Leaving the Washington/Oregon border we faced a 4,000 foot climb into the mountains. It was sweetened by the good company of our friend Trevor and a sweet note from Magen stashed behind a trail sign!
I went slow and took long breaks and it didn’t feel nearly as hard as I thought it should. There were a few sneaky look outs with west facing views down the Columbia, ample wildflowers and generally picturesque trail which offered many great moments to pause and take it all in.
We turned in early and even though I tried to stay up for the sunset I slept long before dusk and slept well.
The next day was fairly level trail and went by quickly. One side of a ridge of lush young forest turned and gave way to hollowed halls stripped by wildfire on the next face. Blackened bark was shredded and strewn across trail and slope like ancient wallpaper. In some places small clumps of grasses, tender vines and hearty wildflowers were beginning to take root and repopulate the slopes. In others strong winds tore up the barren mountain face carrying ash and bark and seed away perpetually. I though about the last two summers I’d spent living and working outdoors. Thought of the ash I had breathed, the ash I brushed from my hair, the ash that coated my bed. I had spent the last two summers breathing in these very mountains dresses.
I thought about that. The robes the mountains wear. Changing with seasons and climate. The mountain knows her roots no matter what dress she wears. Here her soft fertile skin exposed, a jut of bony rock, tender green leaves just beginning to sprout. There a dense loft of fern and shrub, moss, bracken and gnarled branch, sturdy and slender conifer. What had these slopes looked like 200 years ago? 500 years ago? She changes her dresses but her roots remain. What a beautiful way to be.
Walking north through the desert I had turned inwards to my own roots. I followed the veins of my own patient growth. Touched fault lines, the places scarred by mining, the deep and immovable places in me. Wondered if some molten fury remained within.
Now I walk south and contemplate the changing face I present to the world. Now grounded with a hand to my own mountains root.
The first three days of Oregon were glorious. Wandering tunnels of green opened on rolling mountains thick with forest marred by deep burns. The hillsides and trails edges brimmed with yet another new cast of vibrant wildflowers. Brush and vine were laden with green berries waiting for the sun to turn them sweet.
I knew there would be snow and rain up north, I wasn’t entirely delusional. I did grow up out here.
But the desert in spring had made me quite spoiled. And Oregon was putting on a truly glorious show.
The rain came though. And as I climbed towards Mt Hood the cold and snow and hail came as well.
A cacophony of whistlers warblers trillers and songbirds were the soundtrack to the wooded miles and despite the damp conditions the beauty of Mt Hood Wilderness was mesmerizing.
At Timberline Lodge we met up with Grown’s friend Zack. Temps that night got down to the low 30’s and I was less than thrilled about setting up my wet tent in the dark. Instead I posted up in the Commons next to the fireplace until I couldn’t stay awake any longer.
They set out the next morning and I hung around to do laundry and sneak into a shower. I made plans to meet my friend Nik down the mountain in Government Camp later that day where I needed to fill out Grown and I’s resupply.
It wasn’t an easy hitch but I’ll take a twisting mountain two lane over the I-5 any day and it wasn’t long before a local picked me up and took me into town
After getting groceries I spotted Nik a cross the street – we got beers and caught up then made a plan for the day. To catch up with Grown and Zack we got on trail at Frog Lake. The mosquitoes were out in force and they had both retreated to their shelters by the time we rolled up so we set up camp down the way.
The following morning Grown stopped by to check in before they headed out – she wanted to put 18 miles behind her and I figured I’d probably take it easy so Nik wouldn’t have to backtrack too far to get back to work the next day.
Lake Timothy lay just ahead and come lunch time we found a spot to munch and swim before heading on to make camp at the south end of the lake.
It was great to have an excuse to take it easy and enjoy the lake – it turned out to be the only place on trail without a malitia of mosquitoes by some luck and we found a cozy little camping spot right on the sandy bank of the lake with a fire pit.
In the morning we parted ways back where the PCT branched from the loop trail around the lake and I set my stride long to make up the miles between myself and Grown and Zack knowing that snowy trail lay ahead not much further on. I managed my biggest miles that day – somewhere around 28.5 all together, I couldn’t be sure because my phone had died the day before.
I rolled into camp as the light of day was being snuffed out by the dense trees. I was exhausted and a little crazed from the swarms of mosquitoes and I burrowed into my bag without even setting up my tent.
The following day at Lake Olallie we determined that without the micro spikes I had sent home when we flipped from Kennedy Meadows it would be foolish to traverse the pass ahead and instead we caught a ride with a guide group back to the falls where Nik met us and graciously delivered us to Zacks car in Vancouver.
With a few days until Fair set up we headed to Olympia to prepare and hoped the higher mountains might thaw out a bit before we returned to finish Oregon after Fair.
Leave A Reply