News from Jules | 07.02.2025 | DRT or Bust: Part 6
This wasn’t about hiking.
Over a year since my first time, I was back on the Deschutes River Trail (DRT) during summer solstice on Friday and Saturday, June 20-21 2025, hiking 30+ miles from the north end of Sunriver through Bend up to Tumalo, joined by 13 friends, seven kids, and two dogs, including two REI coworkers who went the whole way with me.
It all started last year as just a wild idea for a “summer project,” wondering: What if I hiked all of that?
After randomly discovering the continuous dotted line of the trail on Google Maps, that wild idea grew into a commitment, and my DRT project became a beautiful way to learn the Deschutes River and get to know the land, spend quality time with new and old friends, plus strengthen my weakened right leg last summer. I didn’t know how far it was, how long it would take, when I’d go, or who would join me. I just started hiking.
I proceeded to hike about ~60 miles out-and-back in 12 sections from May to August 2024 with 10 of my local friends—including one rockstar REI co-worker who hiked four sections with me—and finished the final stretch on my birthday with one of my best friends who flew in from Denver.
That dotted line took me through millions of years of dynamic geologic transformation; including thousands of years of volcanic activity that shaped the current path of the river that the Confederated Wana Łama (Warm Springs), Wasq'u (Wasco), and Northern Paiute tribes lived beside; and the past 200 years since settlers developed what we now know as Bend from population 500 in 1905 to 105,000 in 2025, with 160,361 projected to live in Bend by 2050.
“Decades ago, prior to flow regulation through dams, the Deschutes River flow fluctuated very little due to its spring-fed origins, making it one of the most stable rivers in the county. The current flow regime, which results in lower winter flows and higher summer flows than normal, was intended to accommodate agricultural development in Central Oregon,” according to the interpretative signs on the trail.
As I hiked alongside it last summer, I wondered: Is this river still wild? Or is it domesticated now?
There was so much to think about over the many weeks and miles.
Along the way, I realized this wasn’t just about hiking anymore. It was about so much more, especially the feelings of connection and belonging I felt as my spirit connected with all the other spirits around me.
I noticed how intimately knowing where we live helps us feel a strong sense of place in the world, so we can be at home in ourselves, especially as we relate to others.
I noticed how relationships are formed when there is more time and space to connect deeply in shared company and conversation—and yet humans get so focused on each other, it’s often easier to connect deeply with nature when one is solo.
It is clear our relationship with the river now is so different from the indigenous tribes’ relationship with the river—those who had lived here for centuries cohabitating with the plants, animals, rocks, water, earth, and sky without domesticating them—not only calling this place home, but living in community with it.
By the end of the summer, I wondered: What if the Deschutes River was returned to its natural state—a beautiful, resilient, stable, and self-sufficient living being—rewilded and allowed to flow freely? What if we also rewilded our relationship with this river, this land, this earth? And with ourselves?
I realized from the very beginning: This was not a place you visit once. This is a sacred place. A place that I’d been, but that I was just starting to know.
By the time I was done and had literally followed the trail to the end (which wasn’t an end), I wanted to do it again, but all together. All 30 miles straight through end-to-end over a couple of days so that I could experience the river as a whole—all of its unique but integrated ecosystems—and better understand how we relate to it.
So, I added a note to the 2025 bucket list I started on my phone, and continued to regularly hike, walk, run, and bike sections of the DRT since last fall. In December, I started facilitating monthly River Walks to help others connect and commune with the Deschutes River, not just recreate and play there. Each month different folks from my various communities attended, and we discussed topics like: What is community? What is a group? What is deep community?
In March, as we started a new year on the spring equinox, a new wild idea started to emerge: Hike the DRT on the summer solstice. It seemed like a beautiful way to celebrate the changing of the seasons!
I knew it might be a richer experience to walk the river solo, fully immersed in my surroundings, but then I wouldn’t have anyone to share the ooh-and-aah moments with. Of course, I could ask the friends I usually hike with. Then, I remembered The Way, a heartfelt movie from 2010 (that I highly recommend!) about a father who retraced his son’s steps on El Camino de Santiago across Spain and found community along the way. What if I offered an open invite to folks here and in my communities across Oregon? Who would show up? Why would they come? What would happen?
Lindsey Scott’s sweet chant that I listened to all last summer echoed in my ears: “You don’t have to plan the way. Trust the way, feel your way. The Way knows, The Way knows the way.”
And so a couple of weeks before the summer solstice, I told, texted, emailed, and posted to folks from REI Bend, Mt. Bachelor, Bend Climbing Club, Shameless Spiritual Womxn’s Circle, Climate Resilience organizing coalition, and Book club. Heck, I even put up a poster in the breakroom at work and shared the invite on my Instagram stories.
See more photos of my DRT prep on Instagram.
The week before the summer solstice, my Dad helped me map the 30-mile trail on RideWithGPS so folks who wanted to drop in could see the route. He drafted the map, and then we spent an hour on the phone as I explained the trail junctions and detours while he edited. Most of it was easy—simply following the dotted line on Google Maps alongside the river as it carved its way downstream through 2,000 feet of rock, sand, and soil.
But not living locally, he got really lost with a few of the detours around and through private land and neighborhoods where the route is disconnected. We kept the route as straightforward as possible and decided that I’d have to make some real-time decisions on the trail, including whether to finish at the DRT trailhead in Tumalo State Park or hike all the way to Tumalo for celebratory food and beers at The Bite.
I was delighted as the Yes! replies started coming through, including a few of my regular hiking buddies, but so many other people too. At REI, two of my coworkers surprised me by saying they were available and wanted to do the whole thing with me. One is relatively new to our store and Bend, while the other has been a reader following along on my adventures for the past year, so when she saw the invite she thought to herself:
Heck yeah, I can support Jules on the DRT!
In the days leading up to the summer solstice, I finished testing technology, like live tracking via Strava, and started packing. My feet had been hurting on my longer training hikes, so when my best friend in Denver texted asking how she could support me from afar, I realized she could literally support me with new Superfeet all-purpose insoles—from REI, of course. I also cleaned and reconditioned my four-and-half-year-old Gortex, leather Asolo hiking boots. Given all the scuffs from climbing mountains with crampons, they weren’t exactly like new, but they were ready for many more miles!
Unfortunately, I enjoyed my Sabbath earlier that week a little too much, forgetting to put on sunblock at the hot springs, and so my tummy and legs matched the bright orange DRT team bandanas donated by REI Bend. Luckily, this was the only current injury that I was nursing going into our long hike. After my “tune up” Physical Therapy session the day before the hike, my PT offered to drop off some aloe vera gel after work because I had run out. So many trail angels already, and my boots hadn’t even hit the dirt yet.
My best friend in Denver—the one who finished the DRT with me last year—commented over text how it was starting to feel less like we were going on a hike and more like we were going on a pilgrimage. I wondered: What’s the difference?
According to Wikipedia, a pilgrimage is a long journey of devotion to a holy place—often seeking forgiveness, fulfilling a vow, expressing devotion, or finding answers to life's profound questions—that can lead to personal transformation, after which the pilgrim returns to their daily life.
She was right. This would be a long journey of devotion, though not to a holy place but in a holy place the whole way. What personal transformation we might find on the trail was to be determined.
With my bags packed and ready, I just needed to get a good night’s sleep, then wake up and see what happened.
May you express devotion to your journey this week.
Love,
Jules
Read all posts in the “DRT or Bust” series: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 & Part 8