Dug Bar is a long way from anywhere. You have to want to go there. No, you have to need to go there, enough to put up with hours of teeth-rattling, hope-I-don't-meet-another-car-and-have-to-back-up road that goes to sticky clay in the rain. You dive down to the end of the road to an anticlimatic set of drowsing old buildings, remnants of the flush times when there actually was a year-round Hells Canyon trail crew. Heck, when there even was a Hells Canyon trail crew. And before that, when it was an actual ranch, the Dug Bar Ranch.
In the end, you always have to go home, so we packed up and left, back to the world of computers and meetings. We left Dug Bar to the intrepid tourists who somehow find their way there, the kind of tourists I like because they are willing to seek out places like these.
I like finding these little cups of silence, these places at the end of the world.