As I pulled the truck under the juniper and cut the engine I was struck by the utter silence. No wind rustled the trees. No aircraft droned overhead. No insects buzzed, or whined. No birds sang from the trees. Just silence. I was 25 miles from the nearest paved road, about 40 miles from the nearest house, and off the flight paths of local airports. I had arrived at a perfect location to experience some quiet time.
I had forgotten how just how silent the desert can be. It’s been years since I wandered dry lands, and when I did, it was further south in the Mojave Desert. Here in the high desert the land is dominated by juniper trees and sagebrush, there it’s creosote and chamise. But the silence was the same a deep, satisfying quiet; but with a price.
To find that peace, you must first overcome the mind’s reaction to the lack of stimuli. The sound of blood pulsing in your ear pounds its way into your consciousness focusing your attention on your head. The sounds of jaw and neck motions demand attention with their creaking and grinding. At first it seems oppressive, smaller and smaller noises demand attention. You are compelled to speak just to ensure yourself there is still noise in the outside world. Yet after a bit, the panic is replaced with an inner peace and the world seems to expand again as the noises that demanded attention recede into nothingness.
You become aware of the world your attention is drawn to the feathery burr of wings from a passing bird, the buzzing of a fly, or the scrabble of a lizard rushing after a meal. The sound of a soft breeze passing through the juniper boughs sounds like a distant automobile. There is sound in the world; it’s just quiet and infrequent. Natural.
After I acknowledged the silence I noticed that my every breath was filled with the scent of sage and juniper. It had rained the previous day, so perhaps this is the smell of rain in Oregon’s high desert. In the Mojave it’s the creosote bush that is the smell of rain. I find both the scent of the Mojave and the high desert very different yet both are pleasant and calming.
With a little searching I found a camp site along the rim rock. I parked my truck under a large juniper and pulled out my chair to just sit and immerse myself in the calm. In short order the life of the area returned; bluebirds and nuthatches fed their young with insects gleaned from the trees. Lizards foraged on the low rock wall. In the distance a raven called.
I selected a place where cattle or sheep herders had built a rock oven against the low rim rock. Adjacent to the oven someone had tilted a large flat rock on its end forming the back rest of an oversized stone chair. The lichens growing on the stove stones had not yet joined together over individual stones so the structure wasn’t ancient. The lack of recent soot stains implied that it hadn’t been used in the near past. I didn’t disturb the interior of the stove to check for charcoal—or snakes. Other than these broad bounds I couldn’t tell how old the structures were. However it was wonderful to find this evidence out here; and as a bonus—no litter!
I decided to locate my fire in an open pit so as not to deface the structures. It would also avoid disturbing any snakes that may have taken up residence; note multistory snake condo just left of the stone stove in the photo above. I was hoping that they would sleep away my visit in undisturbed peace.
I had come to Oregon’s high desert seeking old juniper forest. Casey at Coyote Works had kindly pointed me to this place. He promised a forest full of roads to explore and solitude to be experienced and it delivered both.
It took me just over six hours of driving to reach the highway turn-off. Then I drove, probably too slowly, the well maintained gravel road to reach the two-track spur leading off into the desert that I had selected from the satellite imagery.
The timing of my trip was serendipitous—I had to be in Bend for a work meeting Monday afternoon—and by chance the meeting followed a heavy rain. So on my trip the desert was not all that dry and wildflowers were in full bloom.
Buckwheat
Lupine
Linanthus
Penstemon
Bitterroot
I was excited to find Bitterroot, an important food source for the Numu of this area, as well as the HBC Snake Country expeditions. As you might have gleaned from the name, the edible portion is the root. The plants were generally harvested in the fall when the roots were largest. To preserve them the roots were split and dried. They were used in stews, either ground up or simply split.
Saturday evening came much more quickly than I desired. I started my dinner of Tikka Masala over Basmati rice and rested from the long drive. I listened to the scolding of the bluebirds and just after sunset I heard coyotes calling up on the butte. I made a pot of coffee and read aloud stories from Wilson Wewas’s book. To tease the coyotes, I read the story “Wolf makes the pine nut trees” and followed that with “The animal village” which takes place at Smith Rock–70 miles or so to the north.
The first quarter moon was amazing, but even the lovely sights didn’t keep me awake long. The quiet, combined with the calming juniper-sagebrush scent, comfortable chair, and fatigue pushed me over the edge. I retreated to my truck and fell asleep right away.
I spent Sunday searching the rim-rock for Numu hunting blinds and rock art. I checked the ground for obsidian flakes and discarded points, but I’ll admit that I was distracted by wildflowers and wonderful vistas and simply reveling in the silence. Here, life is measured with a different scale than it is in the western forests. Things are much further apart and time seems to slow.
I found no traces of the Numu, but then being up away from water I didn’t really expect to find any. However, never having been in this region I sought a high place to scout out potential village sites. I also wanted to explore the quality of the access roads, next time I’ll look for more specific locations. This area really looks like Numu habitat. I expect to find village sites adjacent to some of the lake beds. Eventually, I want to find the areas where they harvested rabbits in the fall. But I saw regions to the east where they are more likely to have camped. When the opportunity arises—potentially this fall—I’ll be able to return to search for more evidence. Until then I’ll have to be content with the scent from the armful of sage I brought home.