Camp Sherman

From the time I was a young adult, until now as an old woman, always the Metolius River has been a constant in my life. Not a place I physically visit all the time but one that is in my heart.

It might be a vortex, not that anyone local would probably think to call it that. If vortex means place where good energy joins, it is definitely one. I have gone there with sorrow, with joy, with needing some life solutions, and always it has enhanced my life and helped me.

The first time I walked along its banks, you could walk right down to its headwaters, kneel on the rocks and scoop up some of the water to drink. The headwaters, about a mile from where these photos were taken, are a spring that bubbles up out of the ground already a river.

Scientists have debated from where all that water comes. This is a volcanic region. When you look at the skyline of the Cascades, you see many snow covered peaks, they and many lesser ones are volcanoes with the potential for erupting again in the case of four of them (Mount Hood, Crater Lake, Newberry, and South Sister). Everywhere you see reminders of earlier eruptions of even the lesser volcanoes, like Black Butte, which is near the Metolius. This is an arid land but a place of a few big rivers and many lakes-- all impacted by its history.

Some say the water that forms the Metolius percolates through lava from Black Butte. Others have suggested Crater Lake. I favor my own theory that it comes from Middle Earth because it is a place of magic.

I have ridden horses along its banks (before the nearby stable closed down), camped in tents and trailers, stayed in cabins, hiked, waded (for about a minute as that is really cold water), taken photographs, watched the salmon come up to lay their eggs, sketched, and enjoyed its beauty from snow to wildflower seasons. It has seen my own life change from the season of carrying my babies here, watching my children splash in the water, seeing them turn into adults, and now knowing my grandchildren likewise can enjoy its special gifts.

Once in awhile I wish I could own one of the cabins that are in a few places along its length, under the tall pines, peaceful with the constant sound of a river out your window. Most are on forest service land; so they aren't easy to come by. Families generally pass them down through their families or friends as who would want to give one up?

Here are some fall photos from there on October 22nd with a water ouzel as the only resident visible that morning. Summer finds a lot of people on the Metolius, camping, fishing, hiking, but winter is quiet.

This time, I particular loved seeing the tamaracks with their golden color. We don't have them in western Oregon and they are so pretty not to mention unique as the only conifer that drops its needles in the fall.

(Regarding land use, one of the concerns has been development of a large resort [or two] on what has been timberland a few miles from here. It would not be on the banks of the Metolius, but one would have to be foolish to not realize thousands of homes and a huge golf course would not impact its usage. Some would say that would be good. I think it's very special as it is and where not everyone can live nearby or on its banks, all can visit-- if they choose to do so, and enjoy its magic for a time-- which is the best way to enjoy magic anyway. Sometimes in trying to possess something, we destroy it.)

If you are feeling harried and hassled by the pressures of life, take a moment with these photos. Click on them, as I believe even through a photo, you can get a sense of the peace the Metolius gifts to those who spend time along its banks.