January 7, 2019
In the midst of a relatively humdrum winter and right smack during a cold snap of impressive proportions - single digit temps! - we were cheered by a visit from my niece, Shannon, who was escaping the gray skies of the Oregon coast.
We received six inches of snow in our neighborhood shortly before she arrived, resulting in cars slipping and sliding every whichofaway. The doldrums that might have resulted from a week-long wintry event were shunted aside by Shannon's arrival.
Our guest had a day-trip destination in mind - a place we had not known about. Some research revealed that it was most likely doable, so on the first day that more optimum temperatures prevailed, son Lewis joined the three of us as we loaded up our aged Toyota Four Runner - Ruby to her friends - and set out.
The target destination was on the other side of the mountain - my description for everything east of the Mingus range - less than two hours distant. The flatlands were dotted liberally with juniper trees, mesquite bushes and a variety of other chaparral plant life, all soaking up moisture from the snow that was slowly melting into the thirsty ground.
It was not long before I began calling halts so that we could offload to admire the multi-colored wind- and water-sculpted cliffs rising abruptly from the plains.
I love the look of cactus in snow; because I am not inclined to do much wandering outdoors during colder spells, it is not a scene I am accustomed to.
The señor's research indicated that the slump-shaped dun-colored hill in the photo below held the so-called Robber's Roost Cave which we sought. Exactly how to locate the trail that would take us there, however, was a matter of some conjecture.
Setting off in what we hoped was the right general direction, we took a bit of a side jaunt to peer over a dry waterfall that retained a pool at its bottom. It would be even more impressive when running, although it likely only does so during stormy weather.
After crossing the canyon above the waterfall, we started up the north side of our target hill. The shady side retained a good bit of snow, making climbing a little slippery but not really treacherous.
We worked our way up and around the mountain in fairly short order; as we came around to the east flank, we spotted the cave ahead with a short rock wall across its entrance. It is not actually a cave, but would more correctly be called a rock shelter such as were often used by early men for dwellings and/or camping.
The following photo pretty clearly shows the steep stretch of rock face that must be traversed in order to gain entrance to the cave, although it does not indicate the length of it nor does it give an inclination of how very far one would fall if one were to slip.
It was plenty daunting enough to cause me pause; in fact, I did more than pause: I clearly stated, "No way, Jose", or something of that nature. In the end, of course, I was wooed across the scary section by holding the señor's hand, which meant only that if I slipped, he was going with me. At least I think that's what it meant. Thankfully, I did not have to find out if he would have held on to me or sent me alone off the cliff, albeit with regret.
We left our packs behind to avoid having the counterweight as we crossed the more precarious section of cliff face.
Those prehistoric folks who dwelt therein were certainly of the penthouse clan: the viewscape is unexcelled in scope and grandeur. In addition to being awed by the multi-hued rock faces of not-very-distant rocky canyons and cliffs back-dropped by seemingly endless miles of blue-hazy mountain ranges, I was excited at the thought of returning to explore those plains stretched out below us. And yes, I did look down once I felt my feet on firmer ground.
Because we had left our sandwiches in our packs back across the slippery slope, hunger was the impetus for us to retrace our careful steps. Before departure, however, I wanted to get a timer shot of our little group, which as it turns out is typically easier said than done.
Below is my first attempt to gain my perch in the allotted ten seconds by slip-sliding on the footstep-polished stone while my three compatriots encouraged and/or laughed at my clumsy antics. . .
. . . ah, a more level surface got the job done on the second try.
More of nature's ever-changing beauty as we drove out.
We did not realize until leaving that we had been wandering in a designated wilderness area - the Red Rock-Secret Mountain region, to be exact.
A later bit of research about the site revealed that commercial tours are taking folks out there. In order to induce the paying public to shell out their shekels, they affixed a new moniker - Shaman's Cave - and offer ceremonies of some kind. Sadly, as more people find out about it, damage is being done. Ancient faint rock art on the back wall was covered with graffiti, which when removed, took the glyphs along with it.
Ranchland water . . .
Another stop to whet our curiosity about a small stone building out on the flats turned out to be interesting.
Whether its original purpose or not, the structure is now being utilized as a pump house for a well that supplies a nearby storage tank and trough, no doubt frequented by wildlife in addition to livestock.
Instead of the ubiquitous windmill most commonly used in this area for ranchland water, this well evidently was originally outfitted with a rocker-type pump powered by a gasoline engine. The ancient rusting pump sits abandoned behind the building . . .
. . . while snugly inside away from the weather is a modern electric motor that brings water from its subterranean depth to the surface.
The pump house with its interior plastered walls surely must have had additional uses in its early days: the size is sufficient for more, although it now sits mostly empty.
The rock construction was done by a craftsman - it surely would have kept the interior snug and weather-tight, although now it sits open to the elements.
