Cape Falcon - Oregon Coast

After living in Oregon for almost nine years, I've finally had several opportunities in the last few months to explore what is less than 80 miles from my doorstep. A friend at church also loves to hike so, after arranging a shuttle to drop us off and pick us up at the end, we started off on the Cape Falcon to Neahkahnie Mountain leg of the Oregon Coast Trail. We started by revisiting Hug Point, since the last time we were there it was fogged in.

Back in the day, horse-drawn carriages and later, automobiles, used the beach as a road. Hug Point, shown above, was one of the trickier spots to get past because of the tide. Even without the ocean to contend with, the rocky terrain would take some skillful driving - for either a car or horse.

Next, it was on to the trailhead. The Oregon Coast Trail travels along the beach from Cannon Beach to Arch Cape, then along a gravel road, under Highway 101 and to one of several suspension bridge crossings of the day. Slippery bridge crossings, I might add.

From there it was into the woods with only momentary glimpses of the ocean. The trail descends back to the highway, and picks up about 50 yards south on the other side. If it hadn't been for a small blue and white sign on a post, we would still be looking for it. Here, patches of fog wafted in and out, changing the tone of the forest from the Shire to Fangorn. 

It didn't help that the friend that was with me had encountered a bear and her cubs a number of years back. Fortunately, the only wildlife we encountered were salamanders and slugs. After a while, we began to wonder if perhaps we had both misread the instructions. Supposedly at 2.75 miles there there was an unmarked spur trail leading down to a lookout from jutting rock over the ocean. We kept our eyes open but only came across this "viewpoint" (one that would have been greatly enhanced by one well aimed blow of an ax).

At the time I thought that was all I was going to see of the coastline so took this shot as a sort of consolation prize. As we continued on, and on, the terrain changed from green to burned and stark and then back to green. Perhaps there was a fire through here at one time and this part of the forest represents the boundaries of it. Either way, the scenery changed a number of times and kept things interesting.

Finally, we came to what appeared to be a trail to a viewpoint. We realized later that this was the trail we'd been looking for and that we'd both added up the mileage for the hike incorrectly. Instead of 6.75 total miles, it was more like 9.5-10. Oops. It took a little scrambling, but I felt like getting up early on a Saturday was well worth it.

This was the way back up. To any relatives out there reading this, it's not as bad as it looks. From here it was on to Oswald West State Park and then to Highway 101 to the base of Neahkahnie Mountain. The original plan had been to go on to Cape Lookout in Tillamook, but given the misjudging of mileage, it was too late to start on another five mile hike. Guess that means we'll just have to go back to the Coast. 

Herding Cats Part 2

When we last heard from our feline heroes, they had just arrived at Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick. The campus was lovely and was situated in the middle of downtown (although, Sackville is quite small and downtown quickly becomes the edge of town). I'm not sure what style the buildings were, but whatever it was, it was photogenic.

After checking into rooms and semi-unpacking, some of us went exploring (and running on the track to get loosened up). There was a waterfowl park on the edge of the campus that wondered through bulrushes and over a large lake/pond and through the birch trees. It was especially beautiful at sunrise, just watch out for vampires masquerading as mosquitoes. I spent a lot of time here in the afternoon after dancing all morning. A trail ran through the park and by way of a detour crossed over the highway and continued on indefinitely through "Middle Sackville" and beyond. Saturday was the only chance I had to really explore this trail and that wasn't for as long as I would have liked. It was mostly farmland all along the way with church steeples peeping over the trees.

Our week at Mount Allison wasn't nearly long enough, but at least it was very scenic while we were there. And everyone knows kitty's love scenery.

Next up - cat herding to Prince Edward Island.

Eagle Creek Falls Trail

The Eagle Creek Falls trail hike is one I've done before, but certain trails quickly become old friends that you want to revisit each year. The trail head is about half a mile from the parking lot, but this year my curiosity got the better of me. There is a mysterious staircase that appears near the exit ramp that leads to the parking lot. The staircase connects what used to be the original Columbia River Highway with the highway-turned-bike path that runs along Interstate 84. I decided that this year I was going to explore the stairs before starting on the hike. In my research with Google maps, it appeared I could take the stairs to the old highway and would eventually find a trail that would take me the back way to a footbridge that crosses the creek. That would then spit me out near the trail head and both satisfy my curiosity about the bridge and give me a different way to the trail head. I went up the stairs and continued following the old highway until I passed a sign for a trail that seemed to be going in the right direction, so seeing a fork in the road, I took it. After a bit, the trail came to another junction, but I continued on the original trail. That's where I made my mistake because after another five minutes I started to get the feeling of déjà vu all over again and before long I was back on the old highway. I realized later that I should have turned onto the other trail at the junction and that would have taken me to the bridge. Well, there's always next time.

Eagle Creek trail is fairly level, which is one of the reasons I like it, and for the first two miles is made up of mostly packed dirt with a loose rock here and there. Eagle Creek is actually a tributary of the Columbia River and hosts a number of waterfalls along the way as the trail runs parallel with the rushing water. I think the word creek is rather misleading because it has all the sound and speed of a serious river. The first waterfall on the way is Punchbowl Falls. The trail to Punchbowl intersects with the mail trail, but the junction is easy to miss, even with the great signage at about a foot above eye-level. From the riverbed, the falls is around a corner and to the left. Depending on the time of year, it's very easy to walk out on the rocky "beach" to get a look at the falls. However, a week after one of the rainiest Mays on record is not the time of year to do that. Let's just say I spent some time dumping water from my shoes and wringing out my socks, but it was worth it.

I often wondered why it was called Punchbowl Falls because, frankly, I've never seen a punch bowl in the shape of a waterfall. However, this time I did a little exploring after finding a non-official trail that led down to a ledge overlooking the top of the falls. From there, it was easy to see the perfectly round bowl that the water flowed into and then the name made sense. The picture below and to the right looks through the gap and into the area where the picture of the actual falls was taken. The sound of the water was so loud but at the same time relaxing. There are several campsites along the river and going to sleep while listening to the churning water is my idea of a perfect vacation.

Punchbowl Falls is only about two miles in, and my next goal wasn't until mile six. Meanwhile, the trail went from broad and smooth to narrow and rocky (this rather reminded me of the part in Pilgrim's Progress where Christian would much rather walk on the smooth trail that appeared to parallel the rocky trail he had been told to stay on). At times, there are thick steel cables firmly fastened into the rock to give anyone who might have a touch of dizziness or slippery footedness a way to reestablish their balance. But it's also at these places that the view is the best. 

Tunnel Falls is right in the middle of such a section of trail. The water thunders over the cliff and down 130 feet with a force that is absolutely amazing. It's called Tunnel Falls because the narrow trail leads through a tunnel that was carved into the rock behind the falls. In the picture on the left there can be seen, with a bit of imagination, a little "Hobbit hole" to the left of the falls and about half way down. It's reassuring to have the cable here because this is often a somewhat crowded section of the trail as everyone lines up to take pictures and becomes totally oblivious to everything else.

The next "favorite" has at least two names: Crisscross Falls, Twister Falls, and probably others I don't know about. Either one will do. It's actually higher than Tunnel Falls by about 10 feet but because the trail is above it, it doesn't seem that the water is falling so far. It's quite easy to stand right at the top of the falls without any fear of falling in and snap away with the camera. At least, that's what someone told me. The rainbow dancing on the edge of the water immediately caught my eye, and I was quite thankful that the camera could sense it. I've never been to Hawaii, but I always picture rainbows in the water there and I'm glad I didn't have to go so far to see them. I hovered around this spot for a while, just taking in the wonderful noise of the water and feeling the warmth of the sun before starting the seven-mile trip back. I admit to complaining about the rain every now and then in the Northwest (okay, I complain a lot about the rain in the Northwest) but being able to stand on the edge of a waterfall and only be 45 minutes from civilization makes up for all those gloomy wintery days.

On the Way to the Dance

This past weekend it was time to once again pile into the car with a group of friends and take off for another Scottish Country Dance event. This time the road led to central Oregon and the Bend Workshop and Ball (which is actually held in Redmond, but that's another story). It was decided that we would stop outside of Redmond at Smith Rock, Oregon's version of Colorado's Garden of the Gods, although Smith Rock has the added beauty of the Crooked River flowing along the trail. We pried ourselves out of the car (six people in a van is fine but after awhile rigor mortis starts to set in). We all trooped down a rather steepish trail to a bridge that went across the river and the rest of the hike. On the other side of the bridge, the trail split three ways, to the left or right was a trail around the base of the rocks or in the middle was the trail that went up to the top. At this point we split into two groups, the flatlanders and the climbers. The trail started off at a reasonable incline with steps appearing every now and then, lots and lots of steps.  It was rather disconcerting at first to realize we weren't yet even with the parking lot, but after awhile we regained the altitude we had lost when going down the first part of the trail. After about 3/4 of a mile, we were at the top and enjoying the view. While walking along the top, we passed another hiker who told us of a different way down. We continued on the trail, and soon it was beginning to curve sharply downwards. Before heading to Smith Rock, I had read about a formation called monkey face. After hiking to the top and not seeing it, I figured it must be in another part of the park. Then all of a sudden it

dawned on me that the tall spire right in front of my eyes had a rather simian appearance. I found out later that when you see it from the right angle, it looks even more like a monkey, but a happy one as opposed to this face that looks like it's about to eat the mountain. We made our way down, soon we were walking along the banks of the river. The temperature was perfect and it was a wonderfully pleasant place to

be at that point. Real life was only a distant memory, at least for a little while. We continued along the trail where the sound of crickets or some other once familiar insect made a noise I know I've heard before and always associate with peaceful summer evenings. The river turned back toward the way we'd come and as we came around the corner, we were greeted by a sight of towering rocks reflecting in the water below. The exposure was a little tricky with the sun and shade vying for attention but this shot turned out reasonably well considering the circumstances. Soon, we met up with the others who had been walking along the river and made our way up the hill to the parking lot. I'm not much of a math person (as in not at all) but great friends, beautiful surroundings, and some free time add up to a perfect way to spend an afternoon.

September Daze

Yesterday morning started off relatively early (well, for a Saturday) at 6:30ish. The sun is getting closer to rising over the peak of Mt. Hood and my goal is to capture it on film. What does one say now that we no longer use film? Capturing an image on SD card just doesn't have the same ring. Either way, the effect is the same. Less than a mile from my house is a fairly unobstructed view of Mt. Hood (if you stand on the curb at just the right spot) and even though the sun hasn't made it to the pinnacle yet, it's still a gorgeous view. Of course, I can't take just one shot so I have about 20 that look mostly like the picture at left. You never know when you might need a spare sunrise picture of Mt. Hood, and I want to be prepared. After a quick breakfast and the seasonal pumpkin spice cappuccino, it was time to head off in the general direction of the hills of northwest Portland. My aunt used to have a sign on her desk that said "indecision is the key to flexibility." That sums up a lot of my Saturday outings. I usually have a general idea of where I'm going but if I see something interesting, the plans can change in a moment. Such was the case as I was heading up a hill above Burnside. A parking spot was handy and I figured I could walk to the spot I had planned on parking in as well as I could drive there. After making sure there weren't any "no parking" signs hiding in the underbrush, I headed up the hill and toward one of the residential entrances to Forest Park. Soon I had gone from beautiful homes and flowers to the shady paths of the forest. After taking a right turn downhill, I was on my way to NW Cornell St. and, for me, uncharted territory. There was a group of walkers behind me and I must confess to a Gandalf-like voice echoing in my ears "You shall not pass!" as I sped up, determined that no one would outwalk me. I'm sure that's something I'll outgrow, well, maybe.

Once I reached NW Cornell, there was some consultation of the GPS, not to mention another walker, and then I continued along the road heading for another section of the Wildwood trail. I soon found it and was once again deep in the forest. There was a small trickle of water running in the creek and it was very peaceful as I crunched along the trail. I passed several intersections with other trails but continued on the same path. After awhile, I came upon a map with a very helpful "you are here" star. The only problem was there were two dotted lines radiating from the star showing two possible locations of where you actually were. Knowing what side of NW Cornell you were on was crucial. Fortunately, I did know so it wasn't difficult to figure out where I was and where the trail headed. At the next trail intersection, I headed out of the park and back into civilization. This part of northwest Portland is alive with Craftsman style homes and it almost feels as if you step out of the forest and into another era. I love the multi-colored stair railings that abound all over Portland.   Although, you do get some odd looks when people see you taking pictures of staircases. Then again, the motto here is "keep Portland weird" so I don't know why I should worry about a few sideways glances.

After about seven miles or so, I was back to my car and ready to head home. There was a short intermission from the day's fun for mundane chores like getting the oil in my car changed and vacuuming, one of my truly favorite pastimes, before I could go play photographer again. After seeing all the clouds build up in the afternoon sky, I thought there might be a chance for a nice sunset so I headed down to the lake in downtown Lake Oswego, to see what might come along. I love it when I'm not disappointed. There wasn't quite the color I had hoped for, but the clouds put on a spectacular show. At times, they almost resembled something from a Renaissance style fresco. There were a few boats still on the water, but overall there was a feeling of evening calm as the sun slowly sank behind the trees. The ducks also seemed to be enjoying it as they practiced their takeoffs and landings or calmly paddled past people eating a late dinner on the patio of a local restaurant. As far as weather goes, the Pacific Northwest is known mostly for its rainy interludes, but when it comes to an Indian Summer, this place is hard to beat.

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.

What a Difference a Season Makes Part I.

One of the things I love about the northwest is there are four seasons. Now, some would say there are two or three depending on how you look at things: either rain and more rain or less rain, rain, and more rain. But I digress. When I moved here I was surprised to find that the fall is spectacular and I would daresay rivals the northeast in its range of color.

Last year I discovered the joys of hiking in the Columbia River Gorge. I was able to capture a number of beautiful shots in the summer and wanted to do the same in the fall. After several weeks of watching the weather, I decided my target would be Dog Mountain. It's located in Washington about 12 miles east of the town of Stevenson. When I left that Saturday morning there was a promise of sunshine and no ready appearance of rain. The gorge is a beautiful place to drive through at any time of year. Even though there wasn't the variety of color I was hoping for, it was still lovely with the mix of golds amidst the evergreens. As I pulled into the parking lot I could see that the promise of sun was nothing more than that and it was going to be another cloudy day in the gorge. But as I started hiking and the highway noises fell away it didn't matter that the sky overhead wasn't the clear blue of summer.

After making my way uphill for about an hour the trail broke out and I was again looking over the Columbia. It was about this time that I noticed a suspicious white substance rolling in, and it wasn't long before the fog had covered every bit of the view. However, the fog actually turned out to be a blessing because the trees were shrouded in the mist and what was otherwise a gray morning suddenly had a new atmosphere.


The fog dampened any sounds from the road far below and yet brought with it its own sort of voice, a whistling in the trees as it moved through the branches. There were only a few other hikers out that morning, they probably saw something that looked like a shadow and thought "sun!" much as I had done. It was rather chilly so I didn't linger at the top but snapped a few shots (mostly fog filled) and followed the trail down into the trees. Having never done this hike there was a momentary panic that I was lost because all of a sudden it felt as if I'd stepped into Sleepy Hollow and I was in the role of Ichabod (maybe Ichabodette?) and was almost listening for the sound of hooves coming up behind me. The fog was particularly heavy on this part of the trail and I was soon quite damp and chilled. I started running, not only to warm up but also to get to the end of this section of the trail, but of course the photographer in me won out and I had to pause and capture the trees in their blankets of wispy white.


After maybe a quarter of a mile, the trail broke out again into the open vista of the gorge and wound its way down. Since I was no longer focused on the uphill trudge, it was much easier to appreciate the beauty around me, even if it wasn't exactly what I had hoped for. A quick seven miles later, I was back at my car and eager to go home and see what magic images had been captured by the little black box in my hand. I was also biding my time until spring, which is when Dog Mountain really comes alive. But for that story, you have to go to Part II.