Category: Activities

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News release: Limited Columbia River Gorge Trails and Day Use Sites Open As Crowded Waterfalls, Campgrounds, and Visitor’s Centers Remain Closed

The following update on Gorge recreation was created and released by the USDA Forest Service in collaboration with Washington State Parks, the Oregon Parks and Recreation Dept., and the Oregon Dept. of Transportation.

May 27, 2020 — Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area

A group of state and federal agencies are opening a limited number trails and day use sites in the Columbia River Gorge today, while crowded sites (including most waterfall viewing areas), campgrounds, and visitor’s centers remain closed.

When determining which facilities and services could resume, land managers followed CDC and state health authorities’ guidance for the outdoor recreation sector. The day use sites are part of a phased resumption of access that will likely span several months. Decisions are made in the interest of protecting the health of the public as well as local communities and agency employees, and sites could be subject to closing again if crowded conditions are deemed unsafe. The public should expect fewer available trails, activities, and services through the summer.

Agencies are coordinating their frameworks for phasing in access to public lands and waterways to make a conscious attempt to encourage visitors to disperse across as many alternative recreation opportunities as possible. Most waterfalls, including Multnomah Falls and others along the stretch of the Historic Columbia River Highway known as “Waterfall Corridor,” remain closed because they draw millions of visitors from around the world each summer. Dog Mountain, Beacon Rock Trail, and several other narrow hiking trails also remain closed. The trails in the closed post-Eagle Creek Fire area (including Eagle Creek Trail itself and the nearby day use site) also remain closed.

The driveable portion of the Historic Columbia River Highway, also known as US 30 or the Scenic Byway, remains closed between Larch Mountain Road and Ainsworth.

Here is an interagency snapshot of recreation site status in the Columbia River Gorge as of May 27, 2020:

The Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail is open to pedestrians and bicyclists from Hood River to Mosier (the “Twin Tunnels” section) and along the newer section from Wyeth to Viento. The section from John B. Yeon to Cascade Locks remains closed (this includes John B. Yeon, Tooth Rock, and Cascade Locks trailheads and parking areas).

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has opened the following sites for day use:

Western GorgeEastern Gorge
Bass Lake Wildlife AreaSeufert Park
Fort Cascades National Historic AreaHess Park
Hamilton Island Recreation Area (inc. the boat ramp)Spearfish Park
North Shore Recreation AreaAvery Park
Tanner Creek Recreation AreaThe Dalles Dam Northshore
Day use sights open in the Gorge.

Washington State Parks has opened Doug’s Beach and Columbia Hills State Park (including Horsethief Butte, Horsethief Lake, Dalles Mountain Ranch, and Crawford Oaks). Limited parts of Beacon Rock State Park are open, including the Doetsch Day Use Area, Hamilton Mountain Trailhead, equestrian trailhead, and boat launch.

Oregon State Parks has opened the following parks for day use only. [See this map for Oregon State Parks by status.]

DabneySeneca Fouts
Dalton PointSeneca Fouts – Seven Streams
Government IslandStarvation Creek
Mayor State ParkViento
Portland Women’s ForumVinzenz Lausmann
Post CanyonWyeth
Rooster RockWygant
Sandy River State Park (note: not the same as Sandry River Delta)
Oregon State Parks reopened on 5/27/2020.

The USDA Forest Service is opening:

Balfour-KlickitatLyle Trailhead & the Klickitat Trail
Bonneville TrailheadSams Walker
Bridge of the Gods Trailhead & the Pacific Crest TrailSt. Cloud Day Use Area
Catherine Creek Recreation AreaOn the White Salmon Wild & Scenic River:
Herman Creek TrailheadBZ Corners
Larch Mountain Recreation AreaHusum
USDA Forest Service managed trails reopened on 5/27/2020.

Skamania County has rescinded its Order of the Health Officer under RCW 70.05.070 that closed recreational hiking in Skamania County.

Visitors are asked to plan ahead, by checking agency websites or ReadySetGorge.com to see what is open before driving out and by considering a couple of “Plan B” recreation activities in case their first choice is too crowded when they arrive. Recreation sites may open or close with little advance notice; please respect any closures posted when you arrive.

Agencies are working in dialogue with a bi-state group of local and tribal leaders, and will monitor site use and its connection to local economic recovery as well as community health. Community leaders ask that you give them time before visiting, as the Gorge is still in transition. The Gorge is getting ready for visitors, but the region is still in recovery and is still adjusting and putting new measures in place.

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Snow (but not mud!) Free Hikes for Off Season Training

 Neahkahnie Mountain from the Cape Falcon Trail.
Photo: Darrin Gunkel.

by Darrin Gunkel

Snowshoeing not your thing? Traction devices annoy you? Here are 8 hikes to keep your blood pumping through the winter months that don’t involve strapping anything beyond gaiters to your feet.

One of the beauties of hiking and climbing in the greater Portland area has always been the multitude of 365-day per year (more or less, depending on the occasional ice storm) training options afforded by the Columbia Gorge. That is until the Eagle Creek Fire shut down most every trail on the Oregon side of the river. The 2017 conflagration put dozens of reliable all-season hikes out of commission indefinitely. And it ruined more than a few winter training schedules.

The speed of the recovery isn’t smiling on the itchy-footed and the impatient. Gorge trails are beginning to reopen, particularly around Multnomah Falls and Angel’s Rest. Unfortunately, the Forest Service warns conditions can be dicey, with downed trees, washed-out trails, and lots of loose mud and rock. As a result, expect your favorite off-season training trails to be a bit slower than before. Even if you’re experienced with rough trail conditions, there’s also the matter of conservation to consider. During the wet season, the erosional effects of fire damage are magnified and “normal” wear and tear takes a greater long-run toll. The message here is maybe we should go easy on the Oregon side of the Gorge for a while.

Not like our region doesn’t have plenty of other winter hiking options. What follows are some of the better low elevation trails for varying degrees of training. Outside of the occasional winter snow blast, these routes are open year-round, and more or less the same distance from the main population centers as the Gorge trails.

1. Tryon Creek Outer Loop: 5.7 miles, 630 feet elevation gain

If you’ve found yourself a little out of shape after the holidays, Tryon Creek State Park’s a great place to break your hiking fast and begin warming up for the summer. The Outer Loop, as described in the OregonHikers.org field guide is just the right length to begin restretching those (ahem) well-rested muscles. The park has tons of trails through mature second growth forest, though, and with a trail map in hand, you can tailor your own workout to fit whatever mileage and elevation needs you have.

2. Milo McIver Riverside Loop: 6.1 miles, 690 feet

This loop around the north side of Milo McIver State Park drops down the bluff to wander along the banks of the Clackamas River, saving the workout for the end. It also skirts a top-notch disc golf course! Again, Oregon Hikers maps out the details of this particular trip. But as with Tryon Creek, plenty of trails crawl up and down the bluff, allowing you to patch together any sort of workout you like.
Clackamas River Trail. Photo: Darrin Gunkel

3. Clackamas River Trail: 8.2 and 1,550 feet, one way

If you want to bring a bike, or an extra car, you can stash either the Fish Creek or Indian Henry Trailheads on the Clackamas River and through hike this fine portion of the Clackamas River, and sample one of Oregon’s newer protected areas, the Clackamas River Wilderness (established in 2009.) The net elevation gain from Fish Creek to Indian Henry is just 350 feet, but the trail bobs up and down the whole way, stacking up the elevation and making it a better workout than many other lower-elevation river hikes. If you don’t want to car shuttle or bike (or hitchhike) back to your car, an out-and-back trip from Fish Creek to Pup Creek Falls is bit shorter, at 7.8 miles, but adds 145 feet to the total elevation. Or, if you’re feeling particularly energetic, you could always do entire trail out and back for a workout equal to many of the tougher trails on Hood.

4. The other Eagle Creek: up to 15.4 miles and up to 1835 feet

Not a lot of people know about the other Eagle Creek, flowing west out of the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness, into the Clackamas, near Estacada. It could be argued that this is a better springtime hike, once the carpets of oxalis on the old growth forest floor start blooming. Then again, there are many things to recommend the deep ancient forest in the depths of winter. Not the least of which is the lack of company. This hike begins and climbs a little higher than the others listed here, so check with the Estacada ranger station about snowpack before you go.

5. Silver Falls

There’s a lot more to Silver Falls State Park than the Silver Falls and Ten Falls Loops. The Perimeter Loop rewards your efforts with 16.8 miles and 2470 feet gained, but could be a bit snowy or icy. If you do the Buck Mountain Loop and add the Howard Creek and Cutoff Trails, you not only clock 8.6 miles and nearly 1,000 feet, you get to admire some fine old growth trees, as well.

6. South Molalla River Trails: up to 9.9 miles and 1,375 feet—or more!

 As with Tryon and Milo McGiver, many trails in BLM managed Molalla River Recreation Area wind up and down the bluff and along the river. Half the fun here is just picking a route. And there’s another possibility in this neck of the woods. Just 20 minutes further down the road, and you come to the Old Bridge Trailhead for Table Rock Wilderness. The trail into the wilderness here leaps up 1800 feet in the first 2.5 miles. This would put you at 3000 feet, not entirely out of the question in a low snowpack year like 2019. Not a bad jaunt, if you feel the need to do something steep with your day.
The pyramid wall at Macks Canyon. Photo: Darrin Gunkel.

7. Macks Canyon Skyline: as much mileage as you want, and up to 1,800 feet elevation

The Deschutes River Canyon east of Tygh Valley, where Oregon Route 216 crosses the river, doesn’t get nearly the attention it deserves. A BLM road leads north from the river crossing, winding through a spectacular collection of basalt pyramids, ridges, and walls, ending at Macks Canyon campground. From here, you could march 23.6 miles, slowly and steadily downstream, to the Deschutes River State Recreation Area at the Columbia. Or, you can pick a route up one of those ridges. The pyramid walling the east bank of the river just past the campground is a good option. Traversing it south to north and returning via the river trail will earn you 1800 feet up and down in 4.8 miles. And views of Adams, Hood, and Jefferson from the canyon rim.

8. Oregon Coast Trail from Shingle Mill to Short Sands 15.9 miles, 2,750 feet.

You can drive within a half mile of Short Sands Beach, but unless you’re carrying three kids and four surfboards, why would you want to do that? To get a real workout, and a real feel of the Pacific Coast, spend a whole day on this leg of the Oregon Coast Trail. Beginning just off Highway 101, at the OCT Shingle Mill Trailhead, it’s the nearest true hiking stretch of the OCT to the Portland-Vancouver area—a little more than an hour and a half. As long as the traffic gods smile upon you or leave early enough to beat the day-tripper traffic on Route 26 (which you probably want to do anyway, given the mileage on the route) you should have plenty of time to hike, dawdle among ancient Sitka spruce, lounge above the Pacific Ocean at Cape Falcon, and watch surfers compete for waves at Short Sands.
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Groundhog Day

by Jonathan Barrett

It is Groundhog Day … again. In honor of the movie (and the holiday), I have five suggestions for how to break out of your climbing and hiking deja vu. From the gear that we use, to the goals that we set for ourselves, a repeated outing is given context by these things. Although we are to some degree trapped by the fact that the Gorge is only so large and that there are a limited number of crags within an hour or two of home, we don’t need to feel like Bill Murray’s character waking up every day to the same bars of Sonny and Cher: “Then put your little hand in mine/There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb.” It is possible to expand the universe without leaving the confines of its boundaries.

The author considers the merits of eating ice cream on a saddle
during a summer climbing road trip. Photo: Andrew Barnes. 

Use someone else’s gear

We all get used to the gear that we employ: our cams, our pack, our tent. This breeds familiarity, and frankly it makes our lives easier. Setting up your personal tent in a downpour takes only moments because you have done it a thousand times before. Plugging your gold Camalot into the hand-jam-sized crack becomes second nature. Every so often, I get the opportunity to climb on a partner’s gear such as during my most recent ice trip to Hyalite. I have climbed on Petzl Nomics since they were first introduced; my partner had brought a pair of Trango Raptors. Midway up The Dribbles, right before the WI4 headwall pitch, I asked to use his tools. The first couple of swings were awkward. The ice axes felt weirdly imbalanced. To compensate, I turned to using better footwork and looked down instead of up. The features of the ice curtain were transformed. Blobs appeared that I might not have noticed before, and I stepped on them gently, like they were features on a rock climb. In the minutes that followed, I climbed a completely new route with improved technique.

John Sharp investigates up-close the elusive (and viviparous)
rubber boa on the approach to Goode Mountain.
Photo: Jonathan Barrett. 

Climb at an odd time of day (or year)

“You know what I want to do?” Jarred asked me. Frankly I couldn’t guess, given his proclivity for provocative ideas. “Climb Dod’s Jam in the dark,” he said. In the dark? Why? When pressed, he didn’t have an answer really, something about the moonrise over the Bonneville Dam. Because I acquiesced, two weeks later I found myself face to face with a bushy-tailed woodrat, otherwise known as the infamous snafflehound. It’s eyes were glowing spheres under the light of my headlamp. He (or maybe she) tried to squeeze its shivering body into the fissure at the back of the “bird’s nest” belay stance. The moon had not yet risen over the cliffs of the Gorge, so beyond the wan circle of light, it was exceedingly dark: a hold-your-hand-two-inches- from-your-face-and-not-see-anything dark. Typically when I stem up the off-width corner on that climb, the exposure rattles my nerves a little. The climbing isn’t very hard relative to some of the sequences on the rest of the route, but there is something about the way that feature pitches ever so slightly towards the river that normally makes me sweat. That night, though, I didn’t feel any trepidation. I could turn my light towards the Oregon side of the Columbia and view only a wall of black. I carefully pasted the rubber of my shoes against the wrinkled edges and moved upwards with uncommon confidence because I could not see. Three months later, Jarred and I found ourselves finishing Young Warriors in the dark after attempting a multi-route link-up. As I belayed him up onto the final ridgeline, I turned my headlamp toward the remaining slabs and cracks. A familiar set of glowing eyes looked back at me in what must have been disbelief. Or perhaps it was annoyance. What was the little bugger thinking? Maybe: Oh! Not this guy again!

Bring different food

Knowing that a little levity can ease a tedious activity,
Andrew Ault takes the time to posedown mid-slog up
Mt. Adams. Photo: Jonathan Barrett.

Food is fuel, but also culture. As anyone who has traveled internationally knows, cuisine defines an experience, even if it is just Le Big Mac consumed on the streets of Paris. As such, the meals that we bring color our experiences in the outdoors. For better or worse, freeze-dried options have transformed backcountry dining and the way that people move through wild spaces. I have both a Jetboil and a Whisperlite. The choice between the two affects the culture of the trip. Typically, I bring the former for many of the obvious reasons: weight, fuel efficiency, and speed of eating. Consider the impact that this kind of choice has on a trip up the Emmons Glacier. With a night before and potentially after the climb at Camp Sherman, the instinct is to go as light as possible. However, a pot of tortellini smothered in pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, and sausage is worth the weight. As a matter of fact, it would be difficult to suppress a smug smile as you watched other parties scarf so-called “Chicken and Rice” from a plasticized foil pouch knowing that the only GI distress you will suffer will be altitude-related and not a function of the food. This is true in other ways as well. Last summer I brought with me the makings for a no-bake cheesecake when climbing in the Bugaboos. A bank of snow served as a refrigerator. Dinner that night felt Michelin five-star luxurious as I spooned out servings for my partner and I.

Find a new partner

Who one climbs with determines the vibe as much as what one climbs. With established partnerships, it is easy to warm up on the same routes, eat breakfast at the same joints, and pack in a matter of minutes, which is generally preferable. A new partner can breathe life into stale routines and jolt one out of tunnel vision. For years, my goal when traveling to distant climbing destinations was to climb as much as possible. This seemed to me like the logical thing to do given the financial outlay involved. Once, on an overseas trip, I was stunned to learn that my partner wanted to take the train into a neighboring country just to have lunch. I argued that it wasn’t raining that hard and would probably stop soon. He chuckled at my stupidity and pointed out that there was more to do than climb from sunrise to sunset. Through that new partnership, I have recalibrated and reconsidered my goals when traveling for climbing. This can be just as true for a local spot as well. Who knows how many times I drove past the Beacon Rock Cafe before a new partner once pointed out that we could climb all morning, drive a short distance down the road for a burger, and then head back for more laps. Suddenly that Clif bar in my pocket seemed slightly moronic.

Set completely different goals

I tend to want to hike fast and climb as many pitches as possible. My regular partners give me a hard time for always setting my watch to see how long it took from belay to belay. My goal is efficiency, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, per se. However, it does flavor the outing with a sense of urgency. Consider instead the influence that other goals might lend. Photography is not a hobby of mine, and in the attempt to move quickly, I don’t take many pictures. When I return to share my adventures with friends, the sloppy and ill-framed images are nearly useless. This is not to say that I should be asking my partner to reclimb a pitch multiple times to allow me the benefit of having a perfectly captured and Instagram-worthy photo. I do however envy the care and effort that folks like Steph Abegg have taken to thoughtfully and completely document a trip. This goal-setting philosophy can be applied in other ways as well. Out for a hike on a familiar trail? Maybe try to engage others in conversation or at least friendly banter. How many new acquaintances could you make over a dozen miles? Bring a bird, flower, or tree guidebook and stop to actually investigate that glorious flora that you have seen so many times. Use familiar terrain as an opportunity to try out a new piece of technology. What better place to learn the mapping software than in an area where you can double-check your work?

Some final thoughts

What benefits do these changes have for us as climbers and human beings? If Groundhog Day can teach us anything, it is that being stuck in a loop is not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself. How we respond to the conditions of our confinement is the question. In reflection, I can honestly say that making these kinds of changes myself have made me a better and more thoughtful climber. As someone who looks at my life and actions through the lens of climbing, they have also reframed the way that I travel, engage with people, and consider the possessions in my life. In doing so, I am equipped so that there is no hill or mountain I can’t climb.

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Skiing the Summit—Reflections on a December Mt. Hood Ski Descent

Words by Jordan Machtelinckx. Photos by Kevin Machtelinckx.

Faraway sounds wake me periodically from a fitful sleep. Giant machines meander around the empty parking lot, putting my REM cycles just out of reach each time they rumble by. Through my iced-up windows I can see windblown snow pass under glowing streetlamps. The wind creaks as it passes between the glass and the metal of my frozen-half-shut window. I continue to straddle the worlds of the waking and that of dreams as I drift off a few more times.

A sharp knock on my window scares the sleep away for good.

Assuming that’s my brother bundled up in the dark out there, then it must be five o’clock. I’ve slept in this parking lot at Timberline Lodge a number of times before, and I fall into the same ritual of emotions brought by an alpine start in December.

It’s cold. I’m tired. Maybe this was a bad idea.

I could be in a real bed.

There are many key attributes to the perfect climbing partner, but the most important one right now is that it’s someone who holds you accountable to get up at a ridiculous hour, in a ridiculous place, to do a ridiculous thing, when the last bits of slumber inject an ominous sense of doom into the day’s undertaking.

I force down a pre-dawn granola breakfast and reward myself with as many sips of thermos-tepid coffee as I can force into my waking body. Freezing fog gently coats my sleeping bag with ice crystals and going back to bed becomes significantly less appealing.

Packs are closed. The beeps from our avalanche beacons are swallowed by the gloomy dark of the overflow parking lot. I realize I’ve got more neighbors now than when I went to bed in the back of my Element. Lights flicker on through foggy windows in one car. Another van lays newly empty as its owner also starts his way toward the edge of the parking lot; the first steps toward the frequently-sought summit of Oregon’s Mt. Hood.

Clicking into my bindings, I tune into the music playing through the wires from my pocket to try to pass the time slogging through the last trees and onto the slopes.

I’m not wearing a watch today, but the milestones are familiar.

Breaking through the final trees: scrambled thoughts contained within the ring of my headlamp on the snow.

Passing by the rime-covered Silcox Hut: doubt.

Starting up along the Palmer express lift: anxiety.

I see climbers’ headlamps shining through the last siege of darkness above, hours ahead of us. Maybe we should have started earlier, too.

A rest near the Palmer lift house—the highest outpost of civilization, past which hikers become climbers. I watch as daybreak washes away the self-doubt. Rays of sunlight illuminate safe, mellow skies.

Not much further up, climbers who have reached the summit are passing us on their way back to the waking lodge, now 3,000 feet below. I leave my self-doubt below Illumination Rock as I enter the spectacular, rime-encrusted cirque of the summit crater. We are now committed to a summit attempt, graced with pleasant weather and agreeable snow conditions, and my rational mind knows that self-doubt has no place in this final 1,500 feet of technical terrain.

The question is no longer “if,” let alone “why,” but “how.” Which of the many routes up the final headwall will present us with the optimal balance of challenge and safe passage? We opt for an exciting attempt on the spectacular Pearly Gates, climbing a few hundred feet of steep, deep snow into a narrowing couloir. The right Gate is occupied by a slow-moving rope team, and melting chunks of ice from the sunlit cliffs above warn us that we have no time to wait around.
I ascend the left Gate, hoping it goes, because I dread downclimbing our steep, unconsolidated boot track extending below.

But alas, I’m stopped by a six-foot vertical wall of hard, blue ice. The longer I debate whether I should attempt it, the more I realize my forearms may not hold out long enough. The obstacle is spectacular, well-featured. A boulder problem of ice. I want to climb it, but more importantly I want to have climbed it. I want to push the threshold of my climbing past this icy couloir.
I take a few steps toward the feature, shattering holds with the tips of my ice tools. I search for solid foot placements, but my calves are burning. I reach up, hesitate, and reach down.

I want to be good enough. I want to live up to my expectations. But my instincts know better. I’m tired. My pack is heavy. One slip and the weight of the skis on my back will catapult me off the wall, tumbling a thousand feet into the summit crater. It would be foolish.

I curse myself for not bringing a rope and ice screws to make an attempt realistic. I immediately thank myself for leaving them behind since we made good time without the extra weight. I am terrified of the downclimb out of this couloir. I am wrestling with the thought that I may have sacrificed our summit because of my selfish desire to climb a route that is beyond me.

My mind is running wild but I am still clinging to the steep ice by the metal tips of my crampons and tools. I acknowledge the rampant emotions and set them aside, one by one. They have no place here. I have a job to do and I know how to do it. Nothing else matters until I get back to the ledge below the couloir.

Downclimbing seems endless. I hate my footholds and my ice tools plunge deep into useless powder.

We meet back at the ledge. I think we both know it was my lust for the Gates that cost us an hour and a half in that couloir. Our skis will save us hours on the descent compared with our previous bootpacking attempts on this mountain, so we agree to make a second attempt up the Old Chute, where most parties are summitting today. I let Kevin take the lead across the wide-open slope. I’m not going to let my ego fuck this one up, too.

The slope steepens, the chutes narrow, and we pick our way through the final rime formations to the summit ridge. Two hundred easy meters take us to a breezy summit, where we realize our fingers are frigid and we have no time to waste.

The summit is the halfway mark to safety. Long, deep breaths lower my heart rate from its frenzied battle against 11,241 feet of thinning air. I have to maintain control of my body so it can keep me safe as I cross a dizzying 20 meters of one-slip-and-you’re-dead knife-edge summit ridge to gain the descent chute.

The steep, soft snow is a cakewalk after that. We find the highest spot to feasibly transition to skis, as skiing off the true summit is impossible for us amateurs.

Perspectives change in downhill mode. Steep slopes which intimidate the uphill climber in me now appear as ideal ski terrain. My interface with the mountain changes as I now want to be sliding across its surface. I distance myself from the summit, with no more desire to be there.

I ski back toward the lodge, my car. To civilization, to safety, to satisfaction and self-fulfillment. Away from fear, self-doubt, and primal danger.

Back down to where I may find the courage to face my demons once again on another dark, cold morning with my brother knocking at my window.

Wake up. We’re going climbing.

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#vanlife

Darrin Gunkel outside his van down by the Alaskan Highway, with a pug.
Photo: Karin Hedlund. 

by Jonathan Barrett


As a parent of a small child, I have a deep, almost primeval, fear of vans. As a child of the 80’s, after school specials and public service announcements warned me against people who called out, “Hey kid! I’m a professional photographer. Come with me to my van, and I’ll take your picture.” As a result windowless van is the first place I am going to look when my son’s face appears on the back of the milk container. The problem is that now, all these vans are filled with beautiful, half-dressed Athleta models and Patagonia ambassadors. Since when did prAna start hiring transients as marketing influencers?

As a result, I find the whole #vanlife thing really confusing, as does my kid. For example, I brought my son, Liam, to Smith last fall. We got out of the car in the bivouac parking lot, and there was a man sitting in the open door of his black Sprinter. Liam grabbed my hand a little tighter and said fearfully, “Daddy, don’t let him take me!” I turned to him and replied, “Don’t worry, son. He has a trust fund. He can’t hurt you.” Liam looked really confused. This man’s fingernails were black. He was barefoot. His beard was thick, but artfully cut. He was shirtless. In his fingers was a funny smelling cigarette. “Daddy, why is he smoking?” Liam asked. “Well, son. Sometimes adults have a hard time coping with reality.”

“So he’s doing drugs?”

“No, that’s why he bought the van. The cigarette is just cloves.”

That evening when we returned to the parking lot, there was a man standing on the roof of a ‘96 Ford Econoline. “Daddy, is he fixing his roof?” Liam asked. I looked at him skeptically. Was he messing with me? The dude was doing downward dog in the fading sunlight. My son had seen me doing yoga in the our privacy of our basement before. He knew I kind of hated it. In his mind, no one would ever do it in public. “Maybe he is looking for a hole that water is coming through,” he offered thoughtfully. The shirtless man in $100 shorts moved gracefully into tree pose. “Oh no!” Liam said. “He’s going to fall off!” A lithe woman appeared on the ground next to the van. “Maybe she will catch him.” She took out her iPhone. “No, wait I think she is going to take his picture. Daddy, why is she taking his picture?”

The rainbow is not Photoshopped. Photo: Darrin Gunkel

“Well, son. Sometimes when you live in a van, it’s hard to stay connected to people. Always moving around. Not being in the same place all the time,” I said. Vanlifer was now doing Pungu Mayuransana, wounded peacock, and the girl continued to take pictures of him. Secretly I wondered: if a climber falls off a van roof in the woods, can anyone hear him scream?

“So, he’s homeless. We should give him something to eat. He can have my apple. I still have it from our hike.” He started to reach into his bag.

By this time the man had finished his poses and was climbing down off the roof of his van. He took a long swig from his Hydroflask. “Honey!” he called to his partner, “Can you check the Goal Zero batteries? There is a crack in the solar panel cable. It might not be charging.”

“‘Scuse me,” Liam said. “Here. You can have this.” He held out his apple in a gesture of sincere concern.

“Is it organic?” he asked. Liam looked at him blankly as the man took it to inspect the sticker.
“Thanks kiddo, but I am really careful with my body. You can keep it,” he said as he handed it back.

As Liam and I walked back to the car, he shook his head. “What’s the matter, bud?” I asked.

“That guy. He makes bad choices. Maybe that’s why he’s homeless.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He said he wants to take care of his body, but he was being very unsafe on the roof. And look,” he said as he pointed back in the direction of the van where the man was walking across the parking lot in his bare feet. “He should put some shoes on so he doesn’t cut his foot.”

Back at our friend’s house in Bend, Liam climbed into their truck-bed camper which served as guest quarters when we visited them. It was 8 p.m, his regular bedtime. “Daddy,” he said. “I’m really glad that we live in a house.”

“Why is that, bud?” I asked as I tucked him in with his stuffed moose, Mary.

“Because I’d miss my friends if we were always moving around, like that guy we saw today.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a fair point,” I said. How could I explain the fact that these people likely have many friends and acquaintances spread across the West, people that they regularly meet at Indian Creek or in Squamish. How could I explain that much of their community was online and digital? That even though they can open their doors and make a parking lot their new front yard, they can’t always know who their neighbors will be from one day to the next. That they are sacrificing a degree of regular, in-the-flesh human contact for space and mobility.

I pulled the fleece blanket up against his chin. “Well. They have friends online who like to see their pictures. They can share their lives that way,” I said.

“Oh,” Liam said. “Well, I like knowing that Owen is just up the street. And that he’ll always be up the street. He’ll never move away.”

“Yeah, kiddo. I don’t think that I would want to live on the road like they do, either.”

“What’s it like to live in a mobile home?” he asked as I was just opening Captain Underpants to read the next chapter to him.

“Well, actually it’s not really a mobile home,” I said.

“Oh, I mean RV.” I put the book down. How was I to explain that it was their home but not a mobile home. That old people live in RVs and go to national parks, like Yosemite. That young people live in vans and … go to national parks, like Yosemite. But it’s not the same.

“It’s a van, son. Let’s just read some of the book so you can get to sleep on time.” Somehow the world of an ill-tempered grade school principal who transforms into a superhero made more sense to him in that moment than the subtleties of #vanlife.

We all remember the Chris Farley SNL sketch where he admonishes David Spade and Christina Applegate to get their lives in order, otherwise they will be, “living in a van down by the river.” Maybe my point of view needs to shift. Maybe there is nothing wrong at all with childless men living in a van down by the river. After all, if my son becomes one of them, I know where to find his picture.

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Off the Beaten Backpack

Three Fantastic Backpacking Trips for the Discerning Backpacker

by Matt Reeder

So you couldn’t get a permit for the Enchantments or the Wonderland Trail? Maybe you’ve done the Timberline Trail several times and want a new challenge? You aren’t alone. Every year I hear from my friends in the outdoor community about the difficulty of securing permits to cherished spots like the Enchantments, and the desire to find backpacking trips that aren’t completely overwhelmed with people or require complicated planning stretching over several days.

Thankfully there are many other places to backpack. Great places! I’ve spent the last several years researching my three hiking guidebooks: Off the Beaten Trail, 101 Hikes in the Majestic Mt. Jefferson Region, and PDX Hiking 365. I’ve had the opportunity to do some truly amazing backpacking expeditions, from short overnighters at nearby lakes to longer treks through remote and forbidding wilderness areas. Presented here are three relatively obscure trips sure to satisfy all of you who can’t or don’t want to backpack the Timberline Trail, the Wonderland Trail, or the Enchantments.

Big Slide Lake.

Big Slide Lake and Bull of the Woods

While it isn’t full of the kind of alpine splendor found on Mt. Hood or Mt. Rainier, the Bull of the Woods Wilderness is a peaceful and inviting destination for backpacking, from one-day trips to longer loops that touch all of the highpoints of the area, both literal and figurative. The only issue with visiting this area is that many of the trailheads are at the far end of long, winding gravel roads that test the patience of many drivers. This long but rewarding trek to Big Slide Lake and up to Bull of the Woods is easy to find, easy to follow, and leads hikers to a beautiful lake deep in the wilderness. Hikers desiring a mountain view can continue 2 miles to the summit of Bull of the Woods, where the view stretches from Mt. Rainier to the Three Sisters.

Beginning at the trailhead, follow the Dickey Creek Trail on the remains of an abandoned road for a half mile. The trail then descends steeply into Dickey Creek’s deep canyon, leveling out in a classic cathedral forest of ancient Douglas fir. The trail meanders along the valley bottom, passing a pond, until it reaches a crossing of Dickey Creek at about 3.5 miles from the trailhead. Make your way across the creek, which is generally easy in summer, and begin gaining elevation on the far side. The trail climbs up the forested slopes of Dickey Creek’s upper canyon, crossing a huge talus slope at the base of Big Slide Mountain’s cliffs. Reach a short side trail to Big Slide Lake at a little over 6 miles from the trailhead. Take the short spur trail down to the lake. Big Slide Lake is shallow but beautiful, with a lovely green color and an adorable island in the middle of the lake. The best campsites are on the lake’s west side, where you should be able to find a place of your own with space and privacy.

Bull of the Woods wilderness.

Once you’ve set up camp, take the time to hike 2 miles uphill, turning right at every junction, to the Bull of the Woods Lookout, where the view is magnificent. Some exploration on the summit will reveal different vantages, a historic outhouse, and views down to Big Slide Lake. The lookout tower, no longer used and closed to the public, is in poor shape—use caution when walking along the platform at the tower.

Hikers desiring a longer backpacking trip have many options, but a lack of trail maintenance has made some of these options a less attractive idea. Perhaps the best idea is to continue west from Bull of the Woods to a pass above Pansy Lake, and then descend the Mother Lode Trail 4.5 miles to beautiful Battle Creek Flats, at its confluence with Elk Lake Creek. Making a loop is possible either by hiking up the Elk Lake Creek Trail to Elk Lake and returning via the Bagby Trail and Twin Lakes, or by hiking downstream along Elk Lake Creek and returning via the Welcome Lakes and West Lake Way Trails to Bull of the Woods. This latter option to Welcome Lakes is among the worst-maintained trails in the area and is not recommended. Consult a topographic map if you’re planning on making a longer loop here.

Directions: 

  • From Portland, drive southeast on OR 224 approximately 20 miles to Estacada.
  • From Estacada, drive southeast on OR 224 for approximately 25 miles to the old guard station at Ripplebrook.
  • Just past Ripplebrook OR 224 becomes FR 46. Continue straight on FR 46 for 4.2 miles from Ripplebrook to a junction with FR 63.
  • Turn right onto FR 63, following signs for Bagby Hot Springs. 
  • Drive this 2-lane paved road for 3.5 miles to a junction with FR 70, signed for Bagby
  • Hot Springs. Ignore this turnoff and continue straight on FR 63.
  • Drive another 2.1 miles on FR 63 to a junction with FR 6340 on your right.
  • Turn right on this gravel road and drive 0.6 mile to a junction, where you keep straight.
  • Continue on FR 6340 another 2.1 miles to a junction with FR 140 with a sign for the Dickey Creek Trail. Turn left here.
  • Drive this narrow, rocky road for 1 mile to a T-junction. The trailhead is on the right, but the best parking is on the left. There is also room for a couple of cars on the shoulder FR 140 about twenty yards before the junction.


Heart of Jeff Loop

Marion Falls in the heart of the
Jefferson Wilderness
Hikers looking for a multi-day alternative to the Timberline Trail will find few better options than this multi-day backpack around the south side of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness. As it is impossible to circumnavigate Mt. Jefferson (due to the Warm Springs Reservation, the lack of a trail on the east side, fire damage, and impassible cliffs and gorges, among other things), this circuit hits many of the high points in one of Oregon’s most beautiful wilderness preserves. The time is right so go now—next year a complicated permit system will likely come into effect, making this area much more difficult to visit. 
The trek starts at the crowded Marion Lake Trail, climbing gently 1.7 miles to a fork just before you reach the lake. Both trails go to the lake, but keep left for the shortest and most direct route. At a fork at lake’s edge, keep left and hike along the lake’s north shore. Views stretch across the huge backcountry lake south to Three Fingered Jack. Reach a junction with the Lake of the Woods Trail at 2.5 miles, where you turn left. Follow the Lake of the Woods Trail north to a junction with the Swallow Lake Trail and turn right. This trail passes by Swallow Lake before climbing steeply to the foot of South Cinder Peak at 8 miles. Take the time to follow the short spur trail here to the summit of the peak, where the 360 degree view stretches out to the far horizon, from Mt. Hood to the Three Sisters and everything in between. From here, return to the Swallow Lake Trail and reach a four-way junction with the Pacific Crest Trail and Shirley Lake Trail. Cross the PCT and turn onto the Shirley Lake Trail. Hike north 1.5 miles to Carl Lake, your stopping point for the first day of this trek. You’ll find lots of sites at this deep backcountry lake. 
From Carl Lake, locate the Cabot Lake Trail heading north and follow it as it seesaws through attractive woods. The trail passes under North Cinder Peak’s cliffs, curves attractively around the Forked Butte lava flow and then passes directly by scenic Forked Buttes as it makes its way towards Mt. Jefferson. The trail descends to small Patsy Lake and then gains elevation once more, finally reaching secluded Table Lake at 4.7 miles from Carl Lake. Make Table Lake your second night stop, and spend the rest of your day exploring this beautiful area. While you’re here, be sure to locate the continuation of the Cabot Lake Trail and follow it 1.5 miles north to an incredible viewpoint by the cliffs of Bear Butte. Here Mt. Jefferson towers over Hole-in-the-Wall Park, just four miles away. The trail once continued down to the park but is now lost in blowdown from the B+B fire. 
 South Cinder Peak and Mt. Jefferson. 
On day 3, leave Table Lake. You could hike all the way back to Carl Lake and return the way you came, but this trek is much better as a loop. So hike south from Table Lake 0.2 mile to a meadow, where a very faint trail cuts off west towards the Cascade crest. The trail isn’t easy to find, but is worth the trouble. Once you’ve found it, hike west on a trail that threads between a cinder cone and The Table and then traverses steeply uphill to the crest of the ridge. Once you top out the trail becomes faint again, but from here just continue west 0.1 mile or so to the PCT. When you find the PCT you’re faced with another dilemma—do you turn left and head south to wrap up the loop, or do you turn right to make a longer loop by heading into the burned forests west of the PCT for more lakes and a longer hike? The PCT continues south 4.7 miles to the Shirley Lake-Swallow Lake-PCT junction mentioned above, offering fabulous views and easy hiking. If you’re up for the longer loop option, turn right at this junction and soon arrive at a junction with the Hunts Creek Trail. Follow this trail as it climbs slightly and arrives at a rocky ledge above beautiful Hunts Cove, with Mt. Jefferson looming just across the valley. After 1.7 miles, reach a junction with the Lake of the Woods Trail. 
North leads down into Hunts Cove (a limited-entry permit area), but for the loop, keep left. The Lake of the Woods Trail continues south, soon entering burned forest. You’ll pass Lake of the Woods and finally reach a junction with the Swallow Lake Trail at 9.8 miles from Table Lake. Continue 1.7 miles to Marion Lake. At this point you’ve hiked 11.5 miles on Day 3—but you’re only 2 miles and change from the trailhead. If you’re wiped out, consider camping at this lake and spending the next morning exploring before hiking out. Explorations around the lake reveal fantastic lake shore viewpoints of Three-Fingered Jack and Mt. Jefferson as well as huge and impressive Marion Falls just below the lake. If you’ve got a bit of extra energy you can scramble up the talus slope on the west side of the lake (along the peninsula) to a fantastic viewpoint on top of a rock pile that looks out across the lake to Mt. Jefferson and Three-Fingered Jack. But if you reach Marion Lake and are ready to be done with this loop, follow the trail west of the lake a little over 2 miles to the trailhead. 
Directions: 
  • From Portland, drive south on Interstate 5 to Exit 253 in Salem, signed for Detroit Lake and Bend. Leave the freeway here and turn left onto OR 22. 
  • From Salem, drive OR 22 east for 49.2 miles to Detroit.
  • Continue on OR 22 another 16.2 miles to a junction with Marion Road (FR 2255), just opposite the now-closed Marion Forks Restaurant.
  • Turn left here and drive this one-lane paved road for 0.8 mile to the end of pavement. Continue another 3.7 miles of excellent gravel road to road’s end at the Marion Lake Trailhead.
  • There are many places to park but come early—this is an extremely popular hike and the trailhead is often full by mid-morning on summer weekends.
  • NW Forest Pass Required. A limited-entry permit of some sort will likely be required in 2019. 


Mt. Adams Northside Traverse

Mt. Adams rugged north side.

Like Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams features a trail that circumnavigates it. Sort of. The Round The Mountain Trail takes hikers three-quarters of the way around Mt. Adams, eventually ending on the far east side of the mountain, deep inside the Yakima Reservation—and from this point hikers must hike off-trail through forbidding terrain to complete the loop at Bird Creek Meadows. It is a fun adventure but a difficult one—and with Bird Creek Meadows closed this year, scratch it off your to-do list.

Thankfully, much of the finest terrain on Mt. Adams is open and gorgeous, and this traverse is probably the nicest backpacking trip in the area. The best place to start, in spite of lousy road access, is the Killen Creek Trailhead. Here you avoid the ubiquitous fire damage found further south and west on Mt. Adams, opting instead to just hike straight into wondrous alpine terrain on the north side of the mountain. It’s just all good here, almost right from the start. Begin on the Killen Creek Trail and hike steeply uphill on a trail that charges up the hillside. Thankfully the bad times don’t last long, and soon you’ll begin traversing glorious wildflower meadows with views south to the heavily glaciated north side of Mt. Adams. Meet the PCT (which here is also the Round the Mountain Trail) at a junction at 3 miles. The longer trip turns left here, to continue heading east around Mt. Adams. If you’re looking for a spectacular detour or a closer place to camp, turn right and immediately locate the spur trail to High Camp 100 feet to your right. Turn left here and climb this steep trail uphill 1 mile to High Camp, a plateau at nearly 7,000 feet of elevation, 4 miles from the Killen Creek Trailhead. This is among the most spectacular places on Mt. Adams, at the northern foot of the mountain near the terminus of the massive Adams Glacier. Views stretch north to Mt. Rainier and the Goat Rocks. There are plenty of campsites dotted throughout the plateau—just expect very cold nights, even in summer. If you’re just stopping by, return to the PCT and head east to continue hiking around Mt. Adams. 
Foggy Flats.
In a little under a mile, the trail crosses Killen Creek just above a cascading waterfall and passes a glade I lovingly refer to as “Perfection Park”—as in, it couldn’t possibly get better than this. The area is a popular camping spot for folks here, but with some luck you may find a site if you decide you don’t want to go any further. If you’re continuing, follow the PCT until you meet a junction with the Highline Trail (another name for the Round the Mountain Trail). Keep right and hike another 1.8 miles to a junction with the Muddy Meadows Trail. Keep right again and continue about a mile to Foggy Flat, a huge meadow on the northeast side of Mt. Adams. There are a few campsites scattered around the flat, which features a view of the top half of Mt. Adams. For the good stuff, continue on the Highline Trail a short ways past Foggy Flat until the trail leaves both meadow and forest, arriving at the lava flows and barren plains on the northeast side of Mt. Adams. There are a few good campsites here, and chances are you won’t have much competition for them. At this point you’re over 7 miles from the Killen Creek Trailhead, so it’s probably a good idea to stop here. Once you’ve set up camp, grab your pack and some water and continue exploring south along the barren plains. The views of Mt. Adams and its glaciers are tremendous, and continuous—this is truly a special place. 
The trail does continue several more miles south to Devil’s Garden and eventually Avalanche Valley, two of the most amazing places on Mt. Adams—but the creek crossings are difficult, and camping is questionable once you reach the Yakima Reservation. You’ve got options, and all of them are great. 
If you’re looking for a longer backpacking trip, start further south on Mt. Adams. There are numerous trails that reach the Round the Mountain Trail, from the South Climb Trailhead on the south side of the mountain to the Divide Camp Trail just southeast of the Killen Creek Trailhead. Many of these feature easier road access than does Killen Creek, and offer hikers the chance to turn a short trip into a much longer trip. In the absence of a loop trail (at least this year), the best option would be to set up a car shuttle somewhere along the way and hike the circuit one way from south to north. 
Directions: 
  • From Portland, drive east on Interstate 84 to Hood River.
  • At Exit 64 on I-84, leave the freeway and reach a junction at the end of the off-ramp.
  • Turn left and drive to the toll bridge over the Columbia River. Pay the $2 toll and cross the river.
  • At the far end of the bridge on the Washington side, turn left on WA 14.
  • Drive 1.5 miles west on WA 14 to a junction with WA 141 ALT, just before a bridge over the White Salmon River. Turn right here.
  • Drive 2.2 miles to a junction with WA 141. Turn left here.
  • Drive 18.9 miles to the small town of Trout Lake.
  • Continue straight on what is now Mt Adams Road (FR 23) for 1.5 miles to a junction.
  • Keep left (right leads to the south and east sides of Mt. Adams) to stay on FR 23.
  • Drive 23 miles, ignoring all side roads along the way, to a junction with FR 2329 near Takhlakh Lake. The last several miles of this road are gravel.
  • Turn right on FR 2329, following signs for Takhlakh Lake.
  • Drive 1.5 miles to Takhlakh Lake, ignoring signs for Olallie Lake along the way.
  • Continue past Takhlakh Lake, where FR 2329 worsens into a rough, rutted, potholed road that requires patience.
  • Drive 1.9 miles beyond Takhlakh Lake to the Divide Camp Trail on your right.
  • Continue 2.4 increasingly rough miles to the Killen Creek Trailhead on your right.

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The Summer Solstice: A Masochist’s Thoughts About How to Squeezing the Most Out of the Longest Days

by Jonathan Barrett

Sunshine Route, Mt. Hood. Photo: Greg Simons

Fifteen hours and forty-one minutes. That is the length of the day on the Summer Solstice. Not including the extended light of dawn and dusk. The question is how to spend it. Here are a few ideas to be considered as guiding principles. While not everyone has that Thursday off, these principles would work just as well for the weekend warrior on the previous or following Saturday/Sunday.

Pull-off a really, really long climb

Yes, Infinite Bliss in Washington is fraught with controversy, given that when it was bolted, it ended up being in an established wilderness area. But it is a really, really, long climb and as a result benefits from having a really, really, long day to complete it. One would benefit from having the longest day of the year as a matter of fact. At 23 pitches, it was possibly the longest “sport” climb in the United States or Canada when first bolted, but to call it a sport climb misrepresents what the route really is. Although the crux pitches are well bolted, there are run-outs of close to 100 feet. Additionally, if going up takes a long time, you also need to rap the route … 23 rappels. A full day, and full use of the Summer Solstice. Substitute your favorite super-long climb as desired.

Pull off a really, really long approach

Most will climb Mt. Olympus over three days. Approach the 17+ miles on day one. Summit and return to camp on day two. Hike out on day three. But given a really, really, long day, a fit team could conceivably knock it out in “one day.” Consider the following: with some light jogging and fast hiking, you might be able to do the approach in around six hours. The climb to the summit and descent could happen in six or seven hours. Then one just needs to endure the slog out, another six hours. Given the length of predawn and post-sunset light (nautical twilight starts at 3:34 a.m. for that latitude and ends at 10:48 p.m.), a person has more than 19 hours of light, which is plenty of time. Assuming your feet hold up. The Olympics and Cascades are awash in long approaches, so it is easy to pick your poison when considering this use for the longest days of the year.

Fit More Into Your Day

Given that the average Mazama is a working stiff, probably with fairly normal daytime hours, we are generally resigned to hitting our local crags only on the weekends. Evening sessions at the gym have to suffice otherwise. What if the day was a little longer? What about an alpine start to your cragging session? At 3:52 a.m. on June 21, you could be calling “on belay” to your partner and starting up a route at Ozone. Depending on traffic or where you work, this might give you four to five hours of climbing time, more than enough to leave your forearms so pumped you can barely type for the rest of the day. Those that find the early hours horrifying—although it is certain to be much more quiet—can replicate the experience, but after work. With usable light until 10:30 p.m., one could conceivably get a five hour session in after your day working for The Man. The Army is famous for the saying that they do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day. Now you can say that you are more productive than the Army.

Summit Hood And Be Home For Breakfast

This is one that I have pulled off myself. Sunrise is 5:21 a.m. in Portland on the solstice but from the summit it is a little earlier. You can catch those golden rays reflecting off the Columbia River and lighting up the Eastern Oregon desert and still be back in Portland in time for waffles and bacon with the family. High-five the sun and descend as quickly back to Timberline as possible. With a little jogging, glissading, or skiing, being back at your car by 7AM is totally doable (safety first, of course). Then, when you arrive at 8:30 stinking like sweat, summit, and summer’s first rays, it will be the perfect compliment to breakfast along with some wild blueberry syrup. You can have both: a climbing life and a family life. You just might need to crash in the hammock for an afternoon nap though.

Catch the Best Light, For Longer

Photographers know that sunrise and sunset are the best for capturing the soft dewy light that is so prized in the making of quality images. Consider the fact that civil twilight lasts for 38 minutes on the summer solstice and only 29 minutes on the spring equinox. There is something astonishing about the fact that during this time of year, it’s almost like the Earth is rotating more slowly. This gives the artist thirty percent more time to capture just the right light illuminating the Crooked River and Asterix Pass at Smith Rock or Haystack Rock on the coast. There are some differences between the two times though. In some ways dusk is better because the photographer knows how the shadows and silhouettes are going to fall. All she needs to do is sit and wait for the right moment with the camera in position. In contrast, in the predawn hours, it is much harder to know what shapes, shadows, and textures are going to look like. When the sun finally does appear, having these few extra minutes can be a godsend as the photographer rushes about making final adjustments.

A Long Hike To Avoid Overnight Permits

It is a fact of life in the Northwest that some areas are more difficult to access due to permitting issues. Getting a backcountry camping permit can be almost impossible during the busy periods of the year. The Enchantments is one such place where acquiring a campsite is impossible, but through-hiking is very doable. Over the course of a long day, it is possible to experience all that the area has to offer without having to be encumbered by both overnight gear and regulations. At a skoch more than eighteen miles, the trail through the Enchantments involves 7,100 feet of elevation gain if going from Snow Lakes to Colchuck trailheads and a knee-busting descent down from Aasgard Pass. With stashed bike at the end, it is possible to then zip (relatively) easily back to the car on (mostly) downhill roads. Although Colchuck would likely still be cold enough for a penguin, there is still enough time during the solstice to take a dip and ice your sore feet before grinding out the last four and a half miles.

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After the Fire: Alternatives to Closed Gorge Trails

Latourell Falls  Photo: Darrin Gunkel

by Darrin Gunkel

There’s no way around it: Columbia Gorge hikers are going to have to do more driving this year. Since the Eagle Creek Fire, nearly every trail on the Oregon side remains closed indefinitely. To get the same bang for our hiking buck, we’re going to have to roam farther afield. But look on the bright side: casting a wider hiking net is a chance to get to know some less famous, but no less worthy trails. The question is, how to choose which ones? Here’s a list of some of the more popular Gorge trails, and their rough equivalents within day-trip range:

Closed: Wahclella Falls Loop—1.8 miles, 300 feet
Alternate: Latourell Falls Loop—2.4 miles, 520 feet
Where do you take your out of shape relatives from out of town? Wahclella Falls was always a good bet, guaranteed to wow urbanites from back east with a taste of Cascadia’s wonders that wouldn’t leave them soured with blisters and aching limbs. Fortunately, the other quick and easy Gorge-walk-guaranteed-to-please escaped the flames. Some say Latourell is one of the most beautiful falls in the gorge—it’s arguable. Do this loop clockwise, working through forest finery and smaller falls before the big unveiling. Then send them back to Ohio duly impressed.

Closed: Multnomah/ Wahkeena Loop—4.8 miles, 1,500 feet
How do you find an alternative with everything this loop offers: the easiest access, a slew of awesome waterfalls, a quick Gorge fix that you can squeeze in after work and still be home before dark (in Summer Solstice season, at least), a decent, but not grueling workout? You can’t. So, here are three alternates that attempt to fill the gap piecemeal:

Alternate: Pup Creek Falls—7.8 miles, 1,695 feet. 
This trail along the Clackamas River gives you all the water you’re missing along the Multnomah/Wahkeena Loop. The trail is longer, certainly not an after-work trip, but it’s not as steep, so the energy expenditure’s about the same. The forest is lovely, and the falls are as impressive as (almost) anything in the Gorge.

Alternate: Mitchell Point—2.6 miles, 1,270 feet
One of the few Gorge trails that escaped the burn, this is your quick fix. Sure, it’s shorter (and steeper), but the time you save can be spent at pFriem Brewery, just 15 minutes away in Hood River.

Alternate: Palisade Point from Fret Creek—4.8 miles, 1,300 feet. 
Almost too long a drive to count as an alternate, this northern approach to Badger Creek Wilderness does provide relief from crowds. It’s an almost identical workout to the Multnoma/Wahkeena Loop, and like it, add-on trips make it more enticing. But rather than viewless Devil’s Rest or the long, long trip up Larch Mountain, from The Palisades, you can go visit the masses ogling Hood at Lookout Mountain, or ramble out to Flag Point and visit with one of the last active fire watchers in the Cascades. The views from the fire lookout or the meadow south of Flag Point encompass much of Badger Creek, and a whole lot of eastern Oregon. The flowers are excellent.

Closed: Multnomah Falls to Devil’s Rest—8.4 miles; 2,300 feet
Alternate: East Zigzag from Lost Creek— 9.4 Miles; 2,300 feet.
Zigzag Mountain lacks waterfalls, but it does have pleasant Burnt Lake. And views. Big views, grand enough to take the sting out of the longer drive.

Closed: Nesmith Point—10.2 miles; 3,700 feet
Alternate: Huckleberry Mountain from Wildwood Recreation Area—11 Miles; 3,500 feet
These trails are practically twins. Huckleberry may be a little lower, but the longer trail makes up the few hundred feet difference in elevation. This route is in really good shape, and the grade is ideal for keeping your heart rate right where you want it. Fine Hood views from the tiny summit meadows. There’s lots of parking at this BLM site, but your Forest Pass won’t work—it’s only five bucks, though.

Closed: Mt. Defiance—12.2 miles; 4,900 feet 
Alternate: Paradise Park-Hidden Lake Loop Hike—18.1 Miles; 4,300 feet
While Mt. Defiance is closed, you’re going to need to find another test hike to prepare for your summer climbs. This could be the ticket. You can get to Paradise Park from Timberline. It’s a pleasant trip, but easier, and where’s the fun in that?

Closed: Horse Tail, PonyTail, and Triple Falls Loop—4.4 miles; 680 feet
Alternate: Falls Creek Falls—3.4 Miles; 700 feet
For your hardier relatives, or when you need a quick jaunt on a rainy day in the off season, the Horse, Pony, and Triple Falls triple threat could not be beat (especially as a launch pad up Franklin Ridge). Falls Creek Falls should be just about as impressive for visitors, and even though the walk has just one cataract, you can add nearby Panther Creek Falls to the trip.

Closed: Eagle Creek to Tunnel Falls—12 miles, 1,640 feet
Alternate: Lewis River—10 miles, 1,260 feet 
Eagle Creek is another one that really has no alternate (Not even the OTHER Eagle Creek, lost in its forest canyon down there by Estacada). So what do we do? Give up the tunnel and a few waterfalls and head for the Lewis River. Some would say that the forest here is actually better, the trees fatter, and the river wider. Go and decide for yourself.

Closed: Indian Point—7.6 Miles; 2,800 feet
Alternates: Cairn Basin from Top Spur—8.7 Miles; 2,200 feet
So the stats on this hike make it a good surrogate, and at 90 minutes from Portland, it’s still a reasonable day trip. It also makes a reasonable alternative to McNeil Point—the two destinations share much of the same route. But there’s something missing … views of a great river in a deep gorge from the edge of a cliff. If that’s what you really crave, spend the extra 45 minutes traveling and head east of the Cascades to the Deschutes River and Criterion Ranch—10.2 Miles; 2,200 feet. A bonus that makes up for the significantly longer drive (still doable for a long day): no trees to block any of the views. Which also means no shade—but the flowers are better. Go early in the year or the day. Or take a really big parasol. Hood and Adams make appearances, too.

Closed: Nick Eaton Ridge Loop—14 Miles; 3,800 feet
Alternate: Dry Ridge to Grouse Point—14 Miles; 3,400 feet
Dry Ridge doesn’t get much traffic. The Roaring River Wilderness is less about scenery and more about protecting deep forests and tributaries of the Clackamas. The steep elevation gains on this trail also keep crowds at bay. If you’re missing Eaton’s stiff workout, this is the place for you.

Closed: Backpacking in the Mark O. Hatfield Wilderness 
Alternate: Badger Creek Wilderness, approached from the east
Losing backcountry camping in the Hatfield is a real bummer: quick and easy to get to, and often snow free while the high country is buried. The next closest thing is Badger Creek. Two loop trips can be launched from the School Canyon Trailhead above Tygh Valley, one longer, up over Tygh ridge, and one shorter, down through the canyon of Little Badger Creek (a reasonable 9 mile, 2,150-foot trip.) Or, you can hike up nearby Big Badger Creek for many pleasing miles. No matter which you choose, all have pleasant camping, and a rarity on the dry side of the mountains, consistent water sources. Badger’s network of trails isn’t as vast as Hatfield’s, but it’s a chance to sleep many miles from cars and lights and cell phone signals, still within a few hours of civilization, early or late in the season. Which is also when you should visit, unless you really enjoy heat.

Closed: Angel’s Rest/ Devil’s Rest Loop—10.9 miles, 2,770 feet 
Alternate: Huckleberry Mountain via Wildcat—11.2 miles, 2,200 feet
This is the lonesome way up Huckleberry Mountain, via the Plaza Trail from Douglas Trailhead, which is a quick hour from Portland, up the Wildcat Mountain Road above the OTHER Eagle Creek, near Estacada. You may find this alternate is actually more interesting than the original, with regular glimpses of Hood, and views that allow you to study the architecture of ridges and canyons at the heart of the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness. You will find more solitude (where won’t you, after Angel’s Rest?). Oh, and the occasional glimpse of Jefferson–you don’t get that from Devil’s Rest.

Closed: Larch Mountain Crater—6.6 miles, 1,400 feet
Alternate: Memaloose Lake/ South Fork Mountain—4.6 miles, 1,400 feet
The ramble around Larch Mountain Crater is the meal before the dessert of views from Sherrod Point. This alternate trail has the same quiet forest feel of Larch’s crater, and some of the spectacle of Sherrod, too. To get to the views on this trail above the Clackamas River, you have to work a little harder, but Memaloose Lake along the way, with one of the best rhododendron forests anywhere, more than makes up for it. The lake is known for its newts, which you might find migrating on the trail if you’re there at the right time of year. South Fork’s summit is a bit woodsy–the volcanoes are farther away than on Larch, but there are more of them to see.

Closed: Elevator Shaft—6.7 miles, 1,860 feet
Alternate: Green Canyon Way—6.6 miles, 2,500 feet
You like steep? You’ve you got steep on this trip up Hunchback Mountain from Salmon River. And the forest is nicer, here, too. The mileage for this alternate is to the junction with the Hunchback Trail, which you can then follow all the way to Devil’s Peak lookout, and which may or may not be cleared of blow down. Or you could try the other direction, ambling along Hunchback’s ridge until it begins to drop down towards the Zigzag ranger station. Or just head back down to enjoy the burn while you cool your feet in the Salmon River.

Not closed, but you might want to consider an alternate anyway.

Trails north of the Columbia are going to be taking up a lot of the slack this season. Add the new, weird permits on Dog Mountain, and the loss of the two trailheads close to Table Mountain, and you have reason to consider avoiding some of the Washington side classics until things get back to normal.

Avoid: Table Mountain—Formerly 8, now 15.5 Miles; formerly 3,350, now 4,320 feet
Alternate: Salmon Butte—11.8 Miles; 3,170 feet
Since Bonneville Hot Springs Resort has been converted to a rehab facility, and the private access to the Aldrich Butte trailhead has been closed, the trip up the Gorge’s tallest summit has gone from rewarding punishment (multiple volcano views in the Gorge!) to a route only a trail runner could love. That slog along the PCT was always awful anyway… The great thing about Salmon Butte, the trail is prettier, even if, echoing Table Mountain, it follows an ugly retired road at the start. What you lose in Columbia River views on Salmon Butte, you gain in volcano counting from the summit: eight of ‘em! From a glimpse of the Sisters all the way to Rainier.

Avoid: Hamilton Mountain—7.5 Miles; 2,100 feet
Alternate: Siouxon Creek Hike—8.2 Miles; 1,600 feet
There’s no official reason to avoid Hamilton Mountain: it’s open, the trails are in good repair, it’s easy to get to, it’s still a wonderful trip. But closures elsewhere are likely to push the capacity of this already busy trail—not to mention log-jam the parking lot. Siouxon Creek is not exactly a hidden gem, but it is a little farther, a little less on-the-radar. And what Siouxon lacks in majestic Gorge vibes, it more than makes up for with its deep, lush, forest and pretty river.

Avoid: Dog Mountain—6.9 or 7.4 Miles; 2,800 feet 
Alternate: Nestor Peak—8 Miles; 2,980 feet
Unless they can go at night or during the week, the new permit system may force Dog Mountain off many a hiker’s to-do list this year. Fortunately, Nestor Peak is nearby, and a close match to the famous Dog. You won’t be staring straight down onto the decks of Columbia River barges from Nestor, but the flower show is worth the effort, as are the views out to Adams and Hood.

Avoid: Cape Horn—7.1 Miles; 1,350 feet
Alternate: Falls Creek Falls Loop—6.2 Miles; 1,150 feet
Again, aside from the seasonal closure to protect nesting peregrine falcons on the lower trail, there’s no real reason to avoid Cape Horn, other than overcrowding. Here too, parking is bound to be a mess, compounded by the proximity to Highway 14. Lead by example, leave a little earlier and get home a little later and enjoy this extended version of the Falls Creek Falls trip.

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A Night on Mt. Whitney



by Stefani Dawn, edited by Wendy Marshall

So many people climb Mt. Whitney, the continental U.S.’s highest peak, that permits can be hard to obtain. Most climb it via the hiking trail, while others take the steep scree-fest of Mountaineers’ Route. Still others go by the technical East Face or East Buttress. A number of people climb it, including the technical pitches, in a day. A typical strategy is to assemble the least amount of gear needed, park at the Portal, and ascend 4000 ft. to Base Camp. Then you climb either the East Face or East Buttress 1000 ft. more feet to the full 14,505 ft. elevation, then descend by the 2000 ft. Mountaineers’ Route. Finally, you hike back down over four knee-busting miles to the Portal. The idea not only sounded like a rough prospect to me, it blew my mind. Still, I like a challenge, and knowing people regularly do it got me thinking: “Maybe it’s easier than it seems.” So, after an attempted climb of Mt. Ogden with my husband Rick, followed by some training, I took Whitney on.

In the planning stage, I recalled the primary lesson from our Mt. Ogden practice: allow more time. First, this means time to acclimate to the altitude, but also to decompress and rest, and allow for unplanned incidents. Estimating the climb at a safe minimum of six hours, ten at most, our team of three — Rick, a friend Simon and I — started before sunrise. But time leaked away with each photo, lead switch, and equipment catch. Most especially, repeated attempts at route-finding gobbled up minutes. One surprise time-sink for us was simply stepping aside for other climbers to pass, since we wanted to enjoy our route and not feel rushed. I have never climbed with so many people on a route before. Future hopefuls, take note: Mt. Whitney is a climbers’ super-highway!

We went for efficiency, each person leading multiple pitches in a row to minimize switching leads. Another person flaked ropes or transferred gear at the same time, and at least two of us or even all three climbed simultaneously as often as possible. Still, the pauses added up, and we topped out at 7 p.m. — 12 long hours after we started.

Immediately after summiting, we tried to descend by the Mountaineers’ Route, but sunset was upon us. We found rock cairns and crude Xs, but after peeking over the edge of each one, told each other: “This looks bad.” As light vanished and the temperature dropped, we decided the safest choice would be to bivy on the summit. Whitney is in the Sierra Nevadas, but the altitude coupled with clear skies can still mean bitter cold. Neither had we planned for a bivy; we had only our extra clothing layers, plus remnants of food and dwindling water. Fortunately, there’s a stone and wood hut at the summit, where some thoughtful soul had left an emergency blanket. We piled under the noisy, reflective fabric and huddled for protection from the freezing ground and rapidly stirring winds.

Soon we heard voices and saw headlamps. We greeted two more climbers with a hoorah, and two more 30 minutes later, all from the East Face route. Yet two more, off the East Buttress, opened the door to chat, then went off to attempt Mountaineers’ Route in the dark, leaving us to shiver and try to sleep. These other climbers relieved my mind somewhat. Before they arrived, I wondered how we had so radically miscalculated our time. I thought, “What could we have done differently?” Given what we knew, and that it was our first attempt at this mountain, not much. We’d chosen safety first, and enjoyment next, based on our gear arrangement. Doubts set in: Was I too slow a climber? Should I not have lead any of our 12 pitches? As we discovered, about half the climbers took even longer than we did. All were first-timers, and most were dumbfounded by the maze-like mess of the last five pitches. Whitney in a day, we learned, is not the norm.

Next morning, we still had no luck finding Mountaineers’ Route. Instead, Simon found a steep scree path on the northwest side. I found myself sliding, barely in control. Large rocks tumbled by me, then disappeared over the curve of the slope with echoing crashes. I froze and began sobbing from fear and exhaustion, thinking, I can’t do this. I could think only of an article I’d read about people dying on an alternate route, falling into the small alpine lakes below. From his vantage point ahead Simon reassured us, but I’d reached my wits’ end, and I didn’t want my physical or mental state to slow them down. I insisted Rick give me the spare gear, to lighten his and Simon’s load. Rick wasn’t happy about our splitting up, but agreed to let me take the gentler hikers’ trail, 11 miles to the parking area, with another four miles down the Lone Pine Creek Trail to Iceberg Lake. Emotionally relieved, I made do with a fruit bar and some water donated by a kind group of folks, and took micro-naps in the sun.

The Whitney trail stretched on, pounding my toes, but my legs held up surprisingly well. I thought of Rick and Simon, hoping they succeeded unhurt in their risky descent. The Whitney Portal Valley appeared, and as I passed the Lone Pine Creek trailhead, I saw Rick, running toward me with his 50lb. pack still on! He and Simon had found a viable descent even faster than the Mountaineers’ Route. Their choice isn’t a good route if there’s a risk of ice, and they met a few sections with “consequences”, they said, but nothing steeper than where I’d had my meltdown.

I felt grateful my teammates were willing to meet me, cutting our odyssey short by a day, and grateful to my husband for taking up the extra gear. Rick and Simon were completely understanding of my decision, and informed me that the prospect of beer and a burger was plenty motivation to get off the mountain.

I can now safely assert that Mt. Whitney is beyond the “common climber”, as I call it, even with an ultralight approach. It’s both easy and not easy, and should not be underestimated. I learned a lot, felt proud and grateful, had fun, and got down safely. But I also got whipped!

If you plan to give Mt. Whitney a shot, here are a few things to keep in mind:

  • The approach to Base Camp is 4000 ft. in four miles — doable, but a strain at times.
  • The Sierra Nevadas are mostly sunny in summer, and Whitney doesn’t get the typical daily summer mountain thunderstorms. Still, be prepared for season storms to sneak up on you, and it can get quite cold.
  • The East Buttress climb is a 5.7 or less, if you can find the right path. Route-finding can be a challenge, especially at the top, where you can be met with an unprotectable 5.10 grade climb! Then it’s down-climbing, traversing, whatever you can, to get to something climbable.
  • Once again, allow plenty of time, emergency and/or overnight supplies, food and water.

About the Author
Stefani Dawn’s favorite pasttime is rock climbing, especially easy trad, multi-pitch and technical sport climbs. Her second favorite pasttime is writing about rock climbing. Third favorite? Hosting outdoor meet-up events to connect with other climbers and mentor newbies. Check out her website, Common Climber (http://www.commonclimber.com/), for articles, tips, reviews, and photos. Submissions invited!

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Honestly

Questing on a different type of fun on a first ascent of a hard new mixed route in Colorado. Photo: Karsten Delap





by Chris Wright

Billy Joel says honesty is a lonely word, yet both he and my mother always told me it was important. I know you know this, but I’m telling you now too: it is. It’s hard sometimes, but as Shakespeare reminds us, “To thine own self be true.” If you’re not, you will know it, and when you’re up on that crimp high above that wiggly little cam or strung out on a ridge in goodness-know-where wishing to anything you weren’t there, you may wonder why you put yourself in this position. When it comes to climbing, as it does in so many of life’s avenues, if we could only be honest with ourselves, we could be so much happier for it.

Here’s what I mean. If you’re anything like me, you do things for a lot of different reasons. Some you have to, some you want to, some you enjoy, some you don’t, and some you like sometimes and not so much others. So it is for me with skiing. I love to ski. I’ve done it since I was a little kid, I do a lot of it for work, I do a fair bit for fun, and mostly I like it. My favorite is touring; I love the feel of being out in the mountains, moving elegantly though them, setting a skin track, and getting up high. But what I love the most is the movement. I love laying my skis over on edge, skiing fast, and the feeling of flying that I get when it all lines up just right. But I hate skiing moguls. I hate crud and choppy snow, I don’t like it if it’s icy, I’ve no interest in dropping cliffs (okay, maybe little ones), and I certainly don’t see death-fall faces as my idea of a good time. So if I’m honest with myself, I know I don’t really love to push it in skiing. Sure, I love big days. I like long tours, ski mountaineering, and skiing the steeps. But I’ll never be motivated by the extreme line, the gnarliest huck, or the sickest spine. I know I could probably get better if I logged endless crud laps and drilled myself on the bumps, but it’s just not who I am. I ski because I love the feeling of it, and it doesn’t have to be hard to be good. When it comes to climbing however, my motivations are different.

Give me a painful jam, an epic adventure, a miserable bivy, a god-awful slog and I love it. Give me a nice crimp, a nice crack, a long route, a hard route, a short route, or an easy route and I’d probably take it. I love to climb for so many reasons. I love the feeling of being up in the air, I love the struggle of a hard move, and I even like the feeling of groping desperately, pumped stupid, not knowing if I’m going to fall any moment. I like the uncertainty of seeing how far I can go, how high I can climb, and how far I can take it, knowing the beauty is in the un-assured outcome. But I also like a nice classic 5.easy, I love the feel of a good move whether it’s hard or it’s not, I like big mountains and small, and I’d be lying if I said that I wanted to push it everyday or that I could always wake up and go questing. Sometimes I just want to go climbing, and I don’t want to be scared, or to bleed, or to fall off at all. I just want to go powder skiing, if you know what I mean.

So here’s where the honesty comes in. Freud used to say that we can change what we do, but not what we want to do. That may or may not really be true, but when it comes to climbing – or skiing, or hiking, or running or whatever – you can’t fool yourself into wanting to do what you don’t want to do. You might very well be able to actually do it, but if we do these things for fun and you’re not having any, then what’s the point? Because even if you get up the climb or down the run, if you hate it, why do it?

One of my good friends and climbing partners gives sage advice sometimes. He’s not trying to be profound, but two things he’s said to me over the years have really stuck. We were once standing underneath Heinous Cling, one of my favorite climbs in Smith’s famed Dihedrals, and I was fretting that I hadn’t been on it in a while and didn’t remember the moves. He told me that I should just climb or fall off, and to not make it any more complicated than that. So simple. He also once told me I should grab the white ones and step on the black ones, which if you’ve ever done that route is surprisingly useful beta, but the point is that it worked for me that day. Over the years I’ve found that the days I climb the best are the days that I can just get out of my head and climb. Those are the days when I’m not thinking about falling, I’m not thinking about the buts and the ifs and the doubts, I’m just climbing. But I know that’s not going to happen if I try to go hard every day I go out. I’ll probably have a lousy time, I might fall off a bunch, I might let my partner down, and worst-case scenario I might actually get hurt. So I try to be honest with myself when I ask the simplest of questions in choosing an objective: What is it that I want? Do I want to go on a vision quest, or do I just want to go climbing? Do I want to go big or do I just want to get out? Do I want to dig deep, or do I just want to have fun?

As a mountain guide I’ve seen this experiment play out again and again. I’ve seen people have the most moving experiences and the lousiest vacations, and the bad ones are almost always the result of people throwing themselves at things they actually didn’t want to do. Whether it’s because they never asked the question or didn’t give themselves permission to respect the answer I’ll never know, but for your sake and your partner’s, just try it. Ask yourself what it is you really want to do today, and listen. Sometimes it’s going to be the case that you really do want to venture out in to the void, to pull harder than you ever have and to embrace the uncertainty of success. Sometimes the noble struggle will leave you so satisfied you’ll be glad you fought through it. Other times you might just wanna ski powder, or climb something that’s fun, even if it means that it’s easy. We do need to train our weaknesses, but not every day. It doesn’t always have to be a voyage of self-discovery. Sometimes we can just let ourselves be, give ourselves what we want, and enjoy it.