ODT Part 8: Denio to McDermitt
DAY 29 | OCTOBER 9TH, 2023
The day began at the Denio Junction Hotel with breakfast burritos. As we fueled up for the day ahead, the weather predictions loomed over us – a mix of rain, snow, and winds ranging between 20-40 mph. Despite this, and perhaps never having learned our lesson, we forged ahead.
We stuck our thumbs out on the Fields-Denio Road, but we had no luck catching a ride back to the trail, so we started walking. At one point, a car pulled over. Inside was the bartender from the Diamond Inn Bar. He recognized us as we walked; our weathered backpacks and dirt-tanned skin made us quite noticeable, especially in such a small town. He was on the clock at one of his many jobs and couldn’t give us a ride, but it was kind of him to stop and say hi. We learned that he not only tended bar but also worked for the Nevada Department of Transportation during the day. His wife worked as the postmaster, higher up in the chain of command than our trail angel Penny, and she also ran the local school. In a town as small as this, everyone seemed to wear multiple hats.
We walked for approximately two miles before catching a ride in the back of a pickup truck for the remaining mile to the trail.
We were dropped off on the western edge of the Pueblo Valley, where the ODT follows the flat, exposed Cottonwood Creek Road east for several miles toward the distant Trout Creek Mountains. We walked across a vast valley amidst a mix of wild shrubbery and small bushes, indicative of a high desert ecosystem.
The overcast sky featured a few breaks in the clouds, allowing some light to peek through. In the distance, strong winds swirled, lifting dirt above the ground and forming funnels along the base of the Pueblo Mountains. Luckily we were headed east, away from them.
We passed an abandoned truck with no license plate, adding an air of mystery to the already desolate landscape.
The ODT stayed on Cottonwood Creek Road, steering clear of private lands, before veering east, cross-country, up a gentle slope to a two-track. This began our ascent toward Windy Pass.
The sky darkened as storm clouds rolled in, casting a foreboding shadow over the horizon. Heavy winds whipped around us, stirring up dust devils that enveloped the town of Denio in a haze of dirt and rain.
True to its name, our approach to Windy Pass was marked by a crescendo of gusty winds that seemed to gain strength and momentum as we climbed higher into the hills. The roar of the wind filled our ears, making communication nearly impossible, and sent tumbleweeds skittering across the trail like fleeing spirits. I suggested setting up camp early to avoid the approaching storm; , yet the consensus among the boys was to push over the pass first. Democracy in action nudged us onward.
Showers, in a rare move, slipped on his headphones and surged ahead, setting a brisk pace. Cosmo wasn’t too far behind him, and I was in the back, my small yet sturdy frame battling the relentless winds that threatened to knock me over.
I found Cosmo waiting for me at the base of a steep section just below Windy Pass. His pack was off, and he seemed frustrated by the inability to communicate amidst the howling winds. Raindrops were starting to fall around us, and it felt like a heavy downpour could start at any moment. Showers was in the zone, hiking fast and had effortlessly made it over the pass, disappearing from sight. Shouting over the roar of the wind Cosmo asked,"Would you be willing to set up the tent while I run to try and catch Showers?" "Sure, sounds good!" I shouted back.
Cosmo sprinted up the trail while I frantically sifted through his backpack for essentials. After gathering what I needed, I draped a pack cover over his bag and placed it on the trail as a beacon for his return.
I paced the hillside, scanning for any flat spot to pitch a tent among the tall grasses and wild tumbleweeds. Unsure of where to set up, I ended up choosing a spot more out of necessity than confidence.
I began setting up camp frantically, feeling like my life depended on it. It was as if I was a contestant on a fast-paced, high-stakes game show where every decision carried weight and consequences.Throwing the tent onto the ground, I wrestled with the wind to secure it, my muscles tensing against the gusts grabbing at every fold of fabric.
Time was of the essence; clouds approached, and the rain intensified. Struggling to stake down the tent, the winds mocked my efforts. Moving swiftly, I tried to get everything inside the shelter before getting soaked. Searching for the tent poles, my heart sank. Shit. I had left the poles up the hill in Cosmo’s pack.
Undoing my half-finished work, I stuffed the tent back into my pack and charged uphill to the trail, where I was met by Cosmo's concerned gaze. Visibly soaked from the combination of sweat and rain, he asked, "What's going on?" Glancing around with a hint of impatience, he added, "Why haven’t you set up the tent yet?"
Guilt and embarrassment mingled in my reply as I said, "I was trying to set it up, then realized I left the tent poles in your pack." I confessed, hoping to convey my exasperation and mitigate any frustration. Cosmo gathered his things, and together, we returned to the spot to finish the setup. Not long after, Showers stumbled into view, his face a mix of worry and apology for our brief separation, a hiccup of miscommunication now behind us. The heavy rains came just as we secured the last of our shelter, a deluge reinforcing the severity of our race against nature. But once everything was set and we were all dry and safe, our laughter echoed through the storm, finding humor in the madness that had just unfolded. The storm passed as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving behind a canvas of dramatic sunset hues. We gathered outside to watch the last of the light disappear over the horizon, reveling in the ephemeral peace that followed.
DAY 30 | OCTOBER 10TH, 2023
The sunrise painted the sky with vivid hues as the early morning light spread across the horizon.
Moody clouds hung above, their underbellies a soft, cotton-candy texture, painted with the deep pinks and purples of dawn, accented by hints of yellow where the sun's light was most intense. The promise of a clear day was juxtaposed with the threat of an impending storm, creating a landscape that was as dramatic as it was beautiful.
We made the short, steep ascent over Windy Pass and then hiked cross-country through open terrain where golden grasses carpeted the rolling hills which were topped with rugged, rocky outcrops that punctuated the horizon.
We searched for cow trails in the No Name Creek drainage and followed them when possible, which helped us navigate the cross-country terrain more easily. Our unexpected presence in this secluded wilderness appeared to startle the chukars, prompting them to take flight in a flurry of activity as we walked by.
Eventually, we reached a two-track road and followed it as it wound its way steeply upwards through the Red Mountains Wilderness Study Area.
I was feeling apprehensive about the day and the cold weather. We were gradually ascending and would soon be reaching an elevation of over 8,000 feet before descending back to more comfortable temperatures.
Cresting the high point, I was greeted by an exhilarating and humbling panorama: vast stretches of untouched wilderness, with undulating terrain and distant peaks piercing the sky. This sight, so rare in our world dominated by man-made structures, is a visual feast, offering a stark reminder of the planet's raw beauty. It's a place where the usual constraints of thought dissolve, inviting the mind to wander as freely as the wind across the landscape. Here, the natural world not only inspires a sense of wonder but also fosters creativity and unconventional thinking. Surrounded by this unspoiled environment, I feel a profound connection to the essential, often overlooked elements of life. This freedom, this ability to explore both the world and my thoughts without bounds, is what draws me back to nature time and again.
Yet, as I stood there, lost in thought, the undeniable beauty was suddenly matched by the brewing storm. The air charged with tension, ominous clouds gathered momentum above, signaling nature's impending drama. Then, without warning, the storm unleashed its fury upon us. Rain and winds descended with fierce intensity, transforming the once crisp horizon into a blur of grays and blues.
We initially thought that we would descend to a lower elevation quite quickly. However, the route continued to lead us up and down, hovering at an elevation around 8,000 feet for several miles in a wide open, exposed landscape.
We were drenched, walking swiftly and silently with heads down, navigating through a thick veil of freezing rain and hail. The blustery scene was almost surreal. There were moments when we passed each other, glancing up with a smile to acknowledge our shared experience. After several hours, a sense of unease took hold. The profound sense of isolation in our surroundings intensified with every step, compounded by the biting cold and relentless wet. The feeling of not knowing when we'd find respite transformed from a mere discomfort to a palpable concern. It was one of the only times that the remoteness of the ODT stirred real anxiety in me as worries for our well-being steadily grew.
The sudden rumble of a truck engine broke through the sound of the storm, catching us off guard. Chukar hunters, unfazed by the weather, had come to scout their game. The truck drew up beside us, and cranked down their window. Two men peered out with a mix of concern and bewilderment. “What the hell are ya’ll up to?”
Standing still, even briefly, I could feel the sting of the cold as it wormed its way under my soaked layers. I thought, 'Give us whiskey or move on.' Once they understood that we were out here by choice, they rolled up their window and drove off.
The three of us had reached a consensus that it was time to call it a day. However, all agreed that we needed to descend to lower ground, ideally a warmer area, before setting up camp.
At the junction with Whitehorse Road, I began running, propelled by adrenaline and the need to stay warm. I knew that this marked the start of our descent into the Whitehorse drainage. The further we went, the lower and warmer we would be. I hoped that my actions would inspire Cosmo and Showers, whose walking pace was close to my running, but I quickly passed them both. They were soaking wet and looked beleaguered by the weather, seeming surprised by my sudden burst. As I ran, my energy seemed boundless, as if I could outrun the storm itself.
Eventually, I reached a scenic cliffside campsite, stunning in its isolation. Pausing, I scanned the horizon for Cosmo and Showers, but they remained out of sight. Eager for shelter yet reluctant to wait in the growing chill, I backtracked slightly, hoping for a sign of them. My worry eased as Cosmo emerged, cresting a rise and making his way towards me – a sight that marked the end of our arduous day.
The spot won the boys over, and we hastened to set up camp. While doing so, another group of hunters drove by, this time on ATVs. They stopped at our site, exhibiting a more amiable curiosity than that of those we had encountered earlier.
"What the hell are ya'll doing out here?!" one hunter called out, his thick winter camouflage complimented by a warm, inviting smile.The rain had briefly let up, and since I was now in my dry, warm pajamas, I was less annoyed by the interruption to make small talk. We explained the Oregon Desert Trail and how we had walked to this spot from Bend. “That’s badass!” he remarked, nodding with respect. “It’s supposed to be real cold tonight. Do ya’ll have everything you need? Are you alright?” “We’re good!” we replied, though we couldn't help but envy his speedy mode of transportation and the cozy hot springs camp he mentioned he was headed to.
For a brief moment, the sun pierced through the brooding clouds, and a burst of golden warmth washed over us, infusing the landscape with a transient glow. It was euphoric. We dashed around our makeshift homes, seizing this ephemeral grace. Clothes were hung hastily, fluttering like prayer flags – each piece a silent plea for just a few more precious moments of sunlight to chase away the persistent dampness that clung to our fabric fibers. It was a race against time, a small victory against the elements as we worked under the watchful eyes of a sky that couldn't decide between wrath and mercy.
Day 31 | October 11th, 2023
I woke up in the middle of the night to a symphony of chaos, with the wind, snow, and hail battering our tent, each impact like a bullet straining to break through the thin fabric that was our only shield. At one point, a tent stake gave way, causing the fly to flip over. This left the shelter flapping wildly in the storm, keeping me awake with the sound of whipping fabric. Once the pale morning light filtered through the fabric of the tent, I groggily stretched out for the zipper, but it wouldn’t unzip. The fly was frozen, encased in a thin layer of ice, and the zipper wouldn’t budge. Well, I guess we have to wait until it melts a little, I thought to myself and cozied back up. A part of me savored the forced respite, cocooned a while longer in the warmth of my sleeping bag. Outside, I could hear that Showers was up-and-at-'em, diligently scraping ice off his tarp. "What's the scene like out there?" I called out.
"It's clear for now, no rain," he replied, his voice tinged with relief. "But your tent's wrapped in a thick layer of frost and ice." He generously offered to help Cosmo and me break free from our icy enclosure. As the sun made brief appearances through the dark, looming clouds, I laid our gear out in the fleeting sunlight, hoping desperately for it to dry our soaked items.
According to the weather app, another storm was predicted to arrive by 11 AM, so we couldn't linger. We pushed ourselves (although I was the one who needed the most encouragement) to pack up our cold, drenched gear, a task that ranks high on my list of least favorite backpacking activities.
Hiking along Little Whitehorse Road granted us epic vistas, yet, precisely at 11 AM, as if on cue, we found ourselves just beyond the reach of an encroaching storm. Behind us, a curtain of storm clouds unfurled over the Trout Creek Mountains that we had just traversed. It felt like a narrow escape.
At the junction of Fifteen Mile Road, we found ourselves at a crossroads — quite literally. The ODT enticed us with its high-elevation challenge through Oregon Canyon, while Fifteen Mile Road offered a lower, warmer escape to town. As we deliberated, more ATV riders whizzed by, none of which seemed able to hide their bewilderment at our presence — lone hikers in a sea of hunters on wheels. As we weighed our options, the freshly snow-draped mountains stood as a stark reminder of the ever-changing conditions we faced on the ODT. None of us liked the idea of skipping part of the ODT, but facing another cold, wet night at higher elevations sounded even worse. Ultimately, practicality won over purism. Descending along the winding dirt road, we watched as the dark storm clouds consumed the high peaks and plateaus surrounding us, a dramatic backdrop to our retreat. It felt validating. Word reached us that Shaggy was making his way toward Denio, trailing us by about 30 miles. Confident in his ability to catch up, we pressed on as light snow flurries started to fall on us.
That evening, spirits seemed notably higher than the night before as we settled into camp 11 miles outside of McDermitt, ensuring a leisurely trek into town the next morning. Before turning in for the night, we marked the occasion with a celebratory shot of Pendleton whiskey, raising our glasses to the obstacles we had navigated and fortuitously doing so just before the onset of another rain shower.
Day 32 | October 12th, 2023
It was a gray morning, and the light dusting of snow that had blanketed the high plateau overnight validated our decision to hike a lower route.
As we packed, Cosmo and I dealt with a growing list of issues concerning our tent. What had begun as just a cracked pole on Day 12 had developed to now include significant zipper issues on both the tent and the rainfly, despite careful maintenance. It was clear that if we wanted a reliable shelter for the rest of the trek, we would need a new tent.
Fortunately, Nemo agreed to upgrade our 2018 Hornet Elite, but getting it delivered on the ODT would be tricky. The trail's remoteness, limited post office hours, and our unpredictable hiking schedule due to varied terrain made it a logistical puzzle.
We spent the day in McDermitt, a small, unincorporated community nestled on the border of Nevada and Oregon.
Our anticipation for McDermitt, heightened by the promise of Subway sandwiches, soon waned within the windswept embrace of the town. Stepping into McDermitt felt like wandering onto the set of a forgotten Western movie — where the promise and vibrancy had faded, leaving behind an aura of desolation, perfectly embodied by the lone tumbleweed drifting across the scene. The town's charm felt as elusive as the fragrance of fresh air in a 1970’s motel room where a solitary, long-forgotten cigarette smolders in an ashtray. Weather-beaten structures, boarded-up businesses, and sparse vegetation only added to the overall air of neglect. Cosmo and I were welcomed into town by several local dogs that loyally escorted us to the Rodeway Inn. There, we found Showers settled into a hotel room, washing his clothes in the small bathroom sink — a Sisyphean task in a place where the concept of a laundromat seemed as foreign as a fish on a bicycle. To be fair, it wasn't just McDermitt. Finding a washing machine on the ODT had proven to be a difficult task.
Our room at the Rodeway Inn overlooked Highway 95 and the Say When Casino across the street, which was the main restaurant and bar in town.
Dressed in our town day best (dirty rain gear over a naked body), we ventured across the street to check out the Say When Casino. The singular, smoke-filled room felt steeped in nostalgia, frozen in time, with the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to the worn carpet and dimly lit surroundings. Amidst the limited slots and simple fare, Cosmo was captivated by a Chiefs game on the TV, while Showers and I tried our luck at the Buffalo Slot. The atmosphere felt more like a neighborhood dive bar than a bustling casino floor. Unsurprisingly, the experience was brief, and we ended up leaving two dollars lighter. While this might be considered a win for ultralight backpackers, it was not favorable for those seeking financial gains.
We left the casino feeling dissatisfied and hungry, which led us to our next stop: Subway. There, we met Fatima, our sandwich artist, whose enigmatic proclamations about being a fallen angel and our spiritual guide brought an unexpected twist to our day. As Fatima assembled our sandwiches, she layered every vegetable with unsolicited psychic revelations and new age spiritual counsel.
Fatima's demeanor was serious, almost unnervingly so, as she declared us descendants of ancient civilizations. "You're a Lemurian," she told me with a straight face, while Cosmo and Showers were labeled Atlanteans. My attempt at a casual response was swallowed by the surrealism of the moment. "Oh, wow... I didn’t know that," I managed, followed by a hesitant, "I’ll have the wheat bread, lightly toasted, please." Fatima continued, unphased, "Yes, and actually you are a Lemurian Queen..."
She dove into descriptions of our auras and introduced us to the celestial guides she saw standing with us at that very moment. She spoke with an earnest conviction that left us speechless and unsure how to react. Our faces must have been a comical mix of confusion and disbelief, struggling to find the right expression that could convey a polite desire to just get our sandwiches. "I bet you didn’t know you would have your minds blown today," she remarked, her expression grave yet impassive as if revealing the secrets of the universe was all in a day's work. "And you're welcome," she added.
Back in our room, the simplicity of enjoying sandwiches, South Park, and a tallboy of Coors marked a brief interlude in our travels.
