Malheur

Malheur - French for misfortune, a less than optimistic place name, but one that is repeated in southeastern Oregon quite a bit - for a river and its valley, a wildlife refuge and more   Its origin seems to have derived from an incident in the early 1800s when French Canadian voyageur trappers lost an entire season of furs that were taken by Indians from where they had been cached.

Later, in the mid-1800s, the name was validated when mountain man Stephen Meek led a group of emigrants along a cutoff route from the Oregon Trail and was unable to locate water in the high desert before 23 of the group perished.

A tragic circumstance, certainly; current-day drought conditions mirror the lack of water that was available then.  The Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, one of our anticipated explores, lived up to the name, unfortunately.  We expected a much larger version of the NWR we visited in Nevada; alas, what we encountered was endless miles of dry dusty marshland & and sere meadows that are sometimes green with subsurface moisture.

Adding to the malheur was smoke the like of which I have never seen!  It not only persisted throughout the entire day, it got progressively worse as time went on, far worse than what we had experienced the previous day.  Nearby mountains became vague outlines; farther ranges completely disappeared.

 

 

The visitors' center was closed but we had a nice talk with a staffer in the gift shop (why it could be open and not the other is a matter of conjecture but undoubtedly has something to do with government).  There was a small pond at that spot with a really nice blind from which we identified some birds to add to the trip list, including greater yellowlegs and long-billed dowitcher.  Nearby we saw western tanager, orange-crowned warbler, sage sparrow, violet-green swallow & yellow-headed blackbird.

 

A huge flock of white pelicans circled overhead until disappearing into the distance.

 

We embarked on a self-guided auto tour route of the refuge, an exercise that would be a multi-day excursion in the worst of times (ours, to be precise), and more when the lakes and wetlands are full with migrating and/or wintering birds are present.  For the most part, we drove along gravel berms that rose above the surrounding plains, vegetated variously with thick sagebrush in the perennially dry sections or cattail reeds and other water-loving plants in the meadows and sloughs.  We encountered little open water.  

Various stops on our itinerary offered explanations about the topography, what birds or wildlife are likely to inhabit areas, and history of the region.  Much of the preserve is not open to the public to avoid disturbing wildlife.  A high vantage point gave us an overview that showed distant water-filled lakes that we wished we were allowed to access.  It also showed the oppressive smoke-filled sky completely obscuring the mountains.

 

A woman traveling alone from Medford was the only other traveler we encountered, and we enjoyed sharing sightings with her when we stopped near each other.  We saw quite a few deer that mostly were disturbed from their midday bedding in roadside reeds; they would bolt from their hiding places when we walked near peering through our binoculars for birds that were mostly not in evidence.  One doe with twin fawns seemed particularly undisturbed by our presence.  The trio gave us a look-see and went on with their grazing.

When our route took us along the Blitzen River which runs through the refuge, we saw a bit more avian life, and added a black-crowned night heron to the trip list.  There are multiple hiking trails throughout the area that would be lovely to use during the right season.  In fact, it seems to me that it would be delightful to spend at least several days out there when the conditions are optimum.

The big surprise came when we were startled two sandhill cranes that took flight at our approach.  We had no idea they would be present at that time, but we learned that about 250 pairs nest at the refuge and depart for southerly climes beginning in August.

A homesteader . . .

At one stop, we read about a 19th century homesteader, Nettie McLaughlin, who lived there with her husband and continued at the site after his death to raise her three children alone until her later second marriage.  As I looked out over that vast sage-choked flatland, I tried to imagine her life and how difficult it must have been in those primitive conditions of the mid-nineteenth century.

And of course I had to do a little research about Miss Nettie to satisfy my wonderment at her existence.  She was Jeanette Calbreath, born in the early 1850s, in Virginia, crossing the plains to Iowa with her family and then to Oregon, where she married Andrew Ralston Brown in 1869 and was widowed in 1876.  Her youngest son, Roy, drowned in the Yamhill River in 1886.  Nettie remarried to Mr. McLaughlin in 1887, and died the next year at age 36.

I found it impossible to conceive of the hardships of her short life.  She is interred at what is now the refuge, but what was once her homestead.  At first, my imagination had her isolated out there struggling to support herself and her children.  Did she run cattle, hunt and fish?  The idea of growing crops seems far-fetched, yet settlers did that there even with their short season.

Realistically, I'm sure Nettie had help from friends and neighbors, even surely from at least one brother who was a notable physician and state senator and who resided nearby.  Even so, it had to have been hard; I hope she had joys during her limited tenure on the planet.

A collection of Calbreath family photos are housed at the University of Oregon library.  It would be interesting to peruse.

A round barn . . .

Okay, I've satisfied my brief hiatus into genealogy land, but another historical figure came into our awareness during our explores: Pete French, a so-called cattle and land baron.  Arriving in Harney County, Oregon, in 1872, French began acquiring land and livestock, eventually amassing a holding of 70,000 acres, 45,000 cattle and thousands of sheep, with the financial backing of Dr. Hugh Glenn of California.

At issue, though, were French's heavy-handed, probably illegal takings of property, resulting in disputes with other ranchers, one of whom shot and killed him.  French's unpopularity was probably the reason that his murderer was acquitted despite the deed not being in self defense.

Actually, the idea of driving somewhere to see a round barn did not overly tickle my fancy, but as we were in the neighborhood, it seemed like an okay thing to do.  Wow, was I blown away by what we found!  The reality was so much more than I could have imagined!

When I looked inside that structure, I could scarcely believe my eyes!  I had read that the interior section was used for foaling mares, and around that was the training area for draft horse teams pulling long heavy wagon trains full of wool, hay & supplies to market in Oregon City, but somehow, none of it computed until I saw the actual configuration of round rock structure within the wood exterior, and what it took to support that huge round roof. 

What a marvel of engineering and construction -  absolutely amazing!  How I wished Darren could have seen it!  He would have been even more fascinated that I was, and that was a lot.

Craters, craters and more craters . . .

Another stop in the category of surprises: We knew there was a volcanic area called Diamond (after a nearby ranch) Craters Natural Area, but that was about the extent of our knowledge.  Tooling along on the highway, we saw a BLM sign announcing it, but with no explanation at all.  With a shrug of our collective (can two have a collective?) shoulders, we turned off on a random dirt road to see what there was to be seen, and what a lot there was to be seen: to be exact - 27 square miles of volcanic lava flows and craters.

There was no directional or interpretative signage anywhere, but that did not deter our explorations in the slightest.  It was helpful that I had on board a person who "knows things", and if he doesn't exactly know things, he will talk long enough that I think either I now know things or I just want him to stop talking.  

After some long-winded explanation of how something was formed, I simply went with my original conjecture that lava bubbled up and exploded.  Works for me.

Photos don't begin to convey the gargantuan size of those craters, many of which are newer, geologicaly speaking, craters within older, more eroded craters.  Everywhere are giant jumbles of volcanic eruption flows.  The earth there must have been a red-hot seething steaming mass of molten rock - what a sight that would have been.

At one crater, the señor hoofed it out to a precipice to give a sense of scale.  He's out on that point in his red shirt which is barely visible.

 

See, he really is out there. 

 

At one abyss, we released more of Darren's ashes as we talked about how fascinated he would have been with the area.  Of course he would have been leaping from rock to rock at crater's edge, leaving me with my heart in my throat as I watched.

And in the midst of all that jumbled broken black basalt, beautiful flowers had somehow taken root and thrived.

Hot springs . . .

Once again we were near a hot spring, this one commercial as opposed to the freebie out in the middle of the Nevada desert that we were at last.

Like so much else we have encountered here that is closed (museum, visitor's centers, Malheur cave, etc.), Crystal Crane Hot Springs' outdoor pool was closed for renovation.  It appears to be a nice large gravel-bottomed pond that opens again soon after we depart.  The good news, though, was that we could still enjoy a soak in the mineral water by utilizing cedar-lined bath houses, and we did.

Individual soaking tubs (actually, they appear to be long horse watering troughs accented with rusting spots) are housed in nice wood-sided rooms equipped with changing rooms, benches and all the accoutrements.  The tubs are a perfect depth to allow immersion up to the shoulders and to stretch out.  

Each is equipped with its own hot and cold controls and a thermometer, so you can enjoy whatever temperature suits you.  When you are finished, you pull the plug and the tub is cleaned for the next visitor.  It was a most relaxing experience.

 Wolf Pups . . .

We were surprised to find ourselves parked next to a smaller vintage Wolf Pup trailer, especially when we saw the difference in the logo.  I think I like the older non-stylized version better; nevertheless, our version is suiting us just fine, especially after the modifications we made to the interior.

Along the way . . .

A venerable abandoned commercial structure at a wayside ghost town called Lawen caught our eye.

The beginning of the end when a building is left open to the elements.

Eraticators . . .

We laughed heartily when we encountered a sign advertising guided "sage rat" hunts, and were taken by surprise when we learned that is is a "thing" indeed.  Sage rat is a commonly used term for Belding ground squirrels, which are evidently a great nuisance in alfalfa and other crop fields.

In an area of little economic opportunities, it seems that the age-old practice of shooting ground squirrels, whether for sport, marksmanship practice or to clear the fields of crop-destroying pests, has become an economic boon.  Not only are marksmen and women from all over willing to shell out good bucks for being taken out across the plains to plink away, the activity has been elevated, literally: there are elevated trailers that accommodate multiple shooters.

Weather . . .

After the biiiig smoke day, which was really horrendous, we were treated to an entire evening and most of the night of wind that was gusting so hard, it turned the trailer into a rocking 'n rolling tin can, with me being afraid trees would fall on us, which happily did not happen.  Next morning dawned clear as could be and calm, but in these parts, weather is really changeable, putting our mountain climes in Prescott to shame.

Temps are up and down at the drop of a hat, and speaking of hats, the wind will take one right off your head one minute, followed by lovely calms.  The record low summer temperatures in Burns are: June 21 degrees, July 25 degrees and August is 22 degrees!  Might wanna read that again: that's in the summer!  There is not one single month of the year in Burns that does not have a record freeze.  The record high is 107, so you see, there are some real extremes in the region.  Seems like it would be mighty hard on gardens.