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.
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.
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.
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.
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: