Central Oregon Winter Camping, December 2010, Day 2

Since I left my trekking poles on the driveway in Eugene (they were cheap children's size ski poles that I bought used, so I didn't feel too bad when my fiance reported that they were stolen) I needed to buy a pair.  I drove into lovely Bend to accomplish that, and then immediately took off up the highway to the Gray Butte Area.  Gray Butte is a large, conical butte that backs up against Smith Rock State Park.  It's located in the Crooked River National Grassland.  Smith Rock is a spectacularly scenic and world-renowned location for difficult rock climbing, while Gray Butte is just a brown, road-scarred and cattle-grazed lump with a radio tower at the top.  But it's on federal land open to dispersed camping, whereas Smith Rock is a buttoned-down day use area only kind of place.  Most Oregon State Parks are like that, unfortunately.

I parked on a dirt road that seems to mainly see ATV and rancher traffic, then found a trail heading up into the hills.  I followed the tracks of a lone mountain bike rider over a thin crust of recent snow.

I got lost a time or two, where the apparent trail is not actually the route up to the side of the butte.  I managed to stay oriented though, and the bushwhacking was easy, as this dry place doesn't grow heavy underbrush.  In my wanderings I passed a "redneck campsite" (truck accessible only, with trash and spent shells everywhere) with this odd graffiti:

I don't know who came down from Washington, but apparently they aren't welcome.

After finding my route again, I followed the trail around the side of a long ridge, with views of the Three Sisters always to my front:

This whole area is part of the Crooked River National Grassland.  These lands were purchased by the Federal Government from the French (Lousiana Purchase), wrestled from English control (the Hudson's Bay Company was the first white settlement in Oregon), and finally, made clear of Indians by genocidal war and disease.  Then, the government gave this land away to white settlers, who homesteaded on the dry juniper benches around the Crooked River, beginning in the 1880's.  The land was not fully cooperative, though, and by the 1930's Dust Bowl, many of the farms had failed.  The Government then bought the land back from the families and started the job of revegetating the badly scarred soil.  Now the Grassland is used for cattle grazing and recreation.

I passed towers of rock along the ridge crest:

 
And I noticed the moon in the sky again.  This is why I come to Central Oregon.  Being able to see some sky makes all the difference in the world to a landscape photographer.  I don't have anything against cloudy days, but cloudy days with rain just don't make for spectacular photographs.  Sure, great photos are always possible, but it's a more limited pallet of colors and moods.  And cold rain with 15 hour nights can be pretty miserable travel.

When I got to the overlook of Smith Rock, the sun was behind clouds at the Cascades.  I thought, well, that's too bad, because then there won't be a sunset.  I saw a man and woman sitting up on a rock watching the clouds and said "doesn't look like there'll be much of a sunset, eh?"  But I was wrong!  The sun soon went underneath the clouds, and I got one of the best lightshows I've ever seen.

Here's Smith Rock:

And here are the Three Sisters (Faith, Hope, and Charity) across the grand valley of the Deschutes and Crooked Rivers:

Here's a view back to the East, of the huge cliffs to my back:

And the moon, again:

Even after the sun had definitively set, there were great views all around.  I saw a lunar halo that night, a phenomenon caused by sunlight bouncing off the moon, traveling through cirro-stratus clouds (thin, high clouds composed of ice crystals) and refracting at 22 degrees.  Quite a thrill:

 
My night was cozy and warm, because I brought more clothing than the first night.  That's Gray Butte itself, in the distance:

The next morning, I woke up to more scenic wonders- a carpet of fog covering the large valley.  I was excited, because I could count on great light hitting the clouds from above, creating colors all over.

Before sunrise, with Smith Rock poking out of the fog:

First light on the Three Sisters:

To the South:

Finally, the island of exposed rock at Smith Rock enjoys the morning warmth:

The nicest thing about traveling and photographing this time of year is that the sun is so low in the sky that the great light lasts hours (and not under an hour as it does at lower latitudes).  I hopped all over with my tripod:

The fog eventually lifted along the banks of the Crooked River:

A Juniper snag:

I retraced my steps back to my car, and cooked myself some lunch.  I got back on the highway, and drove up towards Lake Billy Chinook, my next destination.  Along the way, I passed over a low pass that had a film of rime ice over all the trees.  I don't get to see that very often either.

Maybe all of this just looks "old hat" to Bend area locals, but I tend to think not.  They have a more exciting and interesting climate and a more variety of sceneries than we have in Western Oregon.  Though familiarity must change a person's experience of a landscape, unfamiliarity cannot be the sole reason so many people find these landscapes particularly scenic.  There must be some objective, intrinsic aesthetic reason for the popularity of spectacular desert landscapes, as opposed to spectacular forested landscapes.  And certainly there are more opportunities for this kind of photography here than in the Midwest or East Coast.

Sometimes I read quotes like "you don't need the grand scenery of the American West to take great landscape photos" but I think that's sort of a cruel joke.  A great photo of a spectacular, iconic subject will be a more interesting photo than a great photo (no matter how well composed and executed) of a merely pretty or pleasant subject.

Pictures of eastern American landscapes can rarely compete, in my mind, with pictures of the open spaces of the west.  They don't use the term "monumental" to describe pictures of the Smokies, while "monumental" is the going word to describe Ansel Adams' photos from the 1940's, almost all made in the West.  Eliot Porter's photos of the Appalachians are beautiful, well composed, and technically innovative (for being among the earliest color landscapes) but there's a reason why these photos are less well known that Ansel Adams' "old fashioned" black and white prints.  Adams' and Galen Rowell's photos have a quality that I'd describe as "stunning" or "shocking," and it's easier for me to emulate this quality when I'm east of the Cascades.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading!