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Once Upon A Time

My sister Rosemary A./Jeanette D./Glennie B./Me/ My brother Jim A./Fred D. Occasionally another kid would move in, then out, but we were the regulars. 

     As quite a young lad (see photo) I lived in a logging camp sited at the West edge of the Cascade Mountains, between farm and forest. We didn't have Mounties but we did have a choker setter who worked naked except for caulk boots and a hard hat; we had a blacksmith who would pick up, with his bare fingers, a hot coal from his forge to light his pipe; thanks to a local farmer, we had a free range herd of cattle with a bull who regularly tried to kill us. It was a great place to grow up.

  Living in the country, occasionally we all had interesting events -- since I was the youngest of the bunch my events were often solo events. I had my own real hatchet (steel head, wooden handle) which I used to nearly chop off a finger and which I was going to use to whang Lonnie in the head; I was thwarted by my mother -- just as well I suppose, but he totally deserved it. *

    An irrigation ditch ran on the other side of the gravel access road. My brother used the ditch to try and drown me. Later I used the ditch water to put out a fire which I had started while playing forest fire. I learned early on that some adventures are more fun in thought than in deed. 

   

* ( I have a major question about this: Why did I have the hatchet? As I recall my parents weren't blase' about murder and self-amputation. I didn't try to kill Lonnie and cut off my finger at the same time, so there are two possibilities: 1 -- I tried to cut off my finger and my parents thought: "Well, the young lad has seven more fingers and two thumbs and he's unlikely to chop all of them off so he can keep his hatchet" Then I tried to kill Lonnie, they decided I wasn't a reliable hatchet wielder, and the hatchet was taken away. or 2 -- I tried to kill Lonnie and they thought: "Well, the young lad didn't actually kill Lonnie (even though Lonnie is obnoxious). But our boy probably won't try to murder anyone else, so he can keep his hatchet." Then I tried to cut off a finger and they thought: " The kid has seven more fingers and two thumbs -- if he tries to chop them all off it'll cost us a fortune in medical bills getting him stitched back together -- We'd better take away his hatchet!" so they did. There are no other explanations for the hatchet.

The young "hatchet man" after an adventure gone awry. I'm sure my mother didn't send me out wearing a ragged play suit -- I must have torn the suit during my adventure. 

Our logging camp was right at the edge of the mountains. Logging was "up the hill" (My Dad: "Yeah, I have to go up the hill tomorrow and work on that miserable Skagit" -- My dad was the millwright for the logging operation.) Except for logging trucks thundering down a road 50 yards from the housing, and other equipment moving up or down the hill. actual logging, including the noise, was never part of camp. But the hills and mountains of "up the hill" started at the very east end of camp: climb over the fence and you started climbing the hills. 

One hill in particular always fascinated me. It was much like every other hill (or mountain if you will) that reached up just east of us. Snow Peak. It looked like everything else up there. It wasn't particularly higher. It would get snow, but so did everything else, including camp. There was nothing to distinguish it. It was always: "You, know that hill just to the right of Snow Peak." "That thing just this side of Snow Peak." and so on. Why did Snow Peak warrant a name, but nothing else did? Why was it so special? I began to doubt that it actually was named Snow Peak -- that the name "Snow Peak" was just a local fable -- less interesting than the Dunkelberger Gravel Bar, or Sasquatch And The Bear -- just a boring fable. (this opinion is sort of confirmed because "Snow Peak" doesn't earn an entry in Oregon Geographic Names a 1000 page tome.)

I pondered the problem while we lived there, but when we moved I largely forgot about it. The Snow Peak problem went to a back burner, then off the stove and into a cupboard, then into the basement where it gathered dust until a few months ago when I came into Facebook contact with Jeanette D. and Fred D. (in the top photo -- they're both older now). My interest in Snow Peak was re-awakened and I suggested to dw that we have a short and mild adventure -- find it, drive as close as possible, and climb it. 

Snow Peak-- Picture taken a couple of miles west of where camp was (camp is long gone)

     So we did. I tried to find information on the web -- essentially there isn't any. One site: "Drive to the gate and park (don't block the road) --- and so to summit". Oregon Atlas & Gazetteer is reasonably detailed and it shows many roads, with little indication if any of them are passable in a small car. I bought a copy of the appropriate Big Sky Maps (AKA guesstimap) which had more detail but still no clue re: driveability. The area is festooned with roads, but nearly all of them are old logging roads (some still active), and nearly all of them are impassable except with a big 4-wheel drive rig -- many are blocked with a log or two barring entry -- our Toyota sedan is a fine car but not much of a brush/rock busting vehicle.  We chose two possible access roads and decided to wing it 

    After waiting two weeks for a break in the fall rains, we drove to Stayton (an easy hour and a half drive), made several wrong turns, found the proper access road, and started up the hill. The road was paved, if narrow, and we indeed found the gate, which was closed and posted "No Trespassing" but not locked. We could have parked and started up, but round trip would have been eight+ miles and since I was being annoyed with plantar fasciitis that seemed too far. We needed to rethink. On our way out we stopped and talked with a young man who was working on a generator (his house was off the grid by miles) He told us there was another road on the other side of Neal Creek which might work,  

"Just cross that bridge that's a mile or so back there. I started to drive up there once but it's real narrow so I just turned around. Good luck though."

    The road is very narrow. Strictly one lane with occasional places where vehicles could pass. It is paved though. This first day was a reconnoiter day and we drove to a fork where the pavement ended; one fork went up hill (totally impassable -- a parked giant four wheel drive pickup didn't try it); the other fork seemed to be a good gravel road (again very narrow) heading down hill. We started walking to see if the uphill branch would work. After only two hundred yards we met three hunters. A nice trio: father, uncle, and son. The son was 35 or so. The father and son were hikers and the son had climbed (hiked into) Snow Peak -- we had really lucked out. He gave us precise directions, knew how far the walk is (one mile), noted the rock scramble at the summit -- and just like that we knew where to go and how long it would take.  

    We returned to Stayton, poked around a bit (two art galleries with decent displays but nothing exciting), a good bookstore (library castoffs but a nice selection) manned by a VERY chatty volunteer, a brew pub with good beer but no food, however a regular food truck came in the afternoon (we returned at five for dinner and a pint) and a tired motel a mile north of town. 

Snow Peak Brew Pub -- we  had to stop here. 

The Snow Peak porter was very good, the IPA was just OK, too hoppy in my opinion. The burger and fries from the food wagon (The Runaway) were surprisingly good. 

   

That night in the motel room (inspired by the room) we began reminiscing about some of the bad rooms we've stayed in during our travels and the bad food we've experienced (a cafe in Rome where we hung around outside warning people away -- a cafe in SE Oregon where the catsup bottle was clogged with mold -- for some examples) Finally dw said: "Why don't we talk about some good things?" 

    "Well," I said, "The linens in this room are clean and there don't seem to be any fleas or bedbugs. The carpet needs a good vacuuming but the blood stain is small and I could hide it with my boot. It doesn't smell -- or only a little -- and it's quiet. We've done much worse." In all we had a good night's sleep. 

   Next morning we drove to the trail head (an easy hour), did the mile hike, the short rock scramble, and so to summit. Snow Peak is the high point of an extinct shield volcano rim just on the West edge of the Cascade Range. The view is stunning. In spite of some haze and left over forest fire smoke, we could see Mt. Adams (possibly Mt. Rainier) south to the Three Sisters. On a clear day I'm sure we could have seen Crater Lake rim and perhaps further south to Mt. McLoughlin. We could see across the Willamette Valley to the Coast Range -- it's a wonderful short hike. We were exhilarated. 

    

    We hiked out and drove home -- with a mild disappointment (for me) at Mt. Angel -- site of Oregon's largest Octoberfest. I wanted a bratwurst and spaetzle but nothing was available. Sigh. In all a mild low-key adventure but we really enjoyed it. 

Start of the trail

Scramble to the summit

Part of the foundation for the long gone fire lookout

Scramble to the summit

Oh me of little faith -- it really is Snow Peak

The view North -- The other side of the crater rim

Mt. Jefferson

Summit, and view West

On the top

from "Ithaka" -- C.P. Cavafy

     Hope your road is a long one. 

     May there be many summer mornings, when

     with what pleasure, what joy

     you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time --

Aristotle:   Bald people are not mutilated (I'm not bald but this is still good to know)

Because they frequently contain botulism, if you eat, in a few hours, 1400 Slim Jims -- it can kill you. I'm not convinced that it would be the botulism that kills you. 

And speaking of food: (from Twitter) A serious question: if someone is telling me a sad story and crying, how long should I wait before I take a bit of my corn dog?

And so it goes.