THE SPRING SNOWMAN MIGRATION @ HAMILTON MT.

Sagging rainclouds took a sideways glance at me and pointed wet threatening fingers in my direction but ended up not touching me as I headed up the Hamilton Mt. Trail. In the distance I could see the Bonneville Dam stretched out across the Columbia, and as I gained elevation, this particular fruit of my species’ technology began to take on the semblance of building blocks - a child’s toys cluttering the living room (but never-the-less generating relatively cheap energy).

At about a mile and a quarter in, the trail meanders near a couple of waterfalls. Evidently, ultra eco-sensitivity has resulted in the construction of a nature trail that effectively keeps hikers from touching the water. Either that or trail manufacturers have been forced to build safety barriers geared to the public’s lowest common intelligence denominator. The end result is an ambiance that harkens to comparisons with standing in line at Disneyland.
At Pool of the Winds, the cascading water pours into a carved rock chamber of indeterminate shape, indeterminate because…well there’s a rail in front of it blocking access…

…but also, the volume of water pouring into the enclosed rock chamber (at least on this trip bracketed by rainfall) appears to create a pressure differential that pushes air out with considerable velocity (hence the descriptive name) making it unpleasant to stick your head around the corner (especially if you’re fond of the baseball cap you’re wearing).

Rodney Falls

Rodney Falls again

Walking through the woods on a nice trail, it suddenly struck me just how nice trails are. I noticed the densely packed trees functioning as warp threads for tightly woven ‘filling’ threads of under and over brush.

Without a trail, it would probably take someone capable of bench-pressing 400 pounds to have a chance at breaking a path through the forest.

However tall Hamilton Mt. is turns out to be just about where the viable snow-level was.

On nearby Table Mountain, snow gives the impression that it is retreating upward.

When snow melts and retreats to higher altitudes, there is always a danger that animated snowmen who are not paying attention may be trapped on small mountaintops unable to reach the permanent snowfields of the guardian peaks. Such a fate may have befallen the two snowmen marooned on the basalt outcropping pictured above. I admired how the two snow-people stoically accepted their fate. They seemed to stand in awe before the return of the color green. They stood side by side until the very end, seemingly confident in their belief that all snowmen will one day be resurrected when the temperature drops below 32 degrees Fahrenheit.

Click on image for slightly larger version

On rare occasions, it is even now still possible to witness the massive snowman migration that heralds the end of winter in these parts. Note the powder kicked up by thousands of stampeding snowmen.

WAHCLELLA FALLS - COLUMBIA RIVER GORGE

I got a new waterproof, breathable jacket for Christmas so I took it out for a test drive on the Wahclella Falls trail. The canyon walls rose on either side of me as I followed the path in along Tanner Creek. Heavy dark clouds scraped across the treetops enclosing the chasm below in a dark gray gloom.

Ice fell from the sky. Soft hail accumulated on the ground here and there. Like water overflowing leaf clogged gutters, streams and rivulets of instant tributaries poured into the valley.

The rain-jacket did an admirable job of keeping exterior water out, but I’m afraid no current technology is sufficient to dissipate the sweat produced by a feverish semi-fat man.

It seemed I had only got started, when the trail forked upward to the left or downward to the right. I chose to head upward and was soon surveying the lower trail as it snaked its way through an evident landslide.

The unremitting precipitation was making it difficult to keep my camera lens dry. I found a dry spot on my t-shirt and wiped the big drops off. I heard a noise behind me and whipped around to find an unassuming old man offering me an umbrella. In retrospect, I think maybe it was Picasso, but I guess I didn’t recognize him with his clothes on.

My first view of Wahclella Falls.

Some of the clouds were so dark that I thought perhaps night had come.

I took about fifty pictures of the falls, but almost all of them suffered from over-exposure so that all the detail was lost in the white areas. Over and over again, this created a featureless white void as a central focal point of non-interest. I tried to combat the loss of detail in the white frothy water by shortening my exposure times, but this strategy resulted in an associated loss of detail in the shadows. I was getting frustrated, especially because I’m pretty damn sure Picasso knew exactly how to fix this problem, but he continued his policy of not speaking – encouraging me to experience the fullness of ‘the journey’.

The trail looped around so that I could see I would soon be traversing the territory I had previewed from above. Periodically, I’d look back and try to find some award winning angle of the falls that nobody else had thought to shoot, but I didn’t find one, and I started feeling embarrassed, especially with Picasso patiently holding the umbrella for me.

At first I was also embarrassed about the umbrella. I didn’t think any self-respecting Oregonian would be caught with an umbrella in the rain. But time and again, the umbrella allowed me to take pictures without getting drops all over the lens, even when I tipped the camera upwards. When other hikers passed me, I’d say, “It’s not for me, it’s for the camera!” Usually, they would just kind of squint and step way, way out of my way.

For a brief moment, it looked like the clouds might break, and a rich yellow glow permeated the mist.

I felt happy for a minute – anticipating the sun.

But it began to pour.

SCOUTING THE ROAD TO RAMONA FALLS

It seems that one of the consequences of staying alive for a long time is that you begin to gain a sense of appreciation for the cost of change. This is achieved through the accumulation of memories, through the death of more and more of your contemporaries, through cycles of human construction and demolition, and occasionally, demonstrations of environmental tinkering via Mother Nature’s big box ‘O’ tools. Evidently in November, Mother Nature determined that a portion of the Sandy River needed a make-over

It used to be that you would drive to Zigzag and turn North at the Lolo Pass junction, drive a little over four miles to forest road 1825 and then…but then it doesn’t really matter because forest road 1825 has a gate across it now. So it’s get-out-of-the-car-and-walk-time.
At first, as you walk along the trails that snake along the river, you marvel at the delicate ground cover and the tenacious tree-like things that struggle to grow out of the moss and lichen covered rocks. But then abruptly, the trail disappears, seemingly scooped out by a titan gardener with skyscraper sized spade.

In a little less than a mile, you reach the bridge.

Fortunately, there is a wealth of bridge alternatives.

Don’t take this tree though, because it only goes to a little island in the middle of the river and you end up having to wade through really cold water to complete the crossing.

The sign says the Ramona Falls trailhead is still 2 miles ahead.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I…
I took the one without a tree in front of it.

From here, or very close to here, there is a message board that is kind enough to inform you that a mile ahead, there will be NO seasonal bridge across the river until maybe May – but it depends. But that note was probably written before the November moonscape make-over.

Here Mother Nature experiments with a lunar crater motif.

As best as I was able to determine, this is the place where you would expect to find a seasonal bridge (if it was the right season). I think the dark space into the trees on the other side of the river is where the trail continues, but I didn’t have time to verify it owing to a prior softball commitment. From this point, my GPS device claims that it is 3.8 miles back to where I parked the car.

These building supplies off to the side of the trail provide another clue about the possible location of the site of the seasonal bridge, but if you ask me, I think they are going to need more wood.

A wiser choice of tree-bridge allows me to cross back without getting wet.

(To be continued)

TABLE MOUNTAIN: Columbia River Gorge Geology

In a previous blog entry, Bridge of the Gods (http://thenarrativeimage.blogspot.com/2007/03/bridge-of-gods.html), I noted that some geologists have posited a link between a landslide that likely occurred in the 1200s and local myths/legends describing a land-bridge across the Columbia.

Current, apparently misnamed, Bridge of the Gods.

John Eliot Allen, author of The Magnificent Gateway, writes, “The lobe of the latest (“Cascade”) slide covers about 5 ½ square miles. It diverted the river a mile to the south, and contained a dam long enough, in all probability, to give rise to the Indian legend of the “Bridge of the Gods”

Mr. Allen describes the unstable geologic situation like this. “Heavy Grande Rhone Basalt-flows cap Greenleaf Peak and Table Mountain, resting upon 1000 feet of weak, clay bearing Eagle Creek sediments.”

The trail I took to Table Mountain starts at the Bonneville trail head. It’s on the Washington side of the river across the highway from the Bonneville Dam’s visitor center parking lot. You can pick up a parking/forest pass at a Chevron station a couple miles west of the trail head (Five dollars for a day pass).

At the east end of the trail-head parking lot, find the Tamanous trail sign and proceed about a half a mile until you merge with the Pacific Crest Trail. A sign at the intersection almost counter intuitively points North and South. Go north, ultimately, along the Pacific Crest trail, though it will feel an awful lot like you are really going west. Whenever you come to an intersection, be sure you see the little metal Pacific Crest Trail diamonds posted in the trees when you resume your walk or you may be off track.

Heading down the trail toward Gillette Lake, I noted that were it not for the moss, you would think the landscape was still rolling. While some carbon dating results put the landslide event at about 1260 A.D., other geologists have attempted to date the slide by measuring lichen growth.

Gillette Lake has some nice camping sites and appears to periodically host beavers. There are remnants of lodge and dam building activities. I’m inclined to describe the color of Gillette lake as a green not found in nature, but that apparently can’t be accurate.

A little bit past Gillette Lake, the trail opens up onto what may be an old logging road and a clear cut area that affords a good view of the sheared away face of the mountain. This image shows Table Mountain as it appeared this year on March 3rd (left) and again on April 1st (right).

A former trail to the top of Table Mountain has been closed due to erosion and other environmental concerns. A posted sign encourages you to continue another half mile to this newer access point. If the trail so far has been a medium ‘5’, it is about to become a “9” and for old out of shape fat men, maybe an “11”.

Later on, there will be the additional psychological challenge of exposure to sheer drop-offs. I had to shield my eyes with my hands – like blinders – to keep focused on where I was placing my feet.

From this vantage point, you can see how the river bends to the south behind Bonneville Dam.

From the summit, looking east up the Columbia River gorge.

This ridgeline leads to the top (The point) of the sheer face of Table Mountain

In retrospect, I’m not sure it is a good idea to get this close to the edge of an unstable mountain with a demonstrated propensity to slide.



I thought it was hard going up the mountain, but my knees had a surprise for me when I started back down. Fortunately, I got off the rocky dangerous part well before dark. Limping past Gillette Lake on the way out, I was thankful I had my flashlight and my bag of survival gear – just in case (about 15 1/2 miles round trip).