TIME TRAVELING: Clackamas River Edition

Thousands of years of human exploits ought to be recorded around here, but the roads that native Americans pioneered, or earlier, the 'highways' employed by whoever it was that thought traveling across a cold land-bridge from Russia was a great idea, have either been reclaimed by the ocean or been paved over by opportunistic Europeans.

Prominent in this image is the Fechheimer & White building (approximately 131 years old). The smaller building just to the left is the Hallock-McMillan building, thought to be Portland's oldest existing commercial building (maybe 159 years old).

The oldest buildings in Portland are barely one-hundred and fifty years old

A small architectural accouterment at the North end of reservoir #1 on Mt. Tabor.

There is no Acropolis on Mt. Tabor weathering the millennia - no birthplace of Portlandian democracy - instead, crumbling concrete reservoirs are poised to become ruins at the tender age of one-hundred and twenty-two.

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Just half an hour from the boundaries of our modern city, the landscape quickly becomes indistinguishable from what we imagine primordial forests might look like, if primordial forests had patchworks of clear-cuts. I guess it isn't surprising that in watersheds where clouds simply sink into the creased landscape, keeping the shadow-lands perpetually wet, painted messages (if any) run off rock, their colors dispersing in rivulets of rain and condensation, human memories transmogrified into mineral supplements for moss and mushrooms.

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Red oxides accent evidence of human encroachment otherwise obscured by creeping vines and mosses. 

02.  Memaloose Road Bridge

So it is intriguing to read of abandoned water works on a tributary of the Clackamas river. To give credit where credit is due, I first read about the South Fork Clackamas/Memaloose Falls hike in a post by Shane Kucera at Outdoorproject.com. 

There was enough information to get me to the trailhead...

...though the effects of a forest fire have resulted in the closure of the road that leads to it, which adds a little over a mile of uphill-walking to the mileage tally.

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The first time I went, I found the ropes left behind by previous benevolent trailblazers, but when I took Sgt. Rock, we overshot and ended up straying too far South.

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The terrain is steep and the brush thick.

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But watching Sgt. Rock bound up steep hills, 

...much like a deer,

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...helped me appreciate his value as a forward scout.

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We found more information about the hike from a post at OregonHikers.org by Brian Edwards. When there was another break in the weather, we found the ropes leading into the canyon. From there, following the trail is pretty straightforward.

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This tunnel is in close proximity to Memaloose falls.

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Past the tunnel, I went off trail and descended down to the base of the falls. Meanwhile, Sgt. Rock previewed the rest of the trail.

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Sgt. Rock was able to confirm that the trail was passable all the way to the Clackamas River.

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So the next time the rain let up, we assaulted the trail by river, thus cutting out the mile long climb to the trailhead (thanks once again to the luv2kayak evangelical outreach).

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An incongruous fire hydrant.

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Tunnels along the way.

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Lower falls on the South Clackamas fork. Note the pipeline just to the right of the falls.

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Valves and wheels along what looks like a stone retaining wall mark (perhaps) where pipelines from Memaloose Creek and the South Fork Clackamas converge.

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The Memaloose Creek pipeline crosses just below the convergence of Memaloose Creek and the South Clackamas Fork. A short distance up the trail are the remains of what some have called a settling pool. Watch that last step off the bridge headed East.

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This is the end of the long tunnel that leads to the top of the big falls where the diversion dam is located. The last tunnel is long and the floor is dominated by a deteriorating elevated wooden walkway featuring plenty of pointy things that could easily enter your skull cavity through your eye-socket if you should happen to trip in the dark. I recommend a reliable artificial light source.

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Headed back down to the high bridge.

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Notes about the bridge:

If it's wet, it's very, very slippery.

At the end of February, it was rated at a load capacity of 280 pounds...one way.

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The detour around the high bridge is short, and in comparison, relaxing.

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Constrained by time, we commandeer giraffes to cover more of the harsh terrain before the sun sets. For provisions, we carry plenty of 3 species tacos.

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Possible bigfoot sighting. 

Approximate positions of numbered photos

Brown dots = trip A

Yellow dots = trip B

Red dots = trip C 

APE CANYON TRAIL

Water has been falling out of the sky continuously now for …I don’t know…maybe a hundred forty two thousand days (or maybe it just seems like it).

Hiking at the base of mountains at this time of year means any significant storm front can drop a foot of snow on you in almost no time at all. The consequent scarcity of intelligent/cautious hikers makes for uncrowded trails - with little hope for rescue.

Spiteful winds and rain try to strip the trees of their golden leaves. Failing to denude the deciduous victims, the jealous clouds hang low and hide the brilliant colors in a dull gray blanket.

Here and there, autumn’s fire bursts through the gloom.

I know Mt. St. Helens is ahead, because I saw it at the end of September (above) when I broke my bicycle on this very same trail.

…but today… I walk in eerie limbo, consorting with the souls of unbaptized children and all the rightous who died before the arrival of Jesus (Roman Catholic theology is endlessly fascinating).

The much photographed, constricted throat of Ape Canyon.

A pair of mountain-bikers (to the right) reveal the scale of the canyon relative to hominids.

When the volcano blew, melted glacial ice made a dangerous slurry of rock and ash which poured down the mountain’s flanks like a cataclysmic belt-sander.

The Plains of Abraham – a vast sterilized pumice landscape which now serves as an immense Petri dish in which to examine the re- propagation of life.

Tell-tale red bushes delineate the arterial flow of life giving water.

A tortured tree makes due with the only available shelter.

A line of cairns beckon me ever further into the apocalypse. I’m keenly aware of the warning I read earlier that says, “If you encounter ashfall or ballistics, seek cover and act quickly to protect your head, airway and eyes.” It ought to just honestly suggest, "...kiss your ass goodbye."

The contrast between the stark plains and the remnants of ancient forests, preserved behind sheltering ridges and hills is striking.

Further north, along windy ridge, Spirit Lake serves as a receptacle for thrown away trees - those that were unfortunate enough to be standing in the face of the eruption.

Tree limbo

Mt. Adams pondering the example of his sister

Kind of like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun

Editor's Note:

Dear Mr. Beck,

Thank you for your comment. I've highlighted the second biker (see above), but I wasn't able to find any yeti(s).

Editors Note:

Mr. Beck,

I have re-examined the photo of the bikers and determined that the rider of the first bicycle is Monkey-cam. In the fog, Monkey-cam might very well be mistaken for a Yeti, and, since that is not his bicycle, you may indeed have witnessed the throwing of poop as the second biker gained on him.