Mountain High

Following my night in Baker City's Paint Your Wagon motel, Grigsby and I hit the road, heading west on Oregon State Highway 7 up into the Blue Mountains.  I've always found driving across Oregon to be a fascinating series of repeated transitions from high deserts or green valleys into lush mountains, and back again.  On this drive, we first passed through dry grasslands with murky river waters, to greener pastures with clearer creeks and large cottonwood trees, to fast running streams and towering pines, and finally at the top to narrow plunging brooks and fir trees.  And I then reversed the process as I descended.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

Passing over the first crest after Baker City, I dropped down into a mountain valley and unexpectedly came across a town with a vaguely familiar name.

It's too bad that they spelled the name incorrectly.

The town consisted of a general store, a church, and a couple of houses.  Not the hip, urban metropolis I would have anticipated for a town with such a distinguished name.

Getting back onto the road and continuing west, I climbed another mountain pass and then dropped down into a broader, more substantial valley dotted with ranches and the towns of Prairie City and John Day, slumbering in the shadow of Strawberry Mountain.  I had been warned that this was the last chance to fill up for gas for quite some time, so I topped off Grigsby and then headed southwest on U.S. 395. 

Once again we began to climb, snaking up yet another set of canyon walls, and as soon as we crossed the pass, instead of heading downhill, I turned right on an unmarked road, which I later learned was county road 63.  The road, while paved, was hardly "improved."  Thankfully, I had the road pretty much to myself.  For the next 60 miles (which took about two hours to drive), I encountered two vehicles coming the opposite direction.

The road passed through a series of rolling hills and valleys, sparsely populated with ranches, cows, and horses.  No human beings as far as I could tell. 

My Arabic speaking friends will appreciate this.

Just outside of Paulina, Oregon -- a one-horse town with little to its name but a couple of houses and a one-room elementary school, not even a general store -- I turned right and headed up into the Ochoco Mountains (pronounced OH-cho-ko).

It took about an hour to climb up several different forest service roads (Grigsby in 4WD mode) until I reached my destination:  Wolf Mountain Lookout Tower, elevation 6,480 feet.

Wolf Mountain Lookout Tower

My brother Kirk's wife, Glen, staffs the lookout during fire season, and she had invited me to come and spend a couple of days with her.  I jumped at the chance! 

The tower itself is a little over 50 years old, constructed of wood, and sways, creaks, and groans in the wind.  I'm not sure how tall it is, but in the photo above, you can see Grigsby parked at the base.  And here's a picture of Grigsby from the deck of the tower:

It's pretty darn tall.  The top of the tower is reached from the ground by a series of steps that Glen calls "stairs," but I think it's more of a series of "ladders" -- the only way I could descend was going down backwards!  And the view from the top is literally heavenly:  you feel as if you're floating in the sky, suspended in the heavens, looking down on the treetops and the world below.

Note the shadow of the tower at the bottom right.

Life above the treetops was remarkably civilized.  The room at the top of the tower was about the size of a New York City studio apartment.  There was room for a bed, a propane powered cookstove (with oven), a heatstove, a small refrigerator, two cabinets, a work table, and a workstation in the middle with a telescope, a large copper circle with numbers and notches surrounding a map (with Wolf Mountain in the center), and a sextant-looking thing mounted on the rim of the circle.  Glen explained that the sextant-looking thing was mostly for show -- when she's fire-spotting, she uses a computer program to determine the location. 

The only thing the tower lacked was running water.  And a toilet.  As a guy, that doesn't present too much of a challenge.  I could just pee downwind off of the deck when necessary.  I did, though, have to descend the umpteen flights of ladders to get to the outhouse at the bottom for my twice daily constitutionals. 
 
Most of the time, life is quiet at the top of the tower.  Glen need not keep her eyes fixed 24/7 on the horizon looking for smoke.  Indeed, she spends most of her time painting.  Glen is an exceedingly gifted artist, and working the tower gives her lots of time to put her talents to paper.  Her current focus is botanical watercolors, and Ochoco provides her with no shortage of subjects. 

Spending time with Glen is such a treat.  She's such so warmhearted, funny, and generous of spirit.  With a constant twinkle in her eye.  Not to mention the fact that she's so incredibly talented.  And she was kind enough to let me work hard while she painted:

Me keeping watch over the sextant-thingy.

Like I said, life at the top of the tower is remarkably civilized.  There's electricity (powered by solar panels and a generator), a gas stove, and Internet access courtesy of Verizon (two bars!).  A winch ferries drinking supplies up and down -- it's a six minute ride up in the basket for the gin and tonic.

And as soon as Glen goes off duty at 6:00 (or so), cocktail hour begins.

So many choices!

And as we sip our cocktails, we watch the sun set in the west.

The two days at the tower were amazing.  We eat very well -- chicken curry, burritos, cheese, cured meats, fresh berries and other fruit, homemade granola.  We drink well -- gin and tonics, French wine, Belgian beer.  We go for walks in the woods.  We read books.  We get cold at night and curl up in our sleeping bags.  And we just stand on the deck and take in the view.  A couple of days in paradise.  The only way it could have been better is if my brother Kirk could have joined us.  Alas, he had to work on short notice. 

Part of me also sort of of wanted a bit of excitement.  It would have been pretty cool to have spotted a fire, or at least a lightning strike.  There were some dark clouds in the sky the second day I was there, and I was secretly hoping for a thunderstorm.  But the storm gods were just teasing.   No such luck.  But they did treat me with yet another beautiful view of creation:

After two days at Wolf Mountain, Glen and I said our goodbyes.  I would have loved to enjoy her company and her treetop world for a few more days.  But Grigsby and I had to keep going.  Time is running out.  Four weeks have almost passed, and Grigsby's adventures are starting to draw to a close. . . . . .