Fri 23 – Sat 24 Aug 2019
Dave and I awoke at our beautiful Lava Lake campground at around 7 a.m., just as the sun was rising above the nearest, tree-covered hillock and beginning the gradual process of warming the chill air at 5000 feet above sea level.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Early morning stillness at Lava Lake Campground, near Belknap Crater, Three Sisters Wilderness, Deschutes National Forest, Oregon.
Whilst May and Poppy slept for a little longer, Dave collected some cold lake water in our fold-up bowl for his daily ablutions in the privacy of the trees near our tent, and I took a cup of coffee down to the tranquil lake and sat quietly, watching pondskaters skimming across the still water surface and listening to a pair of blue jays shirring to each other.
Today, we were heading roughly in the direction of Oregon’s Crater Lake, but taking an indirect, scenic route, first travelling westwards across the McKenzie Pass and taking a peek at Cougar Reservoir, then turning south to take in Willamette National Forest and Hills Creek Reservoir, before stopping for the night at whichever campground we reached, probably in the Umpqua National Forest just north of Crater Lake.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] High verges of old lava rock at McKenzie Pass, Oregon.
Our hope, when passing through Willamette National Forest, was to stop and peep in at Paradise campground if we could find it. We had stayed at this basic site on a similar road trip 18 years before, and wanted to see it again for old time’s sake and to show the girls. We remembered how peaceful it had been on that trip, camping amongst old-growth fir and cedar forest in our tiny tent, and cooking up our evening meal of baked potatoes and tinned beans in the hot embers of our little campfire as dusk drew down upon us.
We’d come across very few people when staying at Oregon’s basic forest campgrounds on that trip, but those we had met were, without exception, reliable and resourceful, courteous, staunch and shrewd, with a strong, back-to-nature outlook on life. Oregon, for both its beauty and its people, had long been our favourite part of the USA. Nearly two decades ago. Such sweet memories.
We managed to find the campground. It was busier with campers than during our stay, but still a soothing place. We got out of the car for a short leg-stretch to see if we could locate our old tent pitch. We couldn’t, but took a quick peek at the adjacent, fast-flowing McKenzie River, which we remembered from before, and soon set off again: we still had many miles to travel and knew the route we had chosen would be slow.
Although we didn’t know it yet, the gentle poignancy of our journey was about to be disrupted. The first foreshadowing came when we drove briefly along the Willamette Highway, looking for a small turn-off south to take us past Hills Creek Reservoir. We eased off the accelerator in anticipation of a short-notice turning around the next bend and gradually slowed to around 40 mph.
As we did so, a heavy lorry appeared from nowhere behind us and came thundering up almost onto our rear bumper, then decided to intimidate us by sounding a series of loud horn blasts. Our junction was signed just 500 feet (150 metres) ahead, so we indicated right and kept steady. At this point, rather than hold back for just a few seconds until we turned off the highway, the lorry driver decided to swerve sharply across the double, solid, yellow (‘do not cross’) lines down the centre of the road and pass us on the wrong side of the carriageway, head on to any traffic that might be emerging round the blind bend. It was the worst driving we’d seen in many weeks in the USA and Canada, and from someone who ought to have had the experience to know better.
Feeling a bit tense from the lorry driver’s unnecessary aggression, we decided to stop a few miles down the side road we’d turned into and eat the sandwiches and flask coffee we’d prepared for lunch. We started looking for somewhere to pull over at the roadside without causing a hazard, then unexpectedly came across a sign for Packard Creek campground in Willamette National Forest, and decided to look in – it might be a bit more pleasant to sit in there rather than at the roadside. We might even get a view of Hills Creek Reservoir. We wouldn’t be stopping long, just a half-hour driving break, as we needed to keep pressing on southwards.
As always, we checked the signboards at the entrance. There was an official, printed sign clearly stating that overnight camping was US$20, which was not unexpected. An informal, handwritten sign had also been pinned on specifying a ‘Day Use Boat Parking’ fee of US$8. We hadn’t seen one of those before and it was a bit confusing, but we certainly didn’t have a boat – just our little rental car – and nor would we be staying for the day.
After careful consideration, we judged that the ‘Day Use Boat Parking’ fee probably didn’t apply to our situation and, if we’d got it wrong, we’d immediately apologise, explain our error and move on, even if mid-cup of coffee. Any reasonable person would understand the mistake and also recognise the negligible impact of a 30 minute stop, inconveniencing no-one.
Besides, we’d stayed at a National Forest campground last night and would again tonight (and for much less time than our fees covered), so what difference would it make if we stopped here for 30 minutes during the day with 30 minutes’ less time at our onward destination? We felt we were contributing fairly to the work of the US Department of Agriculture Forest Service (who look after the forests) and had also been going out of our way to pay all our fees correctly for trailhead parking and hiking permits as well as campgrounds (whether through convoluted journeys to find Ranger Stations, etc., or into honesty boxes).
We entered the site. It seemed peaceful and low key, almost deserted. We found an empty picnic table, where Dave and the girls perched to eat, whilst I stood to eat in the sunshine. We were near a standpipe so topped up with 3 litres of water (as we were nearly out of drinking water) and the girls needed wees so used the long-drop, compost toilet at the campsite (which seemed more responsible than hopping out of the car at the roadside en route).
After around 25-30 minutes, we began to pack our few lunch things away and took our small amount of litter to the rubbish bag we keep in the car (we always adhere to the sentiment of ‘leave no trace’), making ready to leave. At that moment, a golf buggy came careening round the corner. A man and woman got out, marched over and demanded payment of US$8.
Their immediately hostile approach was unbelievable, but I stayed composed and explained that we’d found the handwritten sign confusing. I apologised and said we’d leave, that we were just about to anyway. But the woman instantly became very pugnacious, spitting out accusations that we were taking advantage of the National Forest Service by using their facilities and not paying our way, and then leaping straight in with a heavy-handed threat that, if we didn’t pay up, she would take our car registration and report us to the National Forest Service, which would land us a US$25 fine.
I felt intimidated and shaky, and my youngest daughter was particularly frightened, but I tried to keep the situation calm by explaining that we had no intention to cheat the National Forest Service and had been going out of our way to get the right passes and permits and pay the right fees.
She remained rude and aggressive, announcing that we’d taken their water and used their toilet so had to pay up. Never in my life before (or since) have I come across someone who begrudges tap water (and three litres across a family of four was hardly excessive). I mentioned that Dave and I hadn’t actually used the toilet, at which point her arm sprang out with an accusing, witchy finger pointing straight at our eldest daughter, and she screeched, “She did!”
They clambered back in their buggy and shot off, leaving Dave and I unsure what to do. Moments later, they returned with pen and paper to start writing down our number plate. At this point, I relented and asked if we could perhaps pay a reduced fee as it had been such a short visit. She retorted, in a belligerent voice, “Day use is day use, whether that is 30 minutes or all day!”
She showed absolutely no sense of proportion. She was putting us in the same category as day use of a pitch by several families in several vehicles spending all day there, with heavy use of water and facilities, perhaps a big campfire, fishing on the lake, a boat to launch and quite possibly bits of litter left behind. Or day use by a large RV, filling its big, on-board water tank and causing much more wear and tear on the road than our little car. As it was, our impact was less than a single RV going once round the site to check it out and deciding not to stay, and barely more than their golf buggy going round the campsite twice in pursuit of us.
As the woman wrote down our number plate, the pair of them started chuntering about us “Californians who expect to get everything given to them on a plate”. I explained that our car might well have a California-registered plate, but that it was a rental car and we were from the UK. After a heavily sarcastic, “Well, welcome to the USA!”, her manner suddenly changed completely, and she agreed to let us go. (Although the man hadn’t heard that we were from the UK, and continued making relentlessly abusive comments about us “Californians”.)
We thanked them and made a rapid exit (and never did see the reservoir, although I am sure it is lovely). But the incident left a sour taste in my mouth and really played on my mind. Initially, I wanted to tell everyone we knew and anyone else we met to avoid the USA National Forests and, in particular, Willamette National Forest – and we would avoid ever again staying at one of their campsites or helping to support the Forest Service in any way.
But, after I while, I was able to get things into perspective. This rash, discourteous, confrontational man and woman, with their over-inflated egos, lack of judgement and obvious discrimination against Californians, must have been the camp hosts – but with completely the wrong attitude, immediately looking for a fight and putting people’s backs up. I’ve since found out that, after arriving at a National Forest campground, you get a 30-minute grace period in which to pay – so it seems obvious that this couple must have been clock-watching, ready to swoop at the exact moment they knew they could berate us. What sad lives they must lead.
I remembered that we’d come across a few camp hosts before and they weren’t normally like that. Without exception, all the others had been a good advert for the National Forests: helpful, fair and light-touch as they kept an eye on the campground as part of their own long-term stay (the camp host is usually an unpaid position, but they get to use their pitch for free for the season).
The camp hosts at Packard Creek campground in August 2019 were simply one rogue couple who’d signed up for the role even though it was completely unsuited to them. Presumably, they are not doing it this year (given the impact of COVID-19) and I’d hope that, if they ever sign up again, at Packard Creek or elsewhere, the National Forest Service will refuse their offer – after all, maintaining goodwill with the public is an important attribute of these volunteers, to encourage people to continue visiting and supporting the National Forests.
Ultimately, we did relent enough to stop at another National Forest campground that night – East Lemolo – thus adding Umpqua National Forest to the list of Oregon forests we’d camped in: Ochoco, Deschutes, Umpqua (and many more on our previous trip). I’m glad we did.
The final part of the journey to East Lemolo campground took us on at least 20 miles of gravel roads culminating in spectacular views of Mount Thielson with its pointed, ‘Matterhorn’ peak, before arriving at the campground, pleasantly situated at the east end of Lemolo Lake. This lake was formed from the dammed backwaters of the North Umpqua River and is very pretty, although swimming is ill-advised owing to a build up of toxic algae.
The campsite was another basic one, with long-drop toilets and no drinking water, and clouds of midges so thick that burning three mosquito coils at once was still not enough to disperse them, meaning we each ate a fair number that landed and stuck irrevocably in our dinner.
The site was crowded with weekending RVs and units towing boats, and I assumed we’d suffer some of the selfish behaviour we’d so often encountered before, including music being played too loud and too late and RV generators whining away long into the evening. But, no ... every single guest was considerate of others, with not a single generator operating and all noise kept to a minimum, and we had a really peaceful stay.
To top it all, there was a very friendly, elderly chap camping next to us, who was from near Sawyers Rapids in Oregon (where we head to next, after Crater Lake). We had a nice chat and then he said he’d cut too much wood for his campfire and asked if we could use the excess. We were pleased to accept his gift and May made our campfire this evening ... although rather larger than expected!
The other campers at East Lemolo campground, and especially our elderly neighbour, completely renewed our faith in the people of Oregon, after the disappointments earlier in the day, and we felt, once more, at peace with humankind.
[Use arrows or swipe to scroll photos.] Ducks in the early morning mist. Lemolo Lake on North Umpqua River beside East Lemolo Campground.