I awoke on day five with a very modest agenda: drive up to Timberline Lodge, get the lay of the land, and try to determine whether the wildfires were going to interfere with this chapter of my Mt. Hood adventure — or perhaps more importantly would I have to abandon my beloved “forest dungeon.”
The wildfires were a constant back drop to the trip. Every day brought another question. Where is the Grasshopper fire now? Which way is the wind blowing? Was the area going to be evacuated as it is 12 miles east of Timberline Lodge in the Mt. Hood Wilderness? Is my campground affected? Clearly not the normal questions I would be asking when planning a vacation day.
As I approached Timberline I discovered this active fire was still burning steadily sending up plumes of smoke. Thank goodness the wind was keeping it there. The Lodge and the surrounding area were under an alert to be prepared for a possible evacuation and the winds had consistently been blowing east rather than towards the lodge. Clearly no reason to panic I say. But then no one would expect otherwise from me.
One of the things I basically wanted to do while up there was hike another section of the Pacific Crest Trail. I had again been thinking about my son Nick and his fiancee heading out from there on the PCT in 2005 and it was a good opportunity to experience more of the trail itself.
Unlike some previous experiences, finding the trail was not in this case a navigational triumph. There was a sign that essentially said “All Trails This Way.” And then something remarkable happened.
I had a sane hike!
There were other hikers on the trail, mostly casual day hikers, and naturally I passed every one of them. I definitely did not want anyone to get the impression that I had suddenly become a cautious sensible hiker who had learned from previous experiences. I hadn’t. I still had absolutely no idea what the terrain ahead was going to look like. I simply happened to get lucky.
I hiked north on the PCT for about an hour before turning around at ZIg-Zag Canyon and headed back to the lodge. It was actually a very satisfying little hike and i had completed it with no major orthopedic negotiations.
But somewhere along the way the thought took hold. Why exactly was I camping in a forest dungeon when I could be staying up here at Timberline Lodge. I deemed this an excellent question. The lodge is historic with its rustic character, massive hand-hewn timbers, carved woodwork, massive stone fireplaces … not the typical feel of a hotel but a grand mountain lodge. From the lodge, the views open across the rugged mountain slope of Mt. Hood and sweeping mountain vistas.
So upon my return from the hike I made what I considered a brilliant decision. I checked to see if there might possibly be a room available for the following night.
There was!
And not just any room. My preferred room was available. By “preferred” of course I mean the least expensive room. At $339.00 a night, it was hardly a bargain, but after several nights of sleeping on a cot, crawling into a tent, and negotiating dirt and tree roots, it certainly seemed like a tremendous value. I took delight in the thought this would be my last night in the forest dungeon.
The campground itself was tucked down a very dark forest road. It made it feel remote enough to feel isolated bot not remote enough to escape the highway noise. At night when I was hoping for the peaceful sounds of the forest, what I got instead was the steady drone of truck tires rolling along the highway above. This soundtrack of 18 wheelers was not soothing, or remotely charming . It was simply annoying especially when I was trying to get to sleep.
But in fairness, the campsite was not that bad. It was spacious. There were no mosquitos or other aggressive members of the insect world and after I resupplied with ice and other necessities, I settled in for a pleasant evening. The only real problem was the ground itself. I had begun to think of the campsite as a “tripping route” thanks to all the roots sticking up everywhere to test my balance and reflexes.
I had a comfortable evening. No drama, no search for shade, no lava, no questionable decisions involving difficult terrain. And that may be why the day felt so strange. It did not feel like a day I normally associate with my vacations. There was no ordeal to conquer, no ridiculous challenge to overcome, no moment when I wondered if I had made a spectacularly bad decision. I simply drove up a mountain, watched a wildfire smoke show, hike a lovely section of the PCT, found a room at Timberline Lodge, and returned to camp.
Perhaps this is what normal people call a vacation. I am not entirely sure I ready for that.
