A Roam from Rome to Lambert Dome

Summit 7 of 70--May 18, 2023

When four river rats and I launched our laden rafts into the Owyhee River at Rome, Oregon, I was semi-dubious we’d actually find a qualifying summit along the way to add to my 70 Summits quest for 2023. But who needs a summit when you have seven lazy, warm days to kill and a beautiful, fifty-mile canyon to float through in the remote southeast corner of the state.

“Owyhee,” we learned, comes from the story of native Hawaiians brought to the Northwest by fur traders in the early 1800s. Several who were left by Pacific Fur Company’s Donald McKenzie in 1818 to explore the region quickly disappeared and were never found. Like the countless generations of Native Americans before them, their spirits still roam the canyons of this vast high desert.

As we departed the busy boat ramp at Rome on Monday, May 15, it was a time to exhale, and we spent the rest of the week pretty much doing the same—exhaling—while at the same time inhaling the wonders of the Owyhee.

Plenty of others had a similar idea, in part because the river flow drops considerably by late spring, giving boaters like us a relatively short rowing season. But we seemed to hit it just right, with good flow, good weather, good beer, and good company. Despite our perfect timing, the river never felt too crowded, not counting, of course, the usual minor chaos at the put-in and take-out ramps.

After a few miles drifting past farms and open desert, the river sunk briskly into a canyon of old lava flows where modest, yet frequent rapids kept reminding us why we were there. Day by day, steepening talus slopes became towering canyon walls, pulling back at times, then building into vertical, sometimes overhanging ramparts lurking around the bend.

A thunderstorm threatened early in the trip, but the booms kept their distance, even if a bout of pea-sized hail passed over us with quite a pelting. From then on, however, it was nothing but sunshine and beach camps, aerobic lounging, fizzy drinks, dips in the cool river, and great meals the five of us took turns preparing.

On the third day, we reached spectacular Pruitt’s Castle, a kind of badlands formation interwoven with layered cliffs that reminded me of some kind of tirmisu layer cake, definitely pretty enough to eat. We hiked around the north side for a good look at the objective for the next day—Lambert Dome. I’d read nothing about it beforehand and wondered how accessible the summit might be. Could this be summit number seven? It did look promising, like a rounded ice cream scoop atop the tiramisu.

Next morning, fed and coffeed, the five of us were promptly on our way. We repeated the approach around the Castle, descended briefly into the next drainage, then worked up a craggy little groove that led to a short scramble and the desert plateau above.

From there it was indeed just a tiramisu cakewalk to the top. Make that two dollops of ice cream, as in two domed summits just minutes apart. I walked up both for good measure. The higher one topped out at 3,600 feet, just over 500 vertical feet above the river. Good enough to count. We completed a loop around the domes, ogling the multi-colored cliffs and towers and the winding river below, and descended to camp.

Now mid-way through our riverine adventure, our sights returned to the canyon and the pleading river, with a final few days to bask in the scenic and whitewater thrills of the Owyhee. We still had the bigger rapids to run, though we slithered through without incident.

Lucky for us, the landscape continued to reveal itself in grand fashion, bend by bend, ripple by rapid. And all this was supplemented with frequent sightings of vultures, hawks, canyon wrens, ducks, geese and goslings, lizards, a gopher snake, one sneaky rattlesnake, copious jumping fish and even a marmot. On the plateau above, wildflowers were abundant, including paintbrush, phlox, arrowleaf balsamroot, blue toadflax, and others. Brilliant starry nights seemed to add an exclamation point to it all.

Needless to say, it was a fabulous adventure for a hebetudinous gaggle of old guys. We did not meet any Hawaiians, though I’m certain their spirits ran through us. Thanks to Mitch and Dave for pulling it all together. And thanks to the Oregon weather gods for so perfectly accommodating our floaty indulgence.