Like many places in this part of the world, the western edge of the Great Basin Desert is rimrock country, and for the curious, looking out on the resulting splendor that occurred because of the immense natural forces that determined the shape of this landscape, an appreciation for wanting to learn more about geology, nature and local history is quickly acquired.
At Summer Lake the big sky and the way the vast tracts of land seem to lean up against the straight ridges of mountain and long rims of shear rock walls, makes quite a first impression when arriving there and it was a nice change from our tree screened double-wide in the woods.
The establishment we stayed at however, Summer Lake Hot Springs, at first glance seemed a bit shabby, or like many of us, just barely hanging in there. Besides the weathered look of the main buildings and bathhouse, the place looked as if it were conceived on the run without an overall plan. A landscape designer by trade, my wife, Denise, quickly volunteered that a trade may be in order indeed. The cabins were spread out, disconnected from the bath house and disconnected from each other, without a good view of the lake. Gravel roads or paths took seemingly unnecessary circuitous routes between the various buildings. Oddly placed fencing, not really separating anything, popped up here and there. The land that was set aside for patrons was simply sage brush and native grasses cropped close to the ground by tractor. The boundary demarcating this haphazard landscape was sage brush and native grasses that was not cut. D assigned our initial disappointment with the grounds and the infrastructure to the fact that Summer Lake Hot Springs seemed to be run by a rather bohemian fellow. Upon reconsidering the fact that we related to bohemians quite well, she reversed field and allowed after a short while that a little shabbiness, a little disorder was to be expected, perhaps even embraced when heading to the outback, after all we got to bring our dog along. It being my birthday and all, the subject of trading my services in return for future lodging, wasn't brought up again.
After loading the cabin from the expertly packed trunk of our car, D's a whiz at preparing for trips, we reconnoitered the resort and got a more local and pedestrian feel for things. The interior of cabin we stayed turned out to be rather nice. Along with a kitchen sink and a half bath, it was clean and tidy. It had a naturally fed radiant floor heating system that parlayed into an even and cheerful coziness in contrast to the chilly winter outside. A hot plate was provided, along with cooking and eating utensils and a small bar fridge. Even though we were miles from civilization, we had access to commercial free Pandora Radio through D's Android. She had been prescient enough to insist, over my protests about all the cables, to bring along our computer's stereo speakers. Soon enough, the music of Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, James Taylor, Marc Cohn, John Mayer, and Sarah Bareilles filled our world... the fast moving sky stretched off past the edges of possibility, the dark green wooded mountains surrounding the plain were topped with a fresh powdering of snow , the rabbit brush and heathland leading down to the lake was the color of light gold and silver, our dog was happy. As I stepped out of the cabin, as I frequently did that eventing and early the next morning, it was as if, in the silence, I was listening to the land, as it listened to itself. The funkiness took on a charm... it hadn't taken long... joy was settled upon as we reconnected with our inner bohemians.
The last of a Winter's storm was flying by overhead the evening we arrived and between the cloud cover moving on and the rise of a nearly full moon, we only caught a brief glimpse the closeness of the Milky Way spinning into view, so we didn't get much star gazing in. Having grown up as city kids, that would have been nice.
Soaking in the spring fed geothermally heated mineral water was the bomb. We had the place to ourselves, we soaked until the wrinkles on our fingers had wrinkles. Writing about bathing in those healing waters makes me want to go back now...
We toured the area the next day, including visiting a site recommended by the resort's owner. This suggestion being a self guided visit to Paisley Caves. The caves, a complex of five caves located on what was the former shore of a much larger Summer Lake are a six mile drive up a dirt road along a barbed wire fence from the hot springs. A couple of years ago a team of Oregon University archeologists through DNA testing of coprolite (fossilized excrement) found there what had long been suspected,that those caves housed evidence establishing them as the earliest known place for human presence in North America. They determined through this testing that these early visitors, as early as 14,290 years ago, are genetically related to Siberians and Asians. Pre-Clovis, D, the archeology buff noted. These were probably a nomadic people who roamed up and down the Pacific Coast.
We also traveled into Paisley, a few miles from the caves, and up above it on a forest road to have a look around. The vistas were spectacular. You could see where the Chewaucan River used to flow into a large marsh, before water from the river was siphoned off to water fields. I found a sign in the city's park that told of Paisley's history as well.
I have to admit, it was a little heart breaking to consider that despite an aboriginal or indigenous human presence in that fairly unforgiving region that had been continuous over 14 millennia , it took only all of about 20 years for that bit of human history to be 100% terminated: John Fremont's Second Mapping Expedition first laid eyes on the land in the Winter of 1843 and the last Indian in the area was either shot dead by a rancher declaring territorial rule on recently self claimed land, or hauled off to a far away reservation by 1870. The idea of the aboriginals abrupt and ruthless demise seems way out of scale with immense time they lived, breathed and walked with nature as the only species of man in that desert. Natural harmony, or more accurately natural balance was replaced in short order by fencing and cross fencing, damns and damnation. Considering that we get most of our beef from feed lots these days, I'm not sure if the more recent course of events was an improvement over the last in that vast tilt of beautiful and desolate land.
We also got a hike in and found a petroglyph rock to look at after scampering up an old rock strewn settler road. It was weekend layered in history. At a gas station in Summer Lake we talked to an old timer who also gave us directions to some other petroglyph sites down by Hart Lake and out of Adel. His eyes lit up as he recalled viewing them, like a vertical story board through time he said. He used a shovel to dig away sand to have a complete look at more recent events. We're hoping to take a few days later this year, pitch a tent and have a look as well. This part of the Great Basin Desert can be like that, you can be admiring a rock under a wide open sky one moment, and with a little effort the next thing you know, your digging through the sands of time further connecting to an ancient world, and somehow further reconnecting with your self.
