We awoke, after what sounded throughout the night like a thunderstorm just about to crack over our tent -- heavy winds, intermittent rains, distant thunder and lightning, everything booming - -miraculously, to a dry, cozy morning. I felt exhausted, like I could have slept another 12 hours. The first day back always does it. I got up and around at about 6:30. Outside the tent, the skies were still dark, ominous, heavy. It would surely rain at some point today. I was just glad our tent and packs hadn't yet been soaked.
It couldn't have been two minutes after having this thought that the calm snapped. It started pouring, quickly, and horribly heavy; this was not going to stop. We hustled frantically to get things packed away. Everything became muddy in a flash. And out we set, umbrellas pulled down low, the thunder booming all around.
Soon, but only for a few brief moments, we became afraid for our safety. Shortly after leaving camp, we crossed the exposed flanks of Indian Mountain, where we were startled by searing, crackling blsts of lightning, not too far off. The mist was thick and inpenetrable and it was difficult to make out the slopes around us. We both fearfully lowered our umbrellas momentarily, letting the rain come down onto our heads and shoulders. Our little lightning rods, however, didn't stay down for long. Soon we were back under tree cover so we hastily ducked back under our miniature, portable shelters. As long as we're not the highest thing around, we're safe, right? We hoped so . . .
The rain pummeled us for a solid couple of hours before letting up. We passed a number of weekend backpackers throughout the day who assured us that clear skies were on their way. We also passed one fellow through-hiker, Roni, an Israeli whom we had met at White Pass a couple of weeks ago. He was strung up between two trees directly across the trail in his hammock/tarp shelter. We ducked by and accidentally woke him. Startled, he called out from behind his nylon wall that he thought we were crazy to be out walking in such weather. He has a reputation, himself, for being a night hiker and I wonder if he would have been up and around yet regardless of the thunderstorm.
We took a gorgeous detour to see Ramona Falls. I am delighted to be here in Oregon's green.
Also, we crossed the Sandy on a narrow log; seemed pretty dangerous after crossing and looking back. The water was rushing very quickly and violently, too muddy to see how deep, though.
The day finally cleared up this evening as we ascended up onto Mt. Hood's western flank from down in the Sandy River gorge. I hiked much of the afternoon with our wet, filthy tent draped over my pack, in an attempt to air it out before having to crawl back inside tonight. Now, we're cooking beside it and the fading sun has dried everything fully. Hood's peak looms behind us, its base awash with the sun's golden gloam and vast stretching meadows of wild flowers. It is a beautiful spot we've got here to ourselves tonight. Much of the joy I take in doing this hike day in and day out derives from these restful, hard earned moments such as this -- the grandeur of the world around us, being here with Eliza, past and future disolved . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment