E.E Wilson After Dark

Not but 10 miles north of Corvallis and a right turn away lies one of the Willamette Valley's most overlooked restoration projects.

The E.E Wilson Wildlife Reserve has been owned, operated and managed by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife since first opening to the public in 1950.

As it stands today, 75 years later, a look around the place evokes a sense of isolation, loneliness, and only a mere idea of what had stood before — and subsequently crumbled by way of the gentle decay of nature, and its persistent reclamation in the wake of a bygone era.

Covering 57,159 acres, the site is expansive, dominating the little nugget of land sandwiched between Highway 99 and Independence Highway. 

And this nugget glitters golden. 

Between 1942 and 1946, the base was operating in full swing. The highest estimates for the number of soldiers on site are said to have been around 40,000, with at least 1,700 buildings having been built during its heyday. 

Apart from the barracks, the site included a hospital, five movie theaters, and even 11 different chapels within the confines of the cantonment. If the community had incorporated, it would have been the second largest city in Oregon at the time. 

A far cry from the lush greenery, weekly-stocked fishing pond, and towering oaks that remain in their places today.

Where the hell did everybody go? 

The unraveling of Camp Adair occurred in much the same way as it began — rapidly, in the midst of war. 

Everything the camp was intended to be – the barracks, the hospital, the movie theaters – was all temporary, designed for the training and mobilization of thousands of men, with incredible efficiency, in a very short window of time.

As soon as the call for battle was made, the four infantry divisions stationed at the camp were among those left to answer it. 

And so they answered.

In total, 26,436 men from the 70th, 91st, 96th, and 104th infantry divisions were killed in battle during World War II. Twenty-thousand more were left injured, and nine of those men went on to become Medal of Honor recipients.

When all was said and done, and the war came to a close, Camp Adair was declared surplus by the federal government. Nearly all the buildings – save for two, which were relocated – were demolished, their materials repurposed.

Much of the original 57,000-acre plot was obtained by farmers, and what remained was divided up between government agencies on a federal and state level before the camp was given a new life as E.E Wilson Wildlife Refuge in 1950, as it remains today. 

The Outing

By Liana Lahann

Intrigued by the history of the site, we decided to go check it out. Arriving just after 11 p.m. on May 23, the stargazing reports weren’t lying. The landscape was pitch black, blanketed overhead by a painted sky full of stars. It was striking, being the first time I'd been in an area that allowed for such high-quality stargazing in Oregon. 

Having found a conveniently secluded nook to park at the trailhead, turning off our lights as soon as we parked so as not to draw any unwanted attention from the game warden. 

When the Weef Mobile settled and we once again went over our (lack of) plans for the trip, we got out of the car. After stopping to admire the many stones outlining the entryway, we walked through a threshold of two seemingly broken old-style concrete pillars, pebbles included, adorned with bent and broken rusted steel nailed into them.

Eagerly setting off down the cracked asphalt, we were quickly halted by the ominous sight of a freshly severed bird wing in the center of the pathway. With the bone exposed, it was clear from the evidence of the crime scene that a struggle ensued, and not even long enough ago for the leftover meat to begin decaying. There was no visible rot, nor smell of putrefaction or swarming flies. 

The vibe of our excursion quickly changed from neutrally excited to eerie, though I was significantly more creeped out than Marsh was. 

Walking down what used to be a frequently traversed road in the dead of night felt impossibly lonely.

Considering that not too long ago, this may have been one of the busiest roads in the state of Oregon, the contrast between any signs of human life– save for the two of us, and the woodlands which encapsulate it 

We continued down the path and stopped no more than 40 feet later at the sight of an itty-bitty baby pine tree that had taken root right in the middle of one of the cracks separating the squares of pavement. Marsh proceeded to mess with his camera settings in the face of no lighting and I turned on my iPhone flash and searched for the perfect angle so we could try to get some cool shadows and pine needle highlights in the photograph.

Twenty minutes and 15 pictures of a tiny evergreen later, we set our sights back to the road ahead, and we continued onward into the darkness.

When we had more than doubled our distance from my car, Marsh suddenly darted off into a narrow offshoot, seemingly going into nothing other than the black abyss of trees and the unknown within. As he was spelunking deeper and deeper into the foliage, I looked at my right hand side through the trees and spotted what I now know is an Oxeye Daisy facing directly at me, as if it was acknowledging my presence. 

Dude, there's a giant daisy just chillin 'alone in the middle over here.

Wow! That's beautiful! Marsh said before he turned around to come look.

He quickly dove into the bush, camera and all, ducking and dodging branches like a pro. 

After struggling to get decent lighting, we decided to just use my iPhone with flash instead. Putting his cigarette just below the camera lens, the photo came out with a super dope grunge 2014 Tumblr effect that reminds me half of all the content I would see online when scrolling on my iPhone 4s when I was 12. 

The overexposure induced double vision outlining the left of the flower itself is just the cherry on top of this photo, and the reason it's my favorite photo from our adventure that dark night. 

Not even three steps later, I stopped at the sight of this wonky looking contraption. 

Do you know what that is?  

Marsh being the only one of us with any knowledge of the area's history or botanical knowhow, I asked this quite a bit during our stroll.

What what is?

The thing that looks like upside down magicians had half buried in the ground with a magic staff sticking out of it.

Inspecting the remnant at many angles, pushing the stick only for it to not move Marsh replied with…

I have absolutely no Idea.

We continued on the main path for not even ten seconds before Marsh darted towards a wider offshoot on our left that lead to a canal. 

Hoping to get some pictures of the moonlight reflecting on the water, we made it 3/4ths of the way down the footpath before turning back at the sight of what Marsh recognized as poison oak. 

We continued on the main road until I saw some interesting plants near the curve. 

I crouched down to inspect the short fauna further. 

Do you know what plant this is? 

Marsh, casually looking from a top down view at the yellow petals at the upper side of each flimsy branch.

Oh, that's Scotch Broom, It's really invasive.

What are these hairy pods for? 

Marsh also crouched down to get a better look

Oh, Interesting! These are snap peas that have crossbred with the Scotch Broom. Weird! I have absolutely no idea where the hairs are coming from though. 

Welp, that's an abomination. 

Ha! Right.

We continued seeing these plants line the outskirts of the widening path as the pavement turned into a dirt path and all the way around the curve, until we got to a three-way intersection. Continuing straight, I lead with my iPhone flashlight on. Somehow in our impeccable strategic analysis of the area and structured plan of attack for when we arrived, we didn't think to bring flashlights. 

Once the middle path widened to a clearing, Marsh got super amped and self yeeted into the wall of trees.

OH! That's an awesome stick!

A stick?

Yeah! This baby is sweet right here. 

Marsh pulled out a big stick taller than either of us.

Oh yeah, this is the one right here. 

Marsh held his stick and continued to look into the bushes 

OH WOW! Hold this. He said, handing me the stick.

Marsh started yanking an object out of the bushes with both hands, using his body weight to pull it out of the brush it was pinned under. He then proceeded to pull out what could have been either a fallen tree around a decade old or a girthy branch of a very old tree. 

Now this! THIS is how you prepare a stick. 

Hold on, I'm putting this on my Snapchat story. 

I said whilst pulling my phone out of my pocket. 

With the camera rolling, Marsh began his tutorial.  

Stomping on the stick a total of three times left the stick sufficiently broken enough to fit inside the Weef Mobile.

Having secured our Snapchat story footage, we made our way back. 

Against all odds, we didn’t get turned around or lost in the overbearing weight of nightfall.

We passed the same remnants that we encountered on our way in, save for one.

The severed bird limb was no longer in the middle of the path.

In fact, it was nowhere to be found whatsoever.

Whoever the culprit responsible for the disappearance was, the two of us weren’t keen on sticking around to see them return to the scene of the crime; critter, creeper, or otherwise.

We kept on walking, albeit with a spring in our step.

The concrete pillars at the trailhead greeted us upon our return to our roadside nook. 

We loaded the sticks into the trunk, and set off down Camp Adair Rd.  back towards the highway.

As our adventure came to a close, we took in our surroundings, passing the Angler’s Access, Memorial Garden, and Archery range.

In the dead of night, the forgotten stories told by the barren roads and concrete pads left to the ever-growing forest were as clear as day.