Another beautiful Oregon summer day...we hiked a fast ten miles into Olallie Lake today, happy to have left our uninvited camp company behind (he said he was trying to make Timberline Lodge by the evening, a mere 45 miles north of our campsite; good luck, buddy).
Olallie Lake Resort turned out to be a really fine, secluded spot out in the middle of nowhere. The lake, spotted with row boats and lined with thick, tall Douglas Fir forest sits near the base of Mt. Jefferson, named by Lewis and Clark after the president in 1805 (?). We had forwarded a re-supply package to the little shop and rental office and much to our dismay, when we arrived, it hadn't yet arrived. This is the same package that we sent from LA to ourselves in Snoqualmie Pass, WA to an address which no longer even exists. Apparently, mail only gets delivered out to the Resort at Olallie Lake once a week, and irregularly at that. One more Postal Service blunder and we're out.
We hung our heads and started looking around the store at all of the exorbitantly priced junk foods from which we could choose this week's provision. $1 Ramen noodles, $3.50 bags of chips, candy bars. We hadn't really started to panic, though, when the blonde dreadlocked cashier lady came to the rescue just in time and pointed us toward the two enormous green plastic hiker boxes on the floor in the next room. "You guys shouldn't have anything to worry about if food's all you need," she assured us. She was so right. If ever there were a place to miss your re-supply box, this was it. We fully restocked for the next 4-5 days with what was in those boxes, from nuts and fruit to dehydrated meals and pasta to bagels and peanut butter and even tortillas. We're feeling lucky again . . .
We cooked ourselves up a lunch of dehydrated clam chowder mix with real clams from a vacuum sealed baggie out by the boat landing and had a nice chat with a young couple out for the weekend from Portland, watched the sun rise up over the lake, cleaned up, etc. These brief, frequent stops which seem to be more the rule than its exception here in Oregon are turning out to be really great for all of us doing this long distance hiking bit. They're everything a town stop can be (minus a hotel room, perhaps, but what would we know about that?) without the hassle, without the hitch, without the headaches. At Olallie Lake, there wasn't even a phone to use so I couldn't busy myself with e-mailing and whatnot. And then, two hours later, after a nice refreshing round of fudge-sickles, we were right back on the trail.
The afternoon took us up onto Mt. Jefferson's northern flank -- all volcanic boulder fields and the last of the nearly melted snow drifts. At our summit on a ridge overlooking the lush, colorful meadows of Jefferson Park below, we met an older guy, Derrick who had come out for the night. Smoking a cigarette, he wiped his forhead and sighed, "It's gotten a heck of a lot steeper up snce the last time I hiked this stretch 20 years ago." Mosquitoes were all around us and we only chatted for a few minutes, but he seemed like an interesting, kind person. As we parted ways after passing him on the trail a ways down the next slope, he gave us a portion of his summer sausage and a roll of crackers. We were touched by his generosity and his demeanor. We both wished that we could have spoken with him more. Again, I was reminded of my father, somehow. It's such a strange thing, how random strangers can make such an impression, especially considering the annoyance I had felt last night with the through-hiker.
This hike has been such a solitary experience for Eliza and myself. Maybe solitary is the wrong word. We never hike with other people. We avoid camping near other people. In ways, the tent, the area around it, the trees, sky, wind, views -- they feel to me like a home now. Lying in the tent tonight, we both commented on how marvelous a feeling it is, this comfort, this ease with doing what we are doing. Sleeping outside, going through our routines at camp, cooking, cleaning -- it's as comfortable as anything else could be, it seems. We aren't wanting for much anymore.
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