A Hundred Horned Larks with the Roost

~ By Vicky ~

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2024 was the kickstarter year of our truck camper adventures. We became the proud owners of a four-season, cozy, and highly capable truck camper that we aptly named The Roost, which perched atop our one-ton long bed truck we named Sanderling in honor of the hardy migratory shore bird whom we love to find dodging the swash and backwash along ocean shores. As campers who sought lesser-known forest roads on BLM land, we dreamed of a truck camper to expand our camping season from fair-weather summer campers to whenever the hell we felt like getting out into the wilderness campers. Extra special bonus points for being able to bring our cats, Marcel and Colette, on camping trips in the safety of an enclosed truck camper.

M and C look out at Fay Lake. Big Meadows, OR

During the pre-Covid years we hemmed and hawed at our truck camper dreams, but we made our plan to save the money. Then Covid hit, we went on lock down, we couldn't camp (save that one time we defiantly went to Priest Hole in May only to have the Sheriff kick us out our second day). Our July honeymoon plans went out the window - plan A to go to southern France, and plan B to drive through Canada to Alaska. When the world opened back up, we decided to pull the trigger and get our camper dreams started. We did have sticker shock at how expensive trucks and our dream camper became after Covid. Writing this blog piece in 2025, I am glad we decided to finally buy when we did; in one year the world has gotten so much more divided, complex, and expensive.

The immediate aftermath of Covid on wilderness areas was pretty bleak, what with unscrupulous people "discovering" the systems of free trails, nature areas, and refuges, but using the land like their literal toilet bowls and dumping grounds (poop, toilet paper, and trash strewn along trails and in primitive camping areas), party areas (playing loud music on trails, and literally turning campgrounds into dance party venues), or nanny grounds (letting kids run and scream about in sensitive wildlife habitats). And then there were the menacing weirdos who felt safe to emerge and threaten peaceful camp hosts with guns and vandalism just to secure a camping spot.

Post-pandemic there was a lot of competition to get a spot even in primitive, first-come first-served campgrounds. During our car-camping days it was stressful to put in all the work to pack up and drive several hours to gamble on whether an area I thought looked good would have any place for us to camp. The truck camper didn't solve the this problem, but it gave us peace of mind that if a spot were taken (which happened a few times), we could still hunker down in the comfort and safety of the hard sided camper, and the next day mosey on to explore the area. Oregon has a lot BLM land and National Forest where dispersed camping is allowed. Central and Eastern Oregon are less populated with even more camping potential. So long as we don't trespass on farm land, private property, or ranches, it's pretty much up for grabs.

Dispersed campsite along Marion Creek. Jefferson Wilderness, OR

We had been to Malheur National Wildlife Refuge twice before. On those trips we once stayed at an Air BnB in Hines and another time at a cabin at the Steens Mountain Wilderness Resort. It was on the latter trip in April of 2021, that we dedicated a morning exploring a road named Jack Mountain Road. It was here we encountered dozens of horned larks with zero people. There were a few dirt roads leading off the main gravel road that we longed to set up camp at. The imagination was lit and over the next several years of camper-dreaming S. and I would always say "when we get our camper we're coming back to the Horned Larks of Malheur!"

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May of 2024, we returned to the High Desert with a fully loaded Roost, ready to boondycke. We saw a couple of good boondocking spots along Jack Mountain Road, but we really wanted to camp at the area of the hundred horned lark sightings with the view of the Steens. We found the dirt road and we set up camp. The Horned larks showed up in all their raucous abundance - flitting on and off the dirt road, perching on boulders to stare us down, and chasing each other down.

The weather - dry, mostly sunny, with strong cooling afternoon breezes. The topography - sagebrush and hardy grasses with the occasional stand of junipers growing out of the volcanic soil. There's a visual trick of the eye that when one looks at land seemingly congruous with the same sort of terrain, one assumes the land goes on this way forever as far out as the eye can see. It was this visual trick that obscured a small gorge next to our camp sight. We hadn't noticed the path that led to it in until our second day.

Cow path to a hidden dale just past the junipers to the right in this photo

I had woken pre-dawn to get shots for a sunrise panorama. Walking back to the camper I saw a bird flitting in the treetop of a distant juniper tree. The bird turned out to be a Meadowlark who led me to find, just 200 feet from our camp spot, a single track cow path cutting down through a rocky walled dale. I refrained from exploring the path since S. wasn't up yet, and instead used the morning spotting and photographing singing Meadowlarks, Brewer's sparrows, Vesper sparrows, Lark sparrows, Horned larks, and Rock wrens.

Once her ladyship deigned to awaken, we breakfasted, leashed up Juniper and explored the path.

The small gorge opened up to sprawling meadows and we ended our walk at another valley precipice where we sighted our first Ash-throated flycatcher and Gray flycatcher.

Boondocking in a truck camper takes a bit of planning and a lot of frugality when it comes to water and space in the waste tanks. After two days at camp Hundred Horned Lark I figured we had enough room in our tanks for another day to camp elsewhere. Curious as to what other high desert delights we would find, we uprooted ourselves and drove back down Jack Mountain Road, pulled over at a flat spot off the road and made camp. Our new spot had us on a bench where one side went up to a plateau and the other side dropped into a rocky ravine. Rock wrens and the occasional Canyon wren could be heard and of course our fanciful minds imagined all kinds of perfect nesting spots amongst the rocky ravine and plateau sides. Looking down into the craggy ravine glassing every nook and cleft with our binos we imagined rock wren nests with their walkway of small stones and even thought we saw a few perfect pebbly walkways on horizontal crags. But alas, we have been known to let our nest-seeking imaginations fly.

That night around 1:00 a.m. I heard a peculiar song. The song was very near and clear, and unusual. I turned on the Merlin app to record it and was pleased to discover it was the song of the common poorwill. I nudged S. awake to hear the song. She was impressed but soon fell back to sleep. I think I stayed up for an hour of so reveling in the clear song and knowledge that a poorwill was so nearby.

We spent the rest of our trip driving the birding auto tour of Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, a gem of a refuge, and birding at its visitor's center with its wonderful gift shop run by the Friends of Malheur. We don't know when we'll ever get back to Malheur, but every spring we recall the abundance of Horned Larks and are hopeful that they prosper.

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