A Much-Needed Break in the Oregon Outback

Taking a Break from Technology

I needed a break. Not just any break—the kind that doesn’t come with Wi-Fi or cell service. So, I threw my gear into the back of my RAM 1500 Laramie (yeah, the one with the NVLIST vanity plates). Go ahead, judge me; it’s all about branding. I pointed it toward the wide-open spaces of the Oregon Outback.

This adventure was part walkabout, part hikeabout, kayakabout, and definitely a photography-about. The vast landscapes of Eastern Oregon offered me exactly what I needed: a break from the static, a deeper breath, and a much-needed spark.

Driving Through Solitude

Logging hundreds of miles across desolate, sun-baked roads, I had excellent company: the Amos Decker audiobooks by David Baldacci. His engaging storytelling kept my mind spinning as the wheels turned. There’s something about driving long stretches with a gripping story in your ears. It sharpens your focus and loosens your imagination. Plus, I love Baldacci's character-driven stories.

This part of Oregon doesn’t shout. Instead, it speaks in slow, weathered tones. Alfalfa fields roll endlessly, dust kicks up on remote gravel roads, and high mountain lakes like Dead Horse Lake and Dog Lake sparkle with a calm eeriness. It’s strange country—but the kind that stays with you in the best possible way.

Basecamp at Junipers

I didn’t just pitch my tent wherever I stopped. I set up a planned basecamp at Junipers Reservoir RV Resort—quiet, remote, and surrounded by sage and sky. This location gave me easy access to trailheads, backroads, and water that doesn’t see much company. Most mornings started early (think oh-God-hundred hours), and shout-out to High Desert Coffee in Lakeview for fueling the mission. Their iced coffee hit the spot, and their egg sandwiches on sourdough were exactly what I needed. Let’s be honest, I was too lazy to make breakfast myself.

From there, I set out each day to hike, paddle, fish the Chewaucan River, and take photos, following whatever the land had in mind. The Chewaucan is a rare high-desert gem—creek-fed by Dairy and Elder Creeks—winding through meadows and pine stands. This river is home to native redband and rainbow trout that put up a scrappy fight. Some stretches felt like stepping into another century: no boot prints, no tire tracks, just the soothing rush of water and the occasional osprey soaring above. One morning, I detoured to Deadhorse Lake and spotted a pair of bald eagles perched in the trees—silent, watchful, and absolutely majestic against the deep blue Oregon sky.

Wild Trout and Eager Playmates

The wild trout in these waters were generous. Beautiful and strong, they were eager to meet me more than once. It’s not often you find fish that play nice and fight hard; these did both. Every cast felt like a little moment of grace. Did I fry them up? Nope, I was too lazy to clean them. Instead, I used barbless hooks for easy catch and release.

Cold Beer and Family Lore

One afternoon, after a treasured day on the water, I rolled into Paisley and found myself at the Pioneer Saloon—the oldest bar in continuous operation in Oregon, open since 1883. At least that’s what the bartender told me. It’s a living piece of Western history with worn wood floors and locals who have a story for every year on the wall.

Funny enough, there’s a bit of family lore tied to that place. Years ago, when my parents were newly married, they camped with friends and journeyed from Deadhorse Lake to the Pioneer for a well-earned drink. However, my mom, who has always looked young, forgot her ID back at camp. No ID, no drink. They wouldn’t serve her, and she never let my dad forget it. Even now, the story brings a chuckle, and my mom still remembers the disappointment of sipping warm soda on a hot, dusty day while everyone else enjoyed refreshing adult beverages.

Afternoon Stillness, Sky Shows, and Firelight Truths

The late afternoons at camp were golden. I’d kick back next to the tent, allowing the dust to settle. I would crack open The Art of Being A Writer by Jane Friedman, taking notes and journaling whatever novel ideas or life ponderings drifted in during the day. That time between action and nightfall became my favorite part; thinking without pressure, dreaming without expectation.

As darkness descended like a cozy blanket, the real show began. The Outback is part of a certified Dark Sky Preserve, and it does not disappoint. I would set up my camera for long exposures of a night sky so full of stars that it made my eyes ache—in the best way. Afterward, it was fire pit time. With rye in hand and feet up, I reflected on the day, the journey, and the strangeness of being both completely still and fully alive.

That Weird End-of-Vacation Feeling

When a trip winds down, I often feel that annoying tickle of regret. You know the feeling—realizing you didn’t do "enough," relax "right," or transcend earthly burdens like some backpacking monk. That creeping dread of returning to emails and real pants.

But not this time.

Something about the Outback flipped the script. Instead of dragging myself back to daily life with a heavy heart and a sunburn, I felt recharged. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted to return. To work, to writing, and to the rhythm of real life. I was bringing something back with me: clarity, energy, and a fresh sense of what actually matters.

Yes, I’ll miss the playful trout, the dark skies, the refreshing lakes and streams, and the creaky floors of the Pioneer Saloon. But I came home with more than bug bites and blurry photos. I returned with perspective and the bones of a new novel already taking shape.

This one has a twist of mystery: a disappearance, a whodunnit tangled in secrets buried deeper than a dry creek bed. My life and the landscape inspired it, but the story? That’s pure fiction. Mostly.

What the Outback Gave Me

This stretch of Oregon reminded me to slow down and be present. It taught me to laugh at myself more and, most importantly, to want to come home. It gave me wild trout, sore legs, family memories, quiet wisdom, a journal full of ideas, and the bones of a brand-new novel. It also reminded me that you don’t always have to escape life; sometimes, you just need to get far enough away to remember why returning matters.

The Outback is still out there. Waiting. I’ll be back.

Probably with more whiskey. And definitely with my ID—just in case.