CATEGORY: CENTRAL OREGON

Today when we drive along Highway 97 between Redmond and Terrebonne, I look over toward Gray Butte to the east and see what is now called “The Burma Road.”  It is a thin gray line rising at what must be a 30% angle up the side of a Butte that is near Smith Rocks: dramatic vertical orange-gray outcroppings and cliffs left from prehistoric volcanic cores that are now dear to the hearts of rock climbers.  It is a dirt road that belongs to the irrigation company.  It edges the big irrigation ditch between Sun River and Madras, but uses this route around the mountain when the ditch goes through the same mountain via a tunnel.

I discovered this road shortly after I moved to Tumalo and sometimes went exploring there.  After I met Zach, it became one of our favorite haunts.  It is east of the Crooked River canyon, so to get there one must follow the irrigation road to where both cross the river on bridges.  Today there is a locked gate, keeping people out, but at that time anyone could drive over that road.  There are some Smith Rock remnants at the top of the steep grade that one sees from Highway 97 that are not too steep for amateurs and are fun to climb around in.  What one cannot see from the Highway is that after the road rounds the shoulder of the butte, it descends the other side just as steeply.  That other side is on a north slope, and on one trip, there were still patches of snow there when the rest of the road was clear.  We got stuck.  Not really stuck, because we could roll back down the hill, but that was not the direction we wanted to go.  Eric and Jari were with us which made it scarier.  However we got out with all of us pushing and Jari at the wheel.

Afterwards, when I was again alone, I still went there.  Once I went in the fall after the water in the ditch had been turned off.  I stopped my car near the entrance to the irrigation tunnel.  I climbed down into the empty ditch and stared into the tunnels’ cavernous depths.  It was about ten feet in diameter and was perfectly straight.  At the far end was a circle of light about as big as a dime.  Along the bottom were still some pools of water reflecting dim light.  I knew that after the water was turned off for the winter, it was still turned on once a month so that people like me could fill their cisterns.  I also knew that, because it was Sunday, the water would not be turned into the ditch unexpectedly.  I thought I could walk through the tunnel and then come back around the mountain to my car via the road.

In I went.  It proved to be longer than it looked when I saw the shiny dime at the end, which stayed the same size for what seemed an eternity.  My eyes got accustomed to the dark and the pools of water helped reflect a little light.  I am guessing it was a quarter of a mile.  When I got to the end, it was a sheer drop down a cliff.  I could never remember seeing a waterfall from the road that went down the other side from Burma to China.  Looking down the cliff I could not see the road and wondered where it could be.  I also wondered what happened to the water and if this ditch really did go on to Madras as I had always thought.  If it didn’t, what would have been the point of building a bridge for it to cross the river and what would have been the point of building this tunnel?

I had to walk back the way I had come.

Now, I never look at the Burma Road without remembering that I have walked through the mountain that it traverses: just like in one of those Irish fairy tales.  Too bad I couldn’t have at least found a pot of gold at the other side.