PCT 2019: Allingham Campground

Me and the Metolius River (also celebrating that my new phone has a forward-facing camera, allowing selfies!)

We were dressed in polyester, the food bins were full of way too many snacks, we had every conceivable car-camping item crammed into the SUV, and the three of us— Zach, his dad Gary, and I— were off to the Allingham Campground in Deschutes National Forest, three hours away in central Oregon.

We also stopped by Detroit Dam on our way out, which was beautiful!

The excuse for the trip was a "Trail Skills College" sponsored by the Pacific Crest Trail Association— a weekend for learning skills that would be helpful in maintaining and building trails as a volunteer. Zach and I were attending, and Gary would be mountain-biking in the area while we were at class. From cross-cut saw certification to rock wall building to sign installation, the classes were focused on getting more people competent to volunteer more with various trail organizations. We'd spent four nights here, then head out for a couple more days of camping before meandering home.

Zach photo-bombing my selfie

Zach and I had volunteered with the PCTA before in Washington, but we were excited to "officially" learn more about trail maintenance. Since this was our first time, we grudgingly decided to forego the more specialized classes and focus on the basics: CPR, Wilderness First Aid, and Introduction to Trail Maintenance.

The Allingham Campground was tucked into a ponderosa pine forest at about 4,000 feet elevation, with a small but swift river, the Metolius, rushing along its edge. We set up camp on the pine needles and crossed a nearby bridge to reach the set-up of pavilions and yurts that served as the College's headquarters. We signed in, then returned to our campground to explore. 

A narrow trail ran alongside the Metolius, so we walked it for a while, looking at the summer cabins on the opposite banks, and popping in and out of various campgrounds on our side. We saw occasional fly fishers, and some wooden water wheels on the opposite banks. Wherever trees had fallen into the river and rotted, they became islands covered in grass and flowers.

We ate pita chips and hummus for dinner, then built a fire and gathered our camp chairs around. The chilly night pressed on our backs, but the coals were glowing and perfect for marshmallows. When I closed my eyes and listened to the crackling fire and the running water, I felt satisfied on a primal level. Warmth and water— that's all we need.

After roasted marshmallows, we crawled into our tent, and I realized that I hadn't been camping anywhere but a music festival since our trip to Utah two years ago. It was high time to be back in the woods. And tomorrow, we'd be learning how to do that more safely. I hoped I wouldn't flunk any of my classes.

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