the john day river basin

my favorite place on this planet

There’s this slow flowing river in northeast Oregon, called the John Day, a tributary of the big ol’ Columbia River, that winds its way through an area where rugged mountain terrain and Oregon’s sage brush-steppe collide. The river and wetlands surrounding bring the colors of vibrant greens and life to an otherwise dusty, desert landscape. A refuge for animals of all kinds to escape the dry heat of summer in this region.

Ajax and I stumbled upon this area when making our way back home from Bend, Oregon 2 summers ago. We were seeking out a place to park the truck for the night and escape the 100+ degree heat that plagues the desert at the end of July. The beauty of the desert is how the temperature regulates itself once the sun goes down. 100 degree days often dwindle down to 50 degree nights, making sleeping outside bearable. A quick google search led us to the John Day Fossil Beds with little to no expectations, expectations that would soon be completely blown way. We swung into this basin via a dusty gravel road surrounded by red and orange painted hills, which are known for well preserved fossils. Fossils weren’t much of a point of interest for us. Besides a couple stops for a film photo or two, we had our sights on the river. It was fucking hot.

That dusty gravel road somehow got worse, but in my experience that’s how you know you’re going somewhere good. We kept descending down this goat trail until it opened up to a river flat and a sign that read Priest Hole Recreation site. Driving in we watched a boy launch himself off a ledge of a bluff protruding from the river’s bank, diving into the water below. We discovered the eastern Oregon desert oasis.

We found a place to park the truck and strip down for a swim, staying in the water until the skin on our fingers wrinkled, because we could. Rivers in Montana run a little colder and even in the summer’s heat, swimming in the Blackfoot is more of an in & out situation, at least for me. A swim always cools you off and makes the heat bearable. We made and ate dinner from the tailgate and drank beers until the summer sun set. Usually we crawl into the bed made in the back of the Tacoma, but the stars were so damn good we put the mattress pad on top of the truck and fell asleep renaming constellations.

We’ve since been back and the experience was similar. Still hot as hell from time in the truck, ready for a much needed swim. We cooled off, drank beer (for dinner) and staked out along the river bank until the sun set. We’ll surely be back and if the routine stays the same I wouldn’t mind, not one bit. That’s what makes places like this so special - just being there is all you need.

A friend recently wrote me, saying she’d been through this area and didn’t know it existed. That’s the best part, not many do. Every time we’re there we’re able to find a spot worth bragging about and most of the sweet Mexican families floating the small section of rapids drive off before dusk. We’ve only had to battle beavers and bullfrogs for privacy, whom we don’t mind losing to.

I’m writing this from highway 84, driving along the Columbia River Gorge and I’ve drank my way through 2 gas station coffees. We’re making our way to the coast for a couple days and a weekend stay in Portland. We drove past the Arlington exit about an hour ago, which is where some two-lane backroad leads up to the main drag - the route to and from Priest Hole Recreation Site. If it weren’t for obligations (like jobs), I would have begged to dip south and spend a day or two, down by the river drinking beers and talking about life. I’m sure the higher peaks have a dusting of snow that contrast with the rolling desert below- the wildest of natural phenomenas - snow in the desert. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the coast or time in a big city, but boy does it sting to be so close, yet not close enough, to my favorite little pocket of this planet.

I might ask Ajax to drive the north side of the gorge on the way home to resist the urge of an impractical detour and suppress the sting.

Until summer.

with love,

your river rat