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.

flurries

The big thing around here has been snow. Most cities and populated areas in the Pacific Northwest are at low elevation and very temperate from the moderating effect of the ocean, so we rarely get snow. Up in the mountains and at higher elevations, there's plenty, so you can see it if you want.

It was very cold yesterday, with the high temperature barely above freezing. Today is about the same. Normally we only get a handful of hard frosts here in Portland, but it rains most days in the winter.

I still don't quite feel like writing about my Vancouver trip, but that story also involves snow, and more of it than this little bit:

I saw a shining white sliver of outside through our living room curtains, and my whole body flooded with the excitement of waking up to check for a school snow day. There was no snow, though. Only sun reflecting off shiny wet ground, possibly ice.

On the way to work I drive through a tunnel and then up and over the west hills. Often it's like a portal to another land, because the weather will be completely different on top of the hill or on the other side. Today snow crept up the hillside, crouched on top.

The parking lot at work had a dusting of snow, but not a smooth blanket. More like confetti, little round balls of snow sprinkled evenly. Walking to my building, flurries fell in odd pieces, some big, some small, some meandering slowly and taking their time like feathers floating, some headed straight down on a mission to emulate rain. It was enchanting, a shame to duck inside.