Along the closed off road, I had to show Sandra the reason behind my thinking of the PCT.  The freedom involved is something that one has to experience to appreciate.  No immediate time restraints.  No mental boundaries.  If you want to rest, then rest.  If you want to eat, then eat.  If you want to lay in the middle of the road and soak of the year's first sun, then just do it.  I did.

We found a half assed trail spurring off of the now-gravel road and took it as it went in the general direction we wanted to head.  Stopping only for a few minutes to read what Clyde had done for the State of Washington, we gulped down a little water as I surveyed the area, scanning over the immediate topology to plan out some kind of attack.

South I exclaimed, as we began the bushwhack off of the abandoned dirt track.  While only wearing shorts, my chins and calves were getting beat up in a hurry.  The bush was thick, but little parts were cleared out here and there for access to the power lines below the ridge we were heading for.  Breaking out into a viewpoint, Sandy could start to see what it was about the Gorge that drew people to it. 

More bushwhacking got us to a minor plateau where I led us around to gain the very beginning of the ridge I wanted to climb.  Just as I was scanning the area,  I noticed something that looked out of place.  A shack, or shed, or something was sitting in the middle of the woods, looking like it was plopped down from an helicopter.  As we had no set plan or destination for the day, we navigated through the bush to scope out Jason Voorhees's hidden paradise.

The shack sported a couple chicken-wired bunks and a stove that was so rusted it looked like it would simply burn up if used.  Among those basics, scattered around were old bottles and cans.  When finding such artifacts, like this shack, I have to stop and ponder it's history and the things it had seen here.

Next to the shack, about 50 yards just up the ridge, a spring was tapped long ago as the tree had grown over it.  It was still flowing even though there was no other water around.  The tap had a two-tiered man-made bowl around it to catch the water, forming a reservoir. 

With the shack thoroughly inspected, we continued on, making our way through the thick bush.  Occasionally following game trails,  we took a steep line and gained the ridge.  As I did not know how far the ridge went before it broke out of the trees, I thought it best not to push Sandra too hard on her first ever hike.  We stopped at a spot in the sun as I demonstrated to her the little experience I had gathered over the years.  Out came the sitting pad, stove, hot cocoa and chocolate bars for dipping.  The forest was quiet as you could hear what every bird had to say and what every remaining leaf did on it's way down to the floor.  She felt free and was in awe as that was the point I was trying to get across.

30 minutes of quality talk while laying back, staring at the bluest sky from in between the trees, was just what we needed.  It was getting late though as the wind began to pick up, chilling us through our base clothing.  We packed up and made our way back to the cabin, trying to follow the same line we bushwhacked up.   I chuckled while watching Sandy hone her balancing skills.

As we entered a clear-cut area, the walking became simple as we could again talk, uninterrupted by the difficult route finding from earlier.  My body and mind felt phenomenal as I had not been on a trail for a few months and missed it.  Getting into trail shape using my local gym was a task not as rewarding as days like this.

We had enough time to stop and gaze at the shapes and colors of nature, as well as the devastation of society.  Overcome by the colors in the trees cut down, I did not have the attention to realize how many years it took this one to grow.  How many storms it weathered, just to be hacked down in it's prime.

As I was trying to explain to Sandy, photos are better taken in the early or later hours of the day to get the drama of what you are shooting.  Mid-day is, as I have read, the worst time to take a picture.  I am sure some would argue as I am just an armature.

Still early in the evening hours, we were back at the truck.  The timing could not have been better as I wanted to show Sandra what else Oregon had to offer; some of the best local micro breweries.  We changed before speeding to Stevenson where some hot parmesan-garlic fries and a Carne Classic pizza awaited our arrival.  A High Road Scotch Ale for me and a home-made root beer for Sandra complimented our fine dinner that we worked so hard to deserve.

On the way home, something happened to me that I will not forget.  Something that reminded me of the decency, beyond the norm, within humanity.  The car in front of us, a red civic hatchback, paid for our toll after we crossed the bridge.  Sure this was only a single dollar, but the thought alone made it seem like a hundred of them.  I do plan to pay this forward as it can only make life a little better for all.

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