Exploring Owyhee's Perjue Canyon

November 24 2018

This Owyhee sagebrush flat and canyon had just a bit of a…. cougar-y feel. Not an imminent we're-going-to-get-jumped-on feeling, but… thick brush along the crick, a single path along the bottom of the high-walled canyon, rock shelters and lairs and mini-caves above, the cool stillness of a fall day, pregnant with the feeling of possibility and opportunity springing forth.

And that was before, about 20 minutes into our ride, Karen said, "Did I tell you last time we came here to hike this trail I saw a cougar print?"

Dudley and I had hitched a ride with Leah and her mustang Bear, and Karen and her former endurance horse Rusty, to explore Perjue Canyon in the Little Jacks Creek Wilderness. Rusty charged eagerly ahead on the trail, unafraid of anything (his only nemesis is cows), and Bear followed, completely unflappable (I expect if he ran into a cougar, he'd Stink-eye it away), followed by Dudley. The Dude wasn't nervous, but one time in the canyon he did stop and whip his head around behind him and he studied the brush along the crick a while. Dudley always sees wildlife before I do so I always wait to see what he's spotted; this time he didn't actually see anything. But Dudley knew that here it didn't hurt to check. 

I wasn't nervous, but I've learned over the years, if it feels like cougar country, it is cougar country. Doesn't hurt to keep your eyes peeled at the brush, the rock outcroppings you're riding under, and glance behind you now and then. Cougars aren't particularly numerous out here, but they are here.

While the canyons in the Owyhee country don't have the flair and grandeur of Utah's red canyon country, ours can still be a little bit spectacular, much less traveled, and intriguing to explore, particularly on foot. If there aren't trails down in all of them, there are usually plenty of old two-track roads to get you cross-country and at least above those canyons.

Closer to the cities, the red rhyolite-walled Sinker Canyon can certainly be called spectacular; it's a popular place for ATVs (so if you're going horseback, you want to go mid-week, and preferably when schools are in session), and a side trip on your way to Silver City.

Perjue is further out - a good hour further out, on a good-but-washboard Mud Flat dirt road that is part of a scenic Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway over the Owyhee mountains that eventually dumps you out at Jordan Valley, Oregon.

The canyon is named after Frank Perjue, whose old cabin walls still stand near the approach to the canyon. He probably homesteaded cattle (or sheep?) here in the early 1900's, and it was probably his livestock that originally laid the trail that we rode on. Perjue Canyon follows the West Fork of Shoofly Creek.

The Little Jacks Creek Wilderness (over 50,000 acres) is 1 of the 6 wilderness areas in Owyhee County, designated in 2009. BLM, Idaho Trails Association and other volunteer groups worked on developing this trail in Perjue Canyon. It's an out-and-back trail 4 miles down the West Fork of the Shoofly Crick, where it ends at private property (we were hoping for an obvious loop trail, but nothing obvious appeared, but with more exploring, there might be options), and 4 miles back.

At places, cottonwoods crowd the trail, and thick quail bush clusters along the narrowing canyon. We were past the time of golden autumn leaves, but during the height of color, the cottonwoods along the crick must be stunning yellow, and the quail bush deep maroon. And, at the right time of year, you can see bighorn sheep in and above the canyon.

We had a bit of water in the crick that we crossed several times (ice, actually), but the brush looks thick enough that there may be some water puddles year round.

It's an easy day hike for Owyhee hikers (and a BLM picnic area and vault toilet is about a mile down the road), and an easy exploring ride for trail riders. There was enough up and down, and a bit of scrambling over shale at a few places, and long enough to make Dudley sweat, even in the cold, though as endurance riders we wouldn't have minded another 10 miles or so, for the long trailer ride we took to get there.

But it was another cool new checkmark I can put on my Owyhee country map, and Dudley had a good time and a good workout!

Beneath the Red

 
Wednesday June 19 2013

It is a place I have never seen - and yet I know it.

When I first find the path I want to run, to bolt into this canyon, to tear deep inside the labyrinth and lose myself to this world.

I follow the tracks of those that have gone before me, alongside this stream beneath the monstrous sheer red walls. My footsteps and breath fall into a familiar rhythm.


The footsteps of the ancients lead over rose slickrock polished smooth as marble, over red sandstone turned to salmon powder.


I am jealous of the oak trees that guard this formidable canyon, jealous of the canyon wren who hurls her cascading trill against the red cliffs, jealous of the bluebird who flaunts his startling iridescent azure against the red rocks. I am jealous of the wispy junipers who cling by a root to a high red shelf on the walls.


I envy the ghost of an ancient hand that still catches water from this cool clear spring water;


I envy the fish who languishes in the shaded pools. I envy the Raven who flies over these walls I cannot climb. I envy the rainstorm that cascades in sheets, ripping colored parallel paths down the red-hued stone tinted by different ores.



The canyons split and twist but without hesitation, my feet remember where to go. It is the end of this box canyon that I find the treasure in the depth of this red chasm: a secret arch safeguarding where this stream is born from a slice in the rock.


It must be sacred, this place. I lay my head on the sandstone beneath the red walls, beneath this arch, beside the genesis of this spring, where others have laid before me. My hand falls in the water.


The life-water caresses my fingers, and I feel the ancient birth and erosion, death and growth of this red canyon: the present birth and erosion, the death and growth of me.

Albion Mountains: Independence Lakes Trail

Tuesday August 30 2011

The trail kicked my butt.

We've still got miles of trail to explore for next year's City of Rocks Pioneer Trails Endurance Ride, by horse, by ATV, and by foot.

We've had our hopes set on using the loop up in the Albion Mountains around Independence Lakes. I've been dying to hike it. I love the desert and canyons where I live, but there's nothing like a ride or a hike over good alpine forest and lake trails.

"The entire hike should be about 11 to 12 miles so maybe six hours to hike depending on how fast you are." Forest Service Recreation Manager David Ashby, who earlier showed us around the upper forest service roads and trail heads, estimated the length, and said that on the northwest part of the loop, "the trail is there; it is just difficult to follow through some short sections, less than a quarter mile in length." No problem, i figured, I had a topo map of the loop (although without the trail marked on it) and a topo-less section map of the mountains (with the trail sketched on it), so between the two, I figured I couldn't get lost. If I managed to do that, there was a main road a couple thousand feet down and to the west of the mountain range, highways a couple thousand feet down and to the east and south of the range; and an interstate a couple thousand feet down and far to the north of the range if I really got lost.


We had almost an hour of riding on the ATV to get to the end of the Forest Service road at the southwest corner of the Albion Mountains where the Independence Lakes loop trail started. Steph and Regina dropped me off... and I found I'd forgotten my maps (the second time in the last two exploring expeditions!) I glanced at Steph's map before I took off, trying to emblazon the route in my head. From my starting point, I could see the first saddle I was climbing to - which would look down on the lakes - and the last saddle I'd cross after looping around Mount Independence. I couldn't get lost.

"We'll be back to pick you up in 7 hours," Regina and Steph said, and they set off to scout other trails and roads on the ATVs.


My hike started out at 8558' - and went up, through green alpine meadows redolent with the scent of blooming lupine and penstemmons. The intoxicating aroma and allure of the sub-alpine fir forest about knocked me over. There may be nothing better on this earth. Mount Independence loomed ahead of me, while behind me waves of mountain ranges gradually rose into view to the west.

The slope was moderate and the footing good (still great for an endurance ride...); but my pace slowed to a trudge the higher I crawled. I ride a lot, but I'm not in much hiking shape because it's too hot to hike where I live in the summer.

After eons, I finally gained the saddle at 9730' and crested the top - oh my.

A staggering view of the cirque and 4 lakes came into view 500' below my toes. I stood a while to catch my breath from the climb and the view before heading down the rocky switchback trail on the steep southern face of Mt Independence.


The trail wound down into and through the forested bowl of the cirque, skirting the lakes.

I almost went to roll in the snowfields still lounging on the slopes. I met one hiker climbing up the switchbacks, but the rest of the day I had the whole mountain to myself. The only other signs of human existence were the trail crews' campsite (but not the trail crew), and some fresh horse tracks from this morning (but no sighting of the horses or riders).


Leaving the bowl, the trail dropped away from the lakes several hundred feet to skirt the east and north side of Mt Independence. Alas, I was already realizing that, no matter how good the rest of the loop trail was, our possible endurance trail from basecamp at City of Rocks up into the Albions with a loop around Independence Lakes, is just too tough. While the mileage might be spot on for a 50-mile ride, it's too much to ask for horses to climb from 5800' at basecamp, up and up, to near 10,000', travel over some very rocky sections, then head back downhill 4200'. Especially on one day of a multi-day ride. But that didn't interfere with my sublime hike.

I easily made it to the trailhead on the north side of the loop at 7700', with 6 1/4 miles under my belt. I was tired... but at least halfway done. Probably. If I didn't get lost... since I didn't have a map and the trail might be hard to find.


At times, it was just that! I started on the trail, then lost it. Then stumbled on a trail... overgrown path... or just a slight disturbance in the alpine flora... at times I was almost sure I was just on a game trail. I'd find it, lose it. Sometimes it was obvious; other times I'd just walk where a deer might go and find myself on a path again.

I knew I wanted to be following the Dry Creek drainage up to its saddle, which the faint trail was doing, so I knew I wasn't lost.


Reaching the saddle at 8200' the trails split: one headed the wrong way uphill, and two led downhill. Way downhill. No way I was going that far down into a drainage to have to climb back up. I could see where I wanted to finish, across the drainage, but at my altitude.

So I sidehill-bushwhacked, through thick gnarly aspen groves and waist-high skunk cabbage and assorted flora, over downed timber and thickly-bunched stunted firs (keeping my eyes peeled for cougars) along the upper slopes of Mount Independence, with a sweeping view of the valley far below to the west.

It's not easy crossing 40* slopes through brush and on crumbly rocks, your feet angled sideways and starting to ache in their boots, the sun beating down on you, and your original initiative and energy flagging. (Just sayin', not complaining; I was hiking in the mountains!)


I finally saw a trail below - not the trail I was looking for, but I knew it had to end up at the same place - and opted to bushwhack down to take the easier route... and then ended up climbing on the trail, back up and regaining the altitude I'd lost.


By the time I wobbled back out at my starting point, some 10 miles and 5 1/2 hours later, I was whooped. The trail had kicked my butt. Of course part of that might have something to do with not being in hiking shape, and the fact I rarely wear shoes except when I ride (and certainly not hiking boots!), and the altitude (I live at 3500').


And even though you might call my hike a bust, since we won't be able to use this loop on our endurance ride, it was so worth every step, even the slogging ones over the last couple of miles where I had to stop and rest often so I could admire the view (and catch my breath).

Any day in the mountains is a great day! And today, on the Independence Lakes trail in the Albion Mountains, was one of those.

Red Canyon of the Hart

Sunday June 6 2010

I used to hike a lot. Long hikes. Hard hikes. Peaks. Cross country. Forests and mountains. Now it's only on occasion. Last few hikes I did, I stumbled about gracelessly, the ground feeling foreign. My feet were out of practice, my body uncoordinated. I must get my hiking legs back underneath me.


Today I head cross country in the Owyhee desert to the Deep Red Canyon of the Hart. The skies are dark, blue-gray and heavy; the rain is moving down from the Owyhees. It begins to fall on the desert, on me, first a soft mist. Then I hear the sound of drumbeats all around me. Then I feel the drumbeats. The earth turns dark, glistening; the flowers emanate intense hues - the Indian paintbrush, purple sage, wild onion, buckwheat, penstemmon, globemallow, lupine. The earth gets wet. My skin gets wet. The flowers reach skyward and drip raindrops. I turn my head skyward and rain drips from my face.

Today my feet are feeling the earth, molding to the uneven ground, moving over it without tripping, without slipping on the wet rocks. I smell the wet desert, the sweet sage and flowers of the shadscale. I absorb the rain like the desert.

Today it's just me an a lone pronghorn on a ridge in the distance. We study each other. I have binoculars. He has the speed with which to disappear. It takes me half an hour to reach where he was.

Before I see the cliffs of the Deep Red Canyon, I hear the roaring waterfalls on Hart Creek far below. The cliffs are red and gray in the rain. Tall. I can't see the bottom of the canyon. Slippery. I don't get too close to the edge today. They rise abruptly from the wide valley floor to become a deep chasm.


Two empty eagle nests perch on the face of the cliffs. Pigeons fly about in confusion at this rare human intrusion. Canyon wrens sing their melodic downward spiraling tune.

I follow the rim of the canyon. It is magnificent, this hidden canyon in the Owyhee desert, the rhyolite rock carved and sliced over eons by water running down from the Owyhee mountains. A lone juniper stands guard over the canyon walls. I stand beside it, dumbfounded by its perpetual view.


My feet find and follow a game trail down into the canyon. I startle a prairie falcon. It flies away, perturbed, screeching at me. A lush ecosystem crowds this narrow canyon. Fat cottonwood trees squeeze alongside the creek. They are thick with luxuriant leaves. Willows choke the ground. Bouquets of rice grass reach my waist.


I climb back up to the canyon rim and follow it until the high cliffs meld into the soft hills that cover the Owyhee desert, and hide these marvelous canyons.

The flamboyant wildflowers line my return path with a royal carpet. Three baby ravens screech and squawk until I climb a hill to see them. They sit silently and study me then discuss among themselves my place in their desert.


I have my hiking legs back under me today. I think the Ravens approve.

The Two-Horse Mystery and... Cats

Monday March 15 2010

After discovering a new nesting golden eagle pair on Brown's creek, and seeing another set of promising cliffs a mile upstream, I decided then and there that I have to hike the whole of Brown's Creek, from mouth to source in the Owyhee mountains. (Not all at one time).

Last week I headed out on foot with those next cliffs as the destination. The wind was strong and cold enough to make my eyes water. Little snowstorms dodged around the Owyhee peaks, and an occasional errant snowflake zipped past me, and probably didn't hit the ground till it reached Montana.

I started hiking at the dam... but instead of turning down that drainage toward those cliffs, I decided to follow an old 2-track road west, which after a couple of miles landed me on Brown's Creek. I saw a flying golden eagle - possibly one of the pair I'd discovered, or perhaps a new pair in those new cliffs I was going to.

As I descended into Brown's Creek, I was sure I'd see a road leading out on the other side (I did), and I was sure I'd see a homestead (I did) which was the one we rode to on the Forgotten Girth Trail. It wasn't! It was another homestead I hadn't seen before! That meant the the Forgotten Girth Trail Homestead was further upstream. I looked downstream toward the cliffs, upstream toward more surprises...

I chose upstream. I hiked along more cliffs, crossed through more drainages running into Brown's Creek, one with quite a lot of running water. I discovered a nice spring, some cool rock formations,
and I found a place along a game trail where deer bedded down.

About this time I'd started glancing behind me, and keeping close watch on the cliffs. I've heard occasional rumors of cougars in this country, but I have never seen proof. That doesn't mean much though. I once complained to my Toiyabe (California) Forest Service Ranger friend, who said there were cougars in that country, though I'd never seen one. He answered, "Oh, but they're watching you!"

That's something you tend to think of when you're walking in somewhat vulnerable places, such as below small bluffs, in narrow washes, and along a running creek with tall sagebrush (some of them 8 feet tall) and thick willows. Hmmm. I didn't see any cougar sign, (though the ground was too hard to see recent footprints), and I didn't feel watched, but then we humans aren't very in tune to things like that, even if we think we are.

I kept thinking I'd see the FGT Homestead, just around the next bend in the river, at the next locust grove, just past those next cliffs... but I kept hiking upstream, and it never arrived. (A map would have been handy, yes, but I wasn't carrying one.) I was quite sure, when I decided to finally turn around for the day, that the FGT Homestead was indeed past the next set of cliffs. In fact I could see a road coming out on the other side of the creek in the distance that I was (pretty) sure we'd ridden out on. But I'd save that for another day.

I turned around and set out hiking cross country, taking a guess at where the dam was (I didn't have a compass, either - my GPS conked out soon after I set the starting point and timer on it). I crossed more drainages, found more canyons, passed through a sage grouse lek, and suddenly started seeing horse poop, and not too old. Horses!?

There shouldn't be horses turned out here for winter grazing, and there weren't wild horses here - the closest mustang herd is probably 20 miles northwest, across many fences. There were no cows turned out here at the moment either. I started seeing horse tracks that weren't too old. People riding out here (in the middle of nowhere)? Sure, we do things like that, but nobody else would be out here. And there was too much horse poop and tracks for a couple of random riders.

I followed the curve of a hill - and there they were. Two horses. A chestnut with gray mane and a pinto. Only two?? How very odd. If ranch horse were turned out here (unlikely), there would be more than two. But if they were wild horses... how did they get here and, a pinto?? (Pretty one, at that,)

They had their backs to me a hundred yards away. Good thing I wasn't a cougar. "Hey guys!" I yelled.

Their heads flew up and they whipped around and stared in my direction. I waved and walked around so they could see I was a human.

That set the chestnut off. He (she?) ran back and forth snorting, stopping, staring, bolting, running away, turning to run back and look - wild mustang behavior. The pinto didn't seem half as bothered, but he (she?) followed the chestnut closely.

I kept switching between my crappy little binoculars and my crummy little camera so I neither got a real good look at, nor real good pictures of them. The chestnut looked a bit mustang-y and had a longer shaggy mane, and in one of the pictures I think you can see a freeze brand on his neck. The pinto was more stocky, like a ranch horse, and her mane was shorter. I never got a good enough look to see if they were male/female, nor if they were shod.

I didn't bother approaching because I knew I wouldn't get much closer. They continued their behavior - the chestnut running back and forth and looking alarmed and snorting, the pinto following and looking, but not too worried.

I called a few people when I got home, but nobody knew anything about them. I called the rancher Bob who has the grazing allotment, but he didn't call back.

Today while out riding, I happened to run into, of all people, Bob. He was out checking on his cows (the ones stalking our fence line).

"I've heard of those 2 horses from different people over the last couple of years. I think they were dumped out there." One might have been a mustang someone had for a while, the pinto might be part mustang part ranch horse. Who knows. They've got plenty of grass out there now, and access to water, so... I guess we've got two Brown's Creek Mystery Horses out there. It must be good luck to come across them.

"You ought to be careful when you're hiking Brown's Creek," Bob said, when I told him of my mission to hike the whole thing. "Cats."

Cougars! "There are a lot out there," he said - but I'm skeptical. "A lot" can mean many things. There can't be that many out there, and anyway, the chances of seeing one are quite low. I'd be quite lucky to see one (preferably he won't see me) - luckier than finding two horses in the middle of the Owyhee desert.

If I do run into a cougar, hopefully he won't be hungry and I won't look appetizing. I will keep looking over my shoulders. I expect those horses will too.