Jordan Craters

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Tags

basalt, desert, geology, gutters, Jordan Craters, lava, lava tubes, Oregon, Owyhee uplands, pahoehoe

The layers read like pages in earth’s book of time.

Dried bunch grasses glow white in the slant spring sunshine. New grass pushes up green. Spring is emerging in the Owyhee uplands.

Near Mahogany Gap

This is a harsh and hard land. Man clings and then passes. The evidence is all around as we make our way past signs of early settlement.

As we bump over the flat sagelands, we spot mule deer. Larks and bluebirds are out and the ground squirrels are bouncing in and out of their holes. Three pronghorn race the car…just for the thrill of it. Well, we were certainly thrilled as we were forced to slam on the brakes when they crossed in front of us.

The road in…

Our destination is Jordan Craters lava beds, a barren moonscape island in a sea of sage in a remote part of Oregon. We begin our exploration at Coffeepot Crater. Peering over the edge, one can imagine the lava pushing up 150,000 years ago.

Coffee Pot Crater

We set out over the lava fields trying to remember our geology, delighting in the ropy pahoehoe lava, the tubes, gutters, ridges and vents. Its bleakness reminds us of what primitive earth looked like. The only life on the lava is lichens and the occasional lizard. And yet, there is beauty in the starkness. Life and earth reduced to simplicity. One can almost grasp it.

Of Lightening and Hoodoos

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by Sheila Robertson in Oregon

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

bighorn sheep, caldera, Dugout Gulch, Honeycombs, Leslie Gulch, Leslie Gulch tuff, lightening, Native Americans, Oregon, Owyhee River, volcanic ash, volcanos

I have lived where there are ground-shuddering electrical storms. Places where winds howl, stripping shingles off in sheets; where rain slashes and lightening explodes followed by slam-to-your-knees thunder.

I wonder if this is what it was like in the moments before a bolt hit Hiram E. Leslie in Dugout Gulch. Leslie was working cattle in a storm when he was killed by lightening. After his death in 1882, the area was renamed Leslie Gulch.

Leslie couldn’t have a more beautiful monument. His name evokes a land of eroded volcanic ash, a canyon complex of hoodoos, honeycombed towers and arches.

All of this was hunting and fishing grounds for Native Americans 5000 year before Leslie came.

I follow the gravel road that was once the mail route between Rockville and Watson, Oregon and watch the canyon walls for bighorn sheep. The side canyons beg to be explored and I stop several times before the road ends at the Owyhee River.

The sun drops and clouds gather. There won’t be lightening this time, but it is winter and the threat of snow urges me homeward.