The first few nights of our trip, only four camping chairs sat around the fire. Jurgen, Rachael, Zach, and I filled the forest with laughter, poured it out the windows while dance-partying down the highway, and spilled it into every space in our beings. Some people have a special, un-nameable quality that makes you feel good when they are near. It has something to do with spunk, attitude, humor, and sincerity. My three friends definitely have that quality and it felt wonderful to simply sit around the fire with them.
Rain woke us the next morning, or maybe it was that early train on the tracks we foolishly chose to camp next to. We packed up and headed to Multnomah Falls, which is the tallest falls in Oregon at 620 feet. All I have to say about this place is: Multnomah-Shmult-foam-ah! It wasn't nearly as beautiful as Eagle Creek Trail and there were five times as many people swarming everywhere (including at least two buses of asian tourists and three dozen young parents with babies strapped to their backs and others toddling along beside). I will admit the falls there were beautiful but I prefer unpaved trails where you can walk completely immersed in nature. Multnomah Falls has too many distractions that slap me back to the reality of our overpopulated globe.
After the hike, we loaded our damp selves into the “burban” (my father's navy blue, diesel suburban which faithfully hauled us all over the state) and headed out along the Columbia River Gorge. We drove through the town of Hood River and took Highway 35 over Mount Hood to Central Oregon. I love the transition from lush, jungle-like forests, densely populated with trees and undergrowth, to the high desert with sagebrush and sparse growing Juniper trees. Breaking through the clouds into the sun feels good too.
That night we slept at my parent's house in Redmond. My red-headed little sister, Faith, monopolized the dinner conversation by monologing about cat warriors named Mousefur, Rainwhisker, Brokentail, and One Eye. Despite her bossy-ness and love for farting in my friends faces, I adore her.
The next morning, we met up with my cousin Hollie during a peacock mating ritual at Peterson's Rock Garden. That poor male peacock had his feathers fanned out for twenty minutes at least and the she-bird didn't even look up once. He kept strutting forward slowly and then, turning around to flap his tail feathers at her. I don't think I've seen anything more spectacularly hilarious in my life.
Next we picked up my 17 year-old sister, Kendra, and hauled the whole crew to a rock climber's paradise: Smith Rocks. Instead of taking Misery Ridge Trail, we followed the river trail along the base for awhile, and then cut off towards the top, zig-zagging our own way to the seemingly untouched peaks. I love trying to run up the 45 degree angle, half sliding every other step on loose gravel and sandy soil. Arriving at the top, thoroughly dusted and dripping sweat, feels so good. You can see for fifty miles in any direction and also 300 feet down the cliff you just conquered.
I feel overwhelming gratitude for these moments with these people. Sitting on top of a cliff while dangling our feet over the edge in reverent silence wraps us all thickly in the now moment. Some moments aren't punctured by distractions and those are the kind I treasure.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment