June, 2013

   A lot has happened since my last post which I think was September 2012 by the photos below.  Instead of getting into the abbreviated version of the past 9 months I choose to get right into the present and in doing so I will keep the chatter brief.  In January I had my Canon AL1 repaired through Blue Moon Camera shop in St. Johns.  When I went to pick up the camera I purchased a roll of color film.  Within two hours I went back and dropped the roll off to be developed.  Since then I have upgraded cameras and exposed more film.  I've taken two classes at Newspace center for photography to remember the processing steps and learn some refinement I hadn't picked up in high school.  Below are a few 8 x 10 prints I've made in the past few months.  More recently I've been printing more on 11 x 14 paper.
  I am still practicing and working up to better results.  Returning to photography feels like the mode of expression that fits my life right now.  It accompanies me on adventures and even becomes a motivating force to rushed packing of the van and getting on the freeway with no clear destination.  Unlike drawing or painting I am further along regarding my satisfaction with some of the images I've created thus far.  The mechanical aspect of the medium appeals to me as well.  The machine of the camera and the enlarger are elegant designs.  I find photography to be similar to riding a bicycle; the user can choose to make it as simple or as complex as they wish. 

Morrison Creek Camp, Mt. Adams, Sept. 01, 2012

   Labor Day, falling in the week where it always does and as that day related to my regular days off meant I now had a four day weekend.  Although it was pretty short notice I had been given that the bike shop would be closed in recognition of the National holiday, Eli and I both knew it would be foolish to waste an opportunity to go back into the woods for an extended stay, even if it were a national event to head out to the woods and knowing the campsites would be full-up with city riff-raff, RV’s, trampolines, whatnot. 
It would be a challenge to find a place where we could be away from the humans.  So I directed us to a little rough hewn camp on the ankles of Mt. Adams, Morrison Creek.
   The roads were 3-6” deep with powdery ash and dust in the campgrounds.  Descriptions of nearby hikes attributed the fine powder to the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helens to the Northeast.  Clouds of the dust trailed behind us when we first drove around the grounds. 
   Only one site was occupied on the creek that first evening, a boisterous couple of fellas around a campfire.  We picked a spot on the opposite side, a short walk to the pit toilet, nestled off the road.  The forest around the campgrounds is mixed timber, much of it newer growth as the area has been recovering from forest fires.  The Forest Service had done some work taking down dead wood and piling up dead branches and debris in an attempt to reduce the risk of a forest fire spreading I suppose.  But there was plenty of fuel all around.

Camp at Morrison Creek

   We made our modest fires in the small stone circle pit from this wood debris surrounding us.  Recognizing the risk for fires we were more diligent than I think we had been on past camp adventures, using our filtered camp water to smother coals at the conclusion of our evenings. 
   Day one we opted to explore Trail #16, Shorthorn.  The trail is used by people and horse traffic.  Starting off at the northern corner of the camp site the trail goes into more elegant and established forest on a deep rutted path through more ash and lush grasses.  Along the way were pretty meadows that were still showing abundant wildflower color even this late in the summer!  But the real site was along Morrison Creek further up the trail, where the grasses and wildflowers had found a perfect place to grow and were in full perfect beautiful color, a narrow string of paradise through the otherwise dry, dusty forest.

Shorthorn Creek    (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   Many creek crossings  later as we ascended the left leg of Mt. Adams, we came to a deep cut strewn with boulders, probably a mud slide from an ancient eruption.  The trail took us across and on the other side, took a sharp right turn seemingly straight up the mountain.  About 200 yards we continued like this, on rocky trail, then small switchbacks, until we suddenly climbed out onto another trail with another trailhead sign.  We had made it to Trail #9, Round The Mountain.  Mt. Adams was right there, within reach.  We stopped for a snack, wandered a few hundred yards down the trail before heading back down to camp.  That approach was about 5 1/2 miles total; a good warm up.

Trail #9 Round The Mountain, Mt. Adams Summit   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   The next morning we awoke to the sound of many hooves stomping across the ground through our campsite, elk stampede just outside the tent.  We apparently were camped out beside an elk highway, the large hoof marks unmistakable in the dusty road all around the grounds.
   It was early and the outside air was frigid.  But it was good to be up as the sun was just coming through the trees.  I got up first and unloaded the van with coffee and breakfast preparation apparatus.  I prepared a small fire in the pit to warm our hands over until the Sun could take over.  Coffee first, our insulated french press from home usually accompanies on the car camping trips.  I handed a cup to Eli through the tent flap and got to the task of breakfast; scrambled eggs, potatoes, fried toast with ghee.  I was fortifying us for an EPIC day. 
   At breakfast we were once again visited by the famous gray jays who are bold and demanding when it comes to sharing the food.  Eli and I were admiring their bravery and entertained watching their movements as they landed on the picnic table and approached our plates.  The cute factor faded quickly as a gray jay came in quick and nabbed a piece of fried egg right out of my plate. That’s when we realized we were going to have to employ a plan for dealing with these pesky albeit entertaining birds.  The approach was to A) guard our food, and B) offer some bird appropriate food at a nearby spot where we could keep an eye on them.  This arrangement seemed to work out well for everyone.
   As an experiment, Eli tore a piece of bread off and placed it in her hand and then held her and out fully extended to her side.  The birds studied this and were no doubt calculating risk as they eyed that giant piece of sourdough bread.  After a minute one flew to her hand, hovering for one hesitant second before landing on her hand to nab at the bread.  Eli did this a few times and we were thoroughly entertained.  It seemed the bread was well earned by the talents and bravery of the birds. 
   Once breakfast was consumed, dishes scrubbed, stove and dishes, food put up, we prepared ourselves for epic; water bladder filled, food packed, boots laced tight. 
   Eli and I walked out of the campsite and on to FS# 050 eastward toward Cold Springs Campground and the trailhead for #183, Mt. Adams Southern Approach.  
   It was three miles up the road gaining elevation the whole way.  At Cold Springs cars were parked wherever they could pull in off the dust and gravel road.  Tents were tucked in between groves of trees, between parked cars, wherever there was space.  Apparently it was a popular weekend to climb the mountain and this was the most accessible way to reach the Mt. Adams summit.  We were not prepared to take on such an effort.  But we were going to see just how far we could get before having to consider dealing with glacier crossings. 
   Up the dusty rocky trail we went, through meadows and small clumps of scrubby pines.  Eli and I were feeling pretty good and making rather good time it seemed.  Again the wild flowers were stunning and we couldn’t seem to take it all in sufficiently.  And then turn around and see the world laid out, south across shorter mountain tops to the Colombia River gorge somewhere down there, and Mt. Hood presiding over it all further down.  We were on the side of one of the giants, something I’d imagined and thought about for years.  This did not seem possible, access to the higher reaches of the house of gods, as if we were trespassing and yet we seemed to go unnoticed.  We were also not without company of other trespassers.  Nobody passed us on our ascent.  But plenty of folks were coming down from up there.  One hiker had a pair of telemark skis strapped to his backpack.  There was a sight that posed some questions for me.

Alpine Flora   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   It wasn’t long before we had again reached the intersection with Trail #9 Round The Mountain, about 2 1/2 miles (supposedly) from where we had reached it the previous day on Shorthorn.  After a moment to weigh the options we continued our ascent on #183, pulled ever upward by the lure of the glacier capped giant.  The terrain was getting rockier and the trees were fewer.  Up we continued until our first patch of snow, or frozen mini-glacier we would cross.  Shortly thereafter we began seeing the tent sites, colorful blobs among the small trees and large boulders.  A rest was in order to add some calories to the tanks and give feet a break.

Eli On The Trail, Mt. Hood Behind

   There was more to go before reaching the real glaciers, Crescent still laying ahead.  The trail got rockier and soon we were following a narrow gravel path through the boulder field from on cairn to the next.  How much farther should we go?  I didn’t feel able to stop. I had to get further up the mountain.  The view looking out at this point was unreal, looking over Southern Washington, Oregon, way down to distant mountain ranges in the eastern half of Oregon.

Cairn   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   Just below a ridge line that obscured the bottom lip of the Crescent glacier, we stopped and explored some camp spots in a rocky area shaded by a few trees.  THe sites had been leveled and stone walls to block wind erected seemingly long ago.  A rest, water, food, Eli and I took some photos.  I think we were starting to feel as if we had really gotten somewhere, onto the mountain in a real sense.  We could begin our descent and feel satisfied.  But as we readied to head back I looked up again and saw that ridge, only about 20 yards above us, and felt the need to see the scene from on top of it.  So we climbed, just a little more, to see the Crescent Glacier in entirety. We watched climbers navigate the glaciers.  It seemed as if crowds of people were coming down off the mountain now.  The time was shortly after 1 pm.

Crescent Glacier, False Summit Above, True Summit to Left   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   It really was time to drop back down to the Round The Mountian trail.  We had only gotten about half way on our EPIC journey for the day.  The descent went quicker as we dropped through the rock piles down the trail past the cairns past the tents, over the mini glacier into the flowering meadows and finally back to the intersection.  Whether to retrace our steps entirely or follow the Round The Mountain trail back to Shorthorn and back to camp was a short discussion.  We wanted more and were not yet fully satiated.  So westward on Round The Mountain we headed.  Along the trail the flowering meadows became almost dream like, as if created for a fantasy movie, something too amazing to actually exist anywhere on Earth.  It matched my images of the Swiss Alps rendered from movie scenes.  The miles rolled on and that 2 1/2 mile distance between #183 and #16 seemed doubtful.  It felt like at least another mile as we trudged along, wearing down but still enraptured by the world we were passing through. 
   “Not a bad back yard to have” I told Eli.

West on the Round The Mountian Trail   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

The trail occasionally would take us across a glacial waterfall where all the various wildflowers would congregate together and the grass was lush and vibrant green.  Round every corner we expected to see the rocky scar left from prehistoric eruption that we had seen on our short exploration the previous day.  Each time we would find another, smaller waterfall.  As we made our way west along the parameter of the mountain it was wild to experience how the vegetation changed from one area to the next.  There was a large section of huckleberry bushes, berries not quite ripe yet, and a lush section of taller shrubs packed tightly together.  We didn’t run into any other hikers for this entire length of trail until finally we did come to the rocky scar and just on the other side was a scattering of camp sites occupied with a handful of tents.  And camp chairs.  These backpackers had carried their camp chairs up the mountain to lounge in car camping comfort, way up on the mountain.

Amazing Flower Display   (Photo: Eli Thompson)

   Eli and I pulled over and broke out the last of our quesadillas and boiled eggs.  Our water was gone at this point.  A man came and asked us if there were any camp sites we had seen nearby and if there was any water sources down the trail from where we had come.  We told him what we had seen and he retreated down the path.  We saw him again with a young woman and an older couple, right at the intersection with our trail #16 Shorthorn.  What a relief!  Eli and I were beat.  The sun’s rays were stretching long and the light becoming more orange hued.  Down we went on the trail of rocks and switchbacks we had visited the previous day.  I became uncommunicative.  I began to obsess on options for dinner, beer, and water awaiting us at our camp.  I thought about my poor feet and the tender care I wanted to bestow on them as soon as I could take my boots off and prop them up. 
   It was 6:30 when we got back to our camp at Morrison Creek.  We had been on the trail for 8 1/2 hours.  We calculated we had covered around 13 miles and climbed up to 7500 or 8000’.  I made short work of unpacking cooking apparatus to get dinner going.  Pasta with peppers and zucchini, onions and cheese.  It wasn’t complex but we ate it and loved it as did we the still cold Tacate that washed it down.  That night we slept like angels in our microfiber fort beneath the stars.  At some late time in the middle of the night I awoke aware of a visitor on the other side of the thin cloth walls.  I could hear breathing, deep, vast lungs of a large mammal.  I sat up on my air mattress, fully alert, to get a better ear on the matter.  I did my best not to make a sound.  The nose of our visitor came down to ground level, and gave some deep sniffing sounds at the edge of the tent.  In my head a mantra rang out:  bear or elk.  bear or elk.  bear or elk.  bear or elk.  I started weighing out the odds that the nose belonged to a Roosevelt elk or to a black bear.  I was pretty sure it was more likely to be an elk, but couldn’t be certain.  So I stayed like that for some time, fighting off exhaustion, listening, wondering if anything would happen next.  I think it was Eli who rolled over in her sleep unaware of my watch, who made a soft rustling sound doing so and scared away the beast, whose hooves on the ground as it quickly retreated sounded much more elk like than the heavy paws of a giant bear. 
   The next day after breakfast it was time to break down camp and say goodbye.  One last visit with the gray jays while we ate.  One last walk around the campgrounds, a glimpse through the trees at the mountain top, remembering how just the day before, we had been way up there. 
   I had plans to write the tales of our summer adventures in order of which they took place.  But over these past few days I had begun to notice something in the air here in Portland, a certain familiar haze that I couldn’t quite place at first.  After two days of the city being blanketed in this orange tinged thick smog, I realized it was probably smoke from forest fires. That night I looked up Northwest forest fires and found out there were a bunch of fires burning in Oregon and Washington over the past few weeks.  But the one that got my attention immediately and has not let go, is the Cascade Creek fire, Gifford Pinchot National Forest.  All the area we had been just weeks ago is within the fire boundary, right up the mountain side to the Round The Mountain Trail.  I’ve been going to the InciWeb site for updates at least once a day.  Fire is nearly 50% contained as of September 21, 2012.  over 600 firefighters working on quelling the fire, six helicopters.  10,700 acres burned.
   I balance the weight of sadness for the beauty we visited being consumed in fires and the gratitude we had the chance to see it before this fire.  Equal parts sadness for the loss of such amazing landscape and the realization that this is a natural part of the life of the forest, that the forest needs to burn to get rid of disease and the insects that ravish the trees.  This one began from lightening cast down from a storm head that started over 200 fires across Washington state on September 8th. I've included an RSS feed from the InciWeb site with updates regarding the Cascade Fire to the right of this column. 
   As much as I can’t stand when good things have to go and change, I want to embrace all parts of the natural cycle.  It is, after all, the nature, in all it’s wild, beautiful, terrifying, and peaceful attributes, unchanged by the misguided hands of humans, that I have come to love.


UPDATE:
 As of October 7th the Cascade Fire has been listed as "inactive".  Personnel tasked with containing the fire have been reduced to 600+ to around 150.  The fire is 75% contained and not expected to spread any further.  The fire lasted a month and affected 20,296 acres south and west of Mt. Adams.  Because of this status change, there are no more updates via the Inciweb.org site, and so I have removed the RSS feed.
   

June 1-4, 2012: Birthday On The Metolious

  We drove over Mt. Jefferson’s toes to the Metolious River that rises from beneath the ground at Black Butte’s feet on the eastern side of the Cascade Mountain Range.
Around 4 pm we parked at Candle Creek campground back to the very site I occupied for four days back in 2006.

Through the charred remains of a once proud forest to the foot of Jefferson Wilderness where giant 25 foot diameter Cedars grow right out of the Mountain’s socks, we rode through these various settings trying to take it all in.  The scenery is truly bordering on the unreal.

  We rode nearly in silence, the pumice gravel crackling beneath our tires, staring off either side of this road, trying to take in the oddly beautiful scenery.  And then suddenly as if one piece of a discarded puzzle still remained, the forest engulfed us, lush and tall, saturated. Then we came to the trail head for Jefferson Wilderness.  Bikes rested on the entrance sign we stepped in, just a few yards, far enough to encounter a couple of old giants rising out of the ancient lava flow.

On day two rolling on our treaded tires we traced the river on it’s eastern side, over rutted dirt and rocky roads watching it meander through the forest and listening to it’s voice change.

The following  day after birthday breakfast Eli brought out carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.  After opening a few presents we rode our city bicycles over the red pumice roads through desolate ghost forest stripped in fires.  That night it began to rain.  We fed the fire and tried to hold our ground in its glow.  But eventually we were just cold and wet.  In the tent I opened birthday presents by flashlight glow.

The next day it rained some more.  It became gentle towards noon and we broke down camp.  On our way out we stopped at Abbot Creek campground to check out another spring fed creek trail.  Beautiful flowers and exotic Tangiers and King Fishers greeted us. The trail was gorgeous.  Along the way a spring gushed out of the rocky creek wall, a visual oddity to behold.  It was difficult to decide to turn back and finally conclude our trip.

More On The Way

It's been too long since I've posted and I can say that we've been busy, either working myself in my new role at the bike shop, or exploring the wilderness the Northwest has to offer.  Eli and I have explored numerous trails around the Colombia Gorge, Mt. Hood, and more recently our attention has turned to Gifford Pinchot National Forest, which is a true treasure of this country.  Last week we hiked two days in a row, using Morrison Creek Campground as our base camp on the southern slopes of Mt. Adams.  The second day I think we would agree, has been our favorite hike yet: 13 miles roughly, taking us up to about 8,000 feet, just at the base of Mt. Adams glaciers on Trail #183, South Approach.  The wild flowers are in full effect up there, with plenty of indian paint brush in deep red, blue lupines, bluish wild daisy looking flowers and thousands of two different species of butterflies.   Eli has taken so many beautiful photographs of our adventures.  When we get enough time and patience to sit at the computer and compile our words and images, we will share with interested parties.  So stay tuned for our presentation of OUR SUMMER VACATION. 

Saddle Mountain on a Perfect Day in June

   Back in June 2012 Eli and I were looking to do a hike on a Friday, somewhere other than the Gorge where we had been hiking most weekends prior.  A friend at work had suggested Saddle Mountain near the coast.
   Nearly to Hwy. 101, a quick right turn off of Hwy. 26 and up an old paved road for a few miles, surrounded by lush forest with views of the clear cut devastation just beyond the trees.  Up to the large parking lot lined with campsites.  It was a Friday around noon and the lot was full with maybe 40 cars.
   On the trail we found beautiful lilies in bloom near the parking lot and the forest floor carpeted with green Oxalis.  The path began rather gentle, heading east and then rounding the corner.  At mile 1 I heard what I now think is a male grouse seeking a mate.  We had heard the sound a few other times in various forest locales around Northern Oregon and spent some time trying to research it's source.  When we had first heard that low grunting sound we though perhaps it to derive from a territorial Elk who was close but well camouflaged.   I had brought my field recorder along and was able to capture a decent recording of this strange forest sound.
   Nearly 3/4 of a mile later after winding up the hillside some more, the trail began to get steeper with sections of exposed rocky areas.  In sections the trail was outfitted with wire mesh for traction and to slow erosion.  The views of the surrounding hills were getting more incredible as we ascended.  Finally down out of the last section of forest, over a spine, the "saddle", and up the winding way on the other side, we had made it to the top of the Coast Range. We found few other hikers that were resting and taking in the amazing view.  Pacific ocean to the West, Cascade peaks, Ranier, St. Helens, Adams, Hood, and just barely present, Jefferson were all there.
   After about 15 minutes everybody else had left and Eli and I were there alone, in the sun, no clouds, barely a wind, stillness.  We stayed at least another 45 minutes, unable to move. We barely talked as we took in the world laid out around us for one hundred miles in each direction. The stillness was breathtaking.  We watched a raven fly about just below the top, circling our perch, occasionally landing on a twig of a tree, clinging to the rock and shallow dirt around the summit.  That raven appeared to be the only motion, the only sound in that moment. It shared the stage with no other thing and we were the captive audience, properly entertained.
   Eventually it was time to relinquish the moment to the next group of
   We haven't returned to Saddle Mountian since.  Perhaps because I can't imagine we could ever recapture the magic of that first ascent, no future visit could possibly measure up.   So maybe it's worth holding onto that single memory of it and the perfect day in June, a day to remember forever. 

Climbing

   Thursday was the first of three consecutive days off, the first three day weekend I'd had in a few weeks.  The sun was bright and there wasn't a cloud I could find.  I suited up and headed out for the West Hills on my road bike.  Willamette Boulivard into St. Johns, over the St. John's Bridge, down the hill to Hwy. 30.  As I rode I began to question my choice of routes.  I hadn't ridden any significant hills aside from the 640' Mt. Agamenticus in years.  I wondered if my legs, lungs, and heart were up for such an undertaking.  Maybe I should work up to it I thought.  Then across the highway I saw the street sign for McNamie Road and I knew what I had to do.  I crossed the road and pointed the front wheel up and began the climb. 
   At first I felt pretty good.  But quickly realized I was going to need to pace a bit slower to make the entirety of this climb.  I had forgotten how the road climbed and then dipped, dropping off elevation I'd worked so hard to gain.  This continued for some time with false tops dropping again only to reinstate the climb.  Finally a speedy descent culminated in a stop sign at Skyline Boulivard.  I had made it once again.  I felt as if I was revisiting an old friend.  I turned left and rode along at a steady pace that was easy to maintain.  The views were incredible looking out over the valley that contained Beaverton and other suburban communities out there then farms, all framed in the coast range and the Colombia River range. 
   It wasn't long before I reached the next challenge; descending Gemantown Road.  I stopped at the intersection and checked my tires.  Germantown is no joke.  I thought about what it was going to take to safely descend the next few fleeting minutes.  And then I dropped in.  The road winds down the hillside with the sun breaking through the canopy occasionally.  I was more conservative than I would have been in previous times, not having the same bike handling skills I once had and having just been reunited with the road after so long.  Towards the bottom just after the speed bumps I did catch up with a few cars which meant something was going right.  You can see the route HERE:::
   Back home I showered and changed, got on a different bike to ride down to the bike shop in downtown.  It is rare that I would elect to go into work on such a beautiful day off.  But this was a special occasion.  I had told the store manager I would accept the position as Service Manager that morning and had to go down and formally meet to discuss details.  We talked for at least a half hour about what was to come and training opportunities.  When we were done I walked out to the shop.  "Well, how did it go?" one of my coworkers asked.  I told him the news and he smiled.  "Thanks" he told me.  I think I've done the right thing by stepping up to fill the role, if not for myself, for the overall health of this department I have chosen to work in.  But I still have a lot of roots to grow to fill this new pot.  
  

Hardy Ridge Trail, Washington

   Last Wednesday I decided that a work week like that deserved to be punctuated by a weekend out of town.  But with the rain still rolling through from the Southwest and the "new" van needing work done on the brakes, it was evident we weren't getting far.  Saturday was supposed to be a break in the descending wet and so we planned our escape out to the Gorge to see what there was to see.
   Eli and I picked a trail on the Washington side, not too far a drive from home.  It was an equestrian trail system with some horse back riding options including equestrian campsites just off the parking lot.  We had chosen the trail partially because it didn't require the Washington State Forest pass which we did not yet have.  So it was lucky that when we got to the trail parking lot we were only about 2 miles above the State Parks Ranger Station where we could purchase one.
   At the trailhead the sky was patchy clouds occasionally letting the sun poke through.  The trail climbed an old forestry road for a few miles.  The directions I'd written down didn't quite match up to the signage but I think we followed the intended route.  Eventually the road ended and the foot path continued on into the forest and gaining more elevation.  The trail would climb through a patch of forest and then straighten out through a meadow.  Once we both stopped and listened, sure we had heard a creature meandering through the underbrush, breaking sticks.  And then on ahead.  We passed by a few other hikers but were mostly alone.  The trail began to switch back as it climbed steeper up the side of the mountain.

Trout Lillys along Hardy Ridge

The Ridge

All these beautiful photos were taken by Eli Thompson

The Ridge

Break in the Clouds

   And then suddenly it opened up, we had made it to the ridge.  Up at the top the wind was howling over the west side and rain was coming down.  We sensed that if it were not for the dense clouds surrounding us we could probably see clear to the ocean.  As the directions suggested, we hung a right to follow the ridge to a summit.  The top was mostly alpine meadow-esque with plenty of trout lillys, pink, white and a varigated trilliums, Indian Paintbrush, moss and ferns.  Through a patch of tall shrubs and back into the narrow meadow.  Over a rock pile and back to the moss.  Finally we reached the peak marked by a rock pile.  It was cold up there and we hunkered behind a stand of shrubs for shelter against the wind.  Awed by the beautiful meadow ridge and occasional view allowed by a break in the clouds we ate what we had for staples before turning back to the main trail. 

Indian Paintbrush

   The wind gave in and the sun even seemed to peek out a bit more soon after beginning our descent back down the other side of the ridge.  More switchbacks through different flora than we had seen on the eastern side.  We found what smelled like balsam boughs along the trail although neither of us had though of balsam as a western growing pine.  We passed huge stumps that remembered the giant timbers that they had once held high into the clouds and made me wonder if this area had been logged 100 years before.  At one point I thought I heard an eagle call it's meek high whine whistle above us but we never heard it again.
   Eventually the single track met back up with the old road used now by horseback riders.  We couldn't decide which way my directions wanted us to turn so we settled on the downhill option and made our way.  At some point we began to notice large prints that appeared to be from a large cat like creature.  Further down we found a bit of scat that might have been left by just such a creature.
   Past more huge stumps and birds singing crazy songs, small brooks and waterfalls until we finally reached the road we had originally come in on.  We continued to see the paw prints and similar prints but smaller beside the big ones.
   Eventually we did get back to the parking lot about five hours after we had departed.  We were pretty hungry.  I was glad we had more water, one more orange, and a couple of beers waiting at Eli's truck.  Walking back to the truck from the bathrooms I wandered by the check in kiosk to look at the map.  Below the map was posted a xeroxed notice.  "Hikers beware.  Cougars have been sighted in the area.  If you come into contact with a cougar, do not run.  Make noise.  Make yourself appear big, use a jacket if possible. 
   After the beers we continued on HWY 14 towards White Salmon.  We were bound for the Double Mountain brewery in Hood River where we had enjoyed a great meal and beers when the ice storm had prohibited our Westward progression just 60 miles from Portland back in January.  It turns out the kitchen at Double Mountain was closed for a week which was the worst timing for us.  But we just headed over to the brewpub at Full Sail and had our dinner and beers after all. 
   As Eli drove us into Portland with the sun setting low in front of us I reminded her that we still had to return to Richies Tire Factory in Vancouver, Washington to retrieve my van with it's new master brake cylinder and wheel cylinders.  I think we rolled into the drive about 9pm.