Much Love

I recently watched a movie titled “Surfer, Dude” featuring Matthew McConaughey, Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson. I know. . .i’m surprised it didn’t win any Oscars, Emmys, Golden Globes or any other Hollywood recognition. The basic premise of the movie, other than finding a way to produce a movie where McConaughey doesn’t have to wear a shirt for 2 full hours, was of this legendary surfer, Steve Addington, who recently returned to his native Hawaii. When “Addy” returns he finds his Hawaii to be very different from how he left it, waveless. Yes, a waveless Hawaii. The rest of the story is pretty standard Hollywood; Addington falls in love with an unlikely love interest, surfers are all bummed out dude, and the waves reappear. The moral of this story is. . .a waveless Hawaii.

It’s kind of like a rainless Oregon. Yes. . .a rainless Oregon. Now, I can do without the rain downtown and yes, the sun is quite nice. But honestly, I’d give up the sun, the dry city and crystal clear skies for just a little snow! This year was to be Brody’s debut season and now, now, it’s one spent bike riding in the sunshine and hiking through the snowpack. We haven’t had a mentionable drop of snow in close to two months. I feel like McConaughey in “Surfer, Dude” only I’m not pursuing any unlikely love interests.

Dreams filled with falling snow and shredding fresh pow filled my head Saturday night. I laid my head down extra early with the hopes of hitting slopes in the morning. I was charging for fresh tracks. The weather reports made mention of snow on the hill and I was going to take full advantage of it. I was even so tempted as to drive up there Saturday night and sleep in the Yota. I woke early in anticipation of a full day of slopestylyin’ but what I found after checking the internet; there would be no slope stylin’. Somehow, they mountain actually LOST snow overnight. An entire inch of “packed powder” aka, ICE, fed into the local rivers and there was nothing falling to replace it.

Feeling dejected I refused to concede to mother nature. I was going to do something, a hike maybe. . .yes a hike! I cooked up a filling breakfast of eggs, English muffins (gotta love those nooks and crannies), and a protein shake. After breakfast I skipped the dishes and headed to the truck. I drove out to the gorge and crossed over the Bridge of the Gods onto the Washington side. Dog Mountain, a popular spot during the Spring and Summer months, was my destination. I have heard tales of the challenging hike and beautiful wild flower meadows. I wasn’t expecting to see much in the way of wild flower meadows but a challenge was in consideration. I saw a few folks in the parking lot heading up the main trail. In hopes of solitude I took the alternate route to the summit, along the Ausburger Mountain trail. The trail was free of people and my lungs felt just as free of air. I apparently don’t have the same hiking legs that I had over the summer. About 3 miles into the hike the trail became snow covered and icy in spots. I slipped and slid my way up (and sometimes back down) to the deeper snowpack and found the footing to be a little more promising. Once I got up to the ridgeline I had to break trail to traverse over to the main trail. There were some hints of trail but most of the tracks had been blown over with snow. I crunched my way over to the summit, soaking in a winter view of the gorge and headed back down.

I took the main trail back to the parking lot and found it to be a touch icier than my route up. After sliding downhill for a hundred or so yards I was back under the cover of the trees and onto what appeared to be less slick ground. I was introduced to the wonderful world of “brown” ice; a not too distant cousin of the better known “black” ice. Brown ice only differs in it’s location and deceptiveness. The trail may have looked “dirty” but in fact it was indeed anything but. Trying to find good foot placement was challenging and I learned to trust nothing. Eventually I decided to just make my own path alongside of the established trail. This proved to be far more rewarding, as I was actually making progress. The brown ice phenomenon only lasted a few hundred yards and then it was back to the more sure footed dirt trail. I jogged most of the way back to the parking lot, more out of sheer hatred for long downhills than out of ambition. I safely returned to the parking lost and headed back to Portland for some food and sleep.

Sadly, that’s the only adventure worth writing about lately. I have managed to score one day on the mountain for skiing and one for snowshoeing. I’m hoping, praying (a big deal for an atheist), for snow. I may just have to start believing in some fictional being if that’s what it takes to get some snow around here. I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying their winter months. In all honesty, without the rain, it kind of feels like summer up here.