Alvord Desert: The other side of Oregon

Maybe it was the warm late-afternoon sunlight addling our brains, or the rarefied air at a higher altitude. Or perhaps it was just two friends on the wrong side of 50 pretending they were 21 and carefree again.

Whatever the reason, sitting on a log overlooking the sublime beauty of Crater Lake in the great state of Oregon, my Portland friend Michael and I decided to turn our backs on the fir-forested gentility of the Pacific coast and, instead, drive his Tesla into the middle of a sun-blasted, heat-ravaged desert.

In most countries this would be madness; there would be one charging station every 1000 kilometres - if that - and not even a Tesla Model S has that range. But this was the super-woke west coast of America where every third car seemed to be electric.

There were charging stations everywhere. Some were rapid Tesla superchargers where drivers line up, plug in and chat about torque and LCD display resolution. Others were slower, all-weather mains leads running out the back of hardware stores and diners. Pay the few dollars fee at the counter and have a nice day.

So, with zero worries about running out of power in the wilderness and risking a run-in with a well-armed survivalist, there was nothing stopping us heading east to our destination: the dry lake-bed known as the Alvord Desert.

Most of our trip was spent traversing the Oregon High Desert region, which covers the south-east corner of the state - about 62,000 square kilometres in all, just smaller than Tasmania. If you've seen the film High Plains Drifter you'll know the kind of landscape: vast expanses of beige and ochre plains dotted by grey-green sagebrush and the odd clump of Ponderosa pines, and a dry wind sending tumbleweeds tip-toeing across the ground.

So, with a fully charged Tesla and a desert waiting for us to bake it in, we hit the Silver Lake Road, heading east. We drove through the Klamath Marsh National Wildlife Refuge, where the western meadowlarks play, and by lunchtime rolled into the small High Desert town of Christmas Valley.

The on-board thermometer read 35 Celsius and the Tesla needed a long recharge. We found a mains lead at the back of Santa's Hardware store and I asked the guy behind the counter (who was definitely not Santa) how the town got its name.

"I really wouldn't know," he replied, looking me in the eyes and doing his best Clint Eastwood impression.

Given that the store's advertising board out the front declared proudly that it sold "AMMO" I decided against asking him a follow-up question such as "but you live here, how can you not know?" or "can you go in the back and ask Santa?"

Instead we walked the baking streets of Christmas Valley, which had suitably festive names. We strolled down Mistletoe Road, Jingle Bell Lane and Snowman Road, before dropping into a small Mexican cantina for delicious burritos.

From Christmas Valley we pushed on to Burns for a night's sleep and the next morning made the sprint south to the hamlet of Frenchglen. The landscape there had spread itself out and the cloudless sky seemed to be miles higher than normal. All we could hear was the light whoosh of a hot, dry breeze.

The main road from Frenchglen to the Alvord Desert - the Catlow Valley Road - ran south for about 50 kilometres and then kinked left to cut through low hills to the desert's main entry point, near the petrol-station pit stop of Fields. Every now and then there were gaps in the hills and we could see beyond - way beyond - to a breathtaking backdrop that was more like Luke Skywalker's planet Tatooine than our own. As we crested the last hill, the shimmering, oat-white, Alvord Desert lake-bed lay before us.

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It stretches 19 kilometres north to south and 11 kilometres across, and marks the north-western extreme of the much larger Great Basin Desert - one of the big four US deserts. Hit by such a stunning panorama I almost expected a hidden orchestra to play a triumphant "ta-da!" from behind a rocky outcrop but instead there was silence.

It was so quiet we could hear the heat-cracked crust (or "playa") of the lake bed crunch under our feet and the distant whirr of dust devils as they twirled like phantoms, lurching and spinning towards us before exploding in puffs of smoke. Beyond the devils, in the haze south of the lake bed, we could just make out the remote Pueblo Mountain Range that runs over the border into Nevada.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by bloodcurdling howls from the low hills - coyotes, my friend told me; they must have made a kill. It was remarkable to think there was any life there at all, apart from a couple of blokes in a Tesla and some transient motorhome folk sipping beer under a tarpaulin.

By 6pm, the first evening shadows seeped across the playa, painting it a cool blue-white and making us look 10 metres tall. We felt the temperature begin to fall and the wind pick up but we were determined to witness one more desert marvel before we left the Alvord. Soon, we saw it: the moon rose fat and yellow over the eastern rim. It climbed into the crystal-clear sky, whitening and intensifying, and turning the playa a silvery grey, like a vast sheet of molten zinc.

As my friend drove the Tesla back up the slope towards the low hills, we heard the coyotes howling nearby and saw the sagebrush bushes glowing with a moonlit, monochrome ghostliness.

The Alvord Desert was suddenly a very different and uncertain place. It was time to leave.

Getting there: United Airlines flies direct daily from Sydney and Melbourne to San Francisco. There are numerous connecting flights from San Francisco to Portland, Oregon. Or, book a seat or a bedroom on the Amtrak Coast Starlight sleeper train from San Francisco to Portland.

Staying there: As the Frenchglen Hotel is undergoing a change of management it's safer to book the Prohibition-themed Historic Central Hotel in the town of Burns and make a day-trip to the desert.

Eating there: In Burns, try the Pine Room. It might look a bit Wild Westy but the food and service were great and the place had a very good bourbon selection.

Driving there: It's all about the Alvord Desert. If you're on electric wheels, power-up at the Tesla Supercharger just south of Burns. Burns to Fields - the desert entry point - is roughly 180 kilometres. Frenchglen to Fields is about 85 kilometres.

Explore more: traveloregon.com