This time, we went to an itty-bitty campground so small, so out-of-the-way that there's no fee. There's no water or garbage service, either, but it does have two vault toilets. All that didn't matter to us because we brought Mike's parents' trailer.
There's a small town on highway 31 in eastern Oregon called Silver Lake. It's more a marsh but "lake" sounds nicer. South of Silver Lake is Thompson Reservoir. A little north and west of there is a tiny marsh named Silver Creek Marsh and this campground is on the north edge where West Silver Creek flows out. Only highways 27, 28, and 31 are paved. All other roads are gravel, cinder, or dirt. The pick-up was filthy by the time we left for home.
Just to the right of the Ponderosas is a stump with a log leaning against it that looks like a small animal peeking over. On the other side, there's another log with a lot of branches that makes it look like a giant centipede sneaking up on the peering rodent.
A pretty good-sized fire swept through here a few years ago. The brush has come back well but there's lots of snags among the trees that survived.
There were two other trailers in the campground but we parked far enough away that we couldn't see or hear them. Instead, we saw and heard pine squirrels, wind in the Ponderosa tree tops, the cold, chuckling creek, the whine of mosquitoes, pine cones dropping with a soft 'thunk', blue jays arguing, the scream of red-tailed hawks, and the frequent slap of someone smacking a mosquito or biting fly.
Our peaceful camp site.
The first evening, Mike took us hunting for what I've heard called sage rats, prairie pups, and squeakers. They are grey-brown rodents about 8-10 inches long with a short, furry tail and they burrow around in fields. Farmers welcome them with the same enthusiasm that gardeners welcome moles and gophers.
Mike brought his .22 and .17 rifles and he and Richelle did most of the hunting. Richelle preferred the .22 because it didn't have the weight of a scope. Mike preferred the .17 because it has a scope and he's 50 years old. Even without using the scope, they both saw rats that I couldn't. A lot of it is because I've never hunted (you can't count the one feral cat I took care of) and my eyes aren't trained for it.
Mike: "Richelle...see that tall tree? Right down in front of it is a clump of sage. Look just a little to the left of there. Do you see him?"
Richelle: "Yeah, I see him!"
Mike: "Shoot him."
Me: "Where are those binocs?"
Richelle nailed the first one she shot at. She stooped over it, gloating, and then said wistfully, "I wish I could take it home with me."
"How about I take a picture instead?" I suggested.
She took a couple more pictures of the up-close and gruesome kind but I'll spare you the sight.
This is a view of Sycan Marsh from the east. I climbed part way up a big pile of rocks to get this picture. I only climbed part way because I started hearing rattlesnakes ahead of me and I have a policy of giving rattlers all the space they want.
These next two pics are taken from the top of Winter Rim at Freemont view point east of Thompson Reservoir. There used to be a no-longer-in-use fire look out up here that the Forest Service would rent out at $20/night but it burned down in the fire I mentioned earlier.
To get a good idea of distance, you really need to click on the picture above and see the buildings located just left of center.
We're looking down on Summer Lake. The blue is the present size of the lake, the white is alkali and shows the size of the lake at its fullest. It's a very long lake but quite shallow so it shrinks and swells with the seasons.
Fishing. The creek is through the brush...I think they're some kind of willow. The creek isn't very wide and not more than a couple of feet deep but it moves pretty quickly and is refreshingly cold.
We didn't keep any fish we caught. Richelle is a true fisherman. She caught a little 8-incher and by the time we were talking the day over at supper time, it'd grown to almost thirteen inches.
We used worms. I HATE fishing with worms. You have to pinch off the amount you need to begin with and then they wriggle and squirm, shorten up and stretch out while you're trying to impale them on the hook. My "ick" factor is set pretty high but putting worms on hooks comes really close to tripping it.
Hager Mountain has a fire control look-out on its peak and there are roads with signs showing the way. After driving about four miles on cinder roads, we came to a locked gate with a sign "Authorized Personnel Only". We were only about a mile from the top. We found a spot where we could see out but it wasn't as spectacular as what we would have seen from the look-out. We were facing roughly northeast with -is it Grassy Butte?- in the distance. Highway 31 runs along the base of it.
Beautiful country and wonderful times make for good, lasting memories.
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