WFW - Hamilton in the Snow

For my birthday, I chose a day on my own in the woods. A solo hike up Hamilton
Mountain seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. I hadn’t been up there for
a long time, and was overdue for my favorite go-to hike.

There as snow on the ground at the trailhead; a promise of deeper snow up
above, so I put on my new strap-on cleats – the heavy-duty ones with the teeth
like crampons.

I put in my earbuds; music enough to lay the soundtrack for my day, but quiet
enough that I could still hear the sounds of nature through it. Lord Huron would
be perfect – beautiful, ethereal and just a bit mysterious.

Out there’s a world that calls for me, girl
Headin’ out into the unknown.

The first steps up the trail from the parking lot are anything but unknown – as
familiar to me as any footsteps in the Gorge. The snow, with the spots of bare
ground where tracks had worn through spoke of earlier adventures, and the
promises of my day. This would be time out of time for me – time within my
mind, punctuated only with brief trail greetings and exchanges of pleasantries
with others of my ilk.

There is no waiting for the incline to begin, and within a hundred yards my
breathing was deeper and faster. The crispness of the winter air held tickled my
nose, and lungs. I anticipate the first landmark – the clearing that opens for the
power lines coming from the dam to keep the lights on.

And I feel like I know this place
as the tree line breaks into wide-open space

A hiker ahead of me had pulled over. She was wearing tennis shoes, with no
traction help. She said she would continue, but I could only wonder how far up
she would reconsider and turn around. We spoke briefly, and I pushed on.

You made me swear I’d never forget,
I made a vow I’d see you again

The trail winds around a bend then opens to the left, looking down to the first
footbridge, cutting back to cross a stream. I remember the first time I brought my
daughter and former wife on this trail; stopping here to take their picture on the
bridge. It’s so easy to frame the shot, and catch an unforgettable moment – even
in summer. It was familiar in the snow—though the bridge now held only
memories—it was starkly beautiful.

Further up I began to hear the sounds of Hardy Creek in the distance – meaning
that Rodney Falls and the Pool of the Winds were getting nearer. I met the hiker I
has seen earlier on her way back to the lot. Slippery was the order of the day, and
she made a good decision to go back.

I reach the place where the trail descends to the footbridge that crosses Hardy
Creek just below Rodney Falls. I pause to take in this beauty before I walk down.
I don’t hike up to the Pool of the Winds this time. The trail is narrow where it
passes under a cliff, and in slippery conditions it’s a risk I’ll pass up this day. I love
this feature, but not enough to give my life to reach it.

Lie where I land, let my bones turn to sand
I was born on the lake and I don't want to leave it

Across the bridge, with a couple pictures in the can, I walk back up the other side.
The trail is steeper now, and will be for the next mile. You don’t necessarily
notice it as you walk, but there is one place where the terrain folds back, and the
path continuing on the other side, looks daunting in the distance. Once you
round the corner though, it’s just one foot in front of the other, looking forward
to the turn at the top of this pitch, what has an incredible view of Beacon Rock,
and the Oregon side of the Gorge. This is stunning in summer and winter. This
year, it is doubly stark. I’m torn between the rugged beauty of the bare trees
jutting whisker-like from the landscape, and the grief for the incredible forest that
no longer provides the hills a modicum of modesty. I take a couple pictures as I
catch my breath, and press on.

A bit further is the fork in the trail. The new sign is more informative, but less
whimsical than the old sign that read ‘Difficult’ to the left, and ‘More Difficult’ to
the right. I loved that sign, both as validation for the sensation in my legs, and as
a metaphor for so many of the choices we face in life.

After a bit of scrambling, I reach a promontory that goes out to a 500+ foot cliff. I
choose to not walk out to the edge today, but take a picture of a gap that affords
a peek-a-boo view of a meadow, and the river beyond.

Don't want a long ride,
I don't wanna die at all.

Because of a late start and friends making me dinner when I got home, I had
planned to hike only to a saddle that affords a breathtaking view of a cliff-face at

the edge of the last part of the climb. But the snow was deeper there, and
sloppy. People were passing less frequently, and it looked like weather might be
coming in. Since I was by myself, I turned around to head down.

About a quarter mile back down, I was approaching a particularly challenging five-
foot step. As I began to consider what would be the best way go down the step, I
forgot to think about where I was in the moment. My feet came out from under
me. I slid about twenty feet, changing directions at the last minute – avoiding a
significant drop, and landing at the bottom of the five-foot step. Problem solved.

All that was injured was a slightly bruised buttock and my pride. A small price to
pay to be there.

The rest of the hike down was uneventful. I reached the parking lot grateful for
my time alone in the woods, and ready for the companionship of my friend with
food and drink together.

This is my go-to hike. I have stayed away for a while – allowing her to provide
solace to displaced hikers from the Oregon side. But I have missed her.

Where could that girl have gone?
Where? I've wandered far.
Where could that girl have gone?
She left no trail but I cannot fail; I will find her.