The last time I hiked to Tanner Butte was in January of 2005.  Incredulously, there was little snow that year as I didn't have any of the white stuff on top at 4500 feet.  I also did not see a single person during my trip.  I hoped I would have the same luck this year as well.  I arrived early to get a jump on any possible future crowd and huffed my way up Forest Road 777 towards the trailhead.  I did not feel very strong and suspected I may have been fighting some kind of bug.

The drive in had me a little concerned as I was driving through mist that eventually turned into drops on my windshield.  The clouds were at ground level so I assumed it would just burn off later in the day.  As I did not think it was going to rain, I declined to bring any raingear with me, hoping I would not get as wet as last week. 

My theory was correct as I could see the sun peeking through the ceiling of the mist.  As I glanced back down at the trail, I saw the third pile of bear scat in just the last three miles.  I was very surprised as I have never seen any in all the years I have hiked in the gorge.  But of course, this time of year, all the berries are ripe and ready to be eaten.  My huffing continued.

I soon got a break in the trees and saw that I was right.  The entire gorge was filled in with clouds below me, making for a fantastic sight and promising good weather for the day.  As the switchbacks started, I started feeling better and pushed a little harder.  The sweat flowed liberally as I was making good time to Dublin Lake.

Once at the lake I stopped and took my first break of the day.  Two and a half hours and 4100 vertical feet had left me a little hungry.  While chomping on a Snickers, I contemplated thumping down to the lake, but thought the hike to Tanner Springs would be better.  The water would be better and I have not seen the trail past the Tanner Butte scramble route before.

Once I topped out, the canopy disappeared, allowing the bear grass and huckleberries to multiply.  The entire trail was covered as I had to wade through it as one would do in the water.  Not being able to see my feet forced me to be careful, slowing my pace.  It also forced me to concentrate on my footing, diverting my mind away from the subjects I was here to think about.

After some careful footwork, I made my way to the end of the butte while slowly climbing.  Through the bear grass, I was able to think.  Not having any conscious minds nearby made it even easier.

The day was glorious.  There was no wind.  The air was cool and the sun only warm.  I wanted to lay in the grass and think.  I wanted to keep hiking.  I wanted it all as I had time at my disposal.  The day was too perfect and was just what I needed.

My goal of twelve to make it to the scramble route was reached.  Foolishly, I declined also to bring a map since I had hiked this before.  I wondered how foolish it was though as I was energized to venture into unknown (to me) land.  Too soon, I reached Tanner Springs.  I was amazed that there was a sign as my guide book, now at home, mentioned that the spring is rarely running.

The trail down to the spring started easy and well behaved, but soon I hit a wall of green that choked the trail, causing me to slip a couple times.  You see, after the first tenth of a mile, the trail turns into a seasonal creek bed sporting small, round rocks that roll under your feet.  Since I could not see my feet, I just locked my ankles to keep from twisting them.  Exhausting, but effective.  I found a break in the vine maple and brought out my two Platys.  The mosquitoes forced me to lather on a thick layer of DEET while I waited for the bottles to fill up.

With my pack full, I now worked my way back up to the path so I could climb back to the trail.  After that, I needed to climb back up the trail to the scramble route so I could climb to the butte.  Really, it was not that bad as I thumped my way back, not looking forward to the scramble route.

I made it worse than it was as an easy ten minutes saw me into wide open spaces.  I waded through the tall bear grass while eagerly looking for a place to camp.  I have camped in bear grass before and will not again.  I hopped the top of the butte would provide some flatter ground.

Once on top, I luxuriated in the views and fine weather.  I lounged.  I ate.  I drank.  All while looking for a camp site.  Not a flat spot was to be found.  It was two and I did not care.  The camera snapped away before I sent Starr a pic of my ugly mug while in heaven. 

At this point, I no longer wanted to think.  I figured I could do more on the way to Dublin for the night.  If Dublin was full, I would just hike back to the truck and put in a twenty mile day.  I had plenty of time and felt great, so I just laid on my rock before the tranquility overtook me, forcing me to fade in and out of reality.

Luckily the local fungus gnats, flying, bouncing off of my face, knew it was time for me to go or I would have made like Sid the sloth.  I said my goodbyes to the peak and stumbled my way back to the trail.  I thought of tackling the lookout spot.  Although easy in spring, it was a pain in the butt to get to in fall.

Pushing my way through the pines, grasses, and bushes saw me to the edge of the lookout.  I hoped that it offered some kind of flat ground to pitch my tarp, but didn't.  Instead, I just fumbled my way around the loose talus, looking for anything interesting.  One thing I could not understand was all the dead wood.  Was there a huge storm a hundred years ago?  Why would they not be able to handle what smaller, weaker trees do now?  Maybe it was a fire, I thought, while my camera made it's ridiculous noises.

I made it back in record time and home before the sun set.  I thought of some friends far away as it would be nice to share the experience with them, like coming from a great movie.  But, I suppose one could not possibly understand unless one experienced it for themselves.  Or, perhaps, the experience would be different for everyone.

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