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Timberline Trail,
Mt. Hood |
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Being ecstatic from my second being born just two weeks ago, I decided to take a small journey around Mt. Hood via the Timberline Trail. As much as I wanted to spend all my maternity leave from work with my son, watching him sleep 12 hours a day was, well, rather boring. I set out on a Tuesday morning, anticipating some quiet time on the trail.
After walking around the lodge, I made a dash for the PCT. Indeed it was desolate out here and I liked it. It was just what I needed. I cruised easily down the PCT, enjoying the beautiful weather and the show of fresh powder above 7500 feet.
The trail bobbed and weaved while I strolled on, happy that all was aligned and well. I was good. Home and everyone there was good. Everything was good. Happy, I continued down and back up and out of Little Zigzag Canyon. I had a really good map with me, but there were so many little canyons, it was hard to know which one was which.
The canyon that came up next could not be mistaken as it was quite large. Zigzag Canyon, formed by the Zigzag Glacier, looked to be a difficult task, but I felt great and tackled it head on with a smile on my face. The sun was rising higher alpenglow started to fade. Things were indeed perfect.
After passing Paradise Park, I made a mental note to visit there someday. I continued on with the Sandy River on my mind. I could not help but to morn for Sarah Bishop, a seasoned backpacker that died August 28, 2004, trying to cross the Sandy River as it was her starting point. I keep these things tucked away in my brain so the fatalities of past adventurers are not in vein, hence honoring her memory.
Undaunted, I continued and soon met up with the Sandy River Canyon. I paused for a few moments to look at the waterfalls caused by the flowing waters of the Zigzag Glacier. On the other side of the canyon's fork was the sandy river, flowing from the Reid Glacier.
I worked my way down the sandy trail towards the ford. My melancholy faded as I glanced up and realized how beautiful the day had turned out so far, reminding me that everything was where it was supposed to be.
I stomped my way to the ford. Luckily, it was nothing but a few inches of water. A slip would result in no more than wet socks and shoes. I rock-hopped across to the other side knowing all the way what forces I would experience, given the right conditions.
After crossing the Sandy, I took a break at Ramona Falls and ate brunch. The cool mist coming off of the falls was exhilarating as I could not wait to see what the trail had in store for me. I packed up, glanced one more time at the falls, and walked off at a brisk pace. As I came closer to the Muddy Fork River, I pondered my stop for the night. I had always heard how nice Cairn Basin was. The thought vanished as that is where I wanted to stay. I made my way down to the Muddy Fork and looked diligently for a place to cross. This thing made the Sandy look like nothing as the devastation was eerily recent.
I made it over the first two branches. As they were the hardest, I took a rest. Looking from the mountain, down, I took a rest in the middle of the devastation. I figured I would be under 15 feet of water just a few months ago and shivered at the thought. I quickly moved on, mind fooled, that a wall of water was on it's way.
Climbing up the other side, I could see Bald Mountain from the fork below. The crossing did not shake me up, but rather, it reminded me of what was most important in my life. I took out my cell (normally I do not even bring one) and made a quick call to Heather, checking on things, Johnathan in particular. With things groovy at home, I hiked my way around Bald Mountain, heading towards the junction that bisected the PCT. Along the trail, I ran into some very nice, elderly ladies that had circumambulated the mountain in five days, earlier this year. The confirmed that at the rate I was going, Cairn Basin should be no problem for me to reach tonight.
Reach it I did with a couple of daylight hours left. I quickly fired up the stove for some tea while setting up the tent. Tent set up, I sipped on my tea while water heated up for dinner. I sat against the log as the ceiling fell and clouds rolled in. It was very spooky here. The clouds would roll in silently through the trees, in drifts, billowing up individually, like giant ghosts with minds of their own. I slept fitfully while missing my new family member back home.
Dawn sported cloudless, blue skies as I struck camp, eager to get an early start. About an hour out, I could not contain my home sickness any longer and made a call to Heather, asking her to meet me at the Cooper Spur Ski Area. She agreed as my day was now set. I could not focus on being home sick if I had an objective to work towards.
I thumped my way along the trail, admiring the low slung clouds that graced the valleys. I made my way into Wy'east Basin, singing out loud a song that was stuck in my head as I packed up this morning. With no one on the trail to judge or comment, I sang out loud, unreserved.
I soon reached an area where I could make out Barrett Spur and pondered climbing it. It was on my to-do list, but I had a goal in mind and could not deviate from my chosen path. I continued on with the promise that I would climb it someday soon.
Out of nowhere, a sign appeared. A green sign. A sign telling me that I was to go no further. It was telling me that it was dangerous to proceed and to follow the flags that led to a new trail. I saw no flags and felt no danger. I walked past the sign and followed the trail down towards Elliott Creek. As I fumbled my way down the trail, I noticed a bridge, or part of it, hanging off the side of the cliff. It seemed out of place and rather odd that a bridge with concrete footings should be installed over a hundred feet above the creek. It then occurred to me that the creek used to be 3 feet lower than where I was standing. A huge slide washed out the creek along with over a hundred vertical feet of creek bed. Shocked, I proceeded carefully as a slip would result in a hundred foot tumble that would be sure to screw up my vacation and weeks following.
I made the precarious climb down and then back up the other side. After taking two pictures (The entire slide area could not fit into one and filled both frames), I picked up the trail and still saw no flags the green sign mentioned. I made my way to Cloud Cap Campground and then hiked down three more miles to the ski area, saving Heather and her minivan a nine mile pounding. From there I walked the road to highway 35 where Heather was on her way up. Johnny was asleep, but I was still so glad to see him anyway.
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