PART ONE: Getting to the Camp site

We took a trip, me and the little guy. We went to see the Painted Hills in John Day National Monument.

This is what we were headed to see.

It's a little drive to get there. About four hours from Portland. So we drove out to the desert and camped. Well, I drove. Pilot doesn't have a drivers license. (He couldn't pass the vision test. He felt discouraged by this and for a while was considering legally changing his name to co-Pilot. I talked him out of it.)

We didn't visit the monument the first day, but there were some painted hills along the way.

Pilot wasn't so into the whole "King of the Car" idea, but he humored me. He's by far the best travel buddy I've ever had, and I've had some fun travel buddies.

We camped at a spot called Priest Hole Recreation Area.

Right along the John Day River.

I'm not sure why it's called Priest Hole, but it looks like a good place for a baptism.

It was a Saturday, so there were some other campers around, but they were spread out along the river. It didn't feel as crowded as a campground but didn't feel completely isolated to the point where I was afraid at any moment some half-crazed desert nomad might pop out of the bushes with a hatchet demanding scotch and chocolate and other pillageable things too fierce to mention.


At sunset, we went for a walk and played a little Crazy Monkey along the dusty road.




Then we went to bed.
It was cold that night. We slept in the car with the sun roof open. My inflatable mattress sprung a leak and the dog stole the covers and some bird kept yodeling along the banks of the river all night long but how could I possibly complain when I woke up in the morning to this.

In the morning light, this hill became an octopus.

We had a nice breakfast and a nice baptism...

...and then we hit the road.

Stopping to explore along the way.

Pilot really wanted to hike up this hill so we gave it a go.

Wouldn't you know it, the desert is chock full of #sharpthings.


Two cactus removals and five-hundred expletives from Pilot later (totaling about fifty-eight seconds of hiking), we bolted back down the hillside to explore this dilapidated old cattle pen.

Which worked out fine because I got to play with some #deadthings.

I believe this is a quail skull, per some stranger in an online bone ID group who may or may not know what he was talking about.

We continued onward, stopping to admire some starlings hanging out in a hayfield and keeping the pest control organic.

And then....

finally...

We reached our destination.

Whereupon I proceeded to take a shitload of photos.

PART TWO: Welcome to Painted Hills

These hills are incredible. The photos may look good, but they don't measure up to the sensation that one is staring at the voluptuous rainbowed folds of a sleeping geological elephant dreaming of tree shrews and mammoths.


Yes, I went to the desert.
No, I did not do drugs.
...did I?

I don't remember.

We hiked the hike. Pilot was a good citizen and kept me on my leash.

And then we drove down the road to Painted Cove.

The boardwalk was there to prevent foot traffic from causing unnatural erosion.
All along it were these cool creative signs talking about the colors of the hills.

Looks like time painted a nice set of nalgas for us to admire:

Anyway...

This is how the slimy black swamp soils turned red:

I guess I'll need to go back during rainy season now.

This path diverted from the main trail and took us up a hill...

Where we were rewarded with this view.



Since it was a steep upward climb (and a dead end), the road hadn't seen much foot traffic since the last time it had rained, and the ground was crunchy. It felt nice under our feet.

It was a unique texture. Almost like granite, but just a little crumbly.


I thought about breaking the law and keeping some, but I didn't.

We headed back down the hill to the main road and checked out more of the paleo paintings.

This slope was breathtaking. Not even a nicely processed photo does justice to its awesomeness.

I touched it with whole hand. It felt like granite. It felt like earth. It felt good.

Everything about being here felt good.

There is something about volcanic land that speaks to me. I can feel the earth's story.

It's like a desert time machine.

Don't need drugs to trip out on the desert.



Whilst tripping sober on this beautiful red hill at the end of the trail, I suddenly found myself staring at a snake.

I sprinted back to my car to grab my zoom lens. Pilot sprinted with me because he's a good sport and he had me on leash.
We got back just in time to see the snake disappear into this hole.

And see this dried old dead mouse tumble out.

It landed in front of this lizard.

He was unfazed by the excitement and had no interest in anything other than sunning himself.
We left him and the dead mouse and continued on to Leaf Fossil Hill.

I took only pictures.

This is the hill. All those broken pieces of rock scattered everywhere contain fossil imprints of leaves.

The area surrounding the Fossil Leaf Hill was beautiful.



But it was getting hot.

We made one more stop to take a couple photos before heading towards home.


On our way out, we stopped to water some desert flowers.

And thus concludes our adventure to John Day Fossil Beds National Monument in the Oregon High Desert.

Thanks for joining us.

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