"Move Over Michael Jackson...I Am Moon Walking!"

The only things not sore on my body today are my typing fingers--so I think I can manage to sit back in my chair long enough to write up my latest trip report.

I am trying to decide what to call this trip. “Eat, Pee, Walk” was what I was going to go with (a tip of my hat to the movie that just came out titled “Eat, Pray, Love”) but, now that I have actually done the hike, I should either call it “Gone With The Wind” or perhaps even “Move Over Michael Jackson…I Am Moon Walking!”

Well whatever I decide to call this trip, I have to tell you that I have a different experience every time I go out into nature. I learn something new and get to develop a new skill. The new skill I learned on this trip was how to walk sideways with a 28 pound pack uphill with a freight train of wind running into me.

I have backpacked in rain, lightening, threat of forest fire, heat, cold, lack of water, river crossings, up switchbacks, down switchbacks…..but never before in such a wind.

The picture below is Mt. Saint Helen's, Mt. Rainer in the middle, and Mt. Adams.
This is a picture of the Eliot Creek landslide/washout from up above near Eliot glacier.
Picture below is the Eliot glacier up close and personal.
Bella and the Eliot glacier early in the morning.
Again...Mt. Saint Helen's.....Mr. Rainer.......Mt. Adams taken from Cloud cap.

We started out this trip by parking Bens little truck at the Cloud Cap campground after a nine mile drive straight-up a gravel road to the trailhead. Before we actually headed out on the trail that we were going to hike we took a short detour, walking the opposite direction to where the Timberline trail was washed out in a massive landslide in 2007. I had heard that some round' the mountain hikers of this trail had been lowering themselves down with ropes to be able to complete the whole loop. I wanted to see these ropes for myself; to see if it looked like something I could perhaps do on a future hike.

It looks like a huge part of the mountain has slid off the side of Mt. Hood when you stand on the edge of that wash-out. I never saw any ropes to make the decent where we were standing. The hiking trail just stops at a deep drop off into the canyon, with runoff from the Eliot glacier rushing far below down the narrow channel.

We retraced our steps back to Bens truck to put on our packs. Then we both headed up the mountain going south on the Timberline trail which, from this direction, heads directly up to the Cooper Spur stone shelter that sits below the Eliot glacier at about 6500'. This 10 foot square shelter was built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. We passed several friendly day hikers who had gone up to view the glacier and shelter but were now heading back down to the trail head.

The wind had been kicking up a bit down in the parking area but it was not until we crested the first small saddle that we felt it's full power; a strong head-wind that we would have to battle to the top. Twice it almost knocked me off my feet as it screamed over the summit slamming into my pack. Ben had to tie his hat on to keep it from flying off back down the trail behind us. It took all my strength to keep putting one boot in front of the other while tears blurred my vision. The wind! The wind! It was tearing my face off!!

Finally we reached the shelter….but there were two young women already set up inside of it, so we hunted around for a refuge from the wind. Not far below it, set down in a small depression behind a huge bolder, there was a flat space big enough for our tent. Ben and I had decided to only carry one larger tent for this trip and boy were we glad we had made that decision! The heavier tent would have a much better chance staying up in this force gale.

Once we figured out how to block our little cook stove from the air swirling around us, we had a fast dinner just as the last light was fading from the sky. One by one the stars came out over our heads. The wind died down enough that we could stand out for a short while to watch the lights in towns far far below us slowly come on. Out in the distant desert east if us, we saw a strange sight that we are going to investigate further. There was a large field of faint red lights that would switch on and off in a rhythmic fashion. It was not an airfield; there were just too many lights for that to be the explanation. Perhaps it is an alien aircraft landing area? (Just kidding).

The wind started to howl again so we packed it in, and climbing into our bags. We could hear the gails rattle the old stone shelter above us as we chatted late into the evening. It was a comfort to know that we were all safely tucked away, us down in our safe hole behind the bolder. It would have been crazy to try to sleep in a tent that night without anything to block the monster--though quite warm--wind that kept bearing down on us all.

The next morning broke with streaks of red in the East. I am used to waking up tucked down in a dark dense forest so this was a new experience for me. It was bright at about 5:45am. I was up and out of our tent by 6:00am. The wind was light and warm. I decided to take Bella on up a spur trail to get closer to the Eliot glacier before Ben got up. We switched backed up for a couple of miles until we hit the end of the trail. We were so close to the top of Mt. Hood it looked like we could just walk right up to the summit to sit there for awhile. Of course, this is not the case. Many people have died on that mountain trying to summit it. I stood for awhile at somewhere around 7500' hoping to catch a glimpse of someone perhaps trying to make the attempt....but just couldn't spot anyone.

From up that high though I was able to get a great view from up above the washout that I had seen the day before from further down below. It seems that some round' the mountain hikers are also crossing/bypassing the washout from way up here on the glacier that feeds the raging glacial stream. I looked and looked, but just could not see where they might be doing the crossing.

Daylight was burning, so Bella and I turned our noses back down the mountain to help break camp and get our boots on the trail.

It is like walking on the moon up there so far above the Timberline. It is all volcanic boulders and very little plant life. The trail climbs steady up past several rock cairns that mark the path. It was here that a hiker with a Swiss accent caught up with us….I noted that he was carrying an ice hatchet. We chatted for a second before he passed by and then hiked on ahead of us. It was only a few more curves in our trail that I then became very aware of why this fellow had that ice hatchet in his hand.

The section of the Timberline trail that we did next had several dangerous snow fields to traverse. These took skill and plently of time to cross safely. When I get myself into situations like this that can be very dangerous, I just have to concentrate on planting one boot in front of the other until I get to the other side...otherwise panic can start to set in and I do not want to have to back track everything I have done, only to go home with my tail between my legs. It was nearly 100 degrees in the Portland valley just a few days before, so it gives you an idea of just how high up we were to be negotiating through snow and ice on a mid-August summer day.

To mis-step and to slip, is to slide down to a smashing stop against volcanic boulders far below-- with the added weight of a backpack to make sure that you smash good and hard......maybe to your death......honestly, I was glad to finally have those snow fields behind me!

On to "Gnarl Ridge!!"...

By the time I trudged up to the highest point of this hike, right around 7,000 feet at Gnarl Ridge, I decided to put on more sunscreen. Up that high the sun is intense, so, while Ben was back down the trail behind me taking photographs, I whipped off my shirt to spread some of the really heavy duty white paste sun block on I was carrying in my pack. I smeared it all over my face, arms and shoulders. It would have been fun to have a backpacker coming from the other direction round' the corner and surprise me with my top off smearing white junk all over myself!

When Ben and Bella caught up to me on this ridge it was about mid-day and starting to get really hot. We had now been totally exposed to the sun for a couple of hours and it looked like we had at least another hour of walking on the moon before we dropped to the tree-line again. Bella was getting hot and tired. She had been laying down in the snow fields trying to keep herself cool.

We poured water over her head, soaked her chest, and gave her a cool long drink. Bella over heating is always a very real danger that we watch out for. She had her hiking boots on so we were not concerned about the pumice rock tearing her foot pads up, but, with her shiney black coat, the heat is always a danger.

On the way down we came across some old gnarled trees that are hundreds of years old. These trees survive the heat, the cold, the snow and the wind, year after year up on that exposed ridge. That day they offered us a little shade to rest Bella under--we were very grateful for it.

It was now a steady decent down off the other side of the ridge that we had been climbing up to all day.

Down below us……..far, far, down below….was Newton Creek. Up at Gnarl Ridge we could see the Newton-Clark glacier. Newton Creek is the melt off from this glacier.

Finally, at about the tree-line, we came across the old Gnarl Ridge stone shelter. Unfortunately, like several others around the mountain, time and the elements have reduced it to little more than a pile of rubble (sorry no picture of it, we were only concerned at this point with getting Bella out of the sun and cooled down). The shelter was destroyed by a rock slide many years ago.

Here we passed a man and two teenage sons going up the direction we had just come from. I always get a kick when I see the faces of teenagers when they see me trudging along toward them. It is always sort of a ‘what the hell?!’ look when they first see me. Needless to say, there are not that many grandmothers out hiking in the back-country.

Picture above is beautiful Mount Jefferson in the distance.
The centeries-old mangled trees up on Gnarl Ridge in the picture above and below...
Picture below is the trail leaving Gnarl Ridge.

It was a relief to now be back down among the pine trees. Their shade was wonderful! We stopped at this point and took Bellas' boots off to do a paw-pad check on her. Some of the sand dust from the pumice rock had gotten into her boots. Since we were now back on a soft trail though, we took them off so she could prance down the mountain "shoeless".

After a couple of miles we came to a split in the trail. The Timberline continues on from there to the Timberline Lodge about ten miles further. Here we split off to jump on the Elk Meadows trail. One mile to go to water, to our camp, to rest!

We found an old wooden shelter that was built in the 1960s right next to the edge of the meadow. We decided to set up camp back behind it, but to cook and eat our dinner over next to it. Mt. Hood looms large over this meadow and the beautiful wildflowers that grow there.

The next morning I was up and about doing my usual camp duties when into our camp came trotting a beautiful, large, black, standard poodle. I see a lot of different trail dogs out and about on the trails, but this was the very first time I had ever seen a standard poodle as a trail dog. His owner was a man about 40 with double hearing aids in his ears. He stopped to speak to me for just a moment. We talked dogs. His dog’s name was "Jean-Luc".

After a leisurely morning in camp we packed up and heading out on a trail that skirts around the edge of Elk Meadows. Suddenly up in front of me I heard a sound and lifted my head. Standing on the trail were two women and with them a beautiful, large, black, standard poodle! I am thinking to myself, “There is that dog again.” But nope, the women tell me that this dogs name is "Parker", and that earlier they too had met "Jean-Luc" on the trail. What are the chances that I would meet TWO beautiful, large, black standard poodles on the same trail in one day? I should have bought a lottery ticket when I got home!

After finally leaving the inspiring meadows behind, it was now a steady decent away from Elk Meadows and down to our trail-head where Jim would be meeting us. We were plugging along when the sound of rushing water met our ears through the trees. Ben stopped to check the maps….uh oh. We hadn’t realized that we now had to cross the Newton Creek that we had seen melting off the Newton-Clark glacier the day before! Holy cow…a river crossing.......and this one can be an ugly one.

We were very happy to find a nice flat log spanning the water when we got there. It was just a hop, skip, and a jump. We were over that frigid water, and we on our way.

This is me at Elk Meadows...with my Hulk Hogan head gear on!

There was not a red jeep at the end of the trail to meet us yet. So we found a tree to settle down under and ate huckleberries while we waited for Jim to show up.

After he did we then had to drive back way up to where we had left Ben’s truck at the Cloud Cap trailhead, but then it would be 50 miles an hour back down to the Columbia gorge and Portland valley that we call home. Ben went home via highway 26 back through Zig Zag, but Jim and I decided to go back through the gorge via Hood River. There is a vineyard there that we had wanted to visit. So even though I was dirty, stinky, and sweaty we found the vineyard…but it was closed. Oh well, guess we will make the trip out there another day!

Jim turned the Jeep toward home where I found a hot bath, and a soft bed….but it seemed really stuffy inside last night...I felt shut-in after spending such beautiful nights out in the open night air.

Usually I don’t get sore after hiking anymore….but today I am sore. I have figured out that it is because of the snow field crossings that I did. I had to keep my legs flexed for them, and I was using muscles that I don’t usually use while backpacking. By tomorrow the soreness should be gone...and I'll no doubt be itching to go again!

HORNETS! LIGHTENING! THUNDER! AND BLINDNESS…OH MY!

The backpack trip this week started out so sweet. Jim drove us to a trailhead up, through, and over the mountains behind the town of Hood River, Oregon--which lies somewhere in the famous Lewis and Clark Columbia River Gorge. After the final leg of the journey there--a 10 mile slog up a winding gravely road--we pulled in at our drop off point. There happened to be a family there who was car camping at the beginning of our trail. I noticed while we unloaded our gear that they had two little boys who were very interested in what we were doing. When I swung my pack up onto my back I noticed one of them was peeking out from behind a small utility trailer, curiously watching me. He continued to spy us until we were out of site up the trail. I hope perhaps we might have inspired him to try out this strange and wonderful pastime himself when he gets older.

Our first night we planned to stay next to ‘Rainy Lake’. As we walked the direction we thought it sat in Ben suddenly said, “This doesn't feel right…we should have come upon a spur trail into the lake by now.” When Ben says, “This doesn’t feel right…” I have learned to interpret this to mean: “we have screwed up”. Over the past several seasons Ben has honed his directional senses to expert level, and I always listen to him.

Finally we pulled up to the top of a ridge-line where we discovered the four-way trail junction that we were supposed to have negotiated through tomorrow. It now seemed that Rainy Lake was just beyond the camp where the little boys were staying with their family but we missed it because their camp was blocking the spur trail down to it; we simply couldn't see it, and now we couldn't see any water either. But we found something better than water. We found a long abandoned shack sitting up at the ridge-line, seemingly waiting for us as an old friend waits to reunite with companions past.

Luckily Ben and I both did have extra water with us. Unsure what the lake water was going to be like, and thinking that we weren’t going to be walking very far to our first nights camp, we happened to have tons of back-up water with us. We decided to take advantage of this happy little accident and stay right where we were; setting up home in the shack.

I am not sure why this shack was here…it was very old. The floor boards were weak, windows long gone, and the door ripped off; but it blocked the wind and we were snug-as-bugs in our sleeping bags that night.

I was up early the next morning eager for my boots to hit the trail. Bella and I decided to pack up and walk up to the top of the mountain we were to traverse that day and wait for Ben. We walked for about an hour through woods that looked very much like the ones in the creepy “Blair Witch” movie. Up on a ridge-line trees are generally smaller and not as thick. There was a lot of blow down (this is hiker lingo for trees laying across the trail) that we had to pick our way around. Before we knew it though we were standing on top of the world.

Down below us, sparkling peacefully in the early morning sunshine, was ‘Rainy Lake’. I was not sad that we hadn’t found it the night before--It looked a little swampy. My memories of ‘Dead Mans Lake’, and the mosquitoes there, was still fresh in my mind. I was happy to be standing far above this one.
Off to my right, not far in the distance, was my old friend Mt. Hood. The snow is finally melting off of her and I think our next hike is going to be the timberline trail that circles around this entire gorgeous mountain. I snapped a picture of her and waved at her peak. “I'll be seeing you soon”, I called out in the clear morning air.

When I turned in the opposite direction, looking to the north, there stood Mt. Adams. I don’t know much about this mountain, I have never hiked Adams, although it always seems to be peeking over my shoulder on many of my trips. Perhaps next summer I will venture up that direction; I would like to get up close and personal with Adams. But until that time I only consider Mt. Adams an acquaintance, not yet a personal friend.

After snapping a few pictures from my perch on top of Green Point Mountain, Bella and I settled down to wait for Ben to catch up with us. We found a shady spot under a scrubby tree. The wind was whipping around us as it raced over the ridge heading down toward the lake glittering below us. I leaned back against my pack to concentrate on the sound the wind made in the trees. Just when I was starting to drift off Bella alerted to the sound of Ben chugging along up the path toward us.

We had some miles to make today, so I slung my pack back on and off we went, zig-zagging our way down toward our next camp for the night. Hopefully we would have better luck locating water there then we had the night before. Our water bladders were full, but a backpacker depends solely on water sources that they come upon in the wilderness. By tonight water would be our main concern.

From here on out we would be steadily descending toward our pick up point with Jim in the Columbia River Gorge. He had promised to show up with a surprise….this was now the direction we set our sights on.

After walking a few miles through a thin forest of skinny trees Ben told me that he wasn’t feeling well; we sat for awhile on a log waiting for his nausea to pass. He thought it was the breakfast bar he had eaten that morning that was giving him trouble. He said it had tasted like ‘dry wall’. While we sat there we talked about how much we missed Jared and Jillian not living up in the Pacific Northwest with us. We are hoping that they will make a trip up to hike with us before the season is over.

Soon Ben started to feel better so we pushed on through the threes heading north until we came to a split in the trail. We got out our maps and took the cut off trail to the left. This trail wasn’t as well traveled as the one we had been on, so I unhooked my bear bell. The tinkling sends out the message “Hey! Bears! Jenny is coming through your forest...so don’t eat me!”

After a mile or so we came upon another split in the trail. We again got out our maps and that is when I discovered that I had lost my glasses. Without my reading glasses a map just looks like a bunch of small worms on a napkin. I didn’t want to back-track to try to find them, so from here on out I was going to have to rely on Ben’s eyes. He tried holding the map out from me a couple of feet to see if I could make out the direction that we should take, but it was useless. I was now blind.

The next few miles we descended into thicker trees and we started to look for tonight’s camping spot.

I was going to need water and Ben had been feeling ill most of the day, so it was getting important that the map we were using was accurate. The problem was that we had used this map as a guide once before on a trip, and it had been wrong. We use three different sources when planning a hike, but in the end you have to hope that the authors of your sources knew what they were talking about.

We found the camp. It is a well established camp on all the maps, and we could tell that it is well used. We were tired. After dropping our packs we went to find the water source. It was easy to find the spur trail that leads to water…except there was no water. We hunted and hunted; we looked and looked--but no water. We could hear it off in the distance down in a canyon a long way off. We figured there must be a spring nearby because there was no route we could find to bushwhack down into that canyon.

We spent about an hour total looking for the water--it was never found. Although difficult to admit defeat, daylight was burning. We were a good two miles away from the next campsite. Hopefully water would be there. So we buckled our packs back on, accepted the situation, and started off down the trail again.

Along the trail we came to a sign board that Ben stopped to look at. He was ahead of me so I had a front row seat to what happened next. As he stood in front of the sign board he didn’t notice that there was a hornets nest right at the top of it until a very angry hornet flew down and stung him on the upper arm.

Ben did a “hornet jig” down the trail in front of me for a few feet before I realized what was happening. I had to pass by the same nest, but I waited a few minutes for the hornets to calm down before I ran past as fast as I could! Ben’s arm started to swell but we kept on going since I was now blind without my glasses and not able to see if there was a stinger.

The next camp looked as well used as the last camp, and once again we dropped our packs to look for the water. I walked out toward the back of the camp where a faint trail led. All I found was a little used camp several yards away from the main camp. It was a great relief to hear Ben’s yells flying through the trees toward me, “WATER!”

It turned out that the water was a little further down the trail beyond the camp. Just a trickling small stream that crosses the trail…but it was enough for us!

Ben built a fire as I purified some water with my Steripen. Dinner was a quick affair; we were both beat. Just as we were getting ready to turn in for the night rain drops started to fall. It was a clear sky and warm. The last thing we expected was rain. Holy hell!!

We hastily put out the fire, hung our food in a tree, and dove into our separate little tents just as the first bolts of shocking white lightening lit up the sky over our heads. Mother Nature had decided to quite suddenly show up!

For at least three hours the lightening veined out above our heads and the thunder rolled...

(One of the fun weird things about this hike that I haven’t mentioned was I had cell phone service the whole way. This is unusual, so when the first rain drops started to fall I called Jim back in Vancouver and asked him what the weather report was. “Clear” was his answer. Of course it was “clear” stupid Portland weather forecasters’!!!! Insert bad words here______!!!!)

Just as I started to get tired and drift to sleep, my cell phone went off. It seemed so strange to be out in the wilderness and be jarred awake to the sound of my phone. I automatically dug through my stuff and answered it half asleep. It was my oldest son calling from California. I explained where I was and that there was a lightning storm raging over my head. We talked for a bit, but it was late, and I was tired. I hung up finally going to sleep with the sound of thunder in my ears.

We got a late start the next morning. As we were leaving camp a Boy Scout troop arrived. We left them sitting where we had spent the night but they soon caught up with us at a lookout point about a mile further down the trail.

Ben very much wanted to see this point high above the Columbia gorge, so we climbed down a terrible trail that took us out onto a very scary look-out called “Indian Point”. At one point on the way back to the main trail I got so spooked that I had to crawl on my hands and knees until I felt it was safe enough for me to stand up again…yea, not very smart. I won’t be going out on that look out point again, believe me. But Ben did get some kick ass pictures of the gorge from there...

The rest of the day was spent going down switch-backs. Dozens and dozens of switch-backs, all the way down to the Columbia River Gorge (there I am in the middle of the picture, looking back up the very steep hillside).

The views were breathtaking, as the Columbia River winded its way west looking for the Pacific Ocean just exactly as Lewis and Clark did so many years ago ...

Sometimes it is unbelievable to look out across from where we are standing and just to take in the thousands of trees that spread out below us in and over the many canyons.

Down, down, down we walked…right to the end of the trail where Jim waited with really yummy sandwiches and cold drinks for all three of us.

It just doesn’t get much better than that!