I warned my little tike that this was noted as the second hardest hike in the gorge, but she immediately responded with her benchmark for effort.  "Is it as hard as the Black and White way trail?"  I duly replied.

We made our way up the easier section, east, towards the summit, stopping frequently for wildlife crossings.  Finding a rubber boa was the highpoint of the first thirty minutes of the day.  The sweat flowed, but Amber never let up.  Nor did she ever look tired.

The weather was fine with a cool breeze that softly bit through our single layers, evaporating the perspiration as it flowed from us, providing some comfort, as the summit came into view.

We passed several people on our way up as the parking lot, jammed with cars from all over the Pacific Northwest, dictated how many people had beat us to the flowers.

The views were something I had not seen in a long time and missed them all.  I was ecstatic that Amber and I had weather to suit the incredible wildflower displays that laid out before us.

One final push as we scurried our way to the summit.  The top was slightly crowded, but no so much we could not find a quick spot for a snack.  The cooling breeze from earlier was greatly amplified at the top, only allowing a short stay at the top while soaking up the sights.  As hard as this hike is, I was quick to point out Mount Defiance, right behind Amber, as the hardest in the gorge.

We left the summit as the wind started to get us a little too cool for comfort and fumbled our way through the salmonberry to meet the junction with an old logging road that aimed for the trail to Augspurger.  As I have relaxed here before, I took the same opportunity now.  While lying back, I soaked up the rays that would bake my body with some kind of color while thinking of our water situation.   I knew Dog Creek was down in the drainage, somewhere, but read that the trail comes fairly close a little further up.

We huffed our way up the steeper sections towards our second summit before I really started to grow concerned.  We did not have much water left and heading away from the drainage.  Indeed this area looked a lot different in summer than in winter as a trip down towards the drainage would have been a hard lesson in impracticable bushwhacking.  As the trail continued its uphill assault, we plodded our way up while I pondered a spot that held a shallow pond just below the summit.

Various fungi graced the trail side, but I could not figure out what this one was.

We reached a meadow that I remembered from my last exploration in the area.  It was a perfect spot to set up the tarp, except there wasn't any water around and Amber had the last liter.

We met up with a nice hiker that told us he could not find the viewpoint due to snow.  As his smiles hid his disappointment well, I was relieved to hear this as snow meant water.  We plodded our way up towards the top, sweating heavily, before finally reaching what we thought was the summit.

I saw a distant trail through the trees a few hundred feet below us.  We figured that must have been the viewpoint the hiker missed and chose to move on.  By this time we wanted shade to pitch the tarp and preferably near a water source.  Neither looked available from our vantage point.  We finally topped out and saw that we were actually walking a narrow ridge, heading west, which meant no water and no flat spots to pitch the tarp.  Frustration was starting to get the better of me.

I scoured the top trying desperately to find a semi-flat spot to pitch, but all I found was ground riddled with thistle, salmonberry, shrubs and rocks.  My ankles and calves were bleeding along with my knees from bushwhacking through the mess.  At a viewpoint, Amber took a 20 minute nap while I figured out a plan.  It was cool, but very, very windy.  It was too windy for a fire until the wind died down, but then the bugs swarmed.  They flew into my eyes, up my nose, and in my ears.  I  impatiently looked for a place to camp on the horrible, sloped ground that was not free from sticks or devils club as far as one could see, but could not find a single spot.  I let the 'F' bombs fly.

I woke Amber and gave her the bad news.  She promptly replied with an "awe well" before we thumped our way back down the mountain.  My sour mood was exacerbated by the fact I was dehydrated and I was not sure how we would get to Dog Creek.  I reminded myself that things often work themselves out, so I stopped when Amber did and took the time to look at the various wildlife signs.

I saw a tree that gave me the foreboding sign of beware and heeded it's warning as we picked up the pace.

Trillium, a sign of spring, helped lift my spirits as the wind slowed and the bugs were now sparsely encountered. 

I slowed my pace to get a shot of Amber and Mt. Hood.  How this little dynamo could continue was astounding, especially since she would not stop gabbing the entire way back.

There are ways, gauges, to judge how things are running.  Your car, for example, has it's gas and temperature gauges.  Amber had her mouth.  I joke about this to her as she gets irritated with me, but the fact is, when she is gabbing, she is feeling tip-top.  It is when she is quiet that I sincerely start to worry about her.

We hit the power line junction before I told Amber I was heading down.  "Down there?", she asked.  I replied with a sign followed by a airy "yep".  The footing sucked.  The power company had recently clear cut a section that we were trying to wade through to get to the cleared slopes under the canopy.  I reminded Amber to be careful over and again as one wrong step meant a sharp stick into your calf, thigh, or worse.  Eventually, we made it down to find the creek.  We laid around while water treated and ramen cooked.  I drank greedily from the "iffy" creek water as my weakened body could not go much further without it.

Reinvigorated, we repacked and shouldered our loads before shuffling our way back up the banks and over the mess the power company had left behind.  We quickly rejoined the road that led to our trail, talking the whole way.  We felt better after cooling off at the creek and one final climb was all that was required before a 2.8 mile sprint for the truck in the day's fading light.

Dusk appeared fast as we had the trail all to ourselves, except one father and son couple that were heading up to camp somewhere.  I had no idea where they would camp in the fading light and wished them well.  We donned our headlamps for the last ten minutes of the hike before finally arriving at our chariot.  Amber, with all the side trips, clocked in 18 miles today while bagging two named, rather difficult, peaks.  She also did this while gaining and losing over 5000 vertical feet.  I could go on and on about her, but will just say she simply astounds me.

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