I visited the desert of southeastern Oregon a week ago. I felt fascination and awe at the landscapes. And I underwent relationship difficulty followed by growth.

Sheer physical awe at the landforms

To picture the Alvord Desert, take an image from a Mars rover and superimpose a bright blue sky.  The lakebed (playa) is extremely flat and featureless and is surrounded by dry scrubland. The landscape is completely unlike the wet mossy forests of western Oregon. My friends and I stayed in two bunkers and one night we camped on the playa.

We watched the rise of the full moon and felt chained to the spot by the clear geometric transition as it rose over the mountains and turned from orange to eggshell white. 

We visited Steens Mountain and viewed a mountain lake. The trail to it crossed snow and involved steep switchbacks that were too intimidating for one member of my group for us to proceed.

We hiked Blitzen Creek and took in everything from the rocky valley walls above us to the clear blue stream and aspen groves at our sides. We watched brook trout, a gecko, a snake and a day-foraging bat. We watched ravens and hawks battle for existence in their nests among the cliffs (I suspect the ravens were entertaining themselves and the hawks were fiercely defending their nests and young).

We soaked in the natural hot spring and scrubbed off the dust and sunscreen and sweat. Having access to water (instead of just sponge baths) in the context of a three-night trip like this made a huge difference for our comfort.

I felt fear and worry at times. The trip was long and one of our cars was not the most robust. A woman had died out there the previous year while attempting to set a land speed record. You have to be self-sufficient because of the sparse gas stations and towns. At times I felt fear at the vast landscape around us. A friend briefly had trouble breathing because of the dust and grit. When camping on the playa, we thought we might be in an all-night sandstorm. The Uno cards were flying out of our hands. But fortunately it died down.

There was also the fire risk, which we did not understand until a resident warned us. Some ignorant campers lit peace lanterns over the playa, which is a terrible idea. One of the lanterns launched straight up and out, presumably to land in dry scrubland miles away. Another rolled on the ground right toward my companion before he swatted the flaming paper object out of the air. 

The leave no trace ethic is as important here as anywhere. But overall the crowds were not bad. The people we talked to were from Portland, San Francisco, Oakland, Denver, Bend and the southeast and all were interesting. Some stayed in the bunkers, some camped in tents on the playa, and some stayed in pickups and trailers with overlanding setups.

There is much more to see in the Alvord Desert area. Nearby are more hot springs, the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, and dozens of hikes and vistas we didn’t have time for. Perhaps this is the kind of place that calls for a yearly visit, at different months, so you can check everything out.

Strife and grief among my group

The rupture of a deep friendship

My friend had just chosen to sever ties with her best friend, who was the conceiver and organizer of the trip. She only agreed to go for my sake, because she knew how much I wanted it. This was painful for her. And although I supported her fully, it was painful for me to watch because I had recently put effort into repairing relationships that I had stupidly avoided addressing. The thought of a lost friendship saddens me.

This rupture was especially poignant because I view my friend as a master of interpersonal dynamics, someone with true integrity and generosity who treats people well. When she first introduced me to the one she called her best friend, I felt genuine respect and wonder because of these traits. I thought, “If she considers this person to be her best friend, she must be pretty special.” I think those good traits led to a deeper capactity for pain, and a deeper sense of hurt and betrayal when certain lines were crossed.

I listened as best as I could and I acknowledged that I did not fully understand but I vowed to support my friend throughout.

The grief of a regretted abortion of twins

To add to the hurt, her other friend had aborted twins only a week before and she said she regretted it. She wanted to be a mother despite the great difficulties it would pose at this stage of her life. She even had a printout of the ultrasound image, with two distinct fetuses facing each other in their little coccoon.

And in close quarters with all this (though we were a group of eight), was me, a socially inept person with a simple desire to enjoy the place despite all this tension and upset. I did not say the right things. I did not have any wisdom to share. I did not assuage anyone’s pain.

As I step back, I realize that the fear and worry I felt when taking in the landscape was partly because these interpersonal issues, which I could not fully understand or fix, also dwarfed me and loomed all around me like those distant hills and mountains you see from the middle of the desolate lakebed.

New friendships. A keen desire to learn

I decided to give these two as much space, peace and quiet as they needed. I bonded with other people I didn’t expect and had a fun, high-energy experience for the second half.

One was a skilled planner and organizer who shares my zeal for special natural places. Another is a member of a psychedelics group that advocates for legalization (and does some tripping of their own of course). Another was an esthetician who said she would zap some capillaries for me and join me for French conversation groups. Another is a quiet one who I hope to get to know better. And the last is a talented cook and DJ who shared my goal of forming more and better male friendships.

Next trip is to Priest Hole

I soaked up the sights of the landforms carved and scrubbed by eons of wind, water and sun. I was in my element. With a humble desire to understand, I marveled at the landforms, the night sky, and the sense of a deep geologic timescale.

In the midst of this I also had time to reflect on the mysterious and awesome forces that move people’s hearts. These forces are of equal complexity and importance. In this realm of the interpersonal I am very much not in my element. However I have a keen hunger to learn, to become more knowledgeable and adept – basically, to get better at being a good friend.

The next trip will be to Priest Hole at the end of the month. Most of these same friends will be along and I will bring them my absolute best.