I find it slightly ironic that my last trip report detailed a bear encounter. I see a slightly discomforting albeit really exciting trend developing. And for those who wanted to read this because I put "cougars" in the subject... well, it's at the end on my drive home. I won't be offended if you skip ahead.
I've been itching to get back up to Barrett Spur on Mt. Hood for the past couple years, and specifically to the "notch" that just seems like a cleft in the mountain that would cradle the hiker willing to make tracks to it. Below is one of my parting shots, taken from Lolo Pass. The red arrow is the notch between Barrett Spur and the mountain. It's actually pretty narrow and defined, but this particular view blends it with the ridge behind it. The blue arrow is the approximate location of the McNeil Point shelter, for the sake of reference. Sorry my arrows are kind of rudimentary.
You can get there from several trail heads, but I chose to go in at Vista Ridge. Right now, the road is pretty decent. Lolo Pass rd is closed, and you detour on rd 1828 to Lolo Pass. It's paved, but all sunken and potholey in places. But somebody came along with a spray can of orange paint and highlighted it all so you can see the rough spots in spite of the dappled sunlight that distorts everything (thank you!). Then you take road 1810, which used to be pothole avenue but is now pretty nicely graded to rd 18, then to rd 16, and finally to rd 1650 to road's end and the TH. Perhaps because of access for the Dollar Lk fire, this road is waaaaay better than I remember it being. From my gas station stop in Sandy, it took 50 miles and 1.5 hours to reach the TH.
I was hiking by 10am, first one on the trail that morning (yeah!) even after having to come back to the car for my camera (doh!). I passed a couple on their way out after a night at Dollar Lk - mild pangs of jealousy as I learned they were the only ones there, and on a Saturday night! Sweet! It warmed up quickly, especially with so little shade through the burned out area. But signs of life are returning everywhere.
And, among other restrictions, make sure you don't go hang gliding through the burn area. Whew, I almost threw mine in my pack! I would have had to hike it back out to the car if I hadn't decided at the last minute to leave it!
I was up on the ridge with views in a short while. For some reason, Barrett Spur looked really daunting to me. "Good grief - I'm going up there? What was I thinking?" But things always look dramatic and less attainable up here for some reason. Maybe it's just me.
Rather than turning on the Timberline trail and going up Barrett Spur via Dollar Lake, I stayed with a user path on Vista Ridge. Along the way, with the extra shade afforded by the ridge, there were several pockets of wildflowers hanging on into the heat of late summer. They made me smile.
I stopped at the green knoll just west of the Barrett Spur 'shoulder' and re-fueled. I am admittedly out of shape (at least of the high altitude kind) and pondered my route to the notch.
I scrambled down to the snow field below and walked across its nearly flat surface to the tumbly mass of rock, moraine, and glacier beyond. In retrospect, I may need to brush up on my glacier knowledge. Crossing that snow field was probably more dangerous than I thought, because it wasn't actually a snowfield, it was a glacier. I've made a mental note to do this hike with my dad next time so I have the benefit of his mountaineering skills and not trust my fate to dumb luck again. I skirted the crevasses at the far end, and stuck to the more stable rocks I could find, choosing each step carefully. At times, the ice under the rocks gave me pause. A couple of times my feet started sinking into the soft ice-melt mud underneath, leaving me with a weird quicksand sensation.
I was rewarded with an up close view of Mt. Hood and its glaciers (I didn't zoom these photos) that I have never before seen.
The landscape was rather otherworldly, with mud and rocks in constant movement, albeit trickling. The sound of water running out of sight, waterfalls tumbling down the glaciated walls of the mountain, and the distant rumble of rock fall on the high cliffs far above me made me feel very small in the shadow of this very alive mountain. I made it to the notch, and peered around the corner to the next glacier, the next valley, the next ridge. From up here it seemed as if the mountain would tumble into Elk Cove if were not stitched together and frozen in place by the glaciers and snow that entomb it.
I ambled back, taking time to peer (safely) in the smaller crevasses that were nearest me. One had this amazing pool of blue water in it. Melt water dripping into it sounded like music. I had to throw a few rocks in it just to see if I could tell how deep it was, but the splash made such a cool echoey sound I just stood and threw rocks in it for the sheer delight of the moment.
I made my way back up to the green knoll, and then turned to huff and puff my way up the shoulder of Barrett Spur. I stopped at the first high point, knowing I was low on water and not wanting to push my time frame. Some obliging fellow hikers unknowingly contributed a wonderful sense of scale to my photo. They are the tiny specks atop the foreground ridge.
I reluctantly turned in my shoes and made my way back down the mountain to my car and the road home.
All through the day I had a lot weighing on my mind - a rough year of sorrow, life decisions, workplace conflict - but it all seemed to dissipate in the thrill of being outside in the high country. My whole body felt lighter because I stopped worrying about it all. I just finished reading a book written in 1916 by Mary Roberts Rinehart called
Through Glacier Park, which details her journey by horse across the Continental Divide. I found myself going over in my mind and resonating with something she wrote: “If you have got this far, you are one of us, and you will go on. For the lure of the high places is in your blood. The call of the mountains is a real call. The veneer, after all, is so thin. Throw off the impedimenta of civilization, the telephones, the silly conventions, the lies that pass for truth. Go out to the West. Ride slowly, not to startle the wild things. Throw out your chest and breathe; look across green valleys to wild peaks where mountain sheep stand impassive on the edge of space. Let the summer rains fall on your upturned face and wash away the memory of all that is false and petty and cruel. Then the mountains will get you. You will go back. The call is a real call.” And I just love how that rings so true! For some reason, I have so much more clarity when I'm hiking, and my biggest decisions boil down to which way I'm going to cross that snow field, or whether to push on farther or turn back because I'm low on water. I'm so grateful for these beautiful places so close to home that calm my soul and literally wash away all that is false, petty, and cruel.
It was in this frame of mind that, driving away from the trail head, I turned for this parting shot:
And then came the proverbial icing on the cake, the cherry on top, etc. As I drove around a corner on the road, perhaps 1-2 miles north of Top Spur rd on rd 1828, two cougars were staring back at me before quickly darting into the bushes along a stream, their incredibly long, black-tipped tails undulating smoothly behind them. I stopped in stunned awe, having never seen one in the wild before (much less TWO!), in spite of all my galavantings. Hoping they had not gone far, and remembering how my last animal encounter left me picture-less (ha! lesson learned!), I inched forward in my car until I could see them both lingering in the underbrush. I managed to get a photo of their faces staring back at me, and then just sat there in wonderful awe and gratefulness for seeing these magnificent creatures (ahem, and from the delightful safety of my car). We regarded each other for a few minutes until they grew bored of me and meandered deeper into the forest out of sight, like spirits dissipating in a mist. I know it is not the greatest picture, but they are in the center of the photo in the shadows. I am still in a state of utter amazement.
After talking with a couple people and one of the rangers at Zig Zag, it seems likely these two were juveniles (they were perhaps 3.5-4 feet long, not including the tail), which meant that mom was probably somewhere nearby keeping an eye on them (and me). I truly feel so lucky to have had this encounter - it made my day, my week, my month, and possibly my year.
