Pistol Creek

Pistol Creek

The Adventurer, Vernon Wade

Vernon was born in the Pacific Northwest and still lives in the shadow of Mt. Hood, near the small town where he grew up. Vernon has spent decades wandering the hills, hunting mushrooms, camping and riding motorcycles into the remotest nooks and crannies to be found in the region.

Winter was dry. Spring was drier. By the time June rolled around, it was impossible to deny: we were in the middle of a full-on, record-breaking drought. 

We went all summer without a drop of rain. Day after day the temperatures crept higher – a few weeks in the eighties then the nineties, topping out at over one hundred ten degrees. My brother and I decided it was time to find a new campsite, one that was close to water. 

PistolCrk

Our explorations eventually zeroed in on Pistol Creek.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flowing from its source in a distant meadow, it meanders through miles of forested plateau, before disappearing underground. The stream is only accessible after snow melts in late Spring, by a badly rutted and potholed road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

game trail upstream

My brother and I set out on a game trail, upstream from the road. We were looking for an isolated clearing with access to the water, easy enough for us to pack a tipi in but not so easy to get to that we would have to share our site with strangers.

hard going

The trail soon disappeared in a tangle of deadfall and vine maple

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pushing through

It was hard going, but we pushed through…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

emerging

…emerging at a high bank, overhanging the creek.

 

oposite shore

The sun was shining on a low gravel bar on the other side, and it looked like there were some clearings behind it which had potential for camping. There was no good way to get over there.

 

 

sketchyskootch

I decided to scootch across a log on my butt. It was a little sketchy, high above the water with branches and broken logs I had to get over. It wasn’t a graceful crossing. I lost my balance a couple of times and my phone worked its way out of my back pocket, but I was able to grab it before it fell.

 

 

 

 

Andy has reservations

Andy declined to follow me opting to look for an easier way over. Walter Dawg stayed with my brother. I could track their progress through the brush by his whining.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mesdow upstream

I found a nice meadow with a beach and hollered at my brother, encouraging him to join me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy crossing creek

He crossed a narrow stretch, partially bridged by a weathered snag. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

crossing

The meadow had possibilities, but there was no easy way to pack into it.

Blocked by tangle

We turned our attention back across the road. Andy walked downstream while I set out through the woods, looking for a game trail or old roadbed that  might get us in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

andy blocked by stream

We didn’t make it far; Andy was stopped by deep water, steep banks and a tangle of logs.  I met up with him emerging from the trees after fighting through underbrush and deadfall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

view downstream

We had tantalizing glimpses of a sunny beach further downstream, but ran out of time without discovering a decent route to get there.

 

Walter rides

The following Friday, Andy was busy, so it was me and the dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

downed trees

We snuck in on a spur road, a bit inland, parallel to Pistol Creek. There were large trees down across the road, stopping us a short way in. We parked and I packed my gear through the woods to the other side of the roadblock.

 

Dog travois

I lashed  a travois together…

Packing in our shit

…and Walter helped haul our load down the abandoned road through dense old growth, stopping at the first of a series of connected meadows and smaller, second growth trees in an old cut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dense growth

It was a hot day. Before setting up the tent, WaIt and I went looking for the creek. 

searching for Pistol Creek

Stumbling through the dense growth in the general direction of the creek,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a qick dip

…we were eventually rewarded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Halti Laavu

It was too late to do much exploring, so after a quick dip we returned to the meadow and I set up a base camp.

 

strawberries

The meadow was filled with strawberries

Fresh bear crap

– and fresh bear scat, but we didn’t actually see any bears.

 

 

 

 

 

hammock tent

Cap’n Ron joined me later that evening, when he got off work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

making dinner

We made dinner…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

drins

…and had some drinks before retiring to our beds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday Morning

The sun rose brightly Saturday morning.

 

bleary morning

The Cap’n not so much. He had a fitful night. The hammock folded him up like a banana and squirrels pelted him with twigs from above.

 

 

 

 

 

breakfast

We ate breakfast and packed up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

striking camp

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aerial recon

After breakfast Cap’n Ron sent his drone up to do some aerial reconnaissance.

 

 

Jason pushing through the trees

Comparing the map to his recon footage, we followed a compass bearing to the creek. There were several clearings separated by thickets of conifers. Closer to the water, the forest transitioned back into older tall trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

grazing

the understory was clear, but there were large downed trees to work around. Where the sun could get through, there were huckleberries…

salmon berries

…and patches of salmon berry and more…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bear flop

bear shit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE beach

 Pushing through a final clump of salmon berries, we found ourselves on an open gravel bar with Pistol Creek meandering through it...

 

 

the pool

….dropping into a deep pool around the bend. There was room to camp at the stream and more potential campsites nearby. Perfect! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having achieved our objective, we returned to the meadow, gathered our gear and hauled out..

 

My friends and I spent the rest the summer exploring the area, clearing a trail in and setting up a campsite. The more time we spent there, the more satisfied we were with our discovery. We looking forward to future camping trips on Pistol Creek.

 

 

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