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more photosThe Metolius River reflects gray skies on a recent outing. On this chilly, fall day, the East Metolius Trail was mostly dry.
Photos by Beckett Hills / For The Bulletin
Hello, Metolius River
Trail near Camp Sherman still has something to offer in autumn
By Eleanor Pierce / The Bulletin
Published: November 19. 2009 4:00AM PSTI'm almost ashamed to admit this, but here it is: Somehow, after living in Central Oregon for nearly five years and in Oregon my entire life, I discovered the Metolius River for the first time this summer. I finally went in June and was astonished by the verdant foliage, the abundance of wildflowers, the crystalline water and, if that wasn't enough, the butterflies fluttering all along the trail.
With snow moving into the mountains last weekend, but still not quite enough to lure me onto skis, I decided to head back to the Metolius to see what the scenic river had to offer in this shoulder season.
Sunday was gray and chilly, so my hiking buddy and I dressed in layers and headed out to Camp Sherman. We drove around until we found a parking area next to a small bridge that crossed the river, and we headed downriver along the East Metolius Trail with our dogs.
I hadn't walked this particular stretch of river in the summer, but the bones of the place felt familiar. The lush greenery was gone and the trail was lined by shrubs with nothing but white and red berries clinging to their skeletal branches.
The trail was well-lined with fallen pine needles, though we did encounter a little mud and a few patches of crunchy old snow. But the late fall day's gray light and stillness felt right, even calming.
Calming, that is, until my dog decided to remind me what fall is really about. If spring is birth, fall is death; in this case, dead fish.
Here's my warning: If you have a curious, water-loving dog and are looking for a good off-leash walk this time of year, the Metolius River might not be your best bet. Not only are you legally required to clip your dog to a leash whenever you're passing through the many campgrounds along the trail, but the nooks and pools at the side of the river and the reedy shallow areas are dotted with fish that, having fulfilled their biological imperative, promptly croaked. Those foul-smelling floaters proved irresistible to my dog, who pulled one after another out of the water and rolled in them.
I'll only say this much more about the fish: The ride home was smelly and cold.
Having started later than we intended, we were able to walk only about a mile downstream before darkness set in. On most of our walk, the trail hugged a series of campgrounds, while cozy-looking cabins were beginning to light up on the far bank. The campgrounds are empty this time of year, with upturned trash bins, but it was easy to imagine them full of families and fishermen during the summer.
Between campgrounds, we were treated to the sound of gurgling water, several deer crossing the shallow river, a great blue heron and a small, black bird called an American dipper — so named for its habit of dipping into the water for its food — foraging on a reedy island.
Pausing for a last attempt at low-light photos at the Pine Rest Campground, I was impressed by the campground's picnic shelter, which was built in the 1930s. The shelter has a large fireplace in the center and two stove boxes on each side of the fireplace. It looked like a great way to spend a relaxing evening while camping.
Maybe I'll check it out when I go back to the Metolius, but I think I'll wait until summer.
Eleanor Pierce can be reached at 541-617-7828 or epierce@bendbulletin.com.
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