It seemed like a good idea at the time.
A friend, Bodhi and I backpacked into Strawberry Lake for four days of luxury base camp camping.
Strawberry Lake is at six thousand feet on the edge of the Strawberry Wilderness in eastern Oregon, six hours from Portland.
The weather report was for partial clouds and sun, highs in the seventies and lows in the forties.
Perfect!
We brought beer, fresh food, camp chairs and a tarp.
Oh yes, we were also brought a canoe.
Our thinking was that it was only 1.5 miles and 700 ft. from the trailhead to the lake.
The trailhead campground was packed.
We stage carried the packs a quarter mile, dropped them and then went back for the canoe, brought the canoe up to the packs, dropped it and carried the packs further. Bodhi carried his dog food, nylabone and treats in his pack like a champ
After the long drive and the three hours it took us to bring all our stuff up to the lake, it was seven thirty.
Nobody was camped at the lake.
My friend had time for a paddle while the beers cooled in the lake.
We ate our subway sandwiches and set up the tents.
I was beat. I haven't carried a pack that heavy since I was in my thirties.
It rained all night. Weather report- WTF ?
At six in the morning, it began to snow.
Hard..
Thank god for the tarp.
We shivered under it, drinking many cups of coffee.
Around ten, we decided that we needed to move to warm up.
It was still snowing.
So we hiked up to Strawberry Falls.. Amazing cataract!
Then we hiked above the falls, trying to reach Little Strawberry Lake.
Here we lost the trail in deep snow and turned around.
We couldn't see in the blizzard and were postholing in the snow on the ground.
On the way back to camp, we met a family hiking up to the falls from the campground.
They said that the forecast was for a cold front followed by four days of thunderstorms.
It was noon. The snow stopped and hail began.
We had a quick consultation about the wisdom of camping with a canoe in a thunderstorm, packed up and headed down.
I cursed my idiocy of bringing all that junk with every step.
When we reached the campground, it was deserted.
My feet were hamburger.
Bodhi jumped in the car and crashed.
In Prairie City, the temp was 55. It should have been 85.
We started driving home on highway 19, through John Day, Kimberly and Fossil.
When we reached Service Creek, we found a lodge at one of the put-ins for raft trips on the John Day River.
After dinner and a Deschute Brewery Inversion IPA, we didn't want to drive further.
So we set up our wet tents along the banks of the fast moving John Day.
Nighthawks were foraging overhead, followed by bats as the many cumulus clouds changed hues from orange to red.
It was completely silent.
I slept the sleep of the dead with Bodhi curled up in the corner of the tent.
The next day, after breakfast along the river, we drove to Condon for gas.
In Condon, a wheat ranching and wind farm center, we were finally in cell phone range again.
In retrospect, this trip could have been epic.
I'm glad I brought the beer and the dog, but I wish I'd cut back on the other stuff.
Just a little.
But the old saw that summer in Oregon doesn't begin until July 5th is true.
proof of canoe on Strawberry Lake
Bodhi guarding camp
Strawberry Lake before the deluge
Bodhi guards the canoe
eastern Oregon dirt road from the canoe-mobile
Strawberry Mt. from Prairie City
eastern Oregon hoodoo
Route 19 to Service Creek
castellated cliffs along the John Day River
