Something we did worked, and the next day she was back to her normal self. Our plan was slightly ambitious: we would drive up to northern Oregon, backpack the 40-mile Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, visit our friends in their new house outside of Seattle, and then drive 850 miles home in one go. There were quite a few things that could go wrong, in addition to Denali’s stomach issues. We could have car troubles, a forest fire could start near Mt. Hood, the trail could be covered in snow, the river crossings could be impassable, the mosquitoes could drive us mad, Denali might not have enough stamina to finish, and the list of worries goes on. And there was that little thing called COVID that we needed to avoid too.
The Timberline Trail is one big loop and we started at the Timberline Lodge. We passed a few backpackers early on who were about to finish the trail. One warned us about an upcoming river crossing that required a “trust fall onto a huge boulder” and he looked a little shaken up. But most others seemed happy and serene, so I took that as a good sign. There were so many highlights those first few days. We hiked through dense Cascade forest, there were infinite streams for Denali to swim in, and we had view after view of all the nearby volcanoes. But if I’m being completely honest, the first couple days were also pretty brutal. We planned to hike the trail over five days, averaging about eight miles a day. I know that sounds pretty slow, but we wanted to be conservative since we weren’t sure what Denali could handle. What we didn’t account for was how heavy five days of food for two people and a dog would be. I don’t know exactly how much our packs weighed, but mine was heavy enough that I let out an involuntary groan each time I put it on.
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| The trail was lined with wildflowers |
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| Denali found a hidden waterfall |
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Classic PNW mossy stream
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The river crossings also presented a challenge, as I predicted. We had an audience for our first major one: two backpackers were intrigued to see how Denali would get across, and we had no issues there. But many of the other crossings had logs, most of them precarious, narrow, and slick. The type that a human could possibly navigate carefully across with the aid of trekking poles, but we had no idea if Denali was nimble enough to balance on them. Our approach the first time we came across this scenario was to have Owen guide her across, holding her up by the top strap of her backpack, which she was not a fan of. For the rest of the major rivers, we usually let Denali cross in the water while we rock hopped or balanced on logs, and she seemed to have an easier time than us.
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| Cooling off in a glacial stream |
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Napping in the water during a quick break
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On day three, we were determined to make it to the shelter at Cooper Spur, which was at one of the highest points on the trail and supposedly had excellent views of Mt Hood. Cooper Spur also had no water, and was situated at the top of a long, steep, sandy climb. Owen was hauling so much water up that hill that he couldn’t stand up straight and I burst out laughing, mostly from exhaustion, but also a little bit from watching him hike all stooped over. It was only after the trip, when I studied the elevation profile of the trail, that I realized why we were so tired those first few days: it was pretty much all uphill.
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| Taking a snow bath |
The last two days, with all the major climbing behind us, we flew down the trail- sometimes almost literally. At one point, the sandy trail was too hot for Denali’s paws, so we sprinted through the sunny spots and rested in the shade. I have never sprinted with a full pack before, and let me tell you, it was not my most graceful moment. Our last night on the trail we celebrated with an epic three-course feast consisting of cheese and crackers for hors d'oeuvres, macaroni and cheese for the main course, and freeze-dried dark chocolate cheesecake for dessert, washed down with raspberry ice flavored water. It was all very gourmet, as you can imagine.
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| Near the trail's high point |
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Almost at the trail's end: we did it!
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We completed the loop early the next morning and with all day ahead of us we decided to take the long way to get to our friend’s house in North Bend, Washington. Using our trusty National Geographic Road Atlas, we mapped out a route in the mountains that steered clear of I-5. We drove along the Columbia River Gorge and then gorged at Backwoods Brewing Company where we made quick work to replenish any calories lost on the trail. We even got an unexpected view of Mount St. Helens. Things started to go south shortly thereafter. Turns out the scenic route was actually all National Forest Service roads, which were remote and beautiful, but perhaps not the best option when you want to cover 200-plus miles in an afternoon. After several hours of navigating pothole-ridden semi-paved roads and a mild temper tantrum from Owen, we finally arrived at Madeline and Evan's house.
What I saw next can only be described as a bare-footed, bearded hobbit waving merrily from the entrance to his cabin in the woods. (In case you're wondering, that hobbit was named Evan.) We spent the next several days at their cabin living not that differently from hobbits: we ate and drank liberally, we wandered through the woods, and we caught up as only old friends can do. Denali was pretty content there too- she rotated between taking up their entire couch, sleeping in a dark, cool hallway she commandeered as her den, and searching for microscopic crumbs in their kitchen. One night, we prepared a meal so elaborate that according to the recipe it should have taken days to cook. We took a few shortcuts and you know what? It was still one of the most delicious home-cooked meals I’ve ever had.
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| Making herself at home |
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| I could not get over the view from their backyard! Photo credit: Madeline |
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| Happy to be back on the trails. Photo credit: Madeline |
That Monday, we had to do the grueling drive home: 850 miles and 16 hours including stops. The next morning, still pretty worn down from our long drive, I slept in a bit then logged onto my computer to start the workday. I had blocked off the first couple hours to tackle email. But something caught my eye immediately: a random, reoccurring 9am meeting had been placed on my calendar, organized by someone I didn’t recognize. Odd, but I figured I had been added by accident. I got back to the tedious work of sorting through hundreds of emails that had come in the past week. Eventually, I came across several emails from another person I didn’t recognize, giving me access to different systems I’d never heard off. Also very odd. Finally, I found an email that solved the mystery: I had been activated as a Disaster Service Worker, which is government-speak for saying I’d been pulled from my regular job to work on COVID-19.
I’ve worked in local government long enough to know about the Disaster Service Worker fine print. Hell, I’ve even taken training classes about it. But I never actually thought I would get assigned as a DSW. This may sound dramatic, but in that moment it felt like my world was crashing down. After four months of working from home and enjoying all the perks that come with it, I had to go back to the office full-time. It’s been almost two months since I was activated, and I’ve settled into my new routine at the Emergency Operations Center. Luckily I’m not working directly with the public. My role is behind the scenes, managing a volunteer database. There are surely some benefits to being in the office: free donuts every Friday, an ergonomic sit-stand desk, and the type of satisfaction from completing a task with my teammates that only comes from working in person together. As my new manager likes to say each morning, “it’s another day in paradise.” There's a hint of sarcasm there, but I still can't tell how much.
By now I’m sure you’ve seen the news about the wildfires here. A pandemic, civil unrest, and now some of the worst wildfires in history. What could happen next? My coworker likes to remind me that scientifically speaking, California is supposed to fall off into the ocean one of these days. In the midst of all this was Labor Day weekend. If you’ve read my blog long enough, you know that adventuring is pretty much mandatory for us on holiday weekends. So I scoured the fire maps, checked for closures, and finally settled on a place to go backpacking that wasn’t currently on fire or about to be on fire. Approaching the trailhead in the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, I second guessed our choice. The forest looked like it had been torched by a wildfire just a year or two ago. We were supposed to hike to a gorgeous backcountry lake, and I worried it’d be just one big burnt forest, an image I was trying to escape from. The other cars at the trailhead were a good sign though, and we hit the trail hopeful. We made it out to the lake pretty quickly, and set up a near perfect basecamp overlooking the water complete with a rock for a makeshift kitchen table and a perch for Denali. The only thing missing was blue skies. The next morning we decided to explore Spicer Meadow Reservoir, which looked close on the map but in reality was about 300 nearly vertical feet below our camp. There was no easy way down, and having Denali made it a little more complicated. At one particularly precarious point, Denali tried to climb on our heads to get down. When we finally reached the lake, we were rewarded with a perfect swimming spot all to ourselves.
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| Looking down at the reservoir |
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| Somewhere in the wilderness |
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Admiring her valley of squirrels
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So what's next? Are we packing up and leaving California, as some have suggested we do? Not yet. For better or for worse, we are not ready to leave this state and there are still adventures to be had.
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