snowshoeing

Yesterday morning we met up in the Sandy city hall parking lot to go snowshoeing. It was Bob, his wife Sandy, Erica, and me, and of course I showed up late. We took Bob's car up to the White River snow park, where we meant to start our trail.

Unfortunately, the White River snow park is no more, after Highway 35 was obliterated by the river about a month and a half ago. Although the road has been repaired, the snow park itself is mounds of rock, mud, gravel, and some serious construction machinery. We drove a little ways back and parked in what Bob called the boyscouts' parking lot, where Erica, Bob, and I geared up and started off. Sandy took the car up to Timberline Lodge, our destination, for some more casual snowshoeing and photography.

We started out by crossing a red, slightly sulphurous stream, jumping across the little canyon it had created. I had never leapt across a snow canyon or running water with snowshoes on, and although it seemed a bit scary at first, it actually felt easier because the big shoes give an extended reach.

We went up a hill, came to a very different rushing stream, and followed it a ways down to find a crossing. This time we walked over a fallen tree deep under about four feet of snow, then scrambled up the steep embankment on the other side. After a little while we came to another stream crossing... the red, sulphurous stream. And we could see the parking lot, our start point. We had gone in a circle.

We set off again straight towards the White River snow park, walked through its industrial-seeming wasteland, and picked up the White River trail. There was a particularly steep ridge climb where I wasn't sure I was going to make it, and had to try very hard to not look down. After gaining the ridge, we followed it up and up to its peak where it was less than ten feet wide. Carved, impossible snow canyons on one side, and steep twisted trees and rocks on the other. It was an amazingly beautiful, unforgiving place. The whole time we could hear or see helicopters overhead, searching for three lost climbers.

We finally sighted Timberline Lodge, but had to go a ways up and around to avoid two deep bowls. We probably couldn't have made another steep climb like the first ridge, let alone two.

We met Sandy at the car, then ended with a drink at the bar in the lodge. Sunset turned Mt Hood a shade of pink more Miami Beach than Oregon, reminding me that next weekend I'll be in Florida for the holidays.

See my snowshoeing photos.