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Nick Eaton Ridge, Columbia River Gorge |
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With Heather at mom's preparing for Christmas day, I, finishing my chores yesterday, decided to get a little exercise. With a few hours to kill, I thought I would slosh my way up to Mud Lake or something, since I was not quite fulfilled yet with the Herman Creek Trail. Plans change though as I ran into Camp Creek, swollen to the gills, threatening anyone that tried to pass through her icy cold waters. I took a picture to compare what the creek's level usually is, one quarter the width and one third the depth.
I shrugged my shoulders since I had no set plans and hiked to the Nick Eaton Ridge Trailhead #447. I had never been up this trail, nor had I ever researched it. It was a hike into the unknown as this excited me as I usually analyze things to death, desensitizing me to any surprises. The trail started gently but quickly turned into something resembling real work.
Eight switchbacks later, with no end in sight, the snow started. My trail runners were quickly soaked through as I struggled to finish the final 10 switchbacks, trying desperately not to slide back down what I had already climbed up. At times, the tree canopy would open up, giving me views and lessoning the snow pack. After the last corner, just before the crest, I frightened something. It darted into the woods before I could make out what exactly it was. Just out of sight it grunted uproariously. This is a sound I have never head before. I have heard elk, deer, bear, and bobcat, but it wasn't any of those. Five minutes later, whatever it was, sauntered back down the side of the ridge into the woods, stopping at times to grunt again out loud.
Laughing, I continued, heading for the Ridge Cutoff Trail #437. I laugh for the same reason I do when a bear runs away. The contrast of a 400 pound black bear, able to kill you with a single swipe, running away like a scared child, is quite amusing to me. I took #437 in hopes that I could make a quick retreat. The switchbacks slowed me as I had to get to Heather's Mom's house in two hours. #437 did nothing to help my progress as it was so buried in snow that I sank to my arm pits at times.
Needless to say, there was no trail visible to follow as I simply went where I thought the trail should be sans snow. Surprising myself, unbelievingly, I ended up precisely at the junction with the Gordon Creek Trail, at the sign. I trudged through the snow as fast as I could, making it back to the truck with enough time to get to my destination on time. I was happy and thought this an excellent way to spend a few hours on Christmas Eve.
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