The big 3-0

While many choose to celebrate their thirtieth birthday in an outlandish, extravagant debacle, i chose to celebrate like any good Everline should. . .in the woods. Instead of dropping my hard earned one dollar bills on a stage only to have some underfed, overbreasted pick it up with who knows what body part, i opted for a wintery snowshoe in central Oregon. Going into the weekend the plans took several turns. Originally it was a snowshoe trip on the might Mt. Hood, it morphed into a canoe trip along the Nehalem river but a gnarly class III rapid and lack of a drysuit changed it into. . .a mountain biking trip somewhere in central Oregon but a busted suspension fork and mangled derailleur kept us off the fat tires. In the end we circled back to the snowshoe trip but instead of snow camping at 7,000 feet we choose the more tame 4,000 foot shelter along the Santiam Pass.

My partner in crime for the weekend wasthe drive was speckled with rain showers but we hoped that once we found our way into the high desert of central Oregon it would all turn to snow. No such luck. Seeing the precip stay wet and not fluffy, i stopped at a mini-mart and scored a $1.25 "emergency poncho" to serve as my pack cover. It proved to be a brilliant idea because not only was the hike wet but it also turned out to be much longer than we had planned. I'm not sure who put me on map reading duty but it was a bad idea, as it usually is. My fearless and nearly blind navigation won us the scenic route, adding a few miles to the trip. So. . .yes my route was longer and it also turned out to be more vertical than the planned route. When we caught sight of the shelter's stove pipe i thought Greg was going to drop to his knees and start crying like a stranded man on a deserted island none other than my brother-from-another-mother, Greg. Greg and the doggies made the journey down from the Olympic Peninsula Friday afternoon. By the time he hit the doorstep i was beer in hand and getting him one outta the fridge. With Greg missing Portland and all it's dining glory, we headed to Apizza Scholls for some of the Rose City's finest pizza pie. We enjoyed a few pints while we waited and indulged on a meat plate and procuitto margherita pie. Deliciousness. After dinner we headed over to the backstage to shoot some pool. I was playing well but still ended up getting pummeled on the felt. I spent some efforts chatting up two young ladies only to find out that. . .i'm an old bastard who shouldn't say half the things that come mind. They moved to the next available table.

The next morning we shot out of our respective beds (Greg and the dogs the sofa and me, my bed) and got rolling down the road. Most of watching a plane fly overhead. The shelter was bliss, not like those Appalachian Trail lean-to style shelters. This place could have served as a home but given the fact that i think my Toyota Tacoma could function as a fine home that doesn't say much.

Greg ready to charge the hill.

Big E patiently waiting his turn.

Wrong turn #1.

Damp self-portrait. Gotta love the pack cover.

Three generations of trees; remaining old growth in the distance, 2nd growth front and center, and 3rd growth on the flats. Also the sight of wrong turn #2.

Greg bringing up the rear.

We settled in for an evening in the dry, soon to be toasty warm cabin. I hung up all my wet gear, picked a "bed" close to the wood stove and started digging into lunch. We drug up some Como bread, hard salami and a couple fine Oregon cheeses. There's something gourmet about cutting fine dried meats and cheeses with a Benchmade pocket knife that can't be explained. Once the fire warmed up it was time to crack open the cheap whiskey and break out the cards. In an attempt to dry my insoles i put them on the scorching wood stove. The wood hungry beast didn't disappoint. . .actually. . .it did disappoint, it melted my insoles like marshmallows at a girl scout camp. I pulled the goey insole mess off the stove and proceeded to scold the bottom of my feet as i tried to reform them. I thought it was a brilliant recovery given the moronic mistake. I was wrong. Not only did i nearly blister the bottoms of my feet but the insoles had shrunk beyond usability. Shortly after working past the half-way mark of the bottle we had some visitors to the shelter, a couple of dudes from Stumptown checking out the shelter for future excursions. We chatted for a while, mostly about health care (why does that crap follow me everywhere?), before the headed back downhill. After they left Greg and i continued our "Switch" marathon. By the time the sun began to fall i realized that i had failed my boy scout of a father; i didn't bring a lantern. We strung a few headlamps to the now empty whiskey bottle to create some nice stadium like lighting for the card game. It was getting close to dinner time. We pulled the cans of chili out of the packs and threw them over the residual insole goo on the wood stove. We stuffed our faces with piping hot low grade chili, which was just what was need at that point. After a few more hands of cards it was time for bed.

Our humble abode for the night.

A welcome sight. . .a front door.

The view from the front porch.

Our gourmet meal.

My superfeet getting all "mellowie"

Why my superfeet got all mellowie.

Making some water.

Friz taking a fireside nap.

Throwing down some switch under the stadium lights.

Having fun with low light and an extended shutter speed.

More fun with less light.

During some time in the evening we received another visitor at the cabin. Being the light sleeper that i am, i heard the guy turn the handle of the shelter. Greg apparently sleeps a little heavier. Surprisingly, the dogs didn't make a sound. I think they were both too busy shivering to make any noise. Greg suddenly startled awake and yelled at the guy, "what the hell are you doing?" It wasn't until the next morning that he explained that he thought it was me making all that noise. Our new shelter mate rustled some of his stuff around before finally settling in for the night.

Rise and shine.

Looking back at our freshly laid tracks.

Greg and the dogs making way.

The next morning we rose with the sun. When i stepped outside to drain the previous evening's whiskey i stepped into 8 inches of fresh, unexpected snow. It was beautiful. Here i was, at the top of the ridge with nothing but fresh snow and not a single sign of another human's presence, minus the big wooden shelter behind me and the trash can to my left. You get the point and if you don't. . .i feel sorry for you. Greg and i stuffed some nutrition bars into our mouths and stuffed our gear back into the packs. The snow was still falling while we strapped on the snowshoes. We set out to make our own wintery tracks through the fluffy white. The course was plotted and we slugged along, looking forward to the downhill journey. In typical fashion i was in charge of navigation and in typical fashion, we ended up not knowing where we were. Expecting this. . .i napped one of the maps hanging on the wall in the shelter. What i discovered on this trip was that no matter how many maps you take from walls or have in a book, they don't do you any good if you can't read them (it sounds like a have a goal for my summer). Greg, being the search and rescue character that he is, pulled out his handy-dandy GPS. I'm sure in my hands it wouldn't be any more useful than a map but in his. . .we actually got somewhere. We got ourselves right into the middle of a forest with no tracks, no markers and no trail. The GPS pointed us toward the highway, which eventually would lead us back to the truck. We never really got the opportunity to test the above theory because we crossed a marked trail before hitting the highway. Once at the trail intersection it was time to make another decision. Greg said left (uphill) while i said right (downhill). Given my most recent and past history of mapping we went with Greg's left. . .for about 50 yards before we turned around and headed downhill. Finally! I had made a correct choice. After a few more miles on the trail we ended up safely at the parking lot where the Yota was waiting patiently for our arrival.


The drive back to Portland was uneventful minus the SUV driver driving about 35 miles an hour on the highway because for some reason they felt the need for chains on their tires. They must have been from California or something because there was only an inch. . .maybe two on the road. We returned to Stumptown without a scratch. Greg packed up the dogs and headed back north to his waiting wife, Gingey.

So that was the weekend prior to the big 3-0. One may ask. . ."So what did you do on the actual 3-0?" In typical fashion, soccer takes priority over just about everything, thus, i played soccer. After the "game" we headed to the Lucky Lab to share a few pitchers. When it was all said and done i had a fabulous time "not" celebrating my 30th birthday. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Laugh Free Situation

This weekend i found myself in the quaint town of Moscow Idaho (pronounced Moscoe), in case you were wondering. A co-worker and i headed out there early Friday to visit with a former co-worker and her hubby. I didn't really know what to expect once we got there. My only experience with any relation to Idaho was this trashy lass i met when living on the east coast, Jenny Idaho. She was indeed. . .a hoe. I don't throw that word around loosely so you know i really mean it. On with the meat (ironic choice of words seeing as we were visiting veggies).

We rolled into Moscow after a pretty uneventful 6 hour ride. We had stopped off in Walla Walla Washington for a quick lunch. My co-pilot and i walked into what looked like a classy coffee shop/cafe. Once we were seated we found the atmosphere to be more like a feline serving Chinese restaurant than a coffee shop. The place was strange to say the least. As you entered the joint you were welcomed by a nicely appointed, wood floored coffee shop. As we ventured further back. . .the place got worse. It went from coffee shop, to low brown diner, to feline serving Chinese family restaurant. The food matched the decor. I opted for a bowl of "Boston Clam Chowder," which was more like heated clam sauce in a bowl with corn, and the ever-so heart healthy BLT. I must give credit where credit is due. . .the BLT wasn't bad but then again. . .who can screw up a BLT? I'll leave out the drink confusion that took place between the waitress and i.

Just one of the delicous items available at the coffee shop.

After an impromptu tour of downtown Moscow we briefly met up with Stacie and Austin before they had to leave for their concert in Spokane. Left to our own devices Kristie and i ventured back into downtown Moscow for libations, food and entertainment. We found ourselves at a place called Mingles. Mingles is a billiards joint that just so happened to be filled with an assortment of other gems. One of these said gems was the untouched shuffleboard table tucked away in a dark corner. I seem to have a nose for shuffleboard like an old person does for pancake breakfasts. We got ourselves some pucks and started chucking away. The table was long and concaved, which made us look a lot better than we are. We even caught the attention of an older gentleman (probably looking for a pancake breakfast) walking past the bar. After a few beverages it was unclear as to who was the victor, in the end it didn't really matter. Another morsel of pleasure Mingles offered was the 60 inch big screen tv, featuring, not basketball or football but fishing. They didn't have just any ol' fishing on display, they were showing cat fishing. Only the finest for our viewing pleasure. The last and quite possibly the finest gem found at Mingles was in the bathroom. Now. . .everyone would expect a condom dispenser in the bathroom, that's common place in a spot like Mingles. But Mingles took class to a whole new level. They had a fragrance machine in the bathroom, with "Brut "like fragrance," Jovan Musk Oil "like fragrance," and of course, not to be left out. . .Aramis "like fragrance." We desperately wanted to take a video of me saucing it up but waited too long and the bathroom got filled with sausage. Apparently the women's room sported a similar feature, only different "like fragrances."

We left Mingles in search for greener pastures but found ourselves wandering around downtown Moscow, taking pictures of storefronts and talking to the local "beat" cops about sticky buns and delis. As the night drew to a close, at 9pm because we're old, it was back to the truck. This trip i was particularly blessed. Instead of sleeping on the side of the road or in a dark parking lot, i had a room with a bed. Life was good.

A shot of the Mingles logo on the shuffle board.

Somebody decided to dump their wine on the table.

And then tried to suck it up with a straw.

and when the head rush got to be too powerful. . .we went for the gutter method of collection.

Here is the stink box from the men's room. I really like the rust in the Jovan Musk Oil "like fragrance" jet.

Saturday we woke up to drizzle and heavy fog. After a delicious breakfast feast we hopped in the car and headed up to Step Toe Butte for a view of the Palousse. Late fall isn't the best time to view the Palousse but it was pretty impressive either way. I took a few pictures but justice was not done. Crappy light and poor skill kept the pictures from coming out as good as the view itself. The rest of Saturday was spent relaxing at home, manging on some tasty mac n' cheese and more relaxing. Sunday morning we headed out for breakfast on the town and people watching only to be foiled by parents weekend and long lines. The trip was nice and it was good to see Stacie and Austin. We we lucky enough to be around the weekend they discovered the sex of their child. I still didn't think the occasion warranted Stacie drinking all that whiskey and pop all those pills but who am i to judge?

A view of the Palousse from atop Step Toe Butte.

I stopped for a potty break along side of this grove of trees. The grove stretched for a few miles along the side of the highway. Each row seemed to be planted in a perfect line.

Dirtbags

This weekend i took a trip into the high desert of central Oregon. It was basically a climbing trip for most and a kegger birthday party for others. Annually a handful of climbing buddies get together at Smith Rock and celebrate the passing of age. My friend Zack invited me along for the trip. Although Smith is a well known climbing mecca, i stayed off the ropes and opted for the slightly more sure footed trails of the park. Being back around that scene kind of made me want to don a harness and reconquer the crags (not that i ever actually conqured any crags). Maybe next time. Since i didn't do much more than party and hike. . .i don't have a lot to say. . .or remember. I did take some pictures while on the Misery Ridge hike through the park. So this is what you get. . .pictures (and captions).

Home sweet home for the weekend. Zack slept under the tarp and i took my usual post in the back of the truck.

Entering the park.

This is the actual Smith Rock.

The crew sets up for a day of climbing. Smith is like Disneyland for climbers. The well manicured belay stations are just one example of the park's hospitality.

The birthday boy (Jamie) leads the first climb of the day.

His girlfriend Jody is next to the top.

Zack was the last to go.

I left the group to their climbing and hiked around the park via the Misery Ridge trail. No actual misery took place.

Monkey Face is one of the most popular features in the park. It's also one of the more difficult areas to climb.

I took this just before i started off course. This is looking back toward Monkey Face and the park's namesake.

After my 3/4 mile deviation i had to trek back up a wall of switchbacks. On the way back up there were some good views up the back of Monkey Face.

Once i hit the ridge i was rewarded with some views onto Monkey Face and back into the valley.

This picture was taken from a spot known as the "spring board," a little flake of rock near the top of Monkey Face.

A view from the south side of the ridge just before heading back down to the Crooked River.

When i met back up with the group they were just about to change locations. The cool weather and looming storms kept climbers chasing the sun all day. It also afforded me with some good black and white images.

Jamie and Luis lead two separate climbs. Jamie on a 5.8 called "12 Buckets" and Luis on a 10.b name unknown.

My parting shot of the day was a frustrated climber taking a break hoping the light would last long enough to finish this problem.

I was happy to get away from town for the weekend. While it threatened to rain and actually did at times. . .the weekend was great. Good company, good beer and beautiful scenery.

Soul Sister

I have been quite the busy boy lately. . .try to keep up as dates and adventures are not in exact order. I did something my mother would be jealous of. . .no, i did not have sex with George Clooney, i, now get this, went to see Phantom of the Opera and. . .i loved it. Yes, that's right, i loved Phantom of the Opera. It was showing at the Keller Auditorium and a co-worker asked me to join her. We had stellar seats, just 6 rows back from stage left. My only disappointment was when we looked down into the orchestra pit and found what appeared to be a shortage of musicians. I think one of the dudes had a Casio SK-8 keyboard, you know. . .the one that allowed you to record your own voice/noises and play it back in a variety of pitches. Regardless of the anorexic orchestra the play was fantastic.

Now back to the macho side of life. This past week i found myself at Black Butte Ranch for work. I was there to partake in what senior management calls the sales strategy meeting. Basically, we looked at lots of numbers and then brainstormed on ways to make the numbers bigger. Three-quarters of the meeting consisted of discussions on our group line of business, of which i have no idea about. So. . i payed attention a quarter of the time. Our first night there we participated in a murder mystery dinner at a rather bland restaurant in Redmond. We each had a role to play and mine just happened to be that of Dr. Rusty Blade; a plastic surgeon who botched a job on the local mayor's wife and was forced to treat gangsters and horses. I wasn't overly excited about acting and eating at the same time but after a few pints i was having flashbacks from my drama club days. Before the "acting" even started i was offering my services to one of the actresses. With stethoscope in hand, i continued to offer advice (jovially of course) and told her that i even had my sharpie with me. Hey. . .don't act like you've never seen Dr. 90210. I was pretty well warmed up and in full form when my "lines" were called. I said my provided lines and threw in a couple extras for good measure. My improv seemed to throw off my fellow thespians until they realized it was just going to happen, regardless of how many times they told me to stick to the lines. In the end it turned out that Dr. Rusty Blade was guilty of murdering the godfather's daughter (the same young lady i was offering my services to), a verdict i was quite pleased with. My colleagues enjoyed the dinner and i think my performance may have me invited to more dinner plays in the future. It was back to business the next two days. We finished up our hard work mid day on Friday. While everyone else headed back to the big city, i stayed in the area for the weekend.

A view from Black Butte Ranch's lodge before breakfast. From left to right, South Sister, Middle Sister and North Sister. The darker hump far right isn't much more than a hill it's just a lot closer.

The view after a night at the pub. The pointy mountain to the right is known as Three Fingered Jack.

Bend is by far one of my more favorite cities in Oregon. I spent most of Friday afternoon in Drake Park watching the river floaters stroll in from a day long, drunken (in most cases) float on the Dechuttes River. As the sun went down i spritzed on some Burt's Bee's spray and headed into downtown Bend. I wasn't really fit for the more glamorous places Bend has to offer so i strutted into a sausage filled dive bar. I fired up a conversation with a dude named Rick, who reminded me of my uncle Larry. We chatted, shared a few laughs and when he managed to scare off all 4 of the good looking women in the bar. . .i knew it was time for us to part ways. See. . .the problem with Bend, if one were to say Bend has a problem, is the 6 to 1 guy to girl ratio. The odds of being invited back to a residence to sleep were slim (aside from Rick's invite to stay on his sofa) so i head to the truck and started looking for a place to park for the night. Bend is pretty shiny so i decided to travel toward Saturday's destination, the Cascade Lakes Recreation Area. I pulled off onto a fire road and travelled into the vast wilderness of Central Oregon. Apparently, the wilderness was far more vast than i had expected because i spent the next 2 hours getting lost on fire roads and struggled to find my way back to a spot closer to the highway.

I woke the next morning to a couple of gunshots (not intended from me. . .at least not that i could tell) around 6.30am. I jumped behind the wheel and headed out to summit South Sister, standing at 10,363 feet. South Sister is part of the Cascade Mountain range. She is one of three sisters, South, Middle, and North. South Sister is only 3rd in elevation (by Oregon standards) behind Mt Jefferson and Mt Hood. The hike doesn't require much in the way of technical mountaineering skills but it is long and strenuous. The former fills the trail with anyone and everyone with an ounce of ambition the later leaves most of them huffing a puffing along the last push for the summit. The hike was absolutely majestic! It started with a moderate grade through an old fir forest. After a short but steep climb you pop out on an alpine plain that affords the hiker with rolling hills and views of Broken Top, Mt Bachelor, and South Sister. My guide book suggested that hikers skip a trip to the summit and turn around at Morraine Lake. I opted to tell the author to f' himself and went past the lake and push for the summit. I'll let my captions and pictures tell the rest of the story. . .

The token trail head sign.

My first view of South Sister as i popped out of the wooded start of the hike.

The view of Broken Top from the ridge above Morraine Lake.

A weather beaten tree along the alpine plain portion of the hike.

Another view of Broken Top (there are several).

Broken Top (again)

Another view of South Sister along the plain.

This view appeared on the way up. The gray rocky stuff is actually an old lava flow. It's hard to see but the rubble just left of the bottom center is an old cinder cone.

More of the trail as it heads upward.

A friendly chipmunk that showed up as i reached the false summit. Yes. . .there are such things as a false summit. You think you only have a few more steps and once you hit the top you see you've only gotten to the hardest part.

The view from said false summit. Mt Bachelor is to the left, Morraine Lake to the left-center and several other lakes along the horizon.

The view up toward the top from the false summit. I would venture a guess and say that the water in this little lake is pretty cold.

Those two dots just right of the center are people crossing the glacier. A little perspective.

A view looking back from the trail to the summit. Broken Top to the left, Mt. Bachelor to the right.

Another view of Broken Top on the last push to the summit. Check out that slope, it left a lot of more ambitious than fit hikers sucking wind along the side of the trail. Parts of this section were so riddled with downed hikers that it was hard to get around them.

This is the view looking back down to the false summit. It was all gravel and scree. Center you can see the trail heading up to the summit. Top left you can see Mt Bachelor with Green Lakes at it's feet. To the right you can get a good view of the cinder cone and old lava flow.

This is the view from along the summit's crater rim. Mt. Bachelor to left of center and Morraine Lake just right of center.

Another shot along the crater rim. There is a glacier that makes the crater home. Those little lumps you can see on the far side of the rim are people.

A look across the crater's glacier to the true summit of South Sisters, all 10,363 feet of it. The wall to the right of the pool is probably 100-200 feet tall.

The view from the summit looking north. The closest mountain is Middle Sister, next is North Sister. The picture doesn't really show but next visible is Mt. Jefferson and the day was beautiful enough to even get Mt. Hood in the view.

Another northward view from the summit. Same mountains visible.

Same picture but this time you can see Mt Jefferson just to the left of North Sister peak and if you look real close the white dot to the right of North Sister is Mt. Hood.

A final look back toward Broken Top as i headed back down into the wooded and final portion of the trail.

I think that's it for now. No upcoming adventures. I hope you enjoyed it. It's time for me to crack down at work and save up some time off for another trip.