Reflections

It’s getting to be that time of year again for that magical weather element: snow. Mt Hood had been boasting her beautiful white coat as of late, and it was enticing enough to lead me to her.

So up we went into the mountains, parked at a ski place, reminding me of our adventures in Whistler, BC. There wasn’t as much snow here as Whistler, but it was just as chilly.

The dusting of snow on the bridges, rocks, and downed trees added a smidge more character, like someone went through the painting and just touched up a few places.

But it wasn’t cold enough yet to stop water. The streams ran strong.

Tucker has zero fear, and crossed the make-shift bridges with ease.

Once up the mountain, we reached a level trail, but could see neither lake nor the iconic mountain it reflected in its waters.

​ But it was still magic.

Finally we spied her, peeking up from the treeline.

And with a few more steps, we began to see her reflection too.

And then finally we reached the memorable spot, the one where all the photos are taken, to see Mt Hood and her reflection in the crystal clear Mirror Lake.

Tuck even got to stand on a snowy beach while I tried to capture it just right. The clear blue skies made it the perfect day to experience this.

Just before we reached this spot, a lone female hiker arrived at the shoreline. She stood in reverence as each person did, seeing it for the first time. She had her moment and then walked back under the canopy of trees to the trail. 

​I suddenly had a vision: two dogs. A sporting dog—a short haired white and black, maybe a setter?—to her right who went leaping ahead up the trail and one to her left right, a steadfast golden retriever, by her side. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t alone. Because once you hike with a dog, you will never hike alone again.
​
But I didn’t say the words. I kept them to myself, and gave a thanks to the mountain and her magic.

Tucker and I continued around the Lake, taking in the views. In one marshy area, we watched people up ahead seem to splash down into the thicket. As we approached on the precarious boards that trail tenders had left for us, we came upon a group of hikers and their dogs. They explained that if we continued ahead, one of the boards would sink and we’d get super wet. Even with a dog, they recommended that hacking through the thicket on solid ground was way better than ice cold feet—for both human and canine. So, taking their instructions and hoping that Tucker didn’t lose an eye or get shrub shrapnel down his ear canal, we ventured off the trail to avoid what was more than just a puddle.

Having made it unscathed, we continued around the lake, enjoying all of the views, even the ones without Mount Hood.

As we stood without a view of Mt Hood, looking out at the lake, I heard two women coming toward us in the opposite direction we were heading. They were chit-chatting about this and that and then stopped near us. I looked up a bird—the first and only bird I had seen or heard on this hike—land on a branch in a nearby tree.

Then a second bird joined the first.

“Oh, I wonder what kind of birds those are?” one woman asked the other.

“I bet Frank would know,” the other posited.

The two birds, as if requested for further examination, flew closer to the women.

The two women then stepped off the main trail and started up a small incline to another short trail. They stopped, turned around and went to take a photo as I saw the two birds then fly toward them and land on a nearer branch to them.

“Those birds are following you,” I said to her.

She sighed a little, and said, “Birds seem to like me. The other day one flew right into my office!”

Then she walked off, as if this was just a normal thing. I wanted so much to ask, “Have you figured out what they’re trying to tell you?” but she was already gone, and I wasn’t sure how she’d take it.

There is something about this mountain, or maybe this lake. If you open your heart and listen, you will hear things and see things beyond what our logical minds normally accept.

I considered the reflection in the Mirror Lake. Why--or how--was it reflected at all? If a mirror faces upward (as a lake does), it will reflect that which is directly above it, as it reflects the stars and moon at night. The trees along the coastline were reflected too, as they were on the edge of the mirror.

But how was the mountain in the reflection?

The mountain's summit was still at least fifteen miles away from the lake. It was not above the lake, but rather northeast of it. Yet the lake reflected it as if it was standing on the lake’s edge just as the trees were.

This may be one of those things like my inability to comprehend how we see the Milky Way “out there” when we’re actually “within” the Milky Way…

And yet, Mt Hood has shown me her disappearing act while I've driven across the Ross Island Bridge in Portland, and here her Houdini act was no less impressive.

In some places she was there, but her reflection was not (as I expected):

But take a few steps for a new perspective, and you could catch her reflection:

Although I seek to understand everything, I have to leave some things to faith. I do not question why or how I saw the two dogs with that woman, or why those birds were following that woman and what message they had to her and from whom. Yet I question how the mountain can be reflected in the lake when it’s not directly “in front” of it. Faith isn’t easy. Some things, I still want science to explain to me.

But until then, I am grateful to have experienced this: this glass-like pool of water, high in the snowy mountains in the Pacific Northwest. And I am even more grateful that I have this beautiful soul accompany me. I hope he feels the magic as I do here. And I know now (or perhaps always had faith) that Tucker will be with me on every trail I take, even long after his his physical paws have ceased walking the earth.