I hope the following paints a sunnier portrait of the desert.
The Oregon Badlands Wilderness is a 29,000-acre protected area in the high desert administered by the Bureau of Land Management. The desert’s hardy flora roots itself into the land’s shield volcano, which came into being 80,000 years ago when a lava tube running underneath the ground sprung a leak. Lava oozing north, south, east, and west created the badlands.
The sandy, light colored soil that the raccoon prints are imbedded in comes from thousands of years of eroded lava. At various locations in the badlands, there are elevated volcanic rock formations—ships in the sagebrush sea—that allow for unobstructed views of the Cascade volcanoes to the west and the vast desert to the east.
The Oregon desert summer is hot and windy, and the winter is cold and windy. Water is scarce. Though the Friends of the Oregon Badlands Wilderness is a diligent caretaker of this desert, rusty tin cans still lurk in the washes. Desert plants are stunted, and when brushed against, rip fleece and draw blood. The fine sand blowing in the desiccated wind will shrivel your sensitive lips, and after a couple of hours walking into the wind, you’ll wonder why you didn’t purchase those awful rainbow-lensed wraparound sun glasses with the fluorescent green strap languishing by the jerky carousel at the Redmond truck stop. The cold night wind carries with it coyote chatter. That stereo chatter may unsettle you. If so, wrap yourself in the blanket and stargaze until the juniper campfire dies. Once you trick yourself into thinking that the coyotes are laughing because they smell the dog pee on your blanket and do not have sinister motives, you’ll fall right to sleep.
You are awakened by a Townsend’s solitaire perched on the crown of a thousand-year-old juniper. The gray songbird’s melody adds a soft touch to the hard landscape. A mountain bluebird flies over an ancient lava flow and fades into the powder blue sky. High above, a raven banks into a corkscrew dive and lets out a guttural call as she eases into level flight. The wind pauses and the birds fall silent. The analog tick of the Timex is the only sound your worn ears detect. By midmorning, the drone of Cessna propellers and Learjet engines will garble the tranquil desert soundscape, yet even with the relentless encroachment of the nearby city of Bend, silence still owns the desert dawn.
The scorched soil encircling a lightning vaporized juniper is void of bunch grasses, but beyond the electrocution site, desert fauna thrives. In deserts overgrown with invasive grasses, lightning strikes ignite wildfires, but in this Wilderness, where the cheat grass-toting four wheelers have been banished, native Idaho fescue and gnarly ancient junipers thrive. The spaces between the plants are filled with volcanic soil rather than combustable cheat grass. Fire ignited by a lightning strike cooks the juniper but spares the desert. The intact native grasses of the Wilderness make the badlands a haven for wintering mule deer and pronghorn antelope.
As a resident of Oregon’s clearcut Coast Range, I periodically like to sun my rain saturated gills in the desert. Like you and the other mountain people reading this essay, I am a stranger in the desert. However, also like you and the other nine billion hairless bipedal apes living on this planet, my parts, discursive thoughts, and methods of moving through space were molded into my DNA by millions of games of trial and error played by ancestors living on the East African savanna, a land with a topography similar to that of the Oregon desert. If you visit the desert and temporarily discard the bug that directs you to equate hiking with glaciated peaks and small mountain lakes, you may find this space to your liking. But even if initially the desert sojourn doesn’t guide you to rapture, your nostalgia bathed genes will appreciate the homecoming, and after a few days, you—whatever that you is—will catch up with what your genes have known for tens of thousands of years.
All people are desert people.
Visitors to the Oregon Coast Aquarium aviary might see Michael explaining to skeptical tourists that the common murres aren’t actually penguins. He also walks the Central Coast’s last fragments of temperate rainforest, kayaks among the tangle of invasive milfoil of Devil’s Lake, and during minus tides, searches for nudibranchs, sea stars, and agates along the rocky shore of Roads End with his wife Kim.
Beyond that beauty strip of old trees lining Highway 18, you might spot Michael riding (or pushing) his 1990s Giant Iguana mountain bike or sitting on a stump eating a banana, taking a hit of Albuterol, and reading the latest non fiction book about a crisis that up until that moment, sitting on the stump, he was blissfully unaware of.
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Comments 15
I love it, I can see and hear what you describe so well. But you left out
the SMELLS. Sage is only one of them...there's juniper, and many other shrubs and
plants. Even those volcanic rock bulges and lumps smell good on a hot
sunny afternoon. When our friend was dying, here in Eugene, we brought
him a big paper bag of sage and other Oregon desert plants. He'd
stick his head in and take a big sniff, and smile.
A very well written essay , I enjoyed it - Denny
What a wonderful essay , very well written . Denny
"We are all, in fact, desert people" A nice image, but would it not be a more accurate to describe humankind as creatures of the savannah?
Thanks for the beautifully written essay Michael. I felt as though I was there in the desert. I am a beach gal and haven't visited any desert in many years. I am not a desert person but definitely enjoyed your writing. I have been to beautiful Bend and enjoyed hiking along the lake and hills. Coffee was great too!
As a confirmed desert rat I have spent many happy quiet hours out in the dry southeast Oregon spaces. You can hear the wind blow, smell the wet sage, in the spring delight visually in the fields of vivid blue lupine (if its rained at all), and at night hear, through the tent walls, the coyotes celebrate a successful hunt. I have driven past golden eagles perched on roadside fence posts, watched antelope cautiously eye me before running off through the brush, and witnessed a male harrier hawk drop a snake to its duller colored female partner racing up from the ground to catch it for their chicks. But more than anything, whether sitting with a cup of morning coffee or walking through the low shrubs, its the immense quiet, the overwhelmingly stillness that alows me to calm my soul and just be.
Beautiful. Your writing took me back to deserts I have loved and spent time in. The last line is perfect and one I had not thought of. Thanks for this momentof nostalgia.
Ahhhh, Michael, thank you for sharing and, hopefully, enlightening more to it's beauty & it's call...living just up the road a bit, alongside the confluence of Crooked, Deschutes & Metolius, I choose to be a part of it. Not everyone's cup of tea, but oh, that solitaire's reveille...
Nice read, from this SoCal desert rat and desert peak lover. Makes me want to experience this place.
I loved the pictures,they show the beauty and solitude of the place! Your descriptions make it all come alive in my mind!
Sue
Nice write-up of a Wilderness Area I had not heard of. I live and recreate in the Pinion/Juniper wildlands of Eastern California and Nevada - so the subtle beauty of the area he describes is a familiar one. Well Done, enjoyable writing and reflection.
Thoroughly enjoyed your writing. My husband and I have spent months in death Valley and visited several other quiet places which allow our souls to catch up. Thank you so much Michael. I don’t know that I will visit this desert near Bend so thanks for the pictures and your hear felt story.
I enjoy the writing you can imagine it in your mind
What fun and gorgeous writing! I wasn't ready for it to end yet! Since I will not be spending several days and nights in the desert to find out for myself, I wanted two more sentences at the end describing the transformation to and experience of being a desert person!
I love the spare but remarkable beauty that Michael describes so well. I will roll around in my imagination that although the landscape might initially feel like it's not our cup of tea, we are all, in fact, desert people. Thanks so much, Michael!