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Dublin Lake,
Columbia River Gorge |
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Inspired by last weekends wanderings around a local park with the kids, I needed to get out this weekend weather be damned. I usually do not have a plan until the night before and this weekend was no exception. Amber really wanted to get away with me, even after I warned her of the coming weather, so we packed the night before and chose a local lake that held fond memories.
Dublin Lake is a tiny bench off the east side of Tanner Ridge overlooking the most popular Eagle Creek trail. It is a nice, peaceful summer retreat, but being near the end of Fall at around 3600 feet, the weather is as unpredictable as any other part of the Gorge. We arrived at the deserted parking lot under sprinkling, steel-grey skies. It was a chilly 41 degrees and I wondered if the forecast would hold true proclaiming up to a foot of snow overnight.
I wanted to practice some SUL philosophies, but I know the Gorge. Although I tried my best at achieving a SUL pack, anyone else that has backpacked year-round here would have also ditched the tarp in favor of a winter tent. We both temped fate in bringing our down bags, albeit Amber's was rated at 15 degrees; quite a bit colder than mine.
As the trail tilted upwards we entered the layer of fog that obstructed the views of high up. Crossing under the power lines promoted a feeling of trepidation, a realization of being completely alone, totally reliant on ourselves regardless of the consequences. I glanced through the Fog just above the ridge that sported Munra Point and thought seriously about turning back.
It is hard to take Amber with me at times as the circumstances may amplify my mistakes in planning. Like forgetting a pole and not having a shelter before a storm hits(which I have done), not having enough water and nearly passing out (which I have done), forgetting matches or a lighter (which I have done), and the list goes on, any of which could be potentially lethal up here this time of year. I assured myself that my experience and planning would see us through as we broke through the mist.
Just as we broke through the cloud of haze, finally reaching Tanner Ridge, the snow started. It was the kind that crunched beneath your feet, the kind that makes for great snowmen or snow ball fights. It was the wet, sticky kind that cling to trees and branches making them look three times their size. The day was calm and, while climbing, rather warm and comfortable. Amber was all smiles as she lead. This is what she wanted, what she came here for.
When we hit 3200 feet the snow got substantially deeper forcing us to don our snowshoes, but relived as gaining the ridge meant a eased grade. We plodded along, with Amber trailing behind. I felt a sense of pride as she was doing this on purpose. She was doing this for self reflection, for singing out loud, for thinking alone. She was taking in the experience, all by herself, while still leaving me in sight.
Te sun made occasional cameo appearances, poking its warming face out from behind the stratus clouds. We stopped and had a snack while looking up in fascination, watching the blankets of puffy mist swim across the tops of the trees without a whisper.
I looked along the ridge to see the sun producing streaks of vibrant rainbow colors through the trees. Yellows turned to oranges, then reds to greens and greens to blues. The contrast of intense colors warming the monotone forest gave a sense of hope, like light at the end of a tunnel or a rainbow after a great storm.
The snow got deeper and Amber's hands and feet started to feel the result. She munched on eight ounces of CornNuts, trying to get the simple calories to warm her tiring body. At one point, she even asked if I knew where we were. I joked and told her "On the ridge.", but I do not think she thought this very amusing. I glanced over to my right and said "At the Dublin Lake junction Hun, pointing at the sign."
I knew where the lake was, but the trail was buried. We fumbled our way down, trying to avoid the vine maple and brush poking up through the snow. I managed to bisect the trail and gave a whoop. Amber was unresponsive as her fingers and toes were becoming more painful from the cold. We took a minute to hug at the lake before stumbling around to look for a place for the night.
The site I had planned on camping at only had an inch of snow. I kicked the snow out of the way and made a solid ground tent site before getting the tent set up. I had Amber inside the tent and in warm, clean clothes within minutes while I heated her favorite soup. She snuggling in her lofty down cocoon while sipping on her favorite, hot soup. With tears flowing down her cheeks, she gave me a smile saying she did not know the reason for crying.
I let her eat in peace. I knew the reason why and it is not what most would think. She was simply hungry and tired. While I let the soup lift her spirits, I took a short jaunt around the lake. It was breathtaking. A giant Slushie rimmed in elegant firs weighed down with inches of fluffy white. I had never seen the lake so stunning. It was quiet and still just like I remembered.
Darkness came early as I pondered making a fire. I gathered a few twigs elevated from the frozen ground, but found that nothing would burn, at least not without a lot of white gas. So much water soaked into everything before getting frozen made getting the wood dried out quite time consuming. I still managed to get a small cook fire lit, lasting long enough to satisfy my ego.
The sun finally dipped low enough to coax me to the tent. I got dressed for bed and dove into my sleeping bag at the early hour of five. Amber got out cards with a smile and asked if I wanted to get my butt handed to me in a game of Fish. I never win at Fish, but I know she enjoys it. I lost two games before She read out-loud to me the last few pages from her favorite book. Afterwards, I opened Abbey for a couple hours before It came. Heavy snows fell, covering everything, before a lift in the freezing level let the large raindrops release massive basketball-sized snowballs falling from 80 feet up, literally causing the ground to shake. I did well in placing the tent, but periodically still managed to get hit just before slipping into a deep sleep. Every hour, a WHOOMP would hit the roof or sides of the tent, waking me with a shot of adrenaline. I was envious of Amber as, unbelievably, she slept through most of it. It was a very long night.
Morning came and with it worsening weather. I failed to take many pictures, because I just simply could not see. Winds gusted over 35 miles per hour, blowing what snow the trees still held, creating a white-out. It was very-very cold as my fingers and toes grew numb while packing. I made Amber don all her layers before making her some hot chocolate, telling her to stay put in the tent while I packed us up. After packing, we fled the scene only to realize, two minutes into the climb out, I had left my backpack behind. Stupid is as stupid does, I thought. I ran back down to the lake, grabbed my pack and hauled ass back to Amber who was still working her way to the ridgeline.
The ridge was windy, but the downward-sloping trail offered a very fast descent back to the truck. I was confident Amber was feeling better than yesterday, even with the harsh weather, as the chit-chatting was a constant companion. While almost to the snow line, we spotted a black-tailed deer racing up the trail right towards us, veering off just at the last moment to meet with its mate. The deer seemed spooked as the wind raged through the trees, making them sway to the point of concern. Amber and I wasted no time as we thumped our way back to the rig, soaking wet, but thankful for a safe return from such an experience.
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