Perhaps it’s a matter of aging, of discovering that being out with the crowd isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. That being engulfed by people when you’re supposed to be seeking solace in nature just somehow isn’t right, or at least it isn’t fulfilling.
I'm always astounded that winter isn't really winter in Central Oregon. It's a much different season here because the region is seldom, if ever, completely enveloped in snow. So while you can ski if you go high enough in the Cascades, you can also mountain bike ride, hike or climb all on the same day if you're an overachiever or do all of those over a week if you're a confirmed fitness enthusiast.
Here's an example of what I'm talking about. The day before Thanksgiving, my wife and I hiked the newly cut trails that lead from the rim of the Crooked River Canyon near Terrebonne to the river.
It happens without fanfare, a subtle early September shift as the air becomes cooler and the sun’s path is lower angled. Darkness comes earlier and sunrises seem to spring to life more slowly.
Fall is in the air and for many of us with it comes the best time of year in Central Oregon.
I happen to love fall in general. It's wonderful everywhere in America as people get a welcome reprise from what most often was a long hot summer.
It's time to dispel a myth and in the process remain a bit mysterious.
The myth is that come summer and every campground by an Oregon river or lake is full to capacity with happy campers and is, as a result, a nuthouse. You know generators running until all hours of the night, loud music playing and a woman screaming at the top of her lungs: "Bobby Earl stop whuppin' on your sister."
