Sunrise comes early in the summer. Too early. The sun was already well above the horizon at 6 a.m., when my eyes fluttered open. No one else was around to help get my lazy ass out of bed. So I laid back and closed my eyes again, enjoying the last few moments of sleep.
It was nearly 7 by the time I rolled out of the parking lot. I was in Prineville, Oregon. An hour west of the Painted Hills, part of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. I had never been there before, or even heard much about it. But a few weeks earlier I had spied it on a map, as my finger traced possible routes up to the Palouse. A bit of internet sleuthing had me convinced it was a worthy place to spend a few hours scouting on my way north. Which is how I found myself in an old ranch town in the Oregon high desert on day 3 of a 3-week road trip.
The Painted Hills are formed from mineral-rich layers of hard claystone created from ash and pumice released by ancient volcanic eruptions in the Cascade mountains 100 miles to the west. The alternating bands of color reflect millions of years of climate change: rust-colored bands rich in iron emerged from swampy conditions during periods of warm, wet weather, while yellow and tan bands pockmarked with black magnesium oxide deposits reflect drier and cooler conditions dominated by hardwood forests.
I saw hints of what was to come as I made my way east out of Prineville along the Ochoco Highway. The rural landscape quickly gave way to a dense conifer forest as the road began to climb, leading me through twisting canyons and over steep ridges of multi-colored volcanic rock. It was a beautiful drive, but there were few places to pull over, and I was content to soak it up with my eyes instead of my camera.
After descending a steep narrow canyon, I turned left off the highway onto a dirt road leading to the Painted Hills. Rounding a bend, I spied a low hill streaked with bands of red and yellow. Soft morning light floated gently over its rounded edges. I pulled over to stretch my legs and take a closer look. I was enthralled, but this was just a tease.
I soon found myself in an empty parking lot at the head of a short trail up a ridgeline overlooking a painted valley. I had the park all to myself. Not another car or person in sight. A gentle breeze fluttered through the cool air as I began to climb the trail, noticing the silence. I soon became lost in the abstract lines and patterns of the landscape. There was far more here to explore than I had time to see, and I already knew I would have to return one day. I felt a soft tinge of regret for those few extra moments of stolen sleep back in Prineville.
But the regrets quickly gave way to the joy I felt at having made the effort to get here at all. I spent an hour wandering up and down the trail, making images and soaking up the experience. The Painted Hills do not cover a large area, and over the next few hours I was able to walk most of the other trails in the unit as well. It was a magical morning, the kind that sneaks up on you, recharging your creative battery with its unexpected energy.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky along with the temperature, I reluctantly took my leave to continue my journey north. A hot summer morning is not the best time to visit the Painted Hills, which no doubt had much to do with the solitude that I enjoyed during my visit. Regardless, I am glad I stopped when I had the opportunity.
Whether or not I return one day – and I hope I do – I have no regrets about the way my brief visit unfolded. I might never have heard of, much less had a chance to visit, the Painted Hills if I hadn’t traced that line on a map before I left. Finding places like this is why I prefer to drive through rather than fly over places that are between where I am and where I am going. This was just a few hours out of a 4,100-mile, three-week road trip I made in June of this year, focused on the Palouse, Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. And while I found wonderful images to make in all those areas, I am just as excited about the images I made during my short visit to the Painted Hills. Finding moments like this is what makes all those miles worth the effort.
Painted Hills, Oregon, June 11, 2024. You can see some of the other images I made that day over here. If you find yourself in the area, I would highly recommend a visit. (Although the constraints of my trip dictated that I visit in the morning, it appears that evening is a better time — particularly from the overlook trail where I found myself shooting into the morning sun more often than not.) You can learn more about the area over here and here.