Some hikes just stay with me long after my feet stop treading the soil, much like a book whose characters live within me long after I close the final chapter. Angel’s Rest is one of those hikes.

I knew it was a straight up climb, but it would be worth it. Having Fridays off instead of Sundays gives me the advantage of being able to do walkabouts when everyone else is at work. With some narrow sections of trail and a sheer drop off the cliff, I like lightly trafficked trails. It’s not that Tucker doesn’t like other dogs; generally he does. But dogs don’t naturally walk head on into one another unless it’s to start something. To avoid conflict, it’s best to walk in an arch toward another dog. But with a cliff on one side and a steep hill on the other, it’s tough to do that. Urban dogs who regularly walk narrow, busy sidewalks with dogs coming and going right next to them and headed toward them have lived their entire lives used to this. Tucker is not one of those dogs.
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So we were pleased to have to trail to ourselves. At one point a man in his 30’s with wild grey curls came up behind me with such stealth that Tucker and I missed him until he was only five steps behind us. Having like-minded trail-treaders who enjoy the silence is lovely, but it did give me a start.

The trail had a 1400 foot elevation gain in the 2.5 miles it would take to reach the summit. Luckily the beautiful weather (that prime 50-70 degrees) gave me an edge to make it up without dying. A dog with four separate heart issues and a middle-aged overweight woman in questionable health probably shouldn’t give this a go mid-summer. But the last week in October didn’t seem quite so risky.
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Around every bend and along every edge was a beautiful vista to behold.

Even when we weren't looking out over the river, there was beauty to behold within the forest.

​Every now and again, I’d look up to see how close the summit was, and was always surprised that it seemed so close and yet was so far away.

A couple coming down gave me some advise on finding the path once we hit the “field of boulders”. “Just go straight. There’s a human-shaped whole in the shrubbery—that’s where you need to go.”

“Human-shaped hole” made me wonder if at some point someone had crashed through like the Kool-Aid Man.
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I ended up not needing to find the hole, as two people were crossing the boulder field in my direction, so I merely headed toward them (because heading directly toward people isn’t the same thing as dogs heading toward one another). Then up we went again, to even more stunning views.

The peak was more of a rocky mesa with boulders to climb around on. I spotted one woman sitting in mediation on one of the higher boulders who I had seen at the parking lot. And as we came up over the ridge, there was the man with the wild grey curls. “Welcome!” he said with a smile, and I replied with thanks.

There’s something about being greeted at a summit with someone saying “Welcome” that adds to the magic of the moment.
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We walked on to the edge of the boulders. I could see on the app that this wasn’t the end of the trail. So we took some photos and headed into the shrubbery (no human-shaped hole to lead us). We finally came to the bench: the end point that is Angel’s Rest.

We sat for a spell, looking over the Columbia River Gorge and to Washington State. There are no states in Nature, no countries, no municipalities. All is one.

It appeared that there was a trail behind us, so Tucker and I ventured further than the little red line on the app told us to go.

It seemed we’d have to bushwhack through some rather defensive shrubs, so I called off the trek. On our way back, the man with the curly hair was headed our way.

“Is there a way back down through there?” he asked.

“I don’t see how it’s possible. Although someone mentioned there was another way by climbing up the hill from the boulder filed, so I imagine it gets you here.”

“That’s what I was told too, but I’m not seeing it. But it’s supposed to be a shortcut.”

“I don’t hike for the shortcuts,” I responded with a smile. “I hike to see and walk every inch of the journey!”
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As he headed into the violent shrubs, Tuck and I walked back to the edge to imbue the vista into our souls before heading back down—the long way around.

As we got to the boulder field again, the curly-haired man had caught up. We discussed where one might see this supposed trail upwards rather than through the “human-shaped hole”. We thought we spied the make-shift rail, where the smaller rocks had fallen away and it appeared a little more traversed. It looked mighty dangerous going up the steep incline. But he was up for it. As he leaned into the incline and started heading upward to the area without rocks, I yelled out, “Don’t die!”

To which he responded, “That’s my usual goal. So far, so good!”
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Tucker and I continued downhill, leaving the man to his own adventures. 

​Hiking is a lot like reading books. Despite being in the same place, each of our experiences are unique to us, and how we interpret them might be radically different. Yet, when we find one another on the same trail, as when we find someone who has read the same book as us, there is a connection. There’s an ease between us. I always know avid hikers compared to the tourists or first-timers as the avid hikers smile and say “Hello” when you cross their paths. They may even give words of advice, much like someone who has read a book will tell you, “Oh, no spoilers, but Chapter 11—WOW!”

And in this case they even greet you with a “Welcome”.
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Angel’s Rest is one of my favorite hikes, and while I probably won’t do it again while I’m here this time, I will revisit it. Like a well-stocked library of books, Oregon has a plethora of trails to explore, and I want to visit every one before I start to reread the classics.

For my birthday each year, I go in search of Autumn. My fortieth was most successful, as we took the short drive from Atlanta, Georgia to Asheville, North Carolina and I got the closest thing to a New England fall as I had had in half a lifetime.
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This year, I was already living in Autumn. This is the street I walk every day with Tucker for his neighborhood jaunt.

Clearly I needn’t look far to find Autumn this year. I had considered going to Silver Falls State Park, but since I had just been there the night before for the production I’m working on, the thought of driving another three hours round trip after waking up late wasn’t my favorite idea. Also, I learned that my faithful friend isn’t allowed on half of the main waterfall hike through Silver Falls. Apparently, the trails are so narrow (and cliffside) that for everyone’s protection, they do not allow dogs. Having been on a few stretches of such narrow trails, I appreciate the advice.

With Silver Falls off the list, I checked out anything else nearby. With overcast skies and rain imminent, I had to avoid possible flood-prone areas, and Tucker and I are both averse to hiking too long in the rain—especially during major downpours.

I found a quick hike only forty minutes away: Latourell Falls. While Multnomah Falls, just down the road from it, is the tallest in the state at 650 feet, Latourell’s 249 feet is nothing to scoff at. Given the less than ideal weather and that this was a "second choice" falls, I presumed there would be fewer tourists than Multnomah Falls and on any other bright and sunshiny day.

The parking lot proved my theory: very few people were out on this drizzly Friday, and there were no crowds to contend with. The bottom of the falls is actually right at the parking lot down a short trail. While this is kind of a bummer as I like to build up to the main event, it meant that after the falls, the trails would be wide open as those who came just to see the falls would not feel the need to walk any farther. 

The nice thing about a not-so-crowded tourist spot is that everyone assumes you are a tourist. And therefore, they are delighted to help you capture the moment. A kind gentleman asked if I wanted him to take Tucker's and my photo, and I happily said Yes. A birthday photo with my boy is a rare gift.

The man had incredible patience, as he took a number of shots, all of which bring me joy. Seeing Tucker and me moment by moment is actually a better portrait of us than just one in which we’re (sorta) both (sorta) looking at the camera.

Birthday photo done, we headed over the viewing bridge. Tucker did not seem terribly impressed and didn’t care to climb down into the rocks to get a closer view.

So we carried on along the narrow trail, having it all to ourselves since everyone got what they came for visually. They had no idea they were missing out on some spectacular fall colors and cool bridge above.

The trail took us out through a small neighborhood park. There, Tucker placated my need for a fun shot. It was too steep for him to get his front paws up, but I appreciate his effort.

We headed up into the forest, and as the climb took us higher, around every switchback was another view. The Columbia River and the autumn colors were vibrant and alive. No iphone or camera can truly capture the magnificence of Nature’s palette.

We found a little bench some way up, and it looked like the perfect Yearbook Photo place, so I asked Tucker to once more let me take a bunch of photos.

We tried for a shot under an enormous tree, but it was too muddy. Many of the trees here are ancient, and their energy and character are truly something to behold.

I didn’t realize we’d get to another falls (or perhaps, just the “upper falls” of Latourell Falls), so it was a lovely surprise some couple miles in.

It may not seem like much, but on heading farther down the trail, and having a human in the shot, one can see just how tall it is.

By the time we were started our descent, the clouds had had their fill and were about to runneth over. I slipped on Tucker’s rain jacket. While Tucker isn’t a fan of the rain, the jacket is more for me than him. His fur simply does not dry. A raincoat cuts down on the time I need to towel him off.

As we came back around the loop, we got one more look at Latourell Falls. The humans had dispersed; the rain was coming down steady now. Tucker wished he had come with a person who knew enough to already leave and wasn’t trying to get more photo ops. Wet ears and wet head is no fun for Tucker, as he clearly expresses.

So I took one more one more photo of the beautiful falls and we headed back to the truck for Tucker to dry off while I drove back home in the rain.

Being able to experience the beauty of the Falls and the River is an incredible birthday gift.

But sharing it with this guy is what made its indelible mark upon my heart.

Now for something completely different: No falls, very little forest, and a lot of open space. With Tucker’s disenchantment with the falls, I opted for an entirely different trail. I felt we had experienced a lot of the coast lately, so I opted to go inland. Powell Butte was touted as an excellent hike with wide open vistas and a bit of a forest trail. And of course, it was wildly popular. This meant I had to contend with humans-my least favorite element of any hike.

And contend with them I did before I even started. The parking lot is up a winding drive, and consists of three tiers of lots. All of them were full. And due to the roundabout-direction of traffic, you could be on the top tier while someone on the bottom tier exits, and not make it there before the next person up the hill snags the spot.

I didn’t want to give up, nor did I want the mile long uphill climb by parking at the bottom (which I saw a few enterprising folks doing). Instead I decided to exercise patience, and fifteen minutes later, someone left at the right time and I got their spot.
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At this point it was truly late in the day, and taking the forest route would have added some time to the hike, cutting it close to my deadline of sunset. In order to enjoy the hike and not be scrambling at the final moments like the hike was a game show, as I had done at Washington Park, I simply chose a different route—on purpose.

The beginning of the trail was wide open meadow, and despite it being October, Tucker was already panting a little. This was clearly not a mid-summer hike. At the Y in the road to go straight or head right to go down into the woods, we went straight. It was still covered by tree canopy, but it was more of a grove than a canopy. After leaving the grove, we were in wide open meadow again, as most buttes are. Being late in the day, it wasn’t terribly hot.

As we reached the center point, we came upon the main event: Mt Hood.

There truly is something about her. Every day on the way the work, as I cross the Ross Island Bridge, it is a surprise whether or not she shows. When she does, it is almost shocking: her energy and presence is so intense. Other times it’s as if she was never there, and clouds hover in the space where she should be. Sometimes it's a human versus technology battle that causes her disappearing act.

Today she stood in all her glory, and I tried to capture that intensity with a camera, but it just did no good. No matter how much I zoomed in, or how much I zoomed out, that intensity just didn’t come through in the digital print. How can I express how majestic she is? Mt Hood is forty miles from where I stood, and yet seemed to be right here on the hill with us while also being a mirage.

Legend has it that Mt Hood is Wy’east, who was in love with Loowit, the keeper of fire on the Bridge of the Gods. When he and his brother Klickitat (aka Phato) fought over Loowitlatkla, their father turned all three into mountains: Phato bowed his head as Mt Adams, Wy’east stood tall and confident as Mt Hood, and Loowitlatkla stood between them as Mt St. Helen.

Yet I have to say, the energy I feel from Mt Hood is not masculine at all. It is a powerful feminine through and through. Perhaps when St Helens erupted, she made her choice and joined Wy’east. Or perhaps Wy’East has always been the dominant feminine. Or maybe I'm just used to using a feminine pronoun with Nature's greatest works.

I eventually gave up trying to capture in print the elusive energy of Mt Hood, and we meandered across the butte to a spot to see the source of Wy’east’s love: Loowitlatkla in the form of Mt St Helens.

It’s bizarre to think that I was born before she erupted. We always think of volcanic eruptions has ancient history, and while I am on the mature side, I am certainly not yet ancient. The mountain was once 1000 feet above its current height. Lootwitlakla was true to her name "Lady of the Fire" and blew ashes and molten lava in such an explosive manner, her entire top crumbled down. That's what you get for locking up a lady in love.

Tucker and I took one more look at the separated lovers across the butte and then headed back down to the parking lot. Even from there, Mt Hood sparkled in the sunlight in all her majesty.

The energy of the mountain is palpable. There’s something about this place, this town, this stretch of land and sky that I feel is powerful and sacred. Its character and personality is authentic. And I feel connected to it. Perhaps we all do. I can’t put into words why I feel the way I do. There’s just something about that mountain…

As Tucker and I were heading back to the truck, I looked down rather up to the mountain and found that a favorite author of mine tried to put it into words for me:

More accurately, one touch of nature makes us remember that the whole world is kin. For we are all connected, from the ground to the sky and from seas to the mountains, we are one.

We got our ocean fix mid-week when we had to drive to the coast for work. Since we arrived after wrap, we had to find our crew at their hotels, making it a bit of a different adventure than I had expected. However, on the pleasant note, we got to revisit where we had spent Christmas 2015: Cannon Beach, Oregon.

After a quick jaunt on the sands, we took our lunch break, enjoying the sea breeze. When people ask why I don’t settle down and just take a job where I live or work from home, this is why. I get paid to be in places like this.

Since we had already traveled west for the week, on our day off we headed east. There is a little bit of me that still wants to hike the PCT with Tucker, but I know doing so is not in the cards. The entire length is 2661 miles. That's about what we do on a cross country road trip in a few days. Walking it is a different matter. Between his health issues and me just not being in good shape, it’s not the best of ideas. But much like the Appalachian Trail along the east coast, one can hop on and off the Pacific Crest Trail at various points.

​So Tuck and I hopped on for a short trek to Dry Creek Falls (which seems like an oxymoron of a name). The trailhead begins at the Bridge of the Gods, which is considered to be a major point along the PCT, where one crosses over from Oregon to Washington State for the final 500 miles.
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Tuck and I had our backs to the bridge as we started on the trail to the falls. Upward we went, and while there were no spectacular vistas to behold along the way, being held in the warm embrace of the forest was plenty satisfying to me. And of course, the waterfall at the end was spectacular.

I have to wonder if the spraying water, the tall rock walls of the amphitheater, the loud noise of the falls, and the overall general wetness make waterfalls like this an olfactory overload for Tucker. He didn’t seem too happy, with his tail down and ears back. But there was nothing unusual about the place. We even had it all to ourselves for a brief few minutes.

Maybe he was just tired from a long week, but since he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself, I took in the view and we headed back down to the Bridge of the Gods. 
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My general rule when it comes to activities with Tucker: whether it’s a walk in the neighborhood, an agility course, or human shenanigans (like dressing up for a calendar), if one of us isn’t having fun anymore, then we stop. It’s quite simple. Life is too short to willingly continue to do things we don’t enjoy. I know Tucker enjoys hiking; he just wasn't fond of this one. I can't say every hike has been five stars for me either, so maybe we just had a hike he wasn't in the mood for. And like the hikes that haven't been my favorite, I'll take the hike for the experience it was, and next time try something different. Not all paths are worth taking, but once on one, there's no regrets for every trail is part of the journey.

I always think I have drive far off to have an adventure. But the point of Portland was to not have to drive “away” just to get where I wanted to go: Nature. So, taking a neighbor’s advice to check out Washington Park, only seven miles from our Portland abode, we headed out in the afternoon for a short walk.
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The trail was supposed to be the Washington Park Loop, but after missing a right hand turn, we did our own thing.

The effect of going left rather than right cut out the Zoo, the Japanese Garden, and a few other of the more public, probably touristy areas. Evidently my subconscious knows where I want to be: deep in the forest. We ended up heading north rather quickly, and easily crossed the border from Washington Park to Hoyt Arboretum.

I had initially wanted to check out Pittock Mansion, which was supposed to have an excellent view of the city. However, looking at alltrails, I didn’t think I’d make it there and back by dark given our late start of the day. But with our abbreviated “loop” to a more like an a very thin oval, it appeared the mansion wasn’t that far away.

The most delightful thing about Oregon thus far is that we don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to go for a hike. We can meander through the morning, and then sometime in the afternoon head out for a walk. The temperatures are in our perfect zone: 50-70 degrees, even in mid-afternoon. That said, as winter approaches, it does get dark earlier and earlier.

We had till around 6:30pm, and as we came upon the trail crossing that read “To Pittock Mansion”, I took my chances. We could make it back in time.

It was a bit of a climb, but it meant it was all downhill on the way back. So up we went, through the woods. Up and up and across a road and up and up again. If Tuck and I could do Twin Peaks in San Francisco, we could certainly do this.

Much like Twin Peaks, while the hike up was pretty solitary, the landing point was quite busy. As usual, there was an easier, faster, and less sweaty way to get here. I always tend to choose the hard way.
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There, past the chain link fence and crowds of people was Portland proper.

And out beyond that, Mount Hood, one of the three sisters. She is magical, disappearing and reappearing at will. Sometimes twirling a ring of clouds around her like a dancer. Sometimes still and proper, taking in the sunshine and letting it glisten off her brightest whites.

Today she was unassuming, just there, as she always has been, long before man built bridges over the river that ran between us and her. There is something that keeps my eye on her at all times. She is captivating. But eventually, as the magic hour was approaching, I had to look away so we could make the descent back to our trusty steed who was napping at the base of the mountain.

There were many ways back, and I was having some difficulty figuring out which way would get us back before dark. I was trying to outrun the sun, as the sun lazily slid toward the horizon. It was winning. I was panicking.
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We stopped for a brief moment to catch a sight of Mt St Helens.

But I as tried to capture her image, I realized the sun had already slipped behind the trees, and we needed to get back soon. From the hilltop where we stood, I couldn’t seem to get my bearings on which way to go.

I stopped a couple who was coming up from one side and asked how to get back.

“You can’t miss it,” the guy said as I explained here I needed to go. He started to get into some pretty specific details on what I would see to find the right track. Finally his female companion broke in with, “You’re making it was may more confusing than it needs to be. Just head down this path, turn right, and you can’t miss it. You’re so close. Honest.”

I thanked her (and him, for his valiant effort) and Tuck and I headed across the lawn to the path they pointed to. Sure enough, only moments later, feeling rather stupid for not just trying, we found ourselves on the quickest path back to the parking lot.

Indecision is oftentimes has way worse of an outcome than the wrong decision. Especially in hiking, since really there are no wrong paths, just different ways to get to the same place. And as with all hikes and life, the point of doing it isn’t to finish but to experience and enjoy the every twist and turn of the journey along the way, always staying one step ahead of the darkness.