Concentration Camps, Pacific Flyway, Lava Beds, Fear, and Car Camping

An Overnight Adventure With Riley and Walter

Written over several busy weeks, beginning on April 27th and ending today, May 24th.

Riley and I went on another adventure last weekend. The forecast was for rain in all directions, but she was up for it, as per usual. I looked into cabins but then decided that this was the weekend, even with rain and snow in the forecast, that we should see if car camping would work, as in camping INSIDE her new-to-her 2017 Subaru Crosstrek. It was one of the first things I looked up after she got it — “camping in Subaru Crosstrek” — and there were several intriguing posts and tips about doing just that. Luno makes a cool inflatable mattress specifically for Crosstreks, but it runs around $280!

We have a piece of memory foam that came with the vintage sofa/hide-a-bed we scored a few years ago. The foam has been folded up on the porch or in the back of my car since I gifted Bruce and his back with a brand new mattress on Christmas (he took up sleeping on the hide-a-bed after Walt came home as a puppy, which also coincided with my hot-flash flip-flopping). I have no space to store this unwieldy foam but figured we could use it to give sleeping in Riley’s car a real test before I get rid of it.

We left at around ten on Saturday morning and took 66/Greensprings toward Klamath Falls. 45 minutes later we turned off in Keno and headed southeast towards Tule Lake — a direction neither of us had ever been which is always exhilarating!

I was aware, albeit dimly, I’m embarrassed to admit, that there had been a concentration camp where Japanese Americans had been incarcerated during WWII somewhere in the vicinity of Tule Lake. Just one of the troubling chapters in our nation’s history that I should know more about. It should have been an important trip the kids and I took when we were homeschooling.

I wasn’t sure where the national monument was, and trying not to be glued to my phone while we were traveling — and still not registering the importance of visiting these historic sites, even when, and especially if, the history is troubling— I just sorta hoped we’d happen upon it. Shortly after turning onto Hill Road, which was the direction around Tule Lake that I wanted to go as it would pass through Lava Beds National Monument on our way to other places I hoped to check out, we happened upon Camp Tulelake.

Camp Tulelake sits beneath the low-slung and rather barren hills collectively known as Sheepy Ridge. Aside from the fact that a newer home sits right near Camp Tulelake’s left shoulder, the area has a distinctly desolate and sad aura.

I assumed, incorrectly I’d learn, that this small area in front of me is where 18,000 people — predominantly United States citizens — had been incarcerated. But upon further review, I realized that this was a satellite camp where Japanese Americans who had refused to answer the government’s infamous loyalty questionnaire were arrested and relocated from the nearby Tule Lake Segregation Center (more accurately: Tule Lake Concentration Camp). Later, in 1943, after a fatal truck accident prompted a strike at the main camp, strikebreakers were sheltered at Camp Tulelake.

Prior to this, from 1935 until 1942, Camp Tulelake had served as a home base for young men who came from around the nation to work as part of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Then, in 1944, after it ceased being used as a jail for supposedly disloyal Japanese Americans, 150 Italian prisoners of war converted the buildings into a POW camp that became home to 800 German POWs who were put to work helping farmers in the Tulelake Basin.

I wonder how much we miss when we just drive, thinking we are seeing things.

Reading after the fact, and wishing we had taken the short detour to visit it, the Tule Lake Segregation Center, located some 13 miles from Camp Tulelake, was the largest of the ten WRA (War Relocation Authority) camps in the United States, and the only one converted to maximum security, occupied by the Army, and ruled under martial law.

It’s difficult to know how to process places and details like this before we quickly move on. I want to learn more, and I want to visit the main camp.

A couple miles farther down the road, we came to the Klamath Basin National Wildlife Refuge Center. According to the hours posted, the center should have been open, but things were closed and very quiet, likely due to Covid. If we had just driven past, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the stone shelter high up behind the center. I wonder how much we miss when we just drive, thinking we are seeing things.

The sign said it was a steep 1/3 mile hike up the Sheepy Ridge trail to the shelter. It was chilly and sprinkling, so we donned our gear and headed up. The shelter/lookout was built in the ’30s by young men from the CCC stationed just back down the road at Camp Tulelake. As we walked, I tried to imagine what it might’ve felt like to haul cut stones up this steep path. I’ve lived in Southern Oregon now for almost 20 years and had never heard about this place. It is a little gem of a shelter built from stone, set into the rocky face of the hill, with amazing vistas of the Tule Lake region. I felt like I was in another country, not two hours from my home.

We continued our drive and in a few more miles we pulled off onto an auto tour route by the lake. There were so many birds. Hundreds? Thousands? We drove about a mile down the gravel road alongside the water and then pulled over to get out and snap photos. I noted a strong stench, and then in the grasses between the water and the road, I saw the source: dead birds and bird body parts. They were everywhere, all up and down the road. I wondered if this was expected and normal, considering the millions of birds who migrate each year through this region of the Pacific Flyway — a flyway that stretches from the Arctic to the southernmost tip of South America.

Looking for information online, I see that the San Francisco Chronicle reported in September of last year that avian botulism killed an estimated 40,000 birds in this region just last year. Biologists say that drought combined with record temperatures and water extracted from the basin for the nearby Caldwell Fire that burned nearly 81,000 acres in July contributed to the worst outbreak of avian botulism in 40 years.

Not sure if what I witnessed was evidence of more botulism or if it was something else this year, I called the refuge center and left a message. A few days later, wildlife biologist John Beckstrand returned my call. Currently, it is an outbreak of avian cholera, which is not uncommon. He explained the botulism outbreak of last year and said that low water conditions (the area is experiencing extreme drought) exacerbate disease outbreaks.

As we continued around the bend on the gravel auto tour, we saw another car headed in our direction. They stopped in the middle of the road, and we wondered what was going on. Then I saw a Bald Eagle just sitting there!

Eventually, we turned around and headed back the way we’d come from. To our surprise again, there was another Bald Eagle (or perhaps the same one) sitting (or would it be considered standing?) on the side of the road. I later learned that the largest concentration of Bald Eagles in the contiguous United States overwinters in the region.

We parked, and Riley and I both walked carefully toward it. Awe-inspiring to see such a magnificent bird up so close and to be making eye contact with it! Riley captured a great video of it as it decided we were getting too close, and it flew up and away. I do wonder what protocol is. Were we being dumb humans to see how close we could get?

A few miles further into this amazing close-to-home adventure, we entered Lava Beds National Monument. We took a short detour to see Captain Jack’s Stronghold, which was the location of another not-very-proud moment in American history. Unfortunately, due to the Caldwell Fire, this location has been closed for safety reasons. We had hoped to make that our lunch spot, but that’ll have to wait for another day.

We returned to the Volcanic Scenic Legacy Highway, proceeding toward the monument visitor center, where we paid the $25 park entrance fee even though we were only planning on driving straight through the park. We should return at some point with the specific purpose of doing a little caving. I had no idea that there are 800 caves to be explored there! Neither Riley nor I are incredibly fond of going into caves, but there are a few that sounded easy (lighted) enough. But no dogs allowed, so we would have had to go in one at a time and decided against it. Or maybe it was because our stomachs were talking to us? We did drive through the campground on our way out and were surprised to see — considering it sits at roughly 4800 feet with snow in the forecast for the evening — several campers with tents set up. Nice campground. Views were undoubtedly nicer before the fire, though. The ranger on duty said that no buildings were lost in the fire, only a couple picnic tables. But, sadly, the trees were mostly all scorched.

In a few miles, we left the monument and entered national forest. Here, the the ranger had informed me, we could disperse camp anywhere we wanted and collect wood for fires. But I wasn’t really feeling comfortable with dispersed camping in the middle of nowhere. I told Riley that maybe I’d get used to it someday, just like I finally (and thankfully) got used to hiking in the middle of nowhere without being freaked out!

We pulled off at a little pullout along the way to make lunch but then I noticed the big power lines we’d just passed under, and I didn’t want that as our vista. I am always so particular, as Riley correctly notes. I’m sorry kids, (and husband, and anyone else who knows me) for always being so particular (which I wrote about earlier today and will share here eventually). So we got back in the car. I thought we might eat at a privately run campground just ahead in Tionesta. Before committing to an in-car camping trial, I’d considered booking a cabin there and wanted to check it out. But we kept right on driving when we saw it. The camp itself looked okay, but it was in a rural neighborhood of sorts, and it just didn’t feel like someplace we’d like to spend time. Though we made this judgment from inside the car, so who knows what it was really like.

It was three in the afternoon, and we were really craving those tuna sandwiches I was going to make. We reached the intersection with Highway 139 and pulled out into a spot under some trees a few feet from the sheriff who was parked there. Me regretting, of course, that we hadn’t eaten in the wild, desolate, and beautiful forest, even if enormous power lines crossed it.

We shared a tuna sandwich, hoping that dinner (and a perfect place to camp) were in the not-too-distant future. On Google Maps, I had noticed there was a campground about 30 miles farther south. But when we got service, and I looked it up, I saw that it was closed for logging. That’s okay because I forgot to pack a jug of water. So we can pull into Canby and get water and maybe I’ll buy myself a little sleep tonic, aka a shot of whiskey.

On the map, Canby looked like a decently-sized little town in the middle of nowhere. At least a few stores, maybe a cafe — a cute little town in our path that we can check out. Not. No stores, at least that we could see. It looked like a pretty depressed little place; aside from one nicely kept home we passed that had a weary-but-friendly-looking old Golden Retriever keeping guard on the front porch. Those people are probably nice.

I wondered what had fueled Canby’s growth because it really seemed incredibly depressed. I also noted that almost every home and business (car repair was the only business I took note of) were flying a Trump flag. I remarked aloud, “Like Trump did anything for these people.”

Again, I wonder, what do we miss by just driving by? I’m sure Canby is home to plenty of good and kind people who have their own troubles, cry their own tears, and have their own hopes and dreams. If I believe we are all connected and that there are stories worth noting everywhere — both things I say I’m all about — then I should probably return to Canby at some point and linger a little longer.

We turned and headed back in the other direction on 139 to continue our adventure loop. With service, I again queried Google Maps regarding camping options. Two were in another 30 miles. And both were marked as open. Lower Rush Creek and Upper Rush Creek. When we arrived, Lower Rush Creek was empty and felt completely doable though it was situated very near a home, only separated by a failing wooden fence. I noted a woman walking two big dogs through the campground.

We decided to check out Upper Rush Creek Campground, two miles up the road. It is quite a bit higher up, and I was a little concerned about the snow forecast for the night. It is a lovely little campground situated in tall trees next to the rushing creek. But I saw an old windowless van and immediately got creepy man vibes. As we passed it, I noted someone under the van and another peering into the open hood. As we came around the other side and passed them again, I saw it was a young couple. They both nodded and said hello as we continued driving past. There was one other truck in the campground, but I didn’t notice any other people. I suggested we head back to the first campground.

When we got back to Lower Rush Creek, and after Riley and I agreed on a spot and I started walking around, I noticed piles of dog poop, large piles of poop, everywhere. So this neighbor lady probably walks her dogs here every day and lets them poop, probably encourages their pooping, so that it will keep campers from coming near her property. And so Mom goes into her questioning decisions mode, and is this the best place, and should we go back to the other campground, and and and. Riley said she didn’t care, and we should just go to the other place if I want to. I said I wasn’t sure but damn this dog poop everywhere. Riley kept deferring to me (which is concerning and addressed in another write about my being particular). In the end, I decided that we should just stay put.

Riley got the bed all made in the car while I got the fire started. We both agreed that it was nice to just make the bed in the car versus setting up a tent.

Playing Skip-Bo before dinner, I told Riley I felt bad for letting fear get the best of me regarding the van. Maybe those people needed help and all we did was keep driving. Not that we could have been very helpful regarding their vehicle trouble, but we could have asked if they needed anything, and maybe we could have offered to go back down the hill and make a call for them since there was zero service up there.

Another hour or so later, we saw a tow truck driving up the hill. And another hour after that, we saw him return with the van. I went to sleep that night thinking about my desire to treat people like I want to be treated — my goal to be love, do love, only love — and vowing to do better next time (despite the fact Bruce often chastises me for being too trusting of random strangers).

We enjoyed the evening by the campfire and then played another round of Skip-Bo once we snuggled into the car.

Camping in the car verdict? It was comfortable and plenty warm (too warm at times, in fact). The only problem we had was that we have a dog who is a bed hog. It would be perfect for one person or two people without a dog. But we both agreed we would do it again, even with the bed hog.

Next up (hopefully not another month from now): my retreat (from Covid) at Bird’s Nest Cabin (April 27–29), and then Lake Siskiyou Resort (May 3–7), and then an anniversary trip with Bruce (May 20–23) to an off-the-grid Hip Camp cabin outside of Dorris, CA this past weekend with a side-trip to the main Tule Lake Concentration Camp, Petroglyph Point, and Canby Cross.