To the Lighthouse

Yes, I know, Virginia Woolf already wrote that story. But in this instance I really was trying to get to a lighthouse, just without all the angst associated with the other story. One of my favorite spots in the area is Sauvie Island. It has a small lighthouse on an equally small outcropping of rock called Warrior Rock. The story goes that in the late 1700's a British Naval expedition landed on Sauvie Island and was greeted by warriors of the Multnomah tribe. There was some trading between the two groups, and the point where they met was called Warrior Rock to commemorate the occasion. The lighthouse, Oregon's smallest and one of only two Oregon lighthouses not on the Pacific Ocean, guides river traffic on the Columbia. I have had several past attempts at hiking out to the lighthouse and Friday's adventure was yet another failed attempt, but at least this time I actually caught a glimpse of it. With a little imagination, the lighthouse can be seen at the end of the line of trees on the left in the picture above. Well, with maybe more than just a little imagination.

I had decided that the first sunny Friday in October I would take a vacation day  to capture some fall colors. I was hoping it would be a little later in the month when there was more color, but when you live in such a temperamental state you take any sunny day you can get no matter when it comes along. So when this past Friday was predicted to be 70 and sunny, I put in my vacation request. When I left Portland around 9:30 in the morning it was almost clear. As I got closer and closer to Sauvie Island, it got cloudier and cloudier. I was not amused. I parked at one of the designated areas and started walking, looking for any sign of blue sky in the middle of all the gray. Finally, about noon, the skies started to clear. I sat on an old fallen tree eating carrots and humus and thoroughly enjoying the scene before me.

This particular part of the island has little traffic, especially this time of year, and each time I've been there it has the feeling of walking through a landscape painting or a picture in an old story book. This area has a trail that runs roughly parallel with the main road and then intersects it at a point where the other road turns to gravel. I was heading for this intersection and just happened to look over my shoulder to see a mountain peering at me over the canal.


Once the two roads intersect, it's a long straight walk to the trail head. There are numerous signs for Collins Beach along the way, which is a clothing optional spot. I was half tempted to jump out of the underbrush with my camera aimed at any unsuspecting sunbather just to see if I could get anyone to scurry away to take cover, but I decided I better not. After passing numerous cows and old barns, I finally found my way to the beach. I was going to take the trail out to the lighthouse and follow the coastline back but there was some trail construction going on so I decided to go out and back the same way.

 Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams (I just found out that the mountain I'd thought was Rainier all these years is actually Mt. Adams), and Mt. Hood were all out with their fresh layers of snow. I thought this time I would make it all the way for sure, but alas it was not to be. The beach soon became a sea of mud and the trail was almost as bad. I could feel my shoes being sucked off my feet and decided it would have to wait yet again. I'm sure the lighthouse isn't going anywhere soon and it will give me another excuse to drive back to the island next summer or spring.

Wide Open Spaces

It struck me yesterday, as I realized that once again I had planned too long a walk to possibly fit into one day, that the ultimate goal shouldn't necessarily be getting to the planned destination, but rather enjoying what there is to see along the way. Sauvie Island is a good example of a place where it's easy to forget about the finish line and just enjoy the journey. Yesterday morning found me yet again on Highway 30 on the way to Sauvie Island. This has become one of my favorite places to visit, even more so than the Columbia River Gorge, for one simple reason: wide open spaces. When I drove across the bridge, I immediately pulled out of the car to snap this picture of Mt. St. Helens. And guess what? There were no trees to dodge, no hills in the way, just farmland and a few trees to decorate the foreground.

After wending along past mown fields of alfalfa and farmhouses, I came to the first of many parking areas on this island that is a combination of nature reserves and farmland. I should have checked the handy dandy GPS to see how far it was to Warrior Rock and the lighthouse but figured it hadn't looked that far when I checked the map earlier and probably wasn't more than five or six miles to the trail head, add another six-mile round trip to see the lighthouse and it equaled a decent walk for the day. Except that, as usual, there was a slight miscalculation and after about four miles I checked and saw that it was going to be at least seven more miles to the trail head. Eighteen to twenty miles is one thing, thirty is a (very) far distant goal. At that point, I decided to look for a loop that would take me back another way so I could check out different scenery. The lighthouse will have to wait until another day. It probably isn't going anywhere any time soon. A dirt road curved off the main drag just past the beach parking area and took me off the beaten path into fields of yellow flowers (probably weeds, but they look good in pictures) and along a dirt trail that ran alongside one of the many lakes on the island. Here, except for the wind whistling past, it was quiet and easy to forget that there was a bustling city about 10 miles away.

The road made its way up a gentle rise until Mt. St. Helens was again on the horizon. That sight alone made the day worth it and it, and made me realize how blessed I am to be a desert rat in the northwest.

North by Norhtwest

One of the things I've come to appreciate about the Portland area is its diversity, and I don't mean the politically correct version of the word that is so popular now. By diversity I mean all the different areas you can visit in one day within about a three-mile radius (in this case, forest, city, and island). This past week has been absolutely perfect as far as weather is concerned. Summer normally doesn't come until July 5, but at least for now it's here in full force. Since there was no reason to wait for the clouds to clear or the sun to come out, I headed to northwest Portland early on to begin an urban hike. I drove across the St. John's Bridge and parked in one of the neighborhoods across from Cathedral Park. Driving across bridges takes no time at all, but walking back across is another story. The St. John's Bridge is no exception, but at least it's got a pretty view on the way.

 From up here, it was very easy to see Mt. Hood wreathed in clouds behind the Steel Bridge, as if it just couldn't quite step out of its comfy white cloak. After crossing the bridge, I found the steps that lead up to the Ridge Trail, part of the Wildwood Trail system that makes an approximately 40-mile loop through Forest Park. There were glimpses of the bridge through the trees, and it didn't take long to be almost level with the Gothic spires. The trail wound its way up for some time (much farther and twistier than Google showed, how surprising!) until it joined Leif Erikson Drive. The word "drive" is misleading because really it's a wide dirt multi-use trail, as in bikers, runners, dads with strollers, probably even unicycles at times (the bagpiping Gandolph can't always be riding in downtown, right?) so there was plenty of traffic to keep one from feeling too lonely. There are also well-placed maps at different junctions to keep hikers from getting lost, well usually. There was one intersection where the signage was particularly unhelpful and it does no good to look for moss on the north side of a tree because moss grows on all sides and surfaces.

Enough sunlight does filter in to allow certain varieties of flowers to grow. I have no idea what the flowers on the left are, but they rather remind me of inflated turbans. Columbine also makes an occasional appearance, and it's almost always in this red and yellow combination. At times the trail had rather a Shire look to it. If it wasn't for the posts on the side of the bridge, you could almost imagine elves (and yes I know, elves aren't technically in the Shire) making their way over the stream and tripping lightly up the steps, as opposed to hobbits who don't do anything lightly with those hairy feet.

 I took a wrong turn here and went up the steps because I've learned in the past that when in doubt, go up. This time the "up" trail appears to have been a shortcut to the back side of one of the businesses along Highway 30. I retraced my steps and went along the trail that paralleled the stream. It was then less than a quarter of a mile back to the highway and along the raised sidewalks that are part of what used to be the community of Linnton. From what little research I've done, Linnton used to be a thriving town. That changed when the highway was widened and the roadside businesses became level asphalt. There are still some homes dotting the landscape and businesses along the east side of the highway but apparently it never recovered its past glory. One of the things left behind was a series of staircases and raised sidewalks that allowed the townsfolk easier access to bus stops and businesses. Those are on the agenda for a future hike.

It was at least a mile or so back to the car and on the way I explored the block-wide farmers market on the east side of the St. John's Bridge. There was everything from local berries to salsa and tamales and crepes. Good thing I didn't have any cash or I might have spent it.

Next it was off to Sauvies Island to pick berries. This past week, a co-worker mentioned that her daughter and boyfriend had picked berries at Sauvies Island Farms and that at $2 a pound, the berries were much cheaper than those at the farmers market. I'm not sure if the cheapness factor holds up when you calculate gas, time, and effort, but it was still a fun way to spend the afternoon. The island is connected to the highway by a bridge that crosses the Willamette River. Along the river are houseboats and the area is dotted with farms. I usually leave my car at the park and ride and walk along the road to whatever the destination is. It always feels like walking in a postcard, that is if you ignore the cars that whiz by on their way to the local beach. The clouds were just beginning to clear from the mountains and the fields of flowers made a great foreground. The sprinklers were an unfortunate distraction but you can't arrange real life very easily.

 After about a three-mile walk, I was at the farm. A lady at the entrance was directing people to the proper fields and giving out cardboard flats to hold berries. The road to the berry patch had a view of Mt. St. Helens and flower patches along the way. Lavender, daisies, hydrangeas, and lilies were growing side by side waiting to be picked and turned into a bouquet. After passing corn, cabbage, kale, and other veggies, I finally found the raspberry section. The berries were the size of medium strawberries and were growing in abundance. It was no time at all before my container was filled and it was off to the blueberry patch. Again, the berries were huge and picking berries in a civilized field was quite a pleasant switch from picking thorny blackberries on the side of the road.

On the way back, I was struck again by the beauty of Mt. Hood with the flowers in front of it. Ignoring the idea that I should put my cardboard flat loaded with three plastic containers of berries down before taking the picture, I tried holding the flat and taking the picture. Let's just say, it didn't work. I was down on my knees picking up blueberries when I looked up and realized this was actually the best angle for the picture. Someone on their hands and knees picking up blueberries and then taking pictures probably looked pretty crazy to those driving by, but if I ever see those people again they won't recognize me anyway so it doesn't matter.
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There and Back Again

I chose that title because it was the one used by Bilbo Baggins for his memoirs, and this hike had me feeling very hobbit-like. Today's trek was to Larch Mountain (and back) and started on the historical Columbia Highway at a spot a mile or so east of Multnomah Falls (I've always felt like Multnomah Falls was like the Wizard of Oz; it looks impressive and sounds thunderous from below, but when you get to the top it's rather placid and dull). From this trail head, you are dropped off at the second of the 11 switchbacks leading up to the top of the falls. All the way up the trail you are taunted at every other turn with a sign telling you which switchback you are on. You would think after walking over a mile you would at least come out at number seven or eight. This is the hardest part of the hike to me, mostly because there are often large numbers of people to pass and because it's rather monotonous. But once you are past the top of the falls, it turns into a part of the shire with beautiful ferns, waterfalls, and looming trees. Mossy fingers seemed to reach down in places as the sun slowly made its way to the top of the ridge. I had forgotten how shady much of this hike is and my sunglasses spent most of their time on top of my head. Parts of the trail were very rocky, and I  imagine even hobbit feet would soon grow weary of the rocks. As the trail continues along the

river, it reverts for a time to soft dirt and pine needles. Unfortunately, that doesn't last long. There are numerous rock slides along the trails in the gorge and the Larch Mountain trail is no exception. The good thing is there are only two rock slides to worry about, the bad thing is that one of them is quite long. This part of of the trail reminded me of Mt. Doom, with its steep slopes covered in jagged loose rocks. Luckily for me there weren't any unpleasant creatures like Gollum waiting on the other side. After what seemed like miles but was probably the same distance as my apartment door to the street, I was back on more stable ground. Then it was a long trek at a steady upward angle for another mile or so. This part went by fairly quickly. Near the top of this first upward

pull is what appears to be an old rock wall. I would love to find out the history of it. Usually there is a handy dandy historical marker nearby with such helpful bits of trivia as "site of first picnic with plastic forks" but alas, nothing like that is to be seen. The trail splits here and my speculation is that the right-hand trail goes to the middle parking lot of the Larch Mountain trail. I didn't take the time to find out as the trail went downhill and I had no interest in going down only to have to come back up. Speaking of up, I discovered that on this trail whenever there was a choice to be made as to which direction to go, it was the trail that went uphill 99% of the time. That must be one of Murphy's lesser known laws. As the trail continues up (notice a trend here?) the trees seem to change and suddenly it feels as if you've wondered into a part of some elvish forest. I felt very small here and it was all I could do to say "Toto, we're not in the Shire anymore."  I know, wrong book, but you get the idea. From here, it's not that much farther to the parking lot (yes, civilization is always lurking nearby) and then up to the viewpoint at Sherrard Point. On a clear day, one can see Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Jefferson. All the peaks were out today except for Jefferson. There was just too much haze in that general direction. Finding the trail to head back is rather interesting. You have to go down the paved road until the first guardrail appears. About 2/3 of the way through the turn, there's a break in the guardrail and the trail starts up again. It's very intuitive. I mean, I always look for trails near guardrails, right? From here it's a mostly straight shot down with occasional forks in the trail that are fairly well marked. And again, any time there is a fork in the road, it's always the trail going up. One note about the trail markers, some of them must have been put up by a Paul Bunyan type because they are way above eye level.

The Shire makes another appearance as the trail winds through more normal sized trees. After awhile, you can hear the sounds of the river again and soon you're walking alongside mini-falls and across several log bridges (with a handrail on one side) until you come upon Triple Falls. The trail continues down until there is another fork. This time, going straight down leads to Horsetail Falls and continuing on the more level path leads back to the same trail head you started at. Coming down this trail from the opposite direction was almost disorienting, until I saw my car parked across the road and knew I really was back again.

PS I can't explain the spacing in this post, maybe someday I'll learn to speak HTML.

Mt. Hood - The Mountain that Moves

Mt. St. Helens 

Mt. Rainier

Growing up in the southwestern part of the United States there weren't a lot of opportunities for mountain sightings.  Now, don't get me wrong, there are lots of places to hike and be in the mountains and enjoy nature, but there aren't many snow-capped mountain peaks hanging around in the high desert. The first time I traveled to Oregon and saw Mt. Hood it was hard to comprehend that in the middle of the summer, and while enjoying 70-80 degree weather, it was possible to see this looming white presence from downtown Portland.

I remember driving along I-5 and seeing over 11,222 feet of mountain ahead and wondering how it was that the other drivers on the highway were just going about their business instead of doing the obvious thing, which was to pull off the road and stand staring in rapt amazement. I guess it's possible to get used to seeing mountains on your morning commute, but I don't see how.

One of the little games I started playing when I first moved to the Portland area was finding the different spots where Mt. Hood was visible. Sometimes it was the whole mountain or the top third and sometimes it was just the tip, and only then on a clear day and at just the right spot in the road. A friend who has lived here for many years remembers when she could easily see Mt. Hood from an upstairs window, but now has to stand in the bathtub and hang her head out the bathroom window to get a glimpse of it through the trees. I haven't posted any pictures from those particular vantage points because there's nothing photo-worthy about them (and I don't often go standing in other people's bathtubs just to take a picture of the side of a mountain).

The pink sunrise picture was taken about a mile north of where I live on a crisp January morning. Now, if I do an about face, go to the top of the street, turn right, go down a block, turn left, and then wind my way up, the view is more like the picture above taken on a sunny June afternoon. Just to throw in an extra twist, if instead of crossing the street and turning left, I continue straight ahead, I can see the mountain bobbing and weaving ahead of me.  At the four-way stop if I turn left, guess what? The mountain turns with me, although now it's mostly hidden by the trees. Throw in a few more twists and turns on the way to the downtown area and this is the view you'll have on a clear fall day (full disclosure, I edited out the phone lines, I figured Mt. Hood was there first so it's not cheating). After six years, I'm still finding places in the city where the mountains are visible and I hadn't realized it. It's rather difficult not to stop and point at the mountain and, as someone is passing by, say to them, "Oh look, there's Mt. Hood." You get the oddest looks from people as they slowly back away from you.

What a Difference a Season Makes Part II

Since last October I've been biding my time, watching the weather, and waiting to pounce on the opportunity to go back to Dog Mountain while the wildflowers are in bloom.  This isn't as easy as it sounds since shooting in the rain is not recommended for clear pictures and it's not like there's a ranger station next door that I can call for a flower blooming report. After reading various guidebooks and asking people who have hiked the area, I decided that this weekend was my best chance.

As I made my way out to Dog Mountain, across the Bridge of the Gods, and into Washington I was struck anew by the vastness of the Columbia River Gorge and wondered for the thousandth time how anyone could think all this beauty happened by accident.
Before I knew it, I was at the parking lot where only a handful of cars were parked. As before, I took the slightly longer but not quite as steep route up. I figured it was easier to enjoy the views on the way down when I wasn't concentrating so much on just putting one foot in front of the other. The scenery on this part of the trail isn't as stunning, with only a few breaks in the trees towards Wind Mountain, but I knew it would be worth the wait. There were a few wildflowers here and there in amongst the trees and they provided a splash of color against the mostly green backdrop.

After climbing for a bit, I started on the slow series of switchbacks that would eventually lead me to the trail that would skirt around the front of the mountain. This part of the trail has a different feel than other gorge hikes I've been on, almost like you're walking through a postcard.  Soon there were more flowers showing up against the hillside. They were mostly yellow with a few purples and reds thrown in for good measure. Yes it's corny, but it was a big temptation to do my best Julie Andrews impression and burst out with "the hills are alive" but I'm sure any hiker within a mile radius would have thought it sounded more like a lonely moose calling for its mate (we don't have moose up here, but that's beside the point). I did quite a bit of groveling at this point to get the camera positioned just right so as to have flowers in the foreground and the river and sweeping views in the back. Thank goodness for viewing screens that flip up and allow you to see what's in the camera's sites without having to be flat on the ground.  I was struck at how different the surroundings were just seven months ago.  The overall lay of the land and the windswept trees were familiar but other than that, everything was new and different. Mt. St. Helens was behind me and the very tip of Mt. Hood was visible through the clouds that were making their way over the gorge. There was no one on the trail and there was something special about being the only person with all this beauty to enjoy, kind of like it was my own backyard to possess for a few minutes.  The carpet of flowers seemed to literally reach to the sky.

One group of hikers I met as I was on my way down commented that the blooms were actually a little late this year and this weekend was probably the peak of the season. By now, more hikers were coming along the trail and those of us who were at a viewing point were either crouching down low or just waiting for them to move out of the scene. I'm sure I took pictures of people taking pictures. Farther on down the trail a man coming the opposite direction stopped and pointed out what he called a chocolate lily. I'd never noticed or heard of such a flower. I left him to his photo op and figured I'd find my own later on. The picture with the red leaves and yellow flowers has some chocolate lilies in it, they're kind of a bell-shaped, brown streaked flower.

Now the thing about Dog Mountain is there are parts of the trail that are steep and they're no picnic going up or down and there were several instances where my feet slid out from under me. After one such occurrence, a hiker that I had just passed insisted I take one of his hiking sticks. I felt bad because he needed it for the climb up but I was grateful he gave it to me because it definitely helped on the steeper parts of the trail. Besides that, when the trail leveled out I was able to use it to push off the ground and go even faster (I've never been accused of walking too slow). Well, I think that's enough writing; the pictures speak for themselves. If you ever get the chance to do this hike I would highly recommend it, especially in the mid to late spring.