by matt werbach
The weather report the night before was bleak to say the least. Clouds rolling in overnight and a morning filled with rain. We didn’t care. It was the last weekend in February and neither of us had been on a decent hike since Mount Hood had torn me up in late July. The winter had taken its toll on both of us, though neither one of us knew the extent until we were halfway along the trail the next day.
We woke early and packed quietly while the coffee brewed in the corner of the kitchen. Rain jackets, extra liner layers to keep the moisture off our skin, hats and back-up hats, sunglasses (we were still hopeful), gloves, two granola bars and three liters of water. I made eggs and potatoes—a breakfast fit for a hike—while Ann packed odds and ends into her bag. The camera, a pocket tool and a small roll of Tums were coming with us.
“Have you looked outside yet?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m afraid to.” She took two steps backwards without looking and pulled the blinds from the sliding glass doors on the back of our place. A triangle of sun spread across the carpet, and I had to shade my eyes. Neither of us spoke, we just smiled.
A breakfast and two rushed cups of coffee later we had the day-use fee tag on our dash and the car doors were being locked. My legs felt spry and fresh. I’d been running for a few months, both to get in shape and to chase away the winter doldrums, and I was pretty sure this was the start of a great hiking season. Dog Mountain Trailhead seemed the perfect spot to test the legs, the lungs, the back.
Across the Columbia, the Oregon side of the river was fogged in wispy, smoke-like clouds. Just about 200 feet above us hung the same formation, but the sun was beginning to burn through the morning cover just as we stepped onto the trail.
We knew we were a few weeks early for the spring wildflower bloom that calls hundreds of Northwesterners to Dog Mountain. This left the trail nearly empty. Our breaths were still visible as they pushed into the air. It only took a few moments—maybe two switchbacks—before we fell into the rhythm of the hike as if we’d never left it. I could hear the steady bounce of Ann’s compass/whistle. Our steps nearly disappeared, becoming instead the beat by which we paced ourselves. The forest was a mix of ethereal rays of sun pushing through the last plumes of morning clouds and the calming effect of damp ground and damp trees on a silent trail.
Just as quickly as the rhythm and mindset of the hike returned, it left. Not more than a mile into the trail—which climbs a few thousand feet in just over three miles—the wintery, lazy days of the past few months manifested themselves in the weight of our packs and the burning in our quads. We stopped for water and to catch a quick glimpse back at the Columbia Gorge. Not much was visible through the tops of the pines we now stood above, but the sun had burned away the fog and the clouds, and everything seemed to shimmer in the morning light.
“It’s beautiful,” Ann said. She reached for the camera only to switch to the phone after finding the batteries dead.
“It is. And I’m out of shape,” I answered. She laughed. Her breath pushed small clouds into the air.
“I know it. I thought we’d been working out.”
“Eh, we’ll be alright.
A few more switchbacks and I was beginning to doubt my own words. I’d shed the jacket and zipped-off the pant legs. My hat was stored in my pack and I could feel a small blister forming on my right heel. The sun was doing its work and I wanted to curse out the weatherman, or worse, but I didn’t have the breath to do it anyway. That’s when the thought occurred to me that we’d also be hiking back down. Down the steep, wet, and now warm, trail. What a start to what was to be a great eight or nine months of hiking—I was burning out at just under two miles.
I put my head down and tuned out everything but the sounds my heart and my breath were making in my head. I watched nothing but the trail in front of me. This feeling I knew well, this is shortly before the end, before my mind says “Why bother, this isn’t so fun?” and my body is only seconds behind with the same notion. But then it happens, we round a small crest heading west on a steep part of the winding trail and the sky opens up above us. The trees give way to a grassy slope that was hiding a sixty-degree spring day from us.
“What time is it? Let’s stop here for a second and eat,” I said quietly, my breath still rushed.
“No idea. Sounds good. Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” To the west the bend in the river is barely hidden by the last of the clouds. To the east the sun is pushing through the surface of the water and lending a near-tropical tint to the Columbia. The minty, teal, green jumps out at the eyes evermore with the dark forested mountains framing it on all sides. We eat a granola bar in silence. Ann snaps a few pictures on the phone, and I do the same a moment later. Things have slowed again. My mind and my body are closer to the same beat, though my legs know what they’ve endured. We sling our packs back onto our shoulders. As we turn to catch the trail a few feet away, I look back over my right shoulder to take in the site one last time. I see Ann doing the same. A chill runs down my spine, and we turn to climb back into the forest and onward toward the top.
8 Responses to “The Beat By Which We Paced Ourselves”
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Kathy Franz says:
Great article, Matt. Please send some degrees and sun our way. Enjoy the hiking season.
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Lynne Netschke says:
There is always a certain exhilaration to getting those winter cobwebs out of our bodies and our brains. Opening up to all the opportunities that spring promises to bring in the near future. After a tough storm this past week [in Ohio], it is encouraging to know that there are places where that hopeful season is not too far off. Thanks for sharing your awakening, the hibernation always lasts too long.
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Evelyn Werbeach says:
It’s always exciting to turn over a new leaf in the yearly calendar as well as to open up Columbia Gorge Magazine’s editor’s column each new month! No matter what the season or the atmosphere they are enjoying, each new month is very stimulating. Looking forward to the Spring Issue filled with wonderful stories!!
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Nancy W. says:
I love the Columbia Gorge area and have hit a few trails myself. I hope to do more during my next visit to the area Labor Day weekend 2010. Perhaps I will have to try out the Dog Mountain trail since you made it sound so appealing, and I do enjoy a challenge!
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Marc W says:
Thanks for a great article. The weather in the Gorge changes often, and dramatically so at times. Loved your article! I felt like I was there with you – except for the “burn”.
Thanks and cheers!
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Darlene Eichler says:
A beautifully written article for some breathtaking country. I’ll be looking forward to the next one.
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Dennis Ford says:
I am SOOO looking forward to seeing the gorge again this year! Happy trails!
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Ben W says:
Great article, Mr. Werbach. Buried in Italian snow, I dream lazily on your words.
