Right Here, Not Out There

I had been warned that Portland was a bit grey. Having only experienced the beautiful fall here, with had its days of grey, this was all I thought they meant. In comparison to Southern California, it is a big a difference, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Then December happened.
​
In November, the days of grey started to outnumber the days of sun. By mid-December, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a hike in the sunshine. Oddly, my peaceful retreat was giving me bouts of anxiety: any time the sun shone through, I panicked, quickly searching for the perfect hike, believing this would be our one and only shot at walking in the sunshine before we left.

So, that’s what happened this week. The clouds parted, so I quickly geared up, got Tucker into the truck, and headed to the mountains—the LL Stub Stewart State Park which boasted glorious views of the mountain ranges. There was also some snow on the ground in the higher elevation so I chose this one as being nearest with the lgreatest likelihood of clear roads.

The roads were clear, but a half hour and thirty miles later, the skies were not.
​
I was oddly hopeful, even though I am fully aware that, generally speaking, clouds travel west, not east. So it’s not like the sun would follow us from Portland. I just had to hope there was another break in the clouds somewhere over the Ocean that would reach us  at some point in our journey on the mountain.

​I couldn’t turn around now anyway. Tucker was excited to be out and about, and I had to fulfill his expectations. And honestly, I couldn’t turn down experiencing vibrantly and imaginatively named trails like Caddywomper Way, Lilli’s Lollipop, Widowmaker Way, and of course, Crazy Train. Because when I think of nature calling, I think of Ozzy Osborne.

Following the advice of many a trailwalker before us, we meandered out of our way to one of the lookouts (which was also accessible directly via vehicle and paved road… but why take the easy way?)
​
The clouds had decided to stick around, and when we met a forest ranger there, she confirmed that indeed we were at the lookout. We just couldn’t Look. Out.

Consulting the map, she showed us two other viewpoints we might enjoy and may be clear once we got there, if we we were up for walking another hour or so. I figured why not? We were here. And maybe I should focus not on what was out there, but on what was right here.

So off we went.

As we climbed higher through the forest, a dusting of snow appeared on the foliage all around.

I don’t recall ever seeing snow on green ferns. As a New Englander, if there is snow, there is nothing green but the pine trees. Here there was a magical coating of light in this darkened day.

We reached the view point, and yet again, Mother Nature suggested we should focus on the here and now, not the out there.

I admit that the here and now was indeed delightful. Tucker and I don’t do well in the heat, and so this 40-something degree weather was just right for us. And the snow, as if painted by Bob Ross on the tree limbs, was a unique experience for us.

As if I had passed the test, finally focusing on the present rather than the future and out there, a wee bit of blue shown in the sky.

And a bit more…

And as we rounded the corner to the overlook, the sun itself broke through to greet us.

The mist of the clouds still danced between the treetops, and we stayed for a spell, in this quiet place, high in the mountains, enjoying the right here as much as the out there.

Hiking isn’t about the summit. It's about the journey to the summit. Too often, we’re focused on the goal, told to focus on the future so much that we muddle through the present instead of enjoying every twist and turn along the way, every fern blade painted with snow, and every pine needle dusted with frost.

While I did not get the vitamin D I had been hoping for, I did get all the nutrition and soul-food I needed by just being on the trails, in the woods, out in the Oregon mountains with my beloved companion souldog.

Out there in the distance can be a glorious sight, but what really matters is right here, right now, which is all we really have.