Kalmiopsis. It starts with that name  derived from the kalmiopsis leachiana, a plant said to be related to the rhododendron. This piece of information can effectively keep you from recognizing it for a while, because kalmiopsis leachiana resembles a rhododendron about like a dinosaur resembles a turkey-- it takes some imagination to see it.
        As you hike along, the Kalmiopsis terrain continually changes its aspect. Sometimes you push through clumps of salal, Oregon grape, and rhododendron-- an environment that feels completely coastal, minus the sand dunes. Then there are stretches of classic coast range forest with colossal firs and a varied understory. On the high ridges, the rockier crests and south-facing slopes, the feel can almost be semi-arid with sparse scrub-brush and stunted trees.
         Many of the trails in the Kalmiopsis are actually roads, four-wheel drive or jeep roads. They were built, apparently, to reach old mining claims now in the wilderness area. The roads are not bad to hike on. Instead of single file, you can walk alongside your hiking partner in the smoother areas, and the twists and turns provide intermittent shade on hot days. The detritus of the old mines is visible along the roadside. It's best to look at the old mining claims in this light-- it shows that an area can be reclaimed for wilderness if the damage hasn't gone too far.
         The hike we took was the Babyfoot Lake-Chetco River loop as described in 50 Hikes in Oregon's Coast Range & Siskiyous, by Rhonda and George Ostertag, except that we decided to do the hike in the direction opposite from the Ostertag book. Either direction is fully workable, but we wanted to avoid a tough last day ascending from the Chetco River to Onion Camp. Unless you choose to camp somewhere in between these two points (and the availability of water might be questionable) you would be faced with about 3200 ft of elevation gain on the last day. I didn't want to end the hike with a death march. As it was, we came out of the woods from Babyfoot Lake in the cool of the morning, a two and a half mile hike back to the car.
         To get to this hike drive to Grants Pass, a hot-looking  town whose streets are continually swept by squads of pickup trucks. Then follow Highway 199 in the direction of Cave Junction. A few miles past Selma, turn right on Eight Dollar Road. It is paved at first, turning to gravel after you cross the bridge over the Illinois River. The gravel road (FS 4201) is in good condition. It gains considerable elevation in the 11 or 12 miles to the trailhead.
         We took one wrong turn down a road with potholes as big as bomb craters. The was a house up there with a sign saying "Children--Please Slow Down"-- as if you could somehow do more than 5mph on that road! The kid in the driveway told us we were going the wrong way, which we were very glad to hear.
         From the trailhead above Onion Camp, we could see where we would be going looking North. Three humps: Whetstone Butte, Eagle Mt., and Pearsall Peak. We had only walked a few yards when we witnessed the first startling appearance of a snowplant. After that, it was just a matter of adjusting to the ridge elevation, the taste of the Kalmiopsis air, and the thought of the 26 miles ahead of us. The ridge lines are rugged and beautiful-- bony humps with rock formations, tough-looking shrubs and gnarled trees, and the red and orange dirt of this mineral rich country.
         We stopped to climb Whetstone Butte, watching out for rattlesnakes. From the top we could see fold over fold of Coast Range mountains. Down below was our goal-- the Chetco River canyon, still full of fog. Then the trail descended to Eagle Gap and climbed again to views atop Eagle Mt. Beyond Eagle Mt., the trail becomes a jeep road and you can see barren-looking Pearsall Peak in the distance with the Lookout on top. But we were not going up Pearsall Peak this time. At Chetco Pass, the trail branches and descends to the Chetco River.
         In the Kalmiopsis you need to have a topographical map and know how to use it. Signage here is quite minimal, and what signs there are can easily be missed. Jeep roads branch off in various directions with no signposts at the junctions. A hiker we had talked to earlier took a wrong road and ended up bushwhacking down to the Chetco, a risky idea in a country this thick with poison oak.
         We passed plenty of old mining claims and equipment going down to the Chetco. There were several small streams which can probably only be counted on for water in early summer. Best of all, we passed through zones of Western Azalea with its strong fragrance-- as if we were sailing through some perfumed isle in a Homeric epic.
         At the mouth of Slide Creek, we reached the Chetco. There was a good campsite there with dry kindling stored in a old culvert-pipe and a decent swimming hole at the river. It's not very often that anything feels that good-- hot trail dust and heavy packs exchanged for the cool rejuvenation of aquamarine waters and the pouring sound of the stream. We went from tired pack animals to Melvillian water worshipers and watergazers in the time it takes to get clothes off and prepare, mentally and physically, for the shock of the cold.
          We laid over a day at Slide Creek, although the second day was cloudy. Weather here can be a struggle between the forces of coastal fog and the forces of inland heat. If the fog is not vanquished by early afternoon, you're probably stuck with it.
         On day three, we moved up river, fording the stream upriver from Slide Creek. The water was less than knee-deep in the last week of June. We followed the road/trail upstream on the other bank, and here the poison oak was ubiquitous. After a short distance, we reforded the river at Blake's bar. The water here was slightly deeper. Yes, in the picture I still have my pack-belt and straps on, but I wanted stability on the slick rocks-- and I was arrogant enough to think that I couldn't drown in 14 inches of slow-moving water. Just above the ford there was an awesome swimming hole, but the water was icy cold. I went in-- it was too pristine not to-- but I quickly felt like one of those floaters in the final scenes of "Titanic."
    We climbed the bluff above the river and soon entered the area that most people would consider the highlight of the hike. The trail looks down on the Chetco River canyon, here steep-sided and nearly inaccessible. The beauties of this section can't really be described. It's perfection, of course, as only nature can be-- the green river sounding in the gorge, pooling and running through its miniature canyon, and the beautiful foliage surviving and climbing the sheer walls to the bluffs above.
    Leaving the open gorge, you pass through a lovely stand of classic coastal rain forest-- large trees generously spaced and a thriving understory between, as well as groves of dazzling madrones, orange and barkless. We set up camp at Carter creek and went down to enjoy the river, swimming and lounging, shipwrecked in paradise.
    The next morning we rose early because we were facing a fair climb to the Bailey cabin site and the day looked to be hot. One hiker had passed the previous day complaining that the trail was rough and warning us to carry plenty of water. But we didn't find it bad at all, ascending methodically above Carter creek amid the varied shrubs and wildflowers to the top of the ridge, passing through a dark, eery-feeling saddle filled ghostly-looking madrones, and then continuing to the Bailey cabin.
    The Bailey cabin site is quiet and serene under big trees, but not a great place to spend a long day. (We laid over here because of the considerable distance to the next recorded water supply.) It is dark and mosquito-ridden and the water supply (a spring) is small and stagnant. No problem: out came the books and the cribbage board.
     The next morning we were glad to climb into our packs in the morning air. We said goodbye to the mosquitos, and suggested they spend the rest of the day biting each other. The trail out of there was lined with bear grass, like tiki lamps guiding us into a polynesian lounge. The trail  changed to a jeep road on the ridges with views of the  whole Kalmiopsis. Before reaching the trail that descends toward the Emily cabin, we were confused by a rock cairn pointing to nowhere, and had to get out the maps and pinpoint out our position. Then it was all jeep roads contouring around the ridges. We passed one old mine site with a shaft into the hillside and an old ore cart and sluice box by the side of the road. A stream was still running here.
    We turned north at the junction with the Canyon Peak trail and hiked through the shady forest toward Babyfoot Lake. After about 3 miles, a trail leaves the jeep road and drops precipitously down to the lake.
    Babyfoot Lake lies quiet and sequestered in its bowl, beneath rocky bluffs and timbered hills. The tall trees come right to the shore line and occasionally a large cedar falls face-first into the lake to soak there for a hundred years. For the Kalmiopsis hiker, in a few short days addicted to wilderness, the lake is a kind of a halfway house back to civilization. Day hikers walk in from the Babyfoot trailhead, and their voices reach out from across the lake as clear and close as though they were standing right beside you. Swimming is excellent in the lake and fir, Port Orford cedar, and the rare Brewer's spruce throw shade over the camp sites. It was here that we tried to get used to the idea that the trip was almost over, finishing the last of our food, opening the last packets of hot chocolate.
    The last day we hiked 1.5 miles to the Babyfoot Lake trailhead, then another mile to our vehicle at the trailhead above Onion Camp and started home, still talking about the vistas, the flora, the Chetco River canyon, and the quiet solitude of the Kalmiopsis.
 
  Back to Camp 

Photo ID:

Top: Chetco River Canyon

2nd from Top: Snowplant

3rd from Top: Kalmiopsis Ridge

4th from Top: Fording the Chetco

Bottom: Babyfoot Lake