Silver Star Mountain from Grouse Vista

Loni and I did Silver Star Mountain today. Our previous attempt a year or two ago failed on account of a painful knee plus running out of water. Current attempt was almost derailed on account of Loni has a cold. She wanted to hike anyway, and since it would otherwise have been a boring day we geared up ad headed out.

3.4 miles to the summit, 1000 vertical feet. It's a breeze exercise-wise, but the large loose rocks on long parts of the trail can be hard on the ankles. In much the same fashion, the road to Grouse Vista is hard on car suspension.

We had much trail munching, with huckleberries, salmonberries, blackberries, and thimbleberries. I also found small patches of chanterelles on the way up and the way back. Omelets for breakfast tomorrow, obviously.

The whole time we were on the trail, we could hear the routine cracking of a rifle at regular intervals. It didn't really affect us, but started to get irritating towards the end. The wind blew my brains out, but the various birds looked like they were having fun performing aerobatics in the gusts.

When we hit the top, it was fairly close to where we'd turned around the time before. So close! Oh well. We'd found fresh bear scat, same as our previous hike up this trail. Next trip, we'll be taking a detour to the Indian pits. We'll probably also do the Tarbell trail on the way up if we come via Grouse Vista.

The view is pretty amazing from up top. There is a concrete foundation on one side of the forked summit, and you can see Adams, Hood, Rainier, and St. Helens. It was sort of hazy, so my pictures don't show the peaks as well as I'd like.

There were some older folks arguing about the hikes they'd done while drinking some wine. Also a pack (herd?) of loud boys and girls wearing almost no clothes and drinking beer on top of the rocks. 6 people doesn't really constitute a herd, I guess. We'll say pack. I was jealous for a second because I didn't have beer, but then I saw the domestic swill they were guzzling. C'mon, if you're going to grab cans, get some Caldera or Dale's Pale Ale.

It was a nice slow hike up, and a somewhat quicker descent. On the way back, a couple passing reported a second-hand bear sighting on the trail. No bears were seen by us. Alas. This prompted an alphabetical listing of all of the things we'd seen on the trail, which occupied the next mile or so.

• A is for Apples, which we forgot to buy.
  
• B is for Black Bears, which we didn't see. Or Bolete mushrooms (many!) or Blackberry.
  
• C is for Crowded, at the summit. Or Chanterelles, in my fridge. (Caterpiller!)
  
• D is for Dogs, brought by everybody, apparently.
  
• E is for Enteritis, and the hopes we don't get it from eating all those berries.
  
• F is for Fall, bringing mushrooms and red leaves, also maybe waterfalls.
  
• G is for Gun, being shot by the asshole down in the valley continuously for 4+ hours.
  
• H is for Huckleberries. Yum. Also lots of them in the bear scat on the trail...
  
• I is for Idiots. Drinking beer at the summit. Should've packed a pony keg at least, bros!
  
• J is for Junko, what a cute little bird.
  
• M is for Mushrooms, quite a few out early this year.
  
• P is for Plants, none of which I know well enough to eat yet.
  
• Q is for Quick, the descent from the summit.
  
• R is for Rocks, my feet hurt. Somebody get me a tissue.
  
• S is for Steep. At least for the first part. Also salmonberries.
  
• T is for Tarbell, the trail we'll take next time. Also thimbleberries..
  
• V is for View, although today was sort of hazy.
  
• W is for Wind, trying to blow us off the mountain.

K, X, X, Y, and Z don't bring anything to mind, so I leave them be.

What goes up: Decending Dog Mtn. by headlamp.

I figured that the trail down would be easier than the climb, because I was planning to use my headlight. This was not the case. The 3.7 miles is longer than the ascent, so it's slightly less steep. I covered the longer distance in about the same time as I had spent hiking up. I was fairly well hydrated and calorified starting down the trail, but shaky and weak in all my major muscle groups. Adrenaline is a bitch like that. No slackpacker speedball this trip, just big ups and downs in series. Harsh!

Shortly after the split below the summit, I encountered an unknown number of deer, bouncing down all over the f'ing hill. The were crashing down the incredibly steep incline above and below my narrow little trail because I had startled them. I briefly considered reconfiguring my giant hiking stick as a spear (nice modular design), but I would not have been able to recover the pole had it somehow ended up downhill. It's too nice a pole for that. Plus I'd have died trying to carry a deer carcass by moonlight. I was already predigested muscle mush by this time anyway.

I didn't hit the switch on my lights until I hit the trees beyond the second exposed stretch, and I could have made it further if I hadn't been so anxious to be down. Once the lights were on, I really started to move, almost to a jog in a few places. It's too steep to break into a run, so jogging is more of a jarring quick-step that rattles your bones.

Mushrooms!

I found a cute little patch of puffball mushrooms on the trail about a third of the way down. My camera takes pretty good pictures close-up at night, seems to me.

My headlamp hustle started out good, making excellent time going down the trail. I could galumph like the ogre that I am rather than picking my stealthy way through the inky forest. Well, that's all great until your body gets all worked up again. Once I'd hoofed myself into a good lather, the area of gloom and murk around my headlight and flashlight was somewhat more interesting to my spastic little dark-fearing brain. So, if what is in front of you is good (light) what is behind must be bad (dark). Rather than run away from whatever evil wood-demons that were creeping up on me, I used my flashlight to scan the shrubbery for a while. Never saw a single damn critter the whole time! Grrr. You'd think there were armies of rodents fighting in the shrubbery for all the noise they made!

Unfortunately, there are some drawbacks to headlights. Namely, my neck is sore, from swiveling my head back and forth for the whole stupid downhill. Once you turn on that damn light, you can't turn it off unless you want to stumble blindly in the dark for 30 minutes. I did supplement with an additional light source, but it wasn't really useful. I also did just fine with a flashlight without the light on my noggin. I will absolutely be purchasing a better flashlight in the VERY near future. I want a 9 LED tactical lights, powered by a stack of potent yet lightweight batteries. Also, I'm going to get some filters so I can switch back to night vision without the long wait.

I have this fantasy of putting a car battery in a backpack and wiring up a suit of LEDs all over my body, lighting up the forest as if I were god manifest. Maybe a big xenon bulb on my chest, Iron-man style. I'd be confident nothing would mess with me when I'm so bright I have to wear a welding helmet just to see the trail. The forest service planes would have to bomb me with water because of nearby greenery curling up and catching fire.

Even into today, I have sore feet, ankles, abs and ribs. I guess I could have gone slower on the descent and I'd never have felt a single ache, but I just flat wanted OFF that hill. Now I really can't understand how people run this mountain. Are they made of jerky or something? What do you do for knees after you come back down? I want to know, because mine are SERIOUSLY unhappy!

My opinion of Dog Mountain is that it's a nice walk by day. However, I recommend you do not bother with this hill at night. The cookie you get from this hike is small and dry and crumbly. Not much flavor. I always hate and suffer during my hikes, but almost always remember them very fondly the next day. This hike is not like that at all. My memory of this hike has a bitter taste and is rough to my brain like sandpaper. I've decided that there will be no more night hikes for a good long while until I can erase all the badness. I'll eventually polish this memory into a gleaming jewel of excitement. Hence this post: to remind myself why we do not do stupid things like hike hard hills in the dark.

Up, up, and AWAY!: Dog Mt. by dark, part 2

Terror - I need to look up some synonyms, or this will be a boring post.

I had plenty of courage at the bottom of this hill, while on the nice bright trail. I lost it all (and almost my sphincter control) the first time something scrambled away in the brush. This set the tone for the rest of the hike. I wanted to face my fear of darkness, and ended up facing fear itself. The woods in the dark really freaked me out more than I had expected.

I made it up the well-lit portion with no real difficulties, and got to see some really bizarre views of the river by night. Once into the more heavily forested portion of the trail my imagination began to run wild. I started to see people walking on the trail ahead, only to find that they were tricks of the moonlight. The wind was warm and gentle, despite constantly rattling the bones of the trees overhead. What breeze could be felt on the trail didn't cool me down at all but just sent chills down my back and made the rest of me feel clammy. I was completely amped up on adrenaline and sweating profusely.

My imagination also started messing with the sounds around me. Halfway through an especially dark portion of the trail, I heard the creepiest and most bone-chilling noise ever. Panic overrode almost all of my reason and I froze solid. This is obviously my full preparation for the fight or flight that normally follows. As it turns out, it was one of the straps on my backpack that had caught a branch. It's almost too bad it wasn't a monster, because I could probably have crushed it bare-handed with sheer ogre panic strength. I started walking much quieter and more deliberately so I could hear the forest better. It also helped me to avoid the hand-like branches that kept trying to remove my headlamp and poke out my eyes.

At this point I realized that the fear and adrenaline were making my body lie to my brain. On the blank canvas of darkness, my eyes and imagination were painting pictures of stalking creatures and other nocturnal horrors. However, I kept the reins tight and never lit the headlamp or flashlight. My ears heard stalking cats and boogymen coming out of every large patch of shadow. I got a grip on myself, mostly by whispering lies to my ego about being the most dangerous creature in the forest. Hah! I'd be lunch for a sneaky kitty, for sure.

Another difficulty I had also encountered on Angel's Rest: The moon is sometimes TOO bright! It puts everything into a high contrast and it overloads the cones and rods when you switch between the shadows and the exposed areas too often. I had the best times hiking when I could stay in the murky dark or the bright moonlight for longer periods to allow my vision to adjust. Right before the trail opened out onto the hillside, I had an owl launch from a tree just a few feet from my head. Once again, total body malfunction with sphincter control barely retained. Freezing up doesn't strike me as very helpful in these situations, but I can't figure out a conscious mechanism for controlling this reaction.

Here is the trip from the parking lot: I took the shorter and steeper trail towards the top. At the hard or harder fork, I went right so that I could hit the lookout point. It adds 0.4 miles, but is more open and less steep. Once the trails hit the second lookout point, I took the exposed route to the summit so I didn't have to hike the trees around the backside of the hill. It also saves 0.2 miles. However, this part of the trail has significant exposure and it was not at all lessened by the lower light levels. Exposure is still exposure and I could still see the tree line hundreds of feet down the slope where a body would fetch up if they tripped off the trail. I didn't get vertigo too bad this time, thanks to the addition of electrolytes and sugars to my drinking mixture. Plus, I don't think I had any adrenaline remaining in my glands by that point.

I sat at the top for about 30 minutes, staring at the river and Wind Mountain. Another 300 calories went down the hatch as fuel for the descent. A very slight mist began to coalesce in the air, more pronounced toward the river. It didn't affect my visibility, and it may have helped diffuse the moonlight. I finished my snack and checked in with my safety backup before starting back down the hill.

If you go: Be familiar with the trail. Imagine hiking it in the dark as you are climbing up the hill. It won't help once you are actually out there in the dark, but it's an interesting exercise regardless... All of the trails on the way up were well-maintained and pretty familiar to me since I've hiked this mountain a few times. There are a few slightly narrow parts where the big-leafed plants were trying to spread into my hiking space. The damp area right after the fork to "hard" is really dark, with lots of good bog noises to creep you out. This is the only spot where I considered using a light. Above all, don't panic. There isn't anywhere to run anyway.

This ascent was hard for me. I'm glad I made it without resorting to artificial light. I am also pleased I didn't have a panic attack, a heart attack, or loss of voluntary control over certain bodily functions. Despite my relative pleasure at the successful climb, I'm done with night hiking for a while. Probably a LONG while.

The descent will go up once I wrap up my current battle with the laundry monster.

Night Hike Dog Mountain, Part 1

Last night I made a night hike of Dog Mountain. This is going on the list of less than wise decisions I've made recently. I consider Dog Mountain to be a walk. A slightly steep and somewhat rocky walk with some exposure. Well, by night it acquires an entirely different and less pleasant persona. I dunno why I felt the need to follow-up on Angels Rest, but I'm going to record my experience in case this bug bites me again. Someone sensible can quote me my own freaked-out impressions to remind me why normal people don't do this kind of thing.

The evening started with an opportunity to sample some superior tequila with some co-workers. A far, far wiser choice that I spurned in favor of this maniacal adventure. The moon was bright in the sky, and I must have caught some form of lunacy to have listened to it's glimmering lies. "I'll show you the path!" it said. "I'll be right over your shoulder, the whole way..."

At least this time, I brought my hydration pack and big stick. And my camera, which doesn't work a DAMN at night, despite awesome lunar lighting. Oh, and my headlamp, an extra flashlight, and some spare batteries! Good idea, that last bit.

This was a pretty moving experience, that I'm going to try and record as a supplement for my own somewhat leaky memory. I'm planning on breaking the actual hiking into two more parts (plus a wrap-up of recent lessons learned) to avoid a novel-length message...

This adventure was terrifying. Everyone has a fear or two. Some people are afraid of heights. Others are scared of insects or snakes. Mine is the dark. Not phobic afraid, just sensibly terrified of the awful things I know are always lurking in the absense of light. I'm pretty sure that when they can genetically engineer people to have cat eyes, I'll consider doing my next night hike so equipped. I already have the cat-like reflexes, so that's no worry.

The basics convey nothing of the actual experience. 3.3 miles up. Started 9:41PM, ended 11:17PM. No headlight. 3.7 miles down. Started 11:43PM, ended 1:12AM. Highbeams on for most of the way.

I got maybe 3 hours of sleep last night between this hike, my nerves, and the morning sun through my window. I'm a wreck. More to come once I've wrapped myself around a largish meal.

Table Mountain

Loni and I hiked Table mountain yesterday (Saturday.) It was far more difficult than the trip reports indicated. At no point did I expect this to turn into a scramble with severe drops mere feet away, but Loni conquered her vertigo and we made it to the top. She elected to skip the last quarter-mile along the ridge to the overlook, to avoid aggravating her phobia. From the very edge of the cliff, you stand above a 500 foot drop. Turns my stomach, it does. Although, there is something fascinating about the feeling of falling. It's not the fall that hurts, it's when you hit the ground. True as in so many other areas of life!

The good:
We started from the Bonneville trailhead, which connects to the PCT pretty dang quick. The PCT was great, blackberries and birds along with various interesting scat to examine. We passed some lovely little ponds, although some people would call them lakes. This section of trail was fairly gentle. There was also a PCT trail crew cleaning up some of the underbrush and digging culverts. It looked like it might be worth joining one of those crews to learn how to build trails. We also found lots of mushrooms (Yay for chantrelles!) and may have spotted a pileated woodpecker. The view from the overlook was CRAZY. My legs turn into jello when I see that kind of drop. Gravity all of a sudden seems excessively potent and my heart starts skipping. I was so scared I almost cramped my taint from nervousness. God, what a rush. We also met some very nice peeps on the way up, Neil and Sarah, who gave us a ride to the car when we went back their shorter route. They are new transplants to Oregon, and I tried to give them some advice on good hikes and mushroom picking out here.

Advice: always worth about what you pay for it.

The bad:
We hiked through a few stands of stumps, the remains of previous clearcuts. The two trails that used to fork off the PCT to summit Table Mt. were re-built at some recent point to avoid delicate ecological areas. Never having been up this mountain previously, I cannot compare the replacements. The route I selected bypassed the first arm of the loop and continued a half-mile further along the PCT. Leaving only 0.75 miles in which to climb a quarter-mile. It was a steep, rocky scramble. Exhausting and sometimes a little terrifying. Fortunately, the way back was almost as awful. One particular stretch was a "talus field" which is the usual volcanic rock pile down a slope that we've previously called scree. The two routes (East & West) comprise the "Heartbreak Ridge Trail" as the kiosk labeled it. Cheesy name, but pretty accurate.

The ugly:
We didn't bring enough water for the full 15 mile hike. We again didn't keep up with our caloric needs going up the hill, resulting in brain and muscle fatigue. The downhill section of the scramble was super hard on the feet and I've got some achy arches from walking across pointy rocks for what seemed like ages. Finally, I completely underestimated the hike. Simple math mistake: 7.5 miles to climb 4300 feet. Nobody tells you that all the climbing is in the last two miles! I've been officially fired as hike selector by Loni. This means that I will have to do my last few gorge hikes solo, because they are tough and I don't really trust any of my other hiking buddies to handle it. I'll probably pony up for an emergency beacon first, because some of the last few beastly hikes look to be slightly risky.

Munra Point Hike

This Saturday event was a hike called Munra Point, and it was...steep. Call it a scramble with a wee bit of non-technical climbing.

I've coined a new term: Slackpacker's Speedball. It's that huge whacking rush of adrenaline layered on top of a gooey base layer of endorphins. Better than a regular speedball because it's all natural and probably won't kill you.

What you are DOING might kill you, but you won't OD or anything.

I got my first big hit of this mix as I came up the ridge on Munra Point, and I think I may already be a junkie...

Loni threw in the towel from vertigo at the 2/3 mark. She wanted to wait for me to summit, so I booked ass up the hill. I wanted to get to the top so I could get back down to where she was - but I had thought I was much closer to the top than I actually was. I cranked up the ridge for 20 minutes at about top hiking speed until my body basically was all done in. Out of breath, out of calories, and all the endorphins from exertion made me even more shaky and woozy. My body was exhausted and weak, and then I saw the drops on either side. My tiny little brain couldn't process keeping me upright and the gigantic drops on either side. My adrenals kicked in and I just about vomited from all the raw adrenaline punching me in the kidneys and spine. I had to climb the last little knob like a spider, both hands and feet. The plan was just to take some pictures and get down as fast as I could. Once I'd calmed down a few minutes, I was able to stand up on the knob and not get freaked out. I think the chemicals were making my senses lie to me somehow, because I didn't even use my hands when I came down from the knob. Vertigo is a fucker, for sure.

If you go, lace up tight for the downhill. Also, some thick & tough pants would be a good idea. If you fall, you are going to slide (and slide, and scream, and maybe die or become seriously injured...) and you don't want your legs to be all scratched up when they pull your ruined body from the bottom of the canyon. Seriously, it's not that tough, just steep. I could see this being a really nice trail with a little work (some switchbacks, maybe?) but then more people would do it and I'd have to hip-check them off the trail because they'd be those fucking weekender townies out for a little adventure. Wait, that almost sounds like...never mind.

Well, this is the price we pay for being slackpackers. Keep it steep, rough, heinously rocky with tons of nettles, spiders, snakes, ticks, bears, cats, poison oak, brambles, and cliffs. Some wildflowers and mushrooms are nice too, but don't put them where stupid average peeps can see them, because they'll just get picked and kicked, respectively.

One last bit of advice for those who want to tackle this little hill. Don't hike across from the Yeon trailhead. It's stupid having to listen to the traffic on I84 any more than you absolutely have to. Park under the bridge (coming back from the dam, there is a pull-out on the LEFT side of the westbound freeway). It's about 100 feet from the bridge to the trailhead. Easy to find: Find the bridge over the creek. Walk towards Bonneville along the trail for a hundred feet or so, it'll be on your right. There's a sign tacked to a tree about 30 feet from the trail, warning you the trail isn't maintained.

Remember: Carry a cell phone to help others. If you have to carry a cell phone to help yourself, you shouldn't be there.

Next up for scrambles: Ruckle Ridge

Mount St. Helens

I hiked Mount St. Helens on Monday with Michele and Loni. It was the best hike I've done so far, by a large margin. I was up at 4:00AM and caught a ride with Loni to arrive at the MK's house around 5:00. She drove, because she's got a hybrid that gets decent MPG. We signed in down at Cougar, and headed up the hill to Climbers Biouvac.

We were on the trail at 7:05 AM, and above the treeline about an hour later. That's when shit got tough. There are some fairly long stretches of non-boulderized hillside, but mostly it's scrambling. My giant new pole was very helpful for stability, and I avoided any major falls this whole trip.

This mountain gives you a choice: You can either scramble straight over rocks, which is pretty harsh on your quads, glutes, and triceps or you can slog up the "trail" which is loose gravel, sand, and ash. The trail is really, really hard on the calves, so I split the difference and switched back and forth.

We didn't follow the poles that mark the trail very closely, because it seemed harder to take that route. Instead, we ran giant switchbacks up either side of the ridge,
which took longer but wasn't quite as harsh on the body. I was breathing
hard most of the way, probably from overall lack of fitness combined with
the decreased oxygen at elevation.

Both Loni and I had some mild hypoglycemia, although I managed to mostly keep up and avoid the crash. We fueled with the PowerBar Gel Packs, and they were not nearly as offensive as I had expected. Next time, we'll eat more packs, more frequently.

The hardest part was the last 1500 feet, where it's just loose ash and gravel. It's about 75% efficient to hike, which means every step you sink or slide back a quarter step. It's just grinding out the steps, and it feels like forever! Eventually, you get to the rim and can see the glory that is a giant pit. The new lava dome is cool, and actually seems surprisingly large. Hopefully I'll get to be around for the next eruption and it's at least as big as the last one. Keep your fingers crossed.

I didn't use my new gaiters - my boots never collected ash or rocks, so there wasn't a need. Oh well, I'm sure they'll see use this winter on some snow hikes. Some things I need to invest in are better sunglasses - it was BRIGHT up there. Maybe some goggles. Also, I need warmer and more breathable layers. My fleece was a lifesaver, but I could've been more comfortable during parts of the hike.

Some highlights of the trip:
Little puffs of smoke coming out of a vent on the lava dome.

Giant eagle soaring directly over our heads. Probably a bald eagle, although we initially suspected it was a golden eagle. Since it didn't have the blazes under the wings and we had previously seen a bald eagle on the way up, that's probably what this one was too. Loni and I each saw a hummingbird, too.

Short glissades down the snow field - I sat on my heels for the first one, but it was super sketchy trying to keep my balance. I stood and skiied in my boots for the second, using my pole as a brake/balance tool. It was super fun and I made fantastic time. I wish I'd been braver and done it from further up on the mountain.

Showing assholes up. Loni and Michele had a little "chat" with some "experienced mountaineers" on the way up. They were loaded down with full gear, ropes, ice axes, the whole shebang. They laughed at the little girls (and me) with their little hydration packs, and made some comments about them not knowing what they were doing on the mountain. Just kinda know-it-all jerks. We passed them again on the way back down, and I heard Loni make a comment about "_WE_ didn't need a belay..."

Hamilton Mountain Loop Hike

On Friday, Loni and I had plans for doing the Munra Point scramble. This fell through due to very low energy on our part. We have hiked the Hamilton Mountain loop before and we started up the trail, but ended up stopping at the Cave of the Winds. After clambering around atop the punchbowl, we came back down and began the rest of the food orgy that continued through Saturday. Woah, that's some food.

Sunday, despite my gluttony, I woke up feeling like hiking. Sara was willing to try a longer hike than our last adventure (Dog Mountain) so I suggested we do the whole Hamilton Mountain loop.

We reached the parking lot/trailhead across from Beacon Rock at about 9:30. It would have been a later start but Sara doesn't eat breakfast. The weather was schizophrenic and oscillated between chilly, drizzly, damp, humid, hot, sunny, windy and various combinations of same conditions.

We saw quite a few people on the trail for the first half of the loop, including a bus load of guys from the "Harvard Glee Club". I noticed quite a few "social trails" A.K.A. switchback shortcuts. I think that cutting switchbacks calls for an immediate revocation of your hiking privileges by me shoulder-checking you off a cliff. It's simply rude, and destroys the trail. This is one of the many reasons I'm going to start carrying a machete while hiking.

The last time Loni and I hiked this trail, I thought it was brutal and exhausting. This time, I wasn't pressed at all, although it's still a great workout. I guess sometimes it's a good thing not to have a giant breakfast in your gut while climbing a mountain. I stayed within my breath and well hydrated. I still have not purchased my replacement hiking pole, but it really didn't matter this trip. Maybe I'm just in better shape than I was? Who knows.

The wildflowers were awesome for so late in the season, and both Sara and I took tons of pictures. I'll have to set up a link to a photo site to share some of them.

I also took some pictures of one of my next hikes, Munra Point! These little rock "nipples" are apparently the goal of the climb. You can see Bonneville down below, and another future hike in Table Mountain to the north. I can't identify all of the ridges on the Oregon side, although I'm doing what I can to climb them all.

The trail down the back half of the loop was quiet and pretty, with only a few people and we actually found a few mushrooms. There were NONE on the way up. Since we got back to Hardy Creek with plenty of energy left, we decided to see all of the sights. We climbed up onto the rocks surrounding the punchbowl and took more pictures.

Still not tired, we forked to the right on the way back, and headed up to Little Beacon Rock. The spire itself isn't very interesting, but there is an awesome little short scramble to the right that gives great views and some crazy drop-offs. I've got pictures from above and below to demonstrate how sheer this is. We watched a plane circle Beacon Rock from our perch on top of the hill. Once I'd had my fill of vertigo, we headed back down and took the loop back through the campground.

Overall, including all of the various detours, this hike comes in a little shy of 9 miles, and I felt great after. My right hip flexor muscle is sore, but my knees and feet feel fine.

Rock of Ages Loop Hike

I did a hike with Loni today, the Rock of Ages Loop Hike Columbia River Gorge. The views in this hike were fantastic! We were SO excited about hiking this loop and getting all these awesome pictures on a beautiful day. We got the views, but the hike itself was pure hard bullshit.

Total elevation gained is 3200 vertical feet in a little over 2.6 miles. One of the steepest gradients in the gorge that I've encountered by a large margin. Gigantic drops, scary exposures. The people who built this and hike this, I suspect, think switchbacks are for pussies. Wusses. Pansies. I am so broken right now, I can't even begin to express.


My first mistake: Starting this hike hungover. WAAAAAY hungover. The waitress asks how I want my eggs? Runny. Like my brain feels. It doesn't matter how (or if) you cook them, because I'm too hungover to eat them. So, Loni and I both started out with a mostly empty stomach. I had downed a couple bloody Marys and felt almost human enough to hike. Once on the trail I regretted this decision almost immediately.

I developed further regrets while walking along the edge of a 500 foot vertical drop with horrible nausea. My brain felt completely disconnected from my body, I was woozy and shaky, and I didn't even begin to recover from the hangover until I was at the summit. The entire trip to the summit was mostly a scramble.



Hand over foot, non-technical climbing, with the added challenge of slippery mud, cold winds, and hangover. I took a hard fall coming down a side trail on the ridge and I'll have some AWESOME bruises on my hip to show for it. It's in a slightly personal region, forgive me if I don't post pictures.




Right after we started up the side trail for Rock of Ages, I saw a slightly shredded cedar off to one side. Something with very large claws now has very large SHARP claws. Nice. Other cool things we saw this trip were some tree sap that was caught by a spiderweb and some brilliant yellow slime mold that Loni spotted.









We dealt with some other bullshit on the trail: Loni went hypoglycemic about halfway through while staggering through an unmarked snowfield looking for a trail. Easy enough to deal with, just give her some food, right? No, she doesn't want to eat, because she's upset/tired/scared/depressed. It was a catch 22, totally. She eats an apple, and WHAM - back to her old self. I made her eat a protein bar too. The huge dumb on my part was that I had a quart of Gatorade in my pack that would have been perfect for just this kind of issue. I may have been slightly hypoglycemic at that point as well, so I forgive myself the oversight.

Also, almost the entire trail up to the summit was rather well marked and clear. This is despite the sign on the tree at the beginning that states "Trail Not Maintained". Once we hit the summit and switched onto Horsetail Creek Trail, THEN the quality of the hiking began to suck. Downed trees. Snow patches. Brush. Scary unmarked snow field crossings. We persevered, got lost for a while in the snow field, crossed several creeks, and finally got to the next trail. Some fucker RAN past us! I wanted to chase him down and break his fucking legs, but I couldn't muster the willpower.

Once we hit the next major trail intersection, life became more pleasant, long switchbacks through dry and open pine forest. In the middle of one of the sections of trail we found a dead baby eagle! Yellow feet, little puff of down, wicked looking beak. There was a beetle nomming on the eye. I didn't think to take pictures, which I'm now regretting. Again, probably not enough fuel in my brain.

It was too good to be true, as we quickly ran into even MORE bullshit! Several of the small creeks decided they were best served by flowing down the trail we were hiking. Mud pits, slippery rocks, swampy soil. Even better were the fucking spiky plants. Thorns and spikes coming out of the leaves, even! Plus stupid little dog roses, salmon berries, and a couple of other plants that I've never minded before that now irritate the shit out of me. All of these decided to clog the trail and tear my skin off. I slipped in one of the mud pits and slammed into the ground, folding my trekking pole in half. I can only fault myself for trusting an inexpensive trekking pole. Here is a link to the LuxuryLite Big Survival Stik that I'll probably have to buy for future scrambles.

We were supposed to ford Ondeonta Creek, but it would have sucked us in and killed us if we had tried, so we ended up crossing on a giant fallen tree. Scary, about 20' above the water and rocks on a slippery log for 50 feet. No good. No good at ALL! I was past taking pictures at this point, alas.

The rest of the way down was not exciting, except we were dumb and went back via the Horsetail Falls trail instead of just going down Ondeonta. We didn't have to walk along the highway, but it seemed like it added an extra mile to our trip.

This hike is now dead to me. I am proud that I conquered it, and the views were among the best I've seen. However, it was pure hard bullshit for the first 7 miles and I don't want to do it again. The last four were pure boring downhill bullshit, with the added irritation of other human beings. Total time out: 6 hours, 45 minutes.