Eastern Oregon is gritty

...until you take the Blue Mountain Scenic Byway

The first day of our drive west from Idaho to Oregon was rough as we passed out of Idaho’s scenic Sawtooth Mountains and forested slopes, into the high desert of eastern Oregon.

Eastern Oregon is not a hospitable place; the only thing to see for miles were beige hills carved into corrugated terraces by years of cattle grazing and erosion, peppered with windmills and powerlines.

We had planned to stay at a state park campsite on the Snake River; we turned off Highway 84, the main artery through the area, and drove out to the campground, grumpy from a long day spent battling big rigs and wind gusts. 

The site was stark and empty, the nearby river’s water reduced by drought to a trickle between wide, gray mud banks. Flies buzzed as loud as chainsaws in the hot air, as buzzards circled overhead. “No. Just no. Let’s keep going,” I said.

“You find a spot then,” Mike grumbled. “There’s nothing here.”

“There’s got to be something.” Using my phone, I found a nearby trailer park, which turned out to be a row of semi-permanent rusting rigs propped up on blocks in the shade of a row of tattered trees; only slightly less depressing than the desolate state park. 

After a frustrated squabble to discharge annoyance, we decided to drive on until we found somewhere more appealing to spend the night.

This turned out to be a couple more hours down the road in the tiny town of La Grand, Oregon, whose main attraction consisted of a hot springs—but that was enoough for us to hurriedly pull into an RV park that boasted its own hot spring-fed swimming pool. We pulled into an assigned slot in a large grassy area, just in time for a major storm that swept in dramatically on towering purple thunderheads.

We were undeterred and headed for the bathing area with our towels, determined to get the relaxing soak we’d been promised; but the management closed the hot spring pool due to lightning. Downcast and exhausted, we ran back to the trailer through the elements.

Even so, I was determined to deal with the swollen, turgid bag of laundry that had become so full it was hard to get past it to use the toilet. Between lightning blasts and rain squalls, I ran back and forth from our trailer to the stifling laundry room with its meager two machines to shepherd the washing through its different stages, jockeying for position with the other campers.

Wind hit the rig in rattling gusts, rocking the camper on its (thankfully rubber) tires. It tore the bike cover off our bikes and tumbled it away, scattering the cushions we used for padding stowed under the rig, and bowling my rubber slippers from Hawaii to parts unknown.

The lightning was the precursor to a deluge of rain that pelted down, reminding me of the gigantic drops containing hearts of hail that we’d experienced while fishing the Green River in Utah.

Eventually, well after dark, I finished the laundry. We pulled down the window shades, put in earplugs, and went to sleep with Koa trying to climb on our heads, terrified by the thunder rolls.

Only light rain marred the dawn of the next morning as Mike and I waited outside the bathing area with our towels for the staff to arrive; we were determined to get our promised hot spring experience and were the first into the pool. Swimming around in 95-degree water with a faint, sulfurous smell, the stress of yesterday floated away. 

If there’s one thing we’ve missed from our home on this trip, it’s our hot tub; but after swimming in a large warm pool, and then soaking in the 105-degree jacuzzi, our ragged nerves were soothed and we were ready to get on with another long drive day.

Mike plotted our route carefully after the unpleasant experience on Highway 84 fighting big rigs. Though it was still raining a bit from the storm, he chose the Blue Mountain Scenic Byway for our day’s drive. This two-lane, mellow highway wound through arid forests and rolling ridges planted in wheat. The wheat had recently been harvested, leaving hills and swales covered in golden velvet as far as the eye could see.

Light, persistent rain continued, just what was needed to put out western fires and bring down the smoke that had obscured the sky in this direction.

My favorite stop of the day was in the tiny, historic town of Condon, where I highly recommend Country Flowers Cafe soda fountain/flower/gift shop. A lovely young lady working there recommended I try the turkey and Swiss grilled cheese sandwich, and a London fog, a concoction made of Earl Grey tea, steamed milk, with a shot of vanilla that was simply sublime on a rainy day.

We made our way to Cottonwood Canyon State Park, Oregon’s newest state park and built around the remains of a cattle ranch by the same name that had occupied the land prior. Though still raining when we set up camp, Mike and I went for a bike ride along the granite and gold banks of the nearby John Day River anyway.

John Day River reflecting golden Oregon hills

The river turned out to be chock-full of smallmouth bass, so Mike went fishing while I enjoyed some time alone to write and play with Koa.

Of course, later on, our dinner was lightly battered bass filets eaten off paper plates as we watched the sunset over dramatic cliffs above the river. Sometimes, especially in Eastern Oregon, you just need to keep looking to find something good.