Last week I decided that it was time to take a Friday off work. After all, it had been over a whole month since the last time I'd taken a Friday off so I figured it was time. Besides, it had suddenly occurred to me that after next week the malls and stores were going to be clogged with shoppers. As much as I love shopping (and those of you who know me can attest to this), the week before Thanksgiving suddenly seemed like a good time to get the Christmas shopping that couldn't be done online over with. The fact that the sun would be shining never entered into the equation and turned out to be a bonus. Unfortunately, the wind was also blowing for two of the three days of the long weekend. I have a strong aversion to wind. It must be a leftover hangup from living in the southwest for so long and putting up with what amounted to a sandstorm every afternoon during the month of March. Now whenever I hear the wind howling outside, all I can think of is the blowing dirt and static electricity.

Up here, it's more likely for there to be blowing moss than sand, so I made several forays down the hill to see what there was to see in this unexpected sunlight. One of my favorite areas is not far from home and has old farmhouses alongside newer additions. This area was once an orchard and there is still a large parcel of land in the middle of the neighborhood that, by a covenant or code of some kind, must remain in its natural state. There are pear, plum, and apple trees tucked back here, although the blackberries make them rather difficult to get to. This picture is taken near that now wild orchard. Something else that is rare to see during this time of year is a good sunrise or sunset. The sky and cloud conditions have been nearly perfect these last few days and because my apartment has a southwestern exposure, I don't have to go far to see a great sunset. The biggest trick is not getting hit in the head by a hanging flowerpot.

Saturday was much like Friday as far as the weather was concerned. After a nice run, I decided to go for another walk while the sun was still high overhead. Because of all the tall evergreens, it doesn't take long for streets to be completely in the shade. The only problem was that my fingers (which have circulatory issues in the colder weather) had turned white and numb and taking pictures was a bit frustrating. It felt like I was really pressing the button hard on the camera and nothing would happen. It's amazing the difference a little constriction makes in finger strength. However, after a lot of blowing on my fingers and rubbing my hands together, I did get enough feeling in my hands to get a few pictures. There's a lovely path along the Willamette River but right now the water is low enough to walk right along the edge of it. That won't be the case by next month. Sunday was the perfect day. It was chilly in the shade, but in the full strength of the sun it was quite luxurious and there was only the vaguest hint of a breeze. I decided to do a longer version of  Saturday's walk and went back to the same southwest Portland neighborhood. This time though, I walked across the Sellwood bridge and into Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge. In the spring there's a purple haze of flowers along the floor of the park but this time of year it's just golds, reds, and browns. It's

easy to forget that downtown Portland is just a few miles away while walking through this area. If I didn't raise my eyes too high, I could almost pretend there were no high rises peeking over the reeds and bushes. On my way back, winding through the Sellwood neighborhood, I was struck by the number of flowers that were still in bloom. This was the perfect time of day and the sunlight shining through the red was eye-catching. I wish this weather could hang around for a bit longer, say until about June. But I suppose that's asking a bit much.

 This was taken on the way down to Macadam along a series of staircases that goes from the top of one Portland neighborhood to the foot of the hill. These blooms are going to get a rude awakening in a few weeks.

Adventures in Bushwhacking

During all the walks and hikes I've taken in the Portland area, there have been a few times when I wished I had a machete in my back pocket, was lost, or just couldn't get there from here. Today was a bit of the former and a sprinkling of the latter. My initial goal was a hunk of what is called Waverly Heights Basalt in the Willamette River (I'm not sure if the basalt is named for the local golf course or the other way around), that is thought to have been formed by ancient lava flows. The current name for this hunk of rock is Elk Rock Island. The island is easily accessible at all times by boat but, unless a person feels like doing a bit of wading, the easiest time to get there on foot is during the summer when the water is low. In the early 1900's, a dance club was situated on the island, and in 1910 Portland businessman Peter Kerr bought the island from the Rock Island Club. In 1940 he donated it to the city with the requirement that it be kept in its natural state for, as he put it, all to enjoy. Kerr's own home was across from the island, resting on a cliff of the same basalt as the island. Now that the history has been laid out, here's what happened. I parked my car on the north side of Willamette Park, because traffic across the Sellwood Bridge has been hideous lately, and the journey is as much the point as the destination. I quickly got distracted in Willamette Park by a trail down to the river that in the spring is nothing more than a place to fall into the water, but at the end of the summer it's more like walking onto someone's lawn.

I continued along the riverbank intending to rejoin the trail later. But after about seven or eight minutes, it seemed simpler to keep going until I met with an unofficial trail back to the link between the park and a nearby marina and then the street to the bridge. The slight hiccup was that all the entrances to that link between the park and the marina had been blocked due to the construction going on at the Sellwood Bridge, and I do mean all entrances. I found myself below the wooden walkway that leads from the marina parking lot to the houseboats looking up at the imposing chainlink fences topped by razor wire and thinking maybe I should have turned around sooner. But never one to accept the obvious conclusion staring me in the face, I decided there had to be a way around this. And lo and behold there it was. The gate to the marina parking lot may have been topped by razor wire but that doesn't matter when it's not latched. I made my way through the gate thinking I was home free, only to be faced with a long gate across the entrance to the parking lot. It was the kind that residents have codes to, which did me absolutely no good. I walked around the inside of the lot looking for any kind of opening in the chainlink and, finding none, tried to figure out what part of me besides my arm, backpack, and camera would fit through the narrow gap between the wall and gate. I said a short prayer and right then, a resident returned home and unlocked the gate. He didn't seem distressed to see some potential criminal wandering around inside the area and I told him what happened and went on my way.

After that, getting to Elk Rock was easy. It was no problem getting on the island as the water from the spring was now no more than a few puddles. Trails criss-cross all through the island and around the perimeter. There were other people there enjoying the sun or the view, but at the same time it was easy to feel quite isolated.

As I headed back, I fell into step with a very nice couple who lived along the Columbia River in north Portland. They had come as far as the trail would let them before running into the island. We chatted until they turned to go a different direction and it struck me that if I hadn't taken so long to get to the island in the first place I would have missed out on their enjoyable conversation. The next time an apparent inconvenience comes my way, I'll have to remind myself that a momentary frustration can also lead to an enjoyable memory.