This is the story of two friends who set out on an epic three day adventure only for it to end with the one phrase no one wants to hear when you’re 5,600 ft into the mountains, tired, dirty, and completely cut off from the rest of the world:
“Oh shit. We made a BIG mistake.”
But let’s back up to three days earlier… Actually, three
days and a few hours...
Thursday night was mostly a blur. The day at work had been
long and drawn out as I bustled to get everything done and in place before
leaving Friday morning for a three day hike where I’d have absolutely zero cell
reception and therefore be of no use to the rest of the people back at the
tasting room should they need anything over the holiday weekend.
(this was Valentine’s Day weekend… I’m
getting better about keeping my recaps to at least within the same quarter that
the original escapade occurred).
Anyway, of course it wasn’t until about
halfway through the day that I remembered I’d promised to stay late and work on
the new wine flight and tasting notes, so that meant it was almost 8pm by the
time I rolled out and finally let Bryan know that I’d be swinging by soon to
grab the last minute items I needed for my pack.
After cursing under my breath the whole drive and berating
myself for waiting until the last.
possible. minute. to get packed up (and
getting the same sentiment from Bryan who I’m actually pretty sure just found
the whole thing amusing because he was already packed and ready to go and seems to find solid amusement when I'm stressed) I
finally made it to his folks’ place to pick up a borrowed tent from his dad (who reminded me that bears always eat the
women first – thanks, Tom!) and found solace once again in the healing powers of
snuggling a herd of fuzzy little paperweights.
After my blood pressure returned to a more acceptable level,
we made a last minute trip to the grocery store to grab a few more trail treats
and tent stakes (you know, minor things
like that) and though my plan was to grab my own whiskey because I had
finished the last of what I had on the Pechuck hike, I decided that the two
pints Bryan had would probably be enough for the two of us for the next three
days. We were also planning to break in the newest addition to the gear lineup:
the Pat’s Backcountry carbonator bottle with the Pale Rail pale ale brew
concentrate (more on that later) so I
decided to just trust our beverage preparedness and finally get the eff home.
Of course I ended up procrastinating a little more and was
on the phone until close to midnight and ended up getting somewhere between
three and four hours of sleep.
THAT’S FINE. It’s not like we were going to be hiking 20
miles or anything.
So Friday morning was rough.
But once we met up out at our planned rendezvous point at
one of Estacada’s classier joints and caravanned out and into Mount Hood
National Forest, I couldn’t have possibly cared less about a little leftover
fatigue because HOW CAN YOU BE MAD WHEN IT’S THAT PRETTY.
Miles and miles we drove.
I attempted to keep the big red
Dodge in my sights as Bryan navigated roads he knew much better than I did, until finally we pulled off the pavement and hit the dirt to make the final leg
of the journey to where we’d drop the truck and pile into the KIA to wind down
to our starting point.
You see, he had this brilliant plan to drop one rig at the
end of the trail and start on the other so that we didn’t have to back track at
any point. Genius! Not that loops aren’t fine and dandy, but I’d much rather
see more of what this state has to offer rather than retrace my steps (I’d also be happy about this once we made it
to the fire lookout and I could look down on the last dozen or so miles we’d
hiked and yeah, I wasn’t eager to repeat that trek at the moment – though I’d
happily do it again now because I am positively aching to be back out in the mountains).
Tradition dictates that we christen every hike with a nip of
whiskey so it was a quick pull for each of us off the bottle and off we went.
Into the woods, merrily along, after making sure my car was nice and locked up,
and that we each had one of my key fobs just in case for some crazy reason the
battery died in one and we wouldn’t be able to get into my car at the end of
all this. We each left a couple of things in there just for safe keeping so it
was important that we double check that what we left wouldn’t be disturbed
while we were away.
Done and done, and off we went.
Now remember how I’d mentioned that Bryan had encouraged me to
get my lungs in shape for this hike? Well I’m going to
give myself credit here for once because even though that trail did its best to
kick my ass, I think I actually gave it a little hell of my own for once. It
was so amazing that I could, for the first time, really feel that I’m getting
stronger and more able to go and do this. I’m sure he was still going easy on
me, and if I did start to falter a little he was absolutely there to encourage
and help me. It really does do wonders for the ego when you can kinda,
almost, even a little bit, sorta keep up with someone who spent the better part
of the last decade in the Army.
And again, I have to take a minute here to talk the dude up
because I am so grateful for friends who build you up and help you reach your
full potential. Because there were more
than a few times that I started to second guess myself and my abilities and
Bryan is just the kind of person who a) won’t let you doubt yourself and b)
won’t let harm befall you. I fully trust that if he didn’t honestly think it
was safe for me to climb over or under something, or step there, or grab hold
of that, he wouldn’t let me. But having him double back when I hesitated and
hearing him tell me to trust my boots, trust my poles, trust myself – it really
is amazing how just knowing that someone who’s abilities you admire has no doubt
that you’re able to do something, and how that can get in your head in the best way, and you
learn to really believe in yourself in a whole new and wonderful light.
OK, sappy friend moment over. But I really am crazy grateful
for that.
Meanwhile, we both spent a good 99% of that first day hiking
falling all over ourselves with just absolute wonder at the beauty we were
going through. It only took about 45 minutes in for both of us to dub this one
of, if not completely, our new favorite hike. In retrospect I’m kicking myself
for not taking a series of photos documenting how often we changed landscapes
every few miles or so – from rainforest, to rock, to swamp, to marsh, to forest and back
again. It’s also worth mentioning how we realized that we were on a fairly
steady decline for a while and so we began joking about how we’d have to brace
ourselves for the eventual climb back out of whatever we were diving into.
WELL-PLAYED, OREGON! I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.
That climb back up was no joke.
But we were in our happy place so there really wasn’t
anything that could bring us down.
After while our legs and lungs started to burn a bit so we
decided it was as good a time as any to drop pack and have lunch. This was also
the perfect opportunity to strip off some layers because why wouldn’t I need to hike in a tank top in February? Did I
mention it was outrageously gorgeous that weekend? It was insane. The weather
was perfect. PERFECT.
Even with a properly fitted pack, it felt great to unload
for a while and just enjoy the quiet and calm of being out there. Whiskey was
happy to take a break too – until Bryan fired up the little stove and Whiskey
took off back down the trail because as we know by now, his street cred does
not extend to artificial fire-producing entities. After much cajoling he
finally decided it probably wouldn’t kill him, but only if he hid under my arm
which was as far away as Bryan would allow him to get without the risk of
losing him to Mother Nature all together (because
we remember what happened last time he took off on a hike). That dog, man.
What a spaghetti head.
So Bryan, myself and Whiskey cooked up some ramen, ate some salami, and cowered in the
bushes respectively After another tiny nip of whiskey and some hearty glugs
of water, we threw our packs back on and took off once again. This is where the
trail got a little tricky and after a while we finally came to a sort of rough
fork and weren’t honestly sure which was to go. Probably not the biggest
concern in the world except for the fact that shortly after we’d started out
Bryan remembered that he’d left his maps (his
maps! That he was so excited about! That I’m pretty sure he’d paid extra for
for the rush delivery!) at home so here we are in the middle of nowhere and
we’re relying on his vague memory of which way to turn, which road to take, and
which side the river should be on at which point in the journey.
Again, I always feel safe with this guy. There's no need to worry. Please exhale now,
dad.
Without getting too longwinded (ha! I know, funny right?) we started up one fork in the trail for a few hundred
feet only to meet a fairly definite dead end into completely uncut trail so we
backed down and over the way we’d gone and decided the only other option was to
cross the river here and hope that the little bit of trail we saw on the other
side was what we were looking for.
At this point we’d done a pretty good job of keeping our
boots dry (shoutout to our Merrells!)
but it was immediately evident that this was as far as we were gonna get with
thatness. Bryan took a swing at it first, as he usually does when the trail
gets a little uncertain, testing the water quite literally to find the best
place to step, the safest route, etc.
Once he figured out which rocks wouldn’t slip me to my death and which trees to climb through in order to stay out of the deeper, faster currents of river, I started over. Only problem now was that the weight and balance of my pack was throwing me off as I tried to compensate for the current and it quickly became evident that while I probably wouldn’t die this way, there’s a good chance I’d have fallen in the water altogether because let’s face it, I’ve been known to fall down standing still (I think Bryan is still trying to wrap his head around the time he watched me fall smack on my ass wearing snowshoes while taking his picture at Trillium Lake… It’s a special skill man and I’m one of the gifted few). So he dropped his gear and waded back about halfway over to take my pack from me so that I could crawl my way through to the other side. As ever, thanks for taking one for the team!
Once he figured out which rocks wouldn’t slip me to my death and which trees to climb through in order to stay out of the deeper, faster currents of river, I started over. Only problem now was that the weight and balance of my pack was throwing me off as I tried to compensate for the current and it quickly became evident that while I probably wouldn’t die this way, there’s a good chance I’d have fallen in the water altogether because let’s face it, I’ve been known to fall down standing still (I think Bryan is still trying to wrap his head around the time he watched me fall smack on my ass wearing snowshoes while taking his picture at Trillium Lake… It’s a special skill man and I’m one of the gifted few). So he dropped his gear and waded back about halfway over to take my pack from me so that I could crawl my way through to the other side. As ever, thanks for taking one for the team!
Only hitch now? Whiskey. Old man is not a fan of a) getting
left behind, and b) crawling over things that are even somewhat unstable (like that time he army crawled across a
bridge that was just a little rickety and really drove home what a little badass he is). It was somewhere between heart wrenching and adorable listening
to his little squeaks and whines of panic as he became more and more frustrated
the more we coaxed him.
Finally though, all three of us made it across – wet, but no
worse for the wear. And now I’m not sure what time it was at this point, but we
were a good few miles in and it was time for that dreaded last climb up, up,
and up to the first night’s campsite at Big Slide Lake.
And yeah, let me tell you, this leg of the hike was not
fooling around. Especially not once we hit the rockslide area (that we can only assume was the lake’s
namesake) and it was nothing but steep, rocky, craggy trail for a couple
miles. I tell ya, nothing makes you feel more off-balance with a 40 pound pack
on your back like this trail.
I admit, this was the part where I started to doubt my
ability not only to just do it, but to
not freak out at the sheer drop-offs and give myself vertigo. And again, here’s
where I’m really grateful for who I was hiking with because he’s really good at
keeping me out of my own head and making sure I trust my body to do what I ask
of it.
The “giving up is not an option” attitude is also pretty contagious.
The “giving up is not an option” attitude is also pretty contagious.
It was a couple more miles of up, up, and up (and a couple instances of false hope where
we were sure we’d reached out destination only to realize it was a false summit
and mutter a few choice words under our breath) and then finally Bryan, who
was his usual dozen or so feet ahead of me, turned back around with a childlike
smile and said through a grin, “Are you ready for this?”
And then there it was, nestled right down in a nest of pine trees – Big Slide Lake.
And then there it was, nestled right down in a nest of pine trees – Big Slide Lake.
I don’t think I had even realized just how exhausted my legs
were from a full day of hiking until the lake was in sight, but suddenly all I
could think about was dropping pack and drinking it all in: the towering
evergreens, the crystal clear water, the electric green moss covering its floor
and completely throwing off any inclination of its depths.
“Welcome home, sunshine!” he said as we both marveled at the
little Eden we’d found ourselves in.
Again, no clue on the time here but it was getting to be
late afternoon so we set about making camp and getting things on a roll before
the sun dropped fully from the sky. We were completely enveloped by mountains
and it was already on its way to being a crap ton colder than the day had been
to start. Bryan got his hammock strung up and helped me throw together the
little pup tent and once beds were made and we’d both
gotten cozy in our camp clothes, the only thing left to do was get a fire
going.
So here’s where we ran into a tiny detail we’d overlooked in
planning this trip: warmer than average temps or not, it was still winter in
Oregon. And that meant everything was still a little soggy. And that meant no
matter where we looked, there was not a single piece of dry anything in that
little crater under a pretty dense canopy of thick, green boughs.
Whiskey dealt with his obvious anxiety over the whole thing by making a fort for himself and supervising from there.
I chose the "selfies by the lake" option.
He must have tried for over an hour to get that damn fire
started, but as the light drained itself from the sky we both decided the best
thing to do was bundle up another layer or two and just fire up the little
stove and get some hot food in our bellies. And some whiskey.
I screwed around with the Pat’s Backcountry bottle trying to
make us some beer, but an unnamed genius had left the directions at home (because who would think to bring those?)
and while I’d hoped it might be simple enough for a one-armed monkey to figure
out, no such luck.
So there we were – cold, but well-fed and even though we
didn’t have the beer we were both craving at this point, at least there was
whiskey.
It’s nice to know there’s always whiskey.
The rest of the night that would have been spent
bullshitting around a campfire was instead spent walking back and forth around
the campsite, down to the edge of the lake and back, trying to stay warm while
we solved all the world’s problems and looked at the stars. Not a bad way to
spend an evening.
I love the kind of friendships that can have two people spend all day and all night just talking about nothing and everything and still not get sick of each other, or run out of things to talk about. I'm an only child (so is he, kinda) so I'm usually good on my own, so when I find someone I actually really enjoy being around for days on end, that's saying something (especially when we're literally the only people around for miles and miles).
It was a crystal night and the stars were fully dancing in the sky by the time we finally decided to call it a night and hunker down to sleep, and even though I could barely feel my face, I was happy.
Whiskey had already turned in for the night and was curled up on the inner edge of my sleeping bag which meant that while he was warm and toasty, I was being booted out of my own bag by a 50 pound cinnamon roll.
I love the kind of friendships that can have two people spend all day and all night just talking about nothing and everything and still not get sick of each other, or run out of things to talk about. I'm an only child (so is he, kinda) so I'm usually good on my own, so when I find someone I actually really enjoy being around for days on end, that's saying something (especially when we're literally the only people around for miles and miles).
It was a crystal night and the stars were fully dancing in the sky by the time we finally decided to call it a night and hunker down to sleep, and even though I could barely feel my face, I was happy.
Whiskey had already turned in for the night and was curled up on the inner edge of my sleeping bag which meant that while he was warm and toasty, I was being booted out of my own bag by a 50 pound cinnamon roll.
I’d told Bryan to keep an ear out for my screams should a
bear or a squirrel with a penchant for violence attack me in the night but for
some reason I don’t think he took it very seriously.
After what seemed like the longest, coldest night of my life
(thanks again, Whisk) it was
somehow morning again and the world began to wake up. I was just barely
conscious when I heard Bryan hovering outside my tent with a “good morning,
sunshine!” that could only be the mark of a man who got a good night’s sleep in
his super warm sleeping bag and exceedingly comfortable hammock (yeah forget all the warm and fuzzies I just mentioned and screw you, Farrell – next time the dog
is sleeping with YOU). But really, I was far from mad because that morning
on the lake was gorgeous. Especially once we fired up the stove and I got
myself a hot cup of coffee and settled into the curve of the rocks while Bryan fished (unsuccessfully, unfortunately) and we watched the sky light up around our little crater.
After breakfast we took a quick tour around the lake then threw our
packs back on to get our butts up to the lookout before anyone else could beat
us to it.
To be continued... Because I'm not mean enough to make you read an entire novel in one sitting...
(part two here)
(part two here)
