Fort Rock
About 60 miles southwest of the Newberry Volcano is Fort Rock, both the town and the geological feature. I could see the monolith for miles before getting there, because there’s nothing else to block your view. By then I was getting into what is sometimes referred to as the Oregon Outback (think Australia).
I stopped in the small town of Fort Rock and was momentarily distracted by a large dust tornado (aka dustnado, dust devil, whirlwind, or as the Aussies call them, willy-nilly) in a field across the road. I’ve seen these things all my life in Oklahoma, but I got out of the car with my camera, intent on taking a picture of this one. Just as I was about to take the picture, I was suddenly engulfed in swirling wind and flying dust. All I could do was close my eyes and hug the camera close to me for a few seconds until it passed. So intently was I focused on the whirlwind ahead of me, I never noticed the other one sneaking up behind me. If this gives you a giggle, you’ll be even more delighted to know that this is the second time this has happened to me in central Oregon. Of course, the dust devil that hit me careened right for the first one, and the resulting collision soon turned it all into a large dust cloud which quickly dissipated, and my photo op vanished.
After cleaning boulders and tree trunks out of my contact lenses, I proceeded out to the Fort Rock State Natural Area. This is the remains of a tuff-ring or shield volcano that in prehistoric times rose above a shallow sea. It is horseshoe shaped and open to the south, with high rock walls providing the namesake allusion. Ancient native tribes would have canoed to the caldera-turned-island. Some 6000-year-old sandals were found nearby, along with other archaeological discoveries indicating activity in this area.
The volcano was deceptively large, and yet small. Approaching from the nearby town, I was a little disappointed at how small it was. But as I got out of my car and started hiking, I realized it’s larger than I first imagined. There is a half-mile trail around the inside, but I elected to just hike out to the middle and take some photos. Here I employed my tripod for about the second time ever since I got it a couple years ago. It’s actually not quite as big of a hassle as I have always assumed. Usually I subscribe to the fashion photographer philosophy of taking pictures: handheld, try all the angles, shoot fast, and burn through film. Better to have one or two great shots out of 24 than four or five mediocre shots because you spent so much time fussing over each one.
Before leaving the area, I stopped in the town again to photograph the little Homestead Village they have maintained. It’s your typical little pioneer wild west days display.
Fort Rock to Burns
I headed back to Bend, which took about an hour, and stopped to refuel. The gas station attendant turned out to be a high school girl, which is unusual in a job populated mostly by 40-year-old ex-loggers and 17-year-old skate punks. She cheerfully asked me if I wanted a carwash, which made me chuckle and make some wisecrack about how pointless that would be when I’m driving around in the desert.
Bend, Burns, and Beyond