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Dublin Lake, Columbia River Gorge |
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This being the third attempt at finding Dublin Lake, there was nothing that could stand in my way. Armed with new gear and topo, I sped off, once more from Toothrock Trailhead. 45 minutes of steep, jeep road walking brought me to the sign indicating the actual start of the hike. Although there was less snow here than last month, it was still scattered in places along the trail promising me that I was in for a long day.
Taking some time to gather up a little courage, I admired my pack and how it was crammed full to the gills with gear. It weighed in, with my snowshoes, at over 40 pounds, including a negative five degree down sleeping bag. How I got all that into a 3800 cubic inch piece of nylon, I will never know. I shouldered my pack, setting off mechanically, passing over terrain easily with sweat flowing freely. I did not take the time to enjoy the hike as I had never been there and had no idea what it even looked like, especially this time of year, under feet of snow. I figured I will enjoy myself after I arrive. I plodded my way up, not needing snowshoes in such consolidated snow, as fast as I could towards my supposed destination.
I made it! Through my exhaustion, I just could not believe my eyes. The excitement soon left me as my stomach dropped into the seat of my pants. "Where is the damn lake", I asked myself out loud. It was hard to believe that the whole lake was under four feet of snow as this looked nothing like my guide book had shown me.
I scouted around for 30 minutes, trying to find a suitable spot for setting up the tent. I managed to find a spot free of snow complete with a cleared out piece of the lake's frozen surface to filter water from. I quickly set up camp and started boiling water for dinner. As I settled down a bit from the effort it took to get me here, a rather extreme case of homesickness took over. I felt the mortal reality of my first night in such a place. I had to remind myself of my practice and planning while reassuring myself that I would be okay. I thought my mood may have been caused by simply being tired and soon crawled into my fluffy sleeping bag, feeling secure from the bitter cold outside the tent.
I slept for a couple hours to an increasing darkness. I no longer felt homesick as I knew the two hours of sleep did my mind and body a world of good. I wondered if I could make a fire in such a place so wet, so dark. Driven from the challenge, I went in search for bark on the dead trees that were as thin as paper. I stripped off a couple of pieces after hanging my food and gathered a couple rocks to make a pit. A few minutes later, I had a warm fire to keep me company as I watched the sun set over the trees while darkness fell. I was at peace as I stared at the sky's twinkling lights, reminding me that everything was in place and the way it was supposed to be. After the fire died down, the quiet came out. I could almost hear my own heartbeat as there was not a sound to be heard. I could have easily heard a pin drop from across the lake. No birds, no bugs, nothing except complete silence. I retired feeling silly for my past actions after my arrival, but assuming It was caused by not being used to living without the safety of an insulated house with solid walls.
The next morning brought sun, bright and new. With my tent facing east from the lake, the sun's rays hit it's walls early in the morning. I had slept well last night even though I was partially uncovered. Having a puffy -5 degree sleeping bag helped as it was a bracing 21 degrees this morning. I made some hot chocolate and sat, watching the sun rise. Although I could not see the details of this morning's sunrise, here I was, sitting at a frozen lake high up on a ridge, enjoying hot chocolate. I unique feeling came over me. It was one of a sheer rawness and a growing from it.
I packed up and followed my footsteps back out of the lake, 500 feet up. It was steep as the ascent made me sweat buckets. At the top, I could no longer see my tracks and followed some made by a couple of deer. I ended up going the wrong way, towards Tanner Butte, and turned around heading back down the ridge to the trailhead.
I quickly reached the junction and had to stop and gawk at the area I was in. This place was buried just four weeks ago with many feet of consolidated snow. I could now see the trail heading down towards Wauna Point, where as last month there was nothing but snow. I heaved my pack over my tired, sweaty back and made my way to my car.
Passing the water falls that grace the trail just after the trailhead, I had to snap a couple of shots. I did not know if they were seasonal, but they gave me a good excuse to take the time, remembering what I had learned about myself during this trip.
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