November 6, 2010.

Dickey Creek Trail > Tr #555 > short ‘shwack to summit and back | 15 miles | ~3000’ ele. gain | 7 hours

I set out again, alone and in the rain, to explore another bit of new territory. The Bull of the Woods Wilderness is sandwiched between Mt. Hood and the Clackamas River. The trailhead for this hike is accessed via 63 (near Bagby) and some overgrown gravel roads.

Based on the quality and quantity of signage, both on the way to the trailhead and on the trails, this is a well traveled place. However, I’d have the woods to myself for the next seven hours. The hike begins among large, beautiful trees. Almost immediately I had to cross a stream, and although the huge log draped across it looked passable, it was so high off the river I thought if I slipped and fell I might not ever get back up again. So I detoured about 20 yards downstream to a more sane crossing, and I was on my way.

The trail loses about 500 feet of elevation as it snakes its way down towards Dickey Creek. The scenery was distinctively autumn in Oregon. Mushrooms erupted through the forest floor both on and off trail. Moss carpeted the ground. Dead and dying deciduous shrubs turned an array of colors as they dramatically transitioned into winter hibernation. Newts awkwardly wriggled across the trail. I decided to count them as I made my journey today.

As I settled into a comfortable pace, I felt the understory closing in on me…I forgot my rain pants. I cursed every snowberry and rhododendron that brushed up against me with its wet leaves. Just before arriving at a beautiful pond, I had to walk through a very dense and overgrown patch of wet, leafy, and thorny shrubs. I was soaked from the waist down and I’d just barely gotten started. I began getting cranky, then got a glimpse of the beautiful lake, and calmed right back down.

The real elevation gain didn’t really feel like it started until I was almost halfway to my destination. The trail traveled up and down, east, west, north, south, as if it couldn’t make up its mind. I loved it; no one muscle group got very sore before I had to switch gears and activate another set of muscles. It only took an hour to get to the creek crossing at the 3 mile mark. I had to scoot across one log on my butt, then step across to walk across another log to get to the other side. With my pants now completely saturated I was ready to get the climbing started. At least that would keep my body temperature up.

But the trail seemed to take its time getting anywhere. I walked peacefully through moist woods until I finally came across my first shot at a view. “This must be the big slide!” I thought. I walked across a large jumble of rock left behind by an old rockslide and looked at the talus slope above me. Once across, the trail dropped back into the woods. Shortly later, I crossed another slide…and another. Finally I made it to the BIG slide, the one the mountain was named after. It sure was big; it rounded several corners and seemed to go on forever. Just after the slide, the trail to Big Slide Lake detours downhill and my route turned sharply uphill. I passed two more trail junctions before reaching the final stretch to the summit. The character of the trail changed from quaint old-growth to burly sub-alpine meadow. The soil was thin and rocky; the plants clung fiercely to the ground in every opportune location. The trail traverses steep meadows covered in grass, kinnickinnick and other rugged plant life. The views across the valley to adjacent ridges must be fantastic on a clear day. I walked until the trail took a sharp turn downhill. I hadn’t seen an obvious scramble trail to the top of the ridge, which was obviously back and to my left, so I had to make my own. I searched around for the best spot to angle up on wet, loose rock and dirt. A little bit of slick-as-snot slab was thrown in for good measure. I stuck to areas with the most preferable footing and solidly rooted vegetation for handholds. A few minutes of terror and I was atop the precipitous ridge. It was windy up there; the air was cold and drizzly as well. I looked around at yet another non-view and returned to the trail.

Once I was out of the wind and back in the safety and warmth of the forest, I continued counting newts, brushing branches off the trail, and admiring mushrooms. I noticed I was losing a lot of elevation that I didn’t pay attention to on the way up. The trail was graded so nicely that even the uphill sections felt like a breeze. With just about 2 miles to go, I stopped for a snack and clothing change and, apparently, a big yawn. I inadvertently swallowed something that must have approached the size of a hummingbird because it got so deeply lodged in my throat that a half mile of walking and coughing wouldn’t clear it out. I am glad no one else was out here hiking today to hear my desperate coughs. Whatever it was must be now laying eggs in my lungs and having a good laugh.

The last bit of climbing up out of the drainage was not as tiring as one would expect. It gave me one last chance to take it slow and appreciate the great diversity of fungus around me. It came in every color: red, yellow, orange, lilac purple, white, grey and brown. The various forms were dramatically different, from delicate coral-like clusters to thick, globular masses. Nascent fungi were just barely starting to poke through the soil, while older ones appeared to have been consumed by a cannibalistic mold. I was almost glad I didn’t have a camera because my hike would have taken twice as long.

Back at the trailhead, I tallied up my newt count: 15. I beat my goal by 5, ha! It was a fantastic hike, and I hope to return on a better weather day so I can catch some killer views (I’ve been saying that a lot lately). There are many hiking and backpacking options in this area that beg to be explored, as well as some fun, craggy little peaks to ascend.

October 30, 2010

Gate Creek Trail > Heart Creek Trail > summit out-and-back | 8.4-ish miles | 2100′ ele. gain | 5:15 hrs.

My camera is still non-operational, so there will be no pictures again.

This weekend’s hike offered two challenges for my mending foot and ankle: a backpack weighted with overnight gear, plus snow and snowshoes. I am working up to being able to do some winter camping trips so I decided to take advantage of the last storm’s dumping of snow to work on this challenge. Browder Ridge, located near Santiam Pass in Central Oregon, offered some peace and quiet away from the crowds.

I was surprised that there were a few inches of snow on the gravel road leading to the trailhead, and I was even more surprised to find a truck in the parking lot. Someone had beaten me to this one, damn! Sure enough, two sets of boot tracks led into the forest from the road. No matter, with my snowshoes stowed on my pack, I retraced my predecessors’ steps through the snow. At the bottom of the trail, as it makes several switchbacks up a steep, forested slope, the ground was intermittently studded with patches of snow. Eventually the snow blanketed the forest floor and began to deepen. Now I was grateful for the broken trail. I kept my snowshoes on my pack for the first 1.5 miles, until the boot path inexplicably ventured off trail. Due to the snow cover, the trail was admittedly difficult to follow in some places, but they had done a fairly good job of keeping on trail. I decided not to follow the tracks and instead snowshoe through unbroken snow. It was here that I started my excellent adventure.

I love hiking on summer trails in winter conditions. It’s like playing a game. It requires tuning into the environment, paying attention, and reading what the forest and terrain have to tell you. The trail is sometimes obvious, but sometimes it seems to disappear right before your eyes…

Shortly after venturing out on my own, I reached the alleged viewpoint, from which I could barely make out a valley and part of a wooded ridge in the distance. I immediately lost sight of the trail. But I knew I needed to continue up for quite a ways, so I skirted the forest edge in the open snowfield and then began following the path of least resistance up the ridge. I walked for what felt like quite a while before miraculously coming across the trail again. A drizzle had begun to fall, and it would rain on and off for the remainder of the day. From here, the trail ascended gradually through a pretty forest with little interesting topography and no views. Without many geographic clues, it was difficult to form a sense of place. I kept checking the map in the book and looking at the time to estimate my location. I would lose the trail now and again, but for the most part I stayed on track.

I was usually able to use clues from cut logs and the subtle dip of the snow covering the trail in order to figure out where I needed to go. I didn’t have a map of the area, but I did have the Sullivan guide with its hand-drawn map of the trail and very local geographic features. I also had my compass. I knew that I needed to find a trail fork (for the Heart Lake Trail). Getting worried that I’d miss the junction, I veered off the obvious trail up a moderately steep, somewhat open ridgeline that I thought would take me to the top. I had little visibility and knowledge of the area because the tree cover was so thick and the clouds were low. So, once I got on top of my ridge, the ground flattened out and I kept hitting dead ends.

Discouraged, I opened the book again and took out my compass. I needed to head NNE to reach the meadows at the end of the trail. According to my compass, I was walking SSW. It seemed intuitive that I was heading in the right direction. I have learned, however, to trust my compass over my intuition…and sure enough, the compass was right. A few minutes after adjusting my direction I found the trail once more. Yippee! It was obvious where to go from here, so I made good time along this section.

And then, suddenly, I found myself looking up at the base of a 150-foot rock cliff. Cool! According to the book, a half mile traverse across meadows would take me just below the summit, at which point I had to find my own way.

I followed the very faint line of travel below the cliff band and began side-hilling in my snowshoes across the steep meadows. Side-hilling sucks even with good ankles, so I ended up leaving the traverse early. I took a direct route straight up the steep snow to a patch of gnarled trees on the ridgecrest. The wind picked up dramatically here, and I got a little practice in steep snow climbing, which was great preparation for the real winter season. Once I made it to the trees, I climbed awkwardly over and under them in my snowshoes to a saddle in the snow. Now I had a straight shot up a gentler snow slope to what seemed to be a bald highpoint. The wind felt cold on the right side of my face as I slowly made my way to the summit. A small rock cairn sat there, as if to say, “you made it!”

I stopped moving for just a minute, and began to feel just how cold the wind and air actually were. There was no shelter here, so I decided to retreat to the comfort of the trees before enjoying my summit snack. The trip back through the gnarled trees and down the steep snowfield was treacherous. The snow was hard to read; some spots were quite deep and others were shallow. Below the snow could be jagged rock, slick beargrass or textured heather. The beargrass was evil because it was so slippery. At least the rock and heather offered some traction. The deep snow provided the best option because I could dig the crampons on my snowshoes in really securely before stepping down.

At one point I slipped and fell, bruising my thigh pretty good. I was glad to get off the steep stuff and return to the broad, mellow forest ridge. I quickly refueled and then started to follow my tracks. I wanted to find as much of the real route as possible, so on the return I tried to correct my errors on the ascent. I managed to do this successfully for about 95% of the ground I covered; there was only one small detour I made where I couldn’t find the actual route. I was really excited to find the actual trail junction between the Gate Creek Trail and Heart Lake Trail; there was a wooden sign laying up against the base of a tree where the two trails met. I was way off on my route in.

Besides the routefinding excitement, the return trip was pretty mellow. My foot performed nicely; the weight of an overnight pack didn’t seem to bother it any more than the other one. And although I predicted that snowshoeing would be very difficult for my left ankle, I found that I was able to maintain stability in the snowshoes right up until about the last half mile. I took one good fall forward onto my face, appreciating the softness and forgiveness of the snow.

I rather enjoyed this walk in the woods. There were no views, the weather was crummy, and there were large trees I had to step over. I had forgotten my gaiters and my pants were getting soaked. But somehow, the combination of routefinding, physical exertion, cold air, quiet, and novel surroundings made this an absolutely perfect experience. I enjoyed the challenge of finding my way, alone in the woods.

October 16, 2010.

Burnt Lake Trail > Zigzag Mountain Trail > East Zigzag Mtn summit | 9.6 mi | 2400′ ele. gain | 4.5 hr with 1 hr summit break

On a cold, crisp, Saturday morning, I left town to set off on my first solo hike since my foot injury. I didn’t realize how much I missed solo hiking until I completed this adventure. Since my camera is still nonfunctional I will have to paint a picture of this hike using only words.

I’d been up to East Zigzag before but never from this side. The trail began at an easy grade, rambling through a spacious forest with enormous trees in every direction. There always seemed to be one creek or another meandering through the trees, occasionally making an appearance near the trail. The trail crossed the creeks at several locations, but the water was low and the crossings were easy. I walked along at a reasonably quick pace, since the trail was gentle and wide, and the air was quite chilly. The forest floor was decorated with a vast array of colorful and interesting mushrooms. To my left and right stood fire-scorched sculptures of trees that once were; several of the snags were hollowed out, while others were shaped into unique forms. These trees were simply gigantic. The cavity of one of these big, burned trees looked to be about 8 feet across. It would have made a nice camp site with a tarp thrown over the top of it.

Eventually the trail started gaining elevation a little more steeply. The trail got more muddy, and narrow, and at one point got a little dicey. The brush dropped away to the hillside below, leaving only a very small patch of irregular rock to cross. The upside was a tremendous view of the southeast side of Mt. Hood, the first view of the day. I paused a moment to let the image embed into my retinas. This view of the mountain was a different side than I was used to seeing, and it took some time to evaluate the glaciers, ridges, and other geological features.

I continued along the sometimes muddy and narrow trail until it led to a sign announcing the presence of Burnt Lake. I never have been a fan of visiting lakes, which are basically glorified puddles of water. I walked briefly down to the lake’s bank to take a gander. Yep, sure enough, it was a hole filled with water. In honor of the lake I took a sip of my own water that I’d carried with me, then turned and walked back up to the trail. There were posted maps of the day use sites and campsites located at and around the lake. It took my brain a bit longer than it should to figure out how to avoid the lake loop and choose the trail that would bring me up to the ridge. It seemed the signage could have been much clearer; that, or my brain should have been less foggy.

I successfully avoided a needless trip around the lake and instead began hiking, at a slightly more elevated grade, towards the summit of East Zigzag Mountain. I passed two guys and a dog, the first people I had seen all day. The upper section of the trail involved turning up many sharp switchbacks in order to gain the ridge. I felt really disoriented for most of the length of the trail, since it seemed like I kept turning towards the lake. But eventually it became clear that the ups and downs were mostly ups, and I reached a junction in the woods with the Zigzag Mountain Trail. Shortly after taking a right turn onto this trail I enjoyed expansive ridgetop views, including a front-row seat look at Mt. Hood. Ahead of me lay a bare, rocky ridgecrest with a clear path to the next bump, which turned out to be the endpoint of the hike. I walked in spurts along the trail, stopping to look up at the mountain, then down at the vibrant red fall foliage, and then back up again. It was a tremendous sight.

At the actual summit, a pile of blocky bits of rock provided an array of seating and napping options. I chose a comfortable spot, put on an extra layer and enjoyed a summit treat. The sun felt warm on my face. The air was perfectly still; it felt eerie to be sitting in the sun, high on a mountain ridge, on such a beautiful day in October. I had about 40 minutes to myself before another party arrived from the south approach. We chatted for quite a bit and then I took off down the ridge.

There were lots of excuses to stop and ogle the view before re-entering the woods. Once I returned to the trees, however, I turned on the afterburners and jetted down the trail. I figured I could test out the integrity of my ankle on this easy hike, in a relatively controlled setting. My ankle performed pretty well, and in 90 minutes I was back to my car. Based on that hike, I’m feeling like I can try taking on longer mileage as well as overnight pack weight. Next weekend’s goal is to do a backpacking trip…I’m just not sure how long or how fast I can move with a heavy pack on.