Document text
- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Valley&State Backpage O&E Sports Archives Classifieds Faith&Beliefs Obituaries Revels May 28, 2004 Downtown Places where animals rule still exist nearby Andrew Scot Bolsinger The sheer power of the animal beneath me isn't truly understood until he is, in fact, beneath me. Barely beneath me that is, as his gallop downhill along a twisty, tree-lined creek bed nearly knocks me from my lofty perch. Wiley, my steed for the day, has quickly figured out who is riding him. Wiley has also quickly figured out who is in control. So I have I. The reins in my hands may as well be pom poms. Remarkably, this tremendous mass of sinewy muscle, perched precariously on the tiniest of legs, doesn't stumble or slip during the foray down the hill, even with my tremendous mass of, well not sinewy muscle, jiggling to and fro along his back. Finally, he stops. The descent took all of five seconds and the battle of wills we had been waging is effectively over. I surrender and slide off his back to rest. The rest of the day, I am his passenger. He is the captain. It's a beautiful, if bumpy, day. Lush meadows with views of California mountains give way to prickly trees and harder ground, which in turn gives way to a rough, arid landscape with desert-like features, before merging again into a dense forest full of conifers. Soon, the glistening ripples of a creek come into view, flowing past rocks made smooth over generations of gentle polishing by the water's touch. The scene changes radically, even though the entire six-hour journey likely doesn't travel more than 20, who knows, maybe 10 miles, through the Horseshoe Wilderness Area in Northern California and Oregon's Soda Mountain Historical Monument. Somewhere we cross a state line that has no marker, no boundary, no way of knowing that someone on a map once drew a line and said a division would be right here. One step, California. Another, Oregon. One step not a monument because the leaders blocked it. Another step, a monument, because the same leaders deemed it so. The left foot steps into a place utterly different from the right, we are told, but not a single clue suggests its anything but the same. Out here, it is the same. We traverse a short while along an old "highway," that was closed by the Clinton Administration and remains now little more than a nice trail. Today, it's a wonderful trail that gives a short break from weaving along creek beds, ducking under tree branches, and riding perilously along steep banks. These place have names, but again, there is no way to know them. They aren't noted on road maps, or documented with little signs and historical markers. They just exist, named by the people who have seen them and enjoyed them enough to name them. The sheer lack of human touch is brilliant and unusual in its own right. This is land that many hope will soon be designated "wilderness" by the United States government, preserving it from roads, and cattle and logging, all things that would inevitably make it more tame, normal, and degraded. It's wilderness, even though many don't want to call it that. But it is. I am less than an hour's drive from my beloved "downtown," and am utterly lost. Wiley is not lost. He knows exactly where he is going, making turns along steep banks that make little sense to his rider. Through the horse's eyes, and nose, he is as familiar with this place as perhaps any other he knows. My eyes sneak glances at non-descript scenes of color and life in between moments of eyes bulging as Wiley decides that we will move faster, no matter how many times I object. I take comfort that despite all of his power and confidence, Wiley would likely also be a bit skittish if we were on my urban turf, rather than me on his. Majestic peaks rise in a craggy heap, standing as a testament to time. Lunch along a creek bank. A few moments on a rock, surrounded by broken limbs and dead-fall trees that make bubbling pools often only seen on a calendar. A walk down a meadow, through field grass so wild you wouldn't consider such an indignity as cutting it. A bright, lazy sun matches the lazy lope of Wiley later in the day. The journey reminds me that there are still places to go where one can be alone. There are still places where the animals know the way better than humans. There are still places that are special, uncultured, uncivilized, even if culture and civilization lie just outside them. This area is one of them. Wiley is at home and in control. I am lost and completely out of my element. Having a place like that is a good thing for us both. DailyTidings.com Home Page Valley&State | Backpage | O&E | Sports | Archives | Weather | Classifieds Columnists | Faith&Beliefs | Obituaries | Revels | Subscribe | Contact Us Copyright 2004 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers All Rights Reserved Click Here Site Search: .:Advertisements:. RESOURCES - Mail Tribune News - ODOT Road Cams