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500 Miles of Rain With The Maps Safely At Home
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When I went on my first trip to Oregon for the Ashwood gathering over Memorial Day weekend, I was looking forward to meeting rockhounds from all over. Can't tell you how disappointed I was when I got a late start, left my maps to Ashwood home, and got
rained on for 500 of the 900 mile trip up.
I am definitely not used to rain in the springtime any more! In the past 11 years, I've become very Southern Californian. In my new persona, I feel like rain should only start in October and should be done for the season by March at the latest. February
being preferable. But I never knew just how much of a desert rat I've become until this trip.
Not liking the idea of flash floods washing over low roads in the high desert, I have gotten in the habit of staying home whenever a rain cloud shows up on radar within 200 miles of any desert I plan to visit. But Oregon? Just never expected rain to be a
problem. Mistake number one. Not the rain -- but my lack of recent experience in driving on unfamiliar roads with the heavens blessing them with tons of water. Just because you can handle the oil slick that floats to the surface of L.A. freeways at the
first droplets of rain, and the driving frenzy of rain-crazed L.A. drivers, doesn't help you cope with torrential thunderstorms on Route 97 in Southern Oregon.
The trip up Interstate 5 north through California was uneventful, if soggy. The beautiful scenery when it could be seen, had to be ignored in favor of watching traffic. Once across the Oregon border, the rain worsened. Crossing a river whose name I
could not catch between clear swipes of the windshield wipers, was a simple bridge. A bit steep for my taste, but seemingly normal until I nearly reached the crest. At that point, there was a drainage opening from the opposite lanes and the water was
running diagonally across my side of the bridge and its two lanes. What I didn't expect was it to be at least three inches deep and as strong a current as any desert stream flooding its banks. It felt like driving on ice, no traction, just a layer of
water between my tires and the road. Not a good feeling. Not using the brakes at a time like this is probably one of the biggest tests of will power. And then I was through it and onto the other side. Only 100 feet past the bridge, it was dry.
Ahead, I could see blue sky next to a column of grey rain and ugly toadstools of thunderclouds. Like two badly matched pictures of the same scene. At Klamath Falls, it was still dry, and I found a pleasant woman at the tourist information center. She
didn't know where Ashwood was, but she gave me an official Oregon State Map, information about rockhounding sites around Prineville, and directions to Madras. As I was leaving, she called me back to give me a little packet of sunstone, Oregon's state
rock, to get my collecting off to a good start. Nerves calmed, spirits renewed, I was ready to head on up to Ashwood!
When I got to Madras, I couldn't find anyone who knew where Ashwood was. There should have been a route of only 9 miles, but with that map secure in L.A., I could only find one that was over 40 miles. Trying it anyway, I gave up and turned around one
mile short of town! Did find the Polka Dot mine thanks to the polka dot trailer! Thought I'd figured out the short way to Ashwood later in the day, and set out while there were still 3 hours of good daylight. Well, somehow, I got on the wrong road. But I
found a road sign that pointed to Ashwood, but now it was 15 miles away. Okay, not so bad. So I continue on. and on. and on. At 15 miles, the road took a sharp turn and began to descend. Okay, must be coming down into a valley where town is, right?
Wrong. I heard this funny noise on the road. And it took me a little while to realize it was the sound of a clay crust breaking under my tires and a slushy muddy clay/water mixture seemingly running under the crust.
At the same moment that realization struck, the truck realized it too and started to slide. Sideways. Then I noticed the two foot ditch on the left, and the very steep drop-off on the right. And absolutely no margin on either side. It's interesting how
spinning your wheel this way and that can actually steer a semi-sideways truck sliding down a muddy road. It must have washed out earlier in the day. Heavy rainstorms had been popping up intermittently all day, here and there, leaving things in between
completely dry. It was sometime around here that I also realized it was getting dark, but who really had time to think about it? Too busy praying and spinning the wheel.
Well, I slid down 6 miles of road before the ditch ended and I could back uphill onto a relatively dry area of grass to turn around and go back uphill. Only came near the drop-off once. And on the next back-up, when the wheels felt like they were
sinking, I rocked it and gunned it and slithered right on up the hill. It took a bit, but I was determined to get out of there, and obviously, I made it.
Now, the darkness started to really claim my attention. I saw a small spot of light, and thought, great! A farmhouse. Then realized it was a patch of sky that was still daylit. The darkness was a huge stormfront almost directly overhead. I drove like a
madwoman once I hit solid ground, terrified of what it would be like to be there in a hard rain. Then, rounding a bend, it was suddenly daylight again, the road was hard and dry. And there was a sign for the road that Richardson's ranch is on! Well, I
knew my way back to town from there, so I took it.
The road was rough and seemed like no one had used it since last winter when their tires made all the ruts that were hardened like cement, and it kept getting narrower, and more washboardy. And just when I thought it was time to give up, pull over and
wait for daylight, the road eased up and the turnoff to the main highway came up shortly afterward. When I climbed out of the truck back at the motel, I found the whole bottom of the truck, inside the bumpers, all along the wheel wells, across the axles,
over the tires, and 1/4 of the way up the body, was mud. Icky sticky mud. I left the truck dripping clumps and lumps, and collapsed in my room.
Tomorrow would be better. A friend who used to live in Orange County, CA was going to meet me at Richardson's, and we could then swing on up the road to the Polka Dot, and maybe actually make it all the way over to Ashwood.
Next morning, I was awakened at 8:15 am by the phone. It was husband Murray telling me to call work, they had an emergency. Since we open to the public at 9, and the men come in at 8, I could only think someone got hurt. So I called to learn that everyone
was okay, but we had been broken into and most of our grounds maintenance equipment stolen. So I spent the whole morning calling back and forth to the office to ascertain what was missing and what damage had been done, and to the alarm company asking
nasty questions, like why am I notifying you instead of you calling me? What happened to our fancy new radio backup and similar nit-picky points. I was about ready to just pack up and go home, but I didn't want to disappoint Meg and cancel her first
rockhound expedition. Not in much of a rockhounding mood, but I went anyway.
With all the rain of the past week or so, it turned out that the blue thunderegg bed at Richardson's Ranch was flooded and closed. The opal thunderegg bed was inaccessible except by 4 wheel drive (which I do not have). So the only thing left was the red
bed.
Once I got to the digging area, things turned around. I met a nice older fellow and his wife from San Diego. A former rockshop owner, he was experienced and knowledgeable about thundereggs, and showed me how to judge whether an egg was worth keeping or
not. We spent a companionable afternoon digging out clusters from under a layer of almost opal. I think it was either a juvenile form or ran short of silica while it was forming, because it looked like it should have been opal, but was crumbly like
rotten plaster. Minute you touched it, it crumbled. But here and there beneath it, were pieces of broken eggs with a pink opal center with agate around it. Very pretty colors. So I dug up a few eggs, picked up a few interesting broken pieces, and
finally my friend arrived in time to find me, stretched out across a little hillock of sandy ground, head down, tail up. Worst thing, is, she recognized me immediately! After picking up a few eggs and pieces, she helped me back to the truck with my
newest treasures.
So folks from Ashwood, I didn't meet up with you this year, but I'll be back to try it again. This time, my maps will be in the truck and maybe I'll even rent a 4-wheel drive for the occasion. I want some real time to enjoy the scenery next trip:
Oregon's volcanic domes, lava flows, lakes, waterfalls, glaciers and rocks all deserve a lot more attention. And besides, there are a lot of rocks up there that still are waiting to be uncovered!
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Copyright, 1997 by Carol Bova
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Carol J. Bova is the editor and publisher of The Eclectic Lapidary, Vice President of the American Opal Society, member of the VIP Gem and Mineral Society in Reseda, cemetery manager by day, GIA student by night and devoted rockhound whenever she can get
away.
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