It deeper than the Grand Canyon, hellishly deep, dropping from He Devil Mountain (what else) at 9,393 feet over 1 1/2 miles to the mouth of Granite Creek 6 miles away. Hells Canyon, believe it or not is the deepest river gorge in North America. This was the prize we’d come to see and it was beyond all my expectations. It’s immense and so very vast it completely blows your mind. The sense of scale is impossible to comprehend. In the background the sharp, white peaks of the Seven Devils rose towering in defiance against the land and in the depths of the canyon (an interminable, unimaginable distance away) ran the Snake River. Not a patch of ground was bare from flower giving the impression you were walking through a kaleidoscope, the patterns moving and shifting with the breeze. Purple lupines as far as the eye could see, interspersed with crimson reds, brilliant whites and neon yellows. It was a purple dream, a panorama of flowers, an intense visual explosion of color. More flowers, oh my Now that’s deeeeeeep! Oh Holy Mother Earth of wildflower fantasies, I had NEVER seen anything like this!! The perch, the overlook with the 80-foot watchtower and the prize of Hell’s Canyon in front of us. I guess Hell wanted us to have an easy time getting there?įinally, after what can only be described as one of the very prettiest drives we’ve ever done we got to the end. It was certainly narrow, and twisting, and sharp, but none of the bumping and pot holes I’d been expecting and certainly nothing requiring a 4WD. It was even, dare I say it, extraordinary (I learned later they’d just graded it a few weeks ago). Between the trees and the flowers we drove along the ridge, curving towards the fire tower in the distance. Not just a few, but a carpet of dense color blues, purples, reds, yellows all forming a rainbow of visual beauty. That’s where the windflowers came, oh my the windflowers. iPhone Panorama from the overlook Paul contemplates the view Wildflowers & canyon foldsĪround 10 miles in we started moving into the trees, dense pine, ash and others I don’t know, many tinged with memories of a burn from long ago. The gorge pushed ever further into the ground, the sides wrinkling and re-forming as we drove ever higher. The mountain seemed to rise above us into the sky, the canyon appeared to drop and grow beneath us. The road twisted and turned and rose sharply along the mountains edge following the golden contours of the canyon, revealing ever more heights and folds. Then the pavement ended and the uphill started. 35 miles of deserted, paved road took us on a beautiful drive deep into the first canyon and to the tiny town on Imnaha, the last call before the start of Hell’s Road (Hat Point Road). So early yesterday morning we packed up the car and off we went. Damned if I was going to let that road stop me.Īm I going to ease up on my Devillish analogies? I think not. A view beyond all views, a beauty beyond all beauties. Who knows if our car (or me) could even make it? But I’d been assured the rewards for reaching into the depths of Hell would be Heaven on Earth, such as it is. We rarely ever do more than 50-mile day trips, and usually even less when dirt roads are involved. The curvy road into the canyon The curvy road to Hat Point Overlook Plus getting to Hell was going to push me to the very limits of what my feeble car-sick stomach could handle. This latter road is a hellish drive, not unexpectedly, requiring 24 grueling miles of single lane dirt, twisting and curving with 16% grades, steep drop offs and very little info. One guy told me it was a piece of cake, another told me I’d be crazy to try it. There are many ways to Hell, as you might expect, but apparently only one where you can really see it. You see my research had popped up conflicting reports. I’d been planning it for a while, seeing as it’s quite a trip to get there, but I was still wavering about whether to go. It’s not every day you get to go to Hell and see the Devil, well all 7 incarnations of him anyway. The Oregon Wallowas Part III – Going To Hell (And Back)
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