Like any good American capitalist, I demand choice. Not content with Coca-Cola, I want Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero and Vanilla Cherry Coke Zero (is that a thing?). We insist, for some reason, on 14 flavors of Skittles, and endless species of Dorito. No longer content with Folger’s Crystals, we Yankees require an endless Starbucks menu.
So, too, should we demand options for the outdoors. That’s the great thing about the Duffy Lake Trailhead, located north of Santiam Junction west of Sisters. You can begin at one place, and end at a multitude of others.
During the 3 miles from the trailhead to the lake, there are at least three different signed turnoffs that will lead you to new destinations: the Turpentine Trail veers left just 1.5 miles into the hike, the Lava Lakes Trail is accessible via a right turn less than a mile before Duffy Lake, and countless spurs carry you to different day-use and camping options around the lake itself.
For those with youthful vigor and summit fever, a signed trail for “Eight Lks Basin” eventually carries you to the top of Red Butte, where you can view Mowitch Lake, “a steep-shored lake with a large, forested island,” per William Sullivan’s “Central Oregon Cascades” hike guidebook (2024 edition). This turnoff would have transformed a relatively short hike into a 12-mile epic, bushwacking journey. Finally, another mile past Duffy Lake itself, toward Santiam Pass, leads you to Hike #128, which leads to Santiam Lake.
Alas, my 14-year-old son and my 3-year-old Labrador retriever were at different ends of the energy spectrum. We settled on a plan for roughly eight miles of hiking, out and back, to Duffy Lake itself.
Nestled near the foot of Three Fingered Jack in the Mount Jefferson Wilderness, the Duffy Lake Trailhead is barely more than an hour’s drive from Bend, and just 37 miles from my front door in Sisters. Yet it breaches the Cascade Mountains divide into the green, lush west side of our state.
A popular spot, this trailhead featured forest service volunteers, checking the Saturday morning crowd for Central Cascade Wilderness permits. Luckily, I was prepared for this, and we flashed our credentials as Tilly wagged her tail and greeted the volunteers’ enthusiastic spaniel. We slathered ourselves with bug spray (this time of year still features plenty of mosquitoes), and ventured off.
The first couple of miles is a gently graded uphill through an old-growth forest of hemlock and Douglas Fir. The moss dangled from the hemlock and snags and spurs creaked in the wind. I grew up around such forests, and they never get old. The bark is more than a foot thick and the centuries-old trees shoot up like skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. They also shade the path on a warm summer day, making the uphill climb more than tolerable, no matter the heat.
Several loud chipmunks and a conspicuous family of ducks were among the cacophony of fauna on the trail. The father of one clan of waterfowl startled us by soaring from the grass near the trail, quacking loudly as he clumsily flew away. As we stared upward quizzically, we soon learned the reason for his flight; a brood of ducklings loudly chirped at the spot he had just left. The father was attempting to lure our (leashed) pup away from his children in a valiant effort to save them. Well done, pops.
At roughly 800 feet of climbing over the course of 4 miles, the hike is hardly an aerobic challenge, and the trail is manageable for all skill levels. But for the wilderness permit restrictions, this walk would’ve been overrun. For this reason, I was reluctantly grateful for the cap on users that these wilderness permits provide. Maybe a little socialism has its environmental benefits.
In between miles 2 and 3, the hike levels a bit, and you cross the now-dry North Santiam River. According to Sullivan’s guidebook, the river can flow 20 feet across during spring and early summer. By July 11, however, snowmelt had already run dry and the river had vanished. Wildflowers and bare red rock were all that stood in our way as we forded the creek bed.
The trail spins upward toward Duffy Lake within a mile from this point. A left-hand turnoff to a day-use area greets you first, before the trail crosses a babbling outlet, where a wooden bridge had been dislodged. Duffy Butte towers over this chilly lake, which is a dog’s paradise. We found a beach about a quarter-mile from the wooden bridge, let Tilly dog-paddle for some sticks, ate our turkey sandwiches, and then turned back for the trailhead after admiring the view.
Getting to the Duffy Butte Trailhead is a simple affair. From Bend, travel on U.S. Highway 20 through Sisters, and continue until the “Y” at Santiam Pass, veering right onto U.S. Highway 22. From there, it’s around 6 miles until you turn right on NF 2267. Travel 3 more miles uphill, ignoring turns, until you get to the trailhead just after the road turns to gravel. It’s $5 (or a Northwest Forest Pass) to park, and you must plan a few days ahead for the Central Cascades Wilderness Permit, at $1 per person.
Burn enough calories, and you may even earn the right to choose one of those awful spicy Doritos tacos from Taco Bell. Capitalism is truly a miracle.