Papa on the trail

"Those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength. They will mount up on wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not grow weary." Isaiah 40:31

Through this northern third of Oregon I have been lucky enough to hike in the company of my dad. He flew in to the Bend/Redding airport. While his flight did not get in until midnight, he was ready and rearing to go by 6 am the next day. We ate a delicious 'down home' style breakfast and then went over gear. We had everything, except fuel for our stoves. We planned to pick that up on our way out to the trail head.
Not but an a minute after we had just packed everything away, Lloyd Gust pulled up. Lloyd has been trail angel-ing for the past 14 years, after over a decade of dedicating himself to section hiking the PCT. Now, when you try to thank him for his service he replies simply, "it's what I do."
We set off up the trail. For 2 days we walked through old growth forest. Branches draped with lichens, peet floor caked with moss. Fog made space as irrelevant as time. We glided through the nether space, content to share company and sense the mighty presence of wildreness around us. When walking along ridges, instead of getting views off across expanses of land, we saw white. At some points I almost wanted to jump, so sure that there was either nothing down there or space had become infinite.
Most importantly, we talked. We shared stories, we spoke prayers to the Creator. Dad told me stories from his childhood and helped me dig in to my earliest memories. He told mer about my predecessors, and we just generally rejoiced in all that was around us.
On the third day, the skies cleared wholly. Birds sang, branches dripped and we were rejuvinated. We climbed into lush meadows at the fringe of the skirts of mighty Mount Jefferson (named in 1806 by Lewis and Clark in honor of the President who had commissioned their endeavour). It truly was a magnificent view. We came upon a massive red X in tape across the trail and a notice that it had been closed due to fire. We had expected this and anticipated making up some distance. We did not know it would be directing down 6 miles of rocky, steep trail.
On this section of the adventure I began to see signs of thru-hikerness in Dad. He acquiesced that running down hill was sometimes easier than walking. A few hours later we hit the trail head and ate our lunch. As if on cue, the shuttle to take us around the re-reoute showed up. It was about 40 miles of road driving to get us around 17 miles of trail. It dropped us off near triangle lake and again we hiked under gauzy overcast skies. Sometimes sunlight filtered down and we could feel it warming us, but, looking up, you could barely see it. And so the skies ranged from snow, to hail to rain to drizzle to mist to clear sunnines. Through it all, we walked.
Then we began to climb the fringes of the skirt of Mt. Hood. The skies were gloriously clear and the climb was a little steep. Up and up to the mighty and Timberline Ski Lodge. Built by the CCC in the 1930s, the grand old stone and wood edifice is now getting a face lift courtesy of the current stimulus efforts.
The intiricacy of the work inside was amazing. Wrought iron, twisted and decorated. Heavy wood rail banisters decorated with intricate carvings of animals and pine cones. Truly the original workers took delight and pride in their work. And thruly the cooks took pride in the food they produced. It was delicious, and I'm not jsut saying that because I am constantly ravenously hungry these days. It really was good stuff. As we sat there, enjoying the company of a group of my Trail Family and Friends, Dad suggested we get a room there if one were available. I certainly had no objections!
But now I must cut my story short, as I am already 15 minutes late to head out for breakfast. I will leave the rest of the story for a guest entry to be made by Dad when he gets home.