Timbuktu

The answer is obvious: because it has a stupid name. Somehow, at some point, a cartographer must have learned about the colloquial geonymn, thought it was pretty freaking funny, and made it official.  This isn't an isolated incident, perhaps it was the same rogue mapmaker ensured that Idiotville in Tillamook County would live forever in our hearts and minds. 

No matter, it's on the official WashCo map and by my definition, a community. Whether I like it or not, I have to bike to Timbuktu. Whoever's grandfather was the practical joker in the county clerk's office during WW2: this one's for you! 

When Timbuktu was an active logging camp, it was deep in private property owned by Stimson Lumber. Well, a lot sure has changed in the past 80 years. Today, it's deep in private property owned by...Stimson Lumber.

Yes, this year Stimson Lumber celebrates it's 95th year of incorporation. It continues to be headquartered in Washington County. With over half a million acres of forest (spread across multiple states), the company is one of the largest private landowners in the U.S.*

Although private, Stimson Lumber has the very best, most sensible, and practical recreational use policy of any landowner in the county. Today's ride is ultimately a celebration of a large private corporation that works with the local communities, rather than shutting us out. 

A working forest is functionally a factory floor. When I was employed in manufacturing, it took a whole week of training before they even let me step onto the area with heavy equipment. Stimson trusts us to comport ourselves responsibly on their property unsupervised. 

They have a whole page about recreational use including maps, guidelines and an FAQ. 

Here's my summary:

• Stay out when we're working or it's night time.

• No motors or other ignition sources. In fact, no fires at all. 

• On further thought, if there's a high risk of fire, you should come back some other time. 

Bottom line: as long as we are respectful to their rules, don't impede their work, and remain responsible for our own well-being, Stimson will generously allow us on their land.

I got my own opportunity to exercise respectful use on this trip. The Timbuktu parcel (CW Forest Grove) was closed for most of August due to fire danger. That kept me out (and compulsively refreshing the ODF website on fire risk).

September brought the first rains of the season and the parcel reopened in time for Labor Day weekend. As I was prepping, I got worried that the signs around the property might not be accurate.

So I contacted Stimson and asked before heading out. They got back to me within a few hours confirming that the parcel was open for non-motorized recreation that weekend.

I was right: there were some outdated signs (see above). Since I had done the legwork and received express written confirmation that the land was open, I was able to enjoy my ride through this special area. Otherwise, I was prepared to wait another week.

The ride, itself, starts in Hagg Lake. The ride is 100% gravel, so bring the right bike. I parked at Penninsula TH where it's a short, steep uphill on Lee Rd to the gate. I've heard of others parking at the gate to avoid paying the Hagg Lake parking fees. Whatever you do, DON'T BLOCK THE GATE! Don't block the road, either.

That gate is robust. It's hard to make a system that can keep all motorized vehicles out but allow unmotorized. This is about as good as you can get. You will need to lift your bike over the gate then hop the fence. I used a large rock to get a boost to shimmy over the fence. If you have trouble lifting, bring a light weight bike (or a strong friend) to clear the barricade.

Once through the gate, I'm on Stimson land!

Today, I'm following the Stimson Mainline. There are a few major arterial roads through this forest. During business hours they see a lot of heavy machinery but on the weekends, they are the most reliable ways in and out. Timbuktu lies just off of the Mainline, about 15 miles ahead.

The recent rains have cleaned the path of tracks. The road is mostly gravel fines, still wet. I can feel the tires sinking ever so slightly. The climb takes a little more effort than I'm used to to overcome the resistance. 

Compared to other gravel roads in the area (Strassel, Scofield, Turner Creek, Chehalem Mt), this one is in very good shape. Yes, it sees a lot of trucks, but by limiting access to employees, the path doesn't suffer from degradation that inexperienced recreational motorists seem to cause. The terrain never once got too steep, rough, or loose that I needed to get off and walk.

I'm not the first one to visit this weekend: I can see some fresh horseshoe marks and an even fainter gravel bike tire tread. The road is a gentle, steady uphill. That's because it was once a railroad. Before trucks became the dominant shipping method, this forest had a couple of short lines that would transport the trees to the mill. 

The places that were cleared recently offer expansive views toward Cherry Grove and Blind Cabin Ridge (Weyerhaeuser land, I believe).

I pass a gate that I believe would take me down to Lee Falls. It's a very steep descent and the road may be overgrown. Be careful, though. some of the land isn't Stimson and many private owners aren't as amenable to recreational users. Have an OnX subscription (or a thorough understanding of Stimson's maps) if you're going to go exploring.

About 10 miles in, the trees briefly get much older:

Due to some odd quirks in property ownership, there's a square here owned by the BLM. It looks like they haven't bothered to harvest in a long time (probably because it's a small plot, requires Stimson cooperation to access, and involves a stream on steep terrain).

From there, it's on to the first big fork:

Both of these trails are major arteries and follow Lee Creek. One on the left bank the other on the right. The right fork follows the old rail (and is labeled "Old RR Grade Rd"). Here's the USGS map from 1941, before Timbuktu was established:

The rail line went to a logging camp. Today, that area is called Skunk Hollow. There's a pond there, now. I assume it's a leftover mill pond from the camp.

Timbuktu was located near the headwaters of Tualatin River South Fork. There is no Mainline, the road to Timbuktu connects to Skunk Hollow. In 1941, the road has reached that bend, but there's no camp there.

Here's the 1955 map:

A lot of changes in those 15 years. The Skunk Hollow camp is abandoned (but the mill pond is on the map), its rail has been replaced with a dirt road. The mainline, on the opposite bank of Lee Creek is now the best path to Timbuktu. Timbuktu is indicated, but there's no signs of structures. It's been abandoned, too. South Fork has been renamed Sunday Creek.

From here on, I can tell I'm off the old rail right-of-way. There's no obligation to keep the road to 2% grade nor minimize sharp turms. The trail gets markably steeper with both ups and downs. First, there's a drop to the bridge over Lee Creek:

Then, it's a long steep pull, far to steep for a locomotive, to another intersection with some equipment staged: 

This follows the original road between Skunk Hollow and Timbuktu.

The mainline remains steeper from here on out. Now, there are occasional views of South Saddle Mountain, the county high point. It's unmistakable thanks to it's double-hump with the radio towers on the western summit.

I've climbed about 2000 ft so far, and not that far below the summit. Sometimes, when the shade comes out and the wind picks up, I get cold, despite the unrelenting ascent. 

A more ambitious traveler with two cars might have chosen to follow this path up to South Saddle Mountain, cross over the top then roll down to Rogers Camp for an epic traverse:

It's a little further to the quarry:

This quarry is first appears on the 1979 map as a private borrow pit:

That makes this rock hole over 50 years old. Quarry operations tend to spin up and shut down based on local construction needs. Given the signs of recent activity, it looks like WashCo is in the midst of a construction boom.

From here, the road gets steep again, as I hug the curves of the Sunday Creek gully. Finally, I arrive at a five-way intersection and the terminus of Stimson Mainline.

It's here that I see my first fresh prints in a long time. There's a single set of boots coming down the Saddle and headed west. Someone probably parked their car at the State Forest boundary then trekked in a loop over South Saddle Mountain. 

There's also a set of deer tracks. Hunters: Stimson allows in-season hunting on their land with some caveats. No motors, so you have to haul out anything, yourself. 

Honestly, I was disappointed with the wildlife diversity I saw. Given that I was probably the only person for miles in any direction, I expected to see more than a few flickers and squirrels. 

I regularly spot black tail in nearby Cherry Grove and Hagg Lake but saw nothing but these prints today. I'm a pretty good bird spotter but I neither saw nor heard any grouse. The only game animal I spotted the whole day were two california quail I startled into dashing serpentine across the road.

From here, I can continue straight, eventually crossing into the Tillamook State Forest on the C-Line Road or turn hard north (and up) on the most direct path to Saddle Mt. I could also turn south on Williams Road, which eventually would dump me on the Trask River Trail and Barney Reservoir.

Instead, I gaze at the heavily overgrown hill to the southwest where I can barely make out the road.

Timbuktu was once somewhere nearby. It's hard for me to say where. Without historic post office documents, I have no township coordinates. The brief descriptions that exist contain no mention of landmarks or miles along roads I could calculate.

Today's maps pinpoint Timbuktu along the northern face of this hill. I don't buy it. Its a steep slope and well off both the road and the creek. Every other camp and cabin I see is on flat ground, along a road, and usually very close to a water source.

Until I hear different from a credible source, I believe this intersection either is or was very close to Timbuktu. 

Rather than continue exploring, I head back the way I came. The climb took 2 hours but the return trip was just 45 minutes. By this time, the gravel had dried out a bit and I wasn't sinking in anymore. Besides some washboard bumpiness, no complaints on the return ride.

I even took a quick detour for some distant shots of Hagg Lake: