It had long been dark on Saturday when a group of hikers began trekking through the woods not far from Eugene’s city limits.
Occasionally tripping over a stone or a root, they struggled to stay on the unfamiliar trail without the aid of a flashlight on the frosty October night. Yet, as they began climbing further away from civilization and into isolation, the hikers began to feel the rhythm — a steady, low drumming that grew louder with every step and seemed to be coming from inside of the mountain. With the final steps of the climb close at hand, the tips of tall Douglas firs disappeared below and the clouds momentarily revealed a window of light from the full moon.
Suddenly there was an orchestra of loud and obnoxious howls — the hikers had reached the Saturday night Buttenannie at Spencer’s Butte.
“It’s awesome. The hike up is great. I love it. There’s really a lot of good energy here,” said Eugene resident David Vanscoy, speaking over a howl war between two groups as the moon revealed itself again.
By late evening, about 40 people had scaled the fairly steep 2,052-foot summit of Champ-a te, the native Calapuyian name meaning “Rattlesnake Mountain.” Those just arriving to the summit were greeted by people in a tight circle who were gathered around a campfire singing “Across the Universe” by the Beatles.
Some were too exhausted by the trail to join in on the song.
“I’m still wondering why I decided to hike up this mountain in the middle of the night,” said Eugene resident Jade Lazaris, still out of breath from the climb. “I haven’t hiked that much in a year. I thought my friend meant Skinner’s Butte, which is a quick, five minute drive to the peak. But this is by far the best view any place around here,” Lazaris said.
How and why the Buttenannie tradition began is a mystery, even for those who complete it regularly. For years, the event happened only three times a year during the full moon. However, during the summer, some of the late night hikers began climbing the butte every full moon to take in the sights and celebrate.
“See the sun set, watch the moon rise and listen to music on top of a mountain,” said hiker Wendy Welborn, describing the essence of the Buttenannie phenomenon.
Some danced and jumped over the fire in the midst of a lively circle. Others cheered them on, slapping knees and clapping hands to the beat. A mandolin and fiddle alternated folk classics from Celtic sounds to tribal ones. The artists created their sounds by playing everything from the flute to a didgeridoo. The set list included Bob Dylan’s “The Times, They Are a-Changin’,” “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show and the American traditional “Man of Constant Sorrow.”
With the music still playing, one of the performers shouted out to the crowd, “We’re all here in the Indian lands. There are no borders — this is Mother Earth. Welcome out to the Buttenannie!”
People came and went. Some, wrapped in blankets and drinking to warm themselves up, were ready to stay all night; others had come ill-prepared and bundled up close to the fire.
“It was a lot warmer hiking up than just sitting around up here,” said Chad Cunningham, a Eugene resident.
The fire dancers, who had dragged juggling equipment and light display projectors up the trail, had forgotten to bring fuel. The rumor was that the Bad Mitten Orchestra would be performing, but no one really seemed to know who had organized the event or how long it would go on. Many were first-timers from near and far; some had just arrived into town.
The intrigue of the event for many is its unpredictable nature.
“I think it’s cool that it’s spontaneous. It’s not a formal venue,” University graduate student Paula Luginbuhl said.
Whether participants climbed up to the top of the butte to take in the scenery and meditate or whether they made the climb to celebrate with others at the peak, the event is an enigma of the Pacific Northwest lifestyle.
Outside the fire circle, dogs chased each other across the summit’s 100-foot-long clearing as one man hacked firewood into smaller pieces with a machete. Others pondered astrology and philosophized about developments of human society.
“We often lose our connection with nature. I think it helps people reconnect in a spiritual way,” Vanscoy said. “People have connected with music and nature throughout all time — that’s culture.”
Higher up on top of the boulders, someone sat in solitude with a 360 degree view and the city lights below. In the distance, Autzen Stadium still gleamed after the football game. Howls yearned for the moon as it lit up the summit again.
“It’s the best time to hike without a flashlight at night,” said University student Vanessa Fiedler. “It’s pretty surreal. You look one way and it’s the city; you look the other way and it’s nothingness.”
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