Mile 2012 - 2153: Oregon, the Beautiful

Jefferson

I wake early and with energy, I have full confidence today will be a good day. Some of the other guys have already packed up and left, which is what I expected. I pass by Poppins’ tent as I leave, not a stir. I feel a little concerned, but not enough to do anything. There is a strong smoke on the east side of the land, likely from the fires. From here I can no longer see Mt Washington, yet the skies to the west are blue, unblemished by any cloud. It’s a mix of burn scar and forest, and going through a transition in the early morning, a hummingbird launches the most aggressive attack on me yet. “Holy shit!”, I yell as I wave my hands crazily in front of me trying to fend off the super sonic bird. And it’s off. My guts don’t feel too great this morning, and I don’t believe it from the hummingbird scare, but some kombucha I had the day before. Hopefully not another ailment brewing in my body. For the first time in months, an overcast sky rolls in. It’s mixed with smoke, which provides some shelter from the sun, but ultimately a humidity that lingers on my skin. I’ve been through a few burn scars, but this one feels more visually jarring. It does afford better views though. Poppins and I meet up then eventually catch another Teresa and her two friends. 

We reach the first glacial melt stream. It’s full of silt and looks like watered down chocolate milk. It’s one of the more intense water crossings we’ve had since the Sierra Nevadas. We come across another glacial stream with the similar color profile, they roar throughout Jefferson Park. Poppins and I are stupefied by the grandness of the mountain and its glaciers. I stop for a bathroom break and Poppins is long gone, so I take the time to head down to Scout Lake for a rinse then have dinner. The day is getting late but I prefer to be clean. I make my way out of Jefferson Park around 7:30pm, and the nights are coming earlier, but a ways up the hill, I capture a beautiful alpine glow, unlike anything I’d ever seen. It’s like a painting. I continue on for a little more and stop. Stopping on trail intentionally is not like when you stop to camp. My body is hot, my heart is beating hard, I can hear it. Then I hear nothing but the roaring of mountain streams, and it’s like time stops. It’s a moment and eternity. “I want to be out here forever, this is where I want to be, right here, in this moment”, I think to myself. Then I’m back to moving. I enjoy hiking this late in the day, but the increased speed to darkness is not something I’m used to, and this is one of the steepest climbs in Oregon, albeit very short. By the time I cross over the other side, there’s only a whisper of light. I’m going to try to push it and see how well my body and eyes can take me down to the nearest camp. It’s all steep lava rock, so this approach is fairly foolish, but I let my body and eyes operate with minimal control, and successfully find a spot amongst the rocks.

Mt Jefferson

Mt Hood rising above smoky valleys 

It’s a whole lot of rocks this morning. The burn scars tend to have a lot more loose rock. I really like my shoes, but they are comparatively thinner than my other trail shoes and I’m beginning to feel the rocks through the soles. Sore feet come quick. I stride into Ollalie Lake Resort it feels like what I’d want in one of these resorts: solar power, cash only, and good trail supplies. I lounge around with a few snacks and a cup of coffee. I feel lazy today and I want to be lazy here right now. I make my oats while at the resort to eat later. I bought steel cut oats this time and it just reminds me of chicken scratch feed. Very little food gives me excitement now, this might as well be chicken scratch. I finally get the gumption to get moving ever closer to Mt Hood. The Austin Fire to the west is filling the space between the hills. I can taste it. My eyes burn, but not enough to shed tears. I push to the Warm Springs River, barely enough light to eat dinner. A quick bath and camp set up is done in the dark.

Red Rum

I really take my time this morning partially to blame is my access to cell service. I only have to hike 8 miles to get to the Timberline Lodge. Mother Teresa invited me to her birthday party, so I’ll be headed to Portland on Friday from a nearby trailhead. My lingering tiredness appreciates this. My feet do too. My left arch has serious plantar fasciitis, foot pain basically. I stop at the water source,  not needing water, just a place to rest before the final climb to the lodge. Spam-a-lot, a mountain of a man from Slovakia comes and plops down. A bit later so do Robinhood and his dad, Smokestack. We’re all pooped. We get about 5 minutes into talking about food that we enjoy. I stand up with quick urgency, “I need to get moving and quit talking about food, there’s food right there!”, as I point to the lodge. “Yup!”, they say in unison and get going. The final 1.5 miles to the lodge is very sandy, my feet sink a few inches and my paces crawls. I’m eager for some hot food. As I approach the lodge I notice it’s much smaller than in what I imagined. Perhaps my memory from The Shining betrayed me, but it doesn’t take from the beauty of the lodge itself. Unfortunately it’s a Thursdays at 2pm, so most some of the food establishments are closed, but thankfully I’m able to grab some pizza at the Blue Ox. Hawaiian but with pork belly, quite delightful. I linger around the lodge for a few hours, I’m not too pressed.

 I’m going to Mother Teresa’s birthday in Portland tomorrow, and the pickup point isn’t very far. It’s a good time tomorrow chat with the ever increasing crowd of hiker-loiterers.  The hiker box is down in the day lodge. Today is my day. Altra Olympus 5s, barely used, and in my size. Though I just got new shoes, these are a model with a higher stack, meaning more cushion from the rocks. Which I’m needing. I like my new shoes, but they’ll still be good for running when I’m done. So I slip on the donated shoes and slip my new shoes into my bag to ship out later. I find Mother Teresa (MT) and her friends taking a break upstairs, I let them know I’m headed out, but will see them in the morning, we’ll meet at Romona Falls. 

As I’m hiking, I begin to think about the book I was listening to about sailing in the Pacific, then the individual who ran the fastest time on the PCT this year. I don’t think, for me, it’s ever going to be “where no one has gone before” that drives my sense of adventure. We’ve gone everywhere, and I really don’t care about comparing my individual experience to others. It’s “where I never thought I would have gone” that drives my sense of adventure. I remember it’s always been a part of me, even as a child, I wanted to experience, but it took a stronger grip as I grew in high school. It doesn’t have to be extreme, it’s that I feel the infinitely smallness of my temporary experience, and I want to supplement it every so often. It’s not that redundancy doesn’t have a sweet taste, as bliss can be found in routine as well, but I am aware to the seasons of my soul. I arrive to the Zigzag River, with Mount Hood towering above me. I voluntarily cowboy camp, there’s no ants, no mosquitos, no reason not to.

Changing Winds

There are blue skies upon waking, but smoke quickly works its way up the valley, even before I depart the river I can feel the heat blowing through. As I walk the trail, I can see the upper sections of Hood covering not in smoke, but dust and scree. The wind is ripping through, and I have to put on my sunglasses to act as goggles as the flying dust. I take the Paradise Park Loop, which provides beautiful scenes of Mount Hood, it’s a place I genuinely want to come back and spend more time in. 

Lost Creek

I make my way to Romona Falls easily, my feet and legs still achy from miles of the past few days. Not extreme, but just a slowness in recovery. The falls are a spectacle. MT and her friends show up, and her other friend who drove from Portland, Matt, was there waiting. We made our way out and on to Portland, stopping in Sandy for Thai food. 

Upon arriving to the Airbnb, immediately head back out to go ship my shoes out and resupply. A quick trip around downtown and I’m back. There’s a feast of fresh food so that everyone can make their own personalized rice bowl. I had called them Buddha Bowls when I had planned it in the past. We play a game of Fish, which was new to me, but very enjoyable, ending in a tie. Matt had spent some time learning and practicing baking, providing MT ones of the best pieces of baked goods I have ever had in my life. At maybe 1/3 of a cubic foot, the cake had over 7 sticks of butter, which I savor. We call it a night pretty early for a birthday, we can’t fight the hiker fatigue.

Lonely Trails

It’s a quick morning out. Two of MT’s friends head to the airport, and the rest of us head back out to Romona Falls. I have no interest in carbs at this point (though I could be swayed by that cake), craving only fat but especially protein. Meat. My bag is heavy again, but manageable. Matt and MT plan to hike to a lake by the end of the day,  it have their friend meeting them there, so they slack pack, or pack only the essentials while having their gear at their destination. The breeze of the day is especially cool, a departure from the previous week’s hot, smoky air.

I had set up camp in an unfortunate location. Dusty and exposed, but with a spectacular view, at least upon going to bed. The wind blew through the night, blowing dust into my tent. I open my tent to a white cover and a soaked tent. I’m in a cloud right now. This reminds me of the San Gabriels a bit. It’s the first time dealing with real moisture in quite a long time. In general I’ve had a pretty dry trail. I go down half a mile to the trail junction leading to Eagle Creek and it’s completely dry and out of the cloud. I had heard about Eagle Creek for the better part of my life, but never made the time to hike in there. A few years back it got even more famous from the Eagle Creek Fire that ripped through the Columbia Gorge. The burn scar is visible, but not oppressive. I chat with some day-hikers, and it’s about the 4 time in the past 2 weeks that folks completely misread my age, thinking I’m in my 20’s. I’ll definitely take it. Eagle Creek is full of hikers, but no thru-hikers for the day. I’m happy I go through it though, satisfying a multi-year curiosity. 

As I get closer to Cascade Locks along the Gorge Trail, I think of the approaching “aloneness”. Many folks have departed the trail after Trail Days, many more calling it quits after Oregon due to all the Washington closures. Washington will be empty, but the feeling isn’t of loneliness, but aloneness. Which, I believe is what I want, especially to finish up. Oregon has been incredibly social, and now I’m ready to reflect and feel the impending end of this journey. I enter Cascade Locks and go to Whiskey Flats. I get the Works burger. Achilles, a red haired hiker who wears a hiking kilt, joins me as I eat something that progressively feels like it may make my heart stop. I get a text from MT that she’s over on Thunder Island, and small island accessible by a small bridge nearby, with more cake. I can eat more, I know I can. A few hikers join in on the cake, as a slice is like a piece of Eleven Lembas Bread. I finally take my leave trying not to linger too much, though I don’t feel hard pressed to make big miles anymore. As sun sets, I make my way across the Bridge of the Gods, and as cliche as it felt, the transition felt real. The end is near