Follow S.E. Schlosser's trip to Oregon in search of ghost stories, supernatural tales, and of course, Bigfoot! The author takes you day by day through a typical research trip as she discovers the supernatural side of Oregon, in preparation for the writing and publication of the 15th book in the Spooky Series: Spooky Oregon, coming in September 2009.

Day Four Five miles of lava fields cover the mountaintop. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. Today was all about Lava Lands, at least in the morning. After breakfast, I finished first pages of Spooky Texas for Gia (my Globe Pequot editor), and then drove to Lava Lands - the Newberry National Volcanic Monument, just outside Bend, Oregon. To my chagrin, it was closed!! But the sign indicated the Lava caverns and the Lava cast forest a little further down, so I got back onto the highway, deciding a visit to the Lava Cast Forest was in order. I had caught a glimpse of a large black lava field as I passed Lavalands, and had seen similar blighted fields at the top of the Cascades on my drive through the mountains yesterday, and wanted a closer look. The Lava Cast Forest had been mentioned as a cool place in the Oregon video I watched prior to my trip, so I went to explore it. Apparently, there was a hiking trail through some unique geological formations called lava casts. These lava casts were actually tree molds that were formed as hot lava flowed through a forest. As lava came in contact with the trees, it actually solidified around the trunks of the larger ones and then cooled, encasing the trees in stone. The trees so-encased were long-gone, but the casts were still there. A 6,000 year old lava mold of a tree. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. What I didn't anticipate was hitting a nine-mile dirt road that wound through the Deschutes National Forest before it came to the Lava Cast Forest. It passed through a modern day lumber operation, which was interesting to observe. But it really felt like I was in the middle of nowhere as I wound my way through endless pines and sequoias and sagebrush under a darkening sky. Yes, indeed. More rain was on the way. Suddenly, I was riding up a little incline at mountain's top, elevation around 4,000 feet, and catching glimpses of lava flow nearby. And then I was at a small, pine-enclosed parking lot with a Lava Cast Forest sign and the ubiquitous rest-rooms (can we say modified hole in the ground?) I grabbed my camera and umbrella and headed down the small paved path, which was a mile long journey through the Lava Cast Forest. And walked into a surreal world. It looked like the volcano had just exploded -- and yet this lava bed was 6,000 years old! A few large trees grew here and there, and some small wild-flowers. But mostly it was lava rocks, large and small, and black with a bubbly look to them. The whole ground, save for the black-top path, consisted of uneven mounds and small Wind plays havoc with trees surrounding the lava fields. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. mountains of blackened lava stone, as far as the eye could reach. It even stretched up to the mountain peak. I gasped and gawked and huddled under my umbrella as the rain started, and took many photographs, hoping to capture at least a little of the benighted, bleak landscape that was as surreal as a moonscape. And occasionally there were these mounds with deep, perfectly round holes in them, and an edge like the round top of a well. What in the world? I thought. And then realized this was where the lava had struck a tree and flowed around it. The trees themselves were 6,000 years gone, but the "cast" they made when the lava solidified around them was still here. Many of the casts were for upright trees, but occasionally you saw a long flat one, where a fallen tree had been encompassed by the lava, and later rotted or burned away, leaving a long crawl space that looked like the tubes little children crawl through at the playground. Lava cast of a fallen tree -- a tunnel in stone. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. As I walked, I kept hearing a whooshing, roaring sound like that of a fast-flowing stream or river. I couldn't figure out what it was, as I had seen nothing of the sort. Then I turned a bend in the path, and saw the land drop away suddenly, and I halted in shock, realizing that the lava beds extended for miles, down the hill and as far as the eye could reach. The ancient volcano had destroyed absolutely everything! And the source of the sound was the wind sweeping unfettered over the ruined landscape, and smashing into the huge sequoias and red-pines on the undestroyed side of the mountain next to the Lava Cast Forest. Wind blown, rainsoaked, and mind-boggled, I finally grew too cold -- there were still bits of snow on top of the surrounding peaks and even some in the lava fields -- and went back to the car. From there, I drove the long dirty wet road to the highway, and stopped briefly at the Lava cave. The field station was closed, so there was no one there to rent me a lantern. So I followed another couple who had arrived at the same time into the mouth of the cave, only as far as the light extended -- which wasn't too far. There were stalagmites there made of ice! That cave was cold. Then I climbed back out, and stopped to take pictures of some very active, very large and obviously over-fed and pampered chipmunks running around the path and climbing the rocks on either side. A woman and several sixth graders were hanging out near the cave entrance, and the woman and I started chatting about things spooky. Soon all of us were sitting on the rocks while the chipmunks scampered around us, talking spooky. The kids were on a class camping trip about Oregon geology. The majority of the class were exploring the mile-long cave by flashlight, but the ones I was chatting with were totally not cave people, and had stayed behind with a parent-chaperon. The incredibly beautiful Painted Hills. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. We spent the next half hour telling each other scary stories, and the Mom wished aloud I was around that evening to tell stories at their campfire. The kids gave me a few new spooky stories, which may be used in the book. Finally, the rest of the class returned, and I took my leave. It was already afternoon, and I wanted to reach the Painted Hills in time to take a hike before it got dark. So I drove north and then east, through incredible wild-west country. first on a high-desert plateau surrounded by sage-brush, and then I switch-backed down and down a steep hill where I thought none should be (not realizing it was a plateau and not a valley) until I was on the floor of a true-valley where stood the town of Prineville. Then I was climbing again into the mountains, and riding through another fantastic alpine forest on top of a mountain, with a very small stream snaking its way through incredible green fields. The water was less than a foot down from the surrounding grass, making it look like a funny cut through the field rather than the deeper stream-beds I was used to seeing at home. Down the other side of the huge mountain, I drove, and then was following the road between mountains, through canyons and gorges, and then up again into the mountains. And there was the sign for the John Day Fossil Beds Painted hill division. I turned left and drove for six miles, slowing occasionally to drink in the view of red rock with streaks of black and gold that peaked out where the grass and dirt had eroded from the hills. Wildflowers at the Painted Hills. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. After a quick stop at the ranger station -- which was unmanned but had some nice signage explaining the geology around me (I was the only one there), I drove up to the first scenic overlook, gasping again and again as the turns of the car revealed one stunning view after another. There was only one other car parked in the lot at the top of the hill, and I locked up the RAV4 and struck out along the gravel hiking trail with my camera, to snap many shots of the fabulous Painted Hills below me. I sat on the bench at trails end for about 15 minutes, just enjoying the different colors highlighted by the slowly setting sun, and feeling the breeze caress my hair and face. Then, at peace with the world, I made my way back to the car and drove to my hotel in John Day. John Day turned out to be a wild-west feeling town, with low-slung storefronts with the flat wooden tops -- like the stores in western movies -- and cowboy sounding names to the local stores. It was an old mining town, and a cool place to spend the night. I even passed a place that claimed to be a stop on the Pony Express! After such a long and lovely day, I ate at a local restaurant and fell into bed, to dream of all the fun things I would do on the morrow! Day Five Spectacular Cathedral Rock at the John Day Fossil Beds. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. I reluctantly said farewell to the wild west town of John Day and backtracked about 45 minutes up 26 to visit the John Day Fossil Beds and museum. What an amazing place! No dinosaur fossils, but just about every age after that, it seems. Oregon was hammered over and over again by volcanoes, and each layer shows a different world. first layer -- lowest -- has blue-green rock with all kinds of rainforest-y fossils, and then gradually the climate got seasons and became a savanna and finally the deserty place we have today. The scenery is spectacular, and I took lots of photos and went hiking for awhile in the mountains and buttes among the fossil beds. One tall, bare butte was green! Really, green rock! I walked right to the foot of it and then around into one of the canyons where they had been digging for fossils. Another hike took me to the top of a cliff (without fencing, I noted with trepidation) where I had a fabulous view of the surrounding countryside-- massive mountains, rolling hills, farmland. Gorgeous. And the mountains themselves are something else!! Black basalt rock on top -- very flat. Then bands of color -- reds/orange, then blue/green. Some light browns. And get this -- these aren't even called the "Painted hills"! Ha! If these gorgeous mountains aren't "painted" you can imagine how amazing the painted hills themselves are! The snow-covered Blue Mountains. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. Finally, I tore myself away and took an amazing ride over mountains -- stopping frequently to take photos of the "little Swiss Alps" that were rapidly rising from the scenery all around me. Then down into the valleys following parts of the Oregon Trail. How, I ask you, did the settlers traverse these mountains by wagon, foot, and ox/horse cart? I can barely cross them by car!?! After an ice-cream stop in Baker City, I was cruising into Hells Canyon National Recreation Area. At first impression, it was just flat valley with more sage brush than you can imagine. And then the rivers began. And the mountains rose up and up around me as I wound my way into a massive canyon. Flowers and farms, flat stretches and then mountains again. And always a river -- though not the mighty Snake River at the center of Hells Canyon. That would come at the end of the road. The towns are tiny, but seem wild-west and well suited to the environment. You wouldn't want a massive city in this lovely, wild place. Then I was at the Oregon/Idaho border, The awe-inspiring rapids of Hells Canyon. Photo credit: S.E. Schlosser, copyright 2008. among massive mountains, and turning onto a short dirt road to the B&B where I was staying. Nice white frame house with a porch and a magnificent view of the Hells Canyon reservoir (looks like a large river to me, but it is stopped by a dam 22 miles down-river, so I guess its a reservoir!!) My hosts were out, but I was greeted by Ally, the shepherd mix who quickly discovered I was a pushover who would not only pet her to her hearts content, but would also take her for a walk with me! After putting my stuff into my room -- which was a bit basic, but perfectly adequate for a small town -- I drove back a few miles to the local diner, where I got a nice chicken wrap for supper and a couple of stories for the book from a bloke who'd lived all his life in Hell's Canyon! Didn't expect the stories -- first time recorded -- but that's the way it usually works. They come when you aren't looking. Got home in time to watch darkness fall over the reservoir and meet my hosts. Then to bed, to dream of tomorrow's adventure in Hells Canyon! Spooky Oregon Travelogue: Days 1-3 | Days 4-5 | Days 6-8 | Days 9-11 | Days 12-13 | Days 14-16 About the Author   |   Awards   |    Sources   |   Spooky Books   |   Stories A to Z   |   Reprints/Permissions Comments? Email us at webmaster@americanfolklore.net © S.E. Schlosser 1997 - 2008. This site is best viewed while eating marshmallows around a campfire under a starry sky.