some level land on the far side that suggested it might have been used by campers. Wondering if there was possibly another route into this point on the river, I explored a bit further and soon discovered a rudimentary dwelling half hidden in the trees on the far side of the river. Further reconnoitering revealed a steel cable for crossing the river, and a cooler dangling into the river. Using my binoculars I soon spied a rifle leaning ominously on the front door. There was no sign of any rocking chair, coon dogs or a banjo, but it was a reminder that such remote locations can draw people who prize their privacy above all else. Under the circumstances I thought it best to respect that isolationism.

But there is room along the 18 miles of this beautiful river to accommodate all of us intrepid enough to venture off the grid for what ever time we have to spare. And on this day, I could only regret that I did not have more time to spare.