It's been a minute since Pilot and I have gone on any big adventures. Gas prices are high, bank accounts are low, and I'm not interested in what the interest rate on my credit card will do to my blood pressure and my self-esteem if I put another road trip on the bill.
Fortunately, we live next door to a beautiful volcano with plenty of hiking trails. We took advantage of a somewhat sunny Monday and went on a 90 minute road trip. Headed for the hills.
There is a beautiful hike off Highway 26 that goes to Mirror Lake. It is named such because on a clear blue day it reflects the lovely Mt. Hood. I hadn't hiked the trail since before my little guy existed, so me and said little guy decided to check it out.
This is a high traffic trail, even in rainy weather. But apparently not on a Monday, and not when the trail is under four feet of snow pack.
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you.
Well I'm not.
This is a bridge. The kind with railings that go up to the average person's chest. It's filled to the brim.
This is a big deal for someone who grew up in Southern California.
We had to cross a lot of these.
Some of them were icy snow paths less than a foot across that had melted away on either side. While there was no real risk of me falling into the ravines below, there was significant risk of slipping and wedging myself between snow and bridge and breaking all kinds of bones. I didn't, though. And neither did Pilot.
The hike was beautiful. It was also unnerving, being out there alone with all that snow.
I didn't grow up with snow, and I don't have a ton of experience hiking in it, especially not when it's this deep. Lots of switchbacks on slippery slopes. With each step I took I wondered if it would send me and Pilot plummeting into some hidden snow cave or rolling down the hill like a humandog snowball. Getting randomly pummeled by snow falling from trees wasn't very reassuring, either. I was nervous. Pilot was nervous, too. He hiked with a let's-get-this-over-with attitude.
But the fear was thrilling.
And the views gorgeous.
And we got to see our first ever snow giraffe grazing on a frosty stump in its natural environment.
When we got to the top...
...we were the only human and dog there.
We couldn't see the mountain, but Pilot didn't care, and I wasn't about to get mad at nature for doing its thing. It does it much better than I ever could.
I mean, if you're gonna obscure a mountain view with clouds, this is pretty much the way to do it.
And you'll get to see the mountain in a minute.
It was cold up there. Even in the sun, it was below freezing. Still, I didn't want to miss the chance to soak up the solitude. I pulled my little guy onto my lap and sat there in the snow for as long as I could. Until my ass turned into snow globes.
It felt good. Not the freezing my ass off part, but the quiet and basking in the beauty with my buddy part.
Then we crunched and slid and shuffled our way back down the hill to the car and headed over to attend a quick cult meeting with the ravens before driving up to the timberline to catch the sunset and prove to all of you that there really is a volcano in my backyard.
The mountain was feeling shy, but no matter. You're still gonna dig these photos of her.
See? Toldja. She's gorgeous, even when she plays hard to get.
I'm not sure why western Oregon isn't famous for its amazing sunsets. We get tons of them. This kind of beauty should be common knowledge. Written in textbooks! Spoken on the lips of children! Or some shit like that.
But no matter. More beauty for me and Pilot, I suppose.
There's really not much more to this tale of modest adventure other than Pilot and I driving back down the mountain in baby pink and blue light and cursing our popping ears.
And finding out later that we had gone hiking on a High Avalanche Danger day.
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