Surprise Encounters in the Middle of Nowhere

by John Patton

Just Sittin' by the Road

The round trip to Iron Mountain required ten hours. The shortest route included Bear Camp Road, now well known because of the Kim family ordeal in November 2006. Driving to that remote area, the Galice Access Road led us through steep switchbacks up to the crest of the Coast Range. After a few miles, the paved road narrowed to a single lane of gravel with blind curves and infrequent turnouts. From an elevation of more than 4,000 feet, there was a dramatic view of the Kalmiopsis Wilderness to the south and the Rogue National Wild and Scenic River to the north. Beyond the Bear Camp Overlook, the route descended to the community of Agness on the Rogue River.

Once, as we began the descent, we saw something beside the road. I stopped the truck so we could take a good look. A bear cub sat calmly about 20 feet away. There was no sign of its mother.

The young bear appeared indifferent to our presence. We observed its peaceful manner with fascination. This was like being in a zoo, except we were the ones confined to the cage (the truck – out of fear of the mother bear), while the cub was free to roam.

I had left the motor running, knowing that the mother would likely respond to our presence with aggression. Although unseen, she would not be far off, and I had no desire for an encounter.

After a few minutes, we grew tired of watching. My passenger opened the truck door and started to get out. I was astounded. "Get in!" I yelled. "Close the door!" I dropped the truck into gear and raced off.

Tracks in the Snow

The top of Grizzly Peak is higher than Mt. Ashland. Anyone who has seen the ice buildup on the Mt. Ashland radio towers has an idea of the winter environment on Grizzly. Getting to the summit of Mt. Ashland is relatively easy. Not far from the parking lot, a chair lift will take you all the way. It wasn't so easy with Grizzly.

The translator was off the air, and it needed repair. The 2,800-foot ascent started from Highway 140, west of Lakeview. On cross-country skis, the trip was too long for one day, so I carried food and equipment for winter survival at 8,000 feet, as well as tools, spare circuit boards, a small voltmeter and a pocket FM radio. It was a big load.

South of the summit, I approached the long, flat ridgeline. There were fresh mountain lion tracks in the snow. They headed north, so I followed while keeping a watchful eye on the countryside. At the translator, I dropped my backpack, feeling quite relieved to see the tracks continue beyond the summit.

A steel lid covered the translator and batteries, and a layer of earth covered the lid. To repair the translator, I had to dig through three feet of hard-packed snow, remove the earth, and then lift the 295-pound lid. I carried a miniature block and tackle for the heavy lifting.

The solar regulator circuit board had failed. It had stopped providing voltage to the translator circuits, but fortunately, it had continued to charge the batteries. With a replacement circuit board, the translator was back on the air before dusk.

I pitched a lightweight tarp above the translator, prepared a freeze-dried meal and a hot cup of tea, and settled in to listen to the evening's classical music coming from the translator just two feet beneath me.

Warmed by the sleeping bag and bivy sack, and comforted by a high-tech air mattress, it turned out to be a pleasant evening. I had been on edge earlier in the day, but after I was settled in, thoughts of the mountain lion never returned to my mind.

Lightning Storm

Grey Butte, the highest of all the translator sites, is dwarfed by the 14,179-foot Mount Shasta that is only four miles to the north. On the other three sides, Gray Butte is far above everything – even more than 1,000 feet above the highest lift in the Mt. Shasta Ski Park.

We had set the towers the previous day and were now assembling the antennas. The weather looked threatening, but we ignored it. First came the rain and then a crash of thunder – we heard the boom and felt the shock wave when it hit us. It was close. We ran for the truck.

Lightning began to strike far below, setting trees on fire. I expected that it would hit the radio site at any moment. I was depending on the truck to shield us, but I was certainly uneasy. Lightning is known to strike the highest point, and that is exactly where we were.

Eventually, the lightening and thunder subsided. The storm had surrounded us and presented a spectacular but frightening show as it passed below. It was a relief to see it move on.

Bird Whisperer

Fire season was approaching, and the parking area was crowded. A prisoner work crew was preparing the Paradise Craggy lookout for the new summer season. A guard leaned casually against the van as he kept an eye on each prisoner. All were working on specific tasks except one. This man was standing at the edge of the parking area with his hand extended, palm up, to a bird in a small tree. It was a curious sight.

I asked the guard what he was doing.

He said he was a Mexican sorcerer who thinks he can talk to birds.

That seemed interesting but improbable. I set myself to the routine inspection of the translator and solar panels, plus checking the water level in the large bank of batteries. More than an hour had passed when I returned to the car. (The Dodge Power Wagon was down for repairs that day.)

The man hadn't moved, but now the bird was in his hand and he was speaking softly to it. He seemed oblivious to everything else.

I loaded my tools into the car and started down the steep access road. My last glimpse in the rear-view mirror showed him still absorbed with the bird.

Soaking Up the Rays

Mountain lion attacks on people have increased dramatically. In California, there is even a support group for attack victims. Mountain lions have recently been reported in towns and near schools. In mountain lion country, we are advised to travel in a group.

That's good advice, but this was a solo mission to repair a translator.

I had returned to Paradise Craggy after the end of fire season. The lookout was closed for the winter, but I enjoyed seeing the view from the catwalk. It was spectacular. The drop-off on all sides left one feeling like being on a mile-high space needle.

It was a cool day and the sun felt good. A rugged ridge extended northeast. Below me, less than 200 yards away, a mountain lion was stretched out, soaking up the rays. He was the perfect picture of a contented feline enjoying the warm sunshine.

But he was a full-sized, adult mountain lion – an awesome and frightening sight! I stood motionless as I watched him. Assuredly, he was aware of me, but my presence did nothing to interrupt his dignified calm. I continued watching for about 15 minutes. At last, he rolled over and was gone in an instant. He had shown no concern for my intrusion into his world.

Bamboo Bomber

Iron Mountain is remote. You can hike the Pacific Crest Trail and not be as isolated. When installing the translator, we camped a week at a time because of the long drive.

In the evenings after work, we would explore the surroundings. We walked south to the former Iron Mountain Lookout. Not far from the translator site, we found a puzzling formation of trees.

Just below the west side of the ridgeline, a line of trees was broken off at a uniform height. On the uphill side, a small area was devoid of vegetation. We found an aircraft instrument panel, pieces of aircraft fabric and remnants of a tail assembly. This was the site of an airplane crash. The larger pieces had been removed.

To learn the story, we needed an encyclopedic reference. George Milligan readily provided the information with his extraordinary recall of aviation history. George had begun flying in the early days of aviation. In 1949, he established Mercy Flights, the first nonprofit air ambulance service, and he served as the board chairman, chief pilot and spokesman. Over the years, he had also been an air traffic controller at the Medford Airport. Once, when I asked him about airplanes colliding with Pilot Rock, he easily listed each of the numerous incidents by date, type of airplane and pilot's name. He immediately remembered the story of the Iron Mountain crash.

It was a night training flight during World War II. The airplane was a Cessna T-50 Bobcat, widely referred to as the Bamboo Bomber (the same type of aircraft first used by Mercy Flights). It was flying inland from the coast while relying on the primitive instruments of that day: magnetic compass, altimeter, air-speed indicator and artificial horizon. Because this flight was not following a standard flyway, airway beacons and radio navigation would not have been available.

Evidence suggests that the airplane flew into the ground at full speed. George said that the cause of the accident was unknown, but that an educated guess would suggest a faulty altimeter. An additional 200 feet of altitude would have prevented the crash.