Kino and I left early in the morning, arriving in the parking lot of Eagle Creek, just off of I-84 around 9:30am. I bought my Northwest Forest Pass, locked up my car and with Kino's expandable leash attached firmly to my pack strap, started up the paved road that led to the Eagle Creek Trailhead, another mile or so up the path. Once on the the trail, we hiked along the water for about a mile ascension that brought us high above the creek before emerging into an old-growth forest decorated with footbridges, hanging moss and countless babbling streams. The views and passageways through this part of the forest were reminiscent of a fairy tale, specifically the world I imagined my old King's Quest games to exist in. My imagination began to come alive with the secrets this part of the world could hold and strange feeling of nostalgia passed over me.
Continuing on along the cliff face, I approached the 100-foot Metlako Falls, the tallest falls within Eagle Creek proper, and wary of the steep drop to our right, we merged onto the spur trail and dropped down into the canyon another mile and a half to the resting hole of Punchbowl Falls. Being about two hours into our hike (I was snapping way too many pictures, although it was difficult not to), I decided that we would take our break here. After letting Kino have his run amidst the hidden pools of the hole, I picked a dry spot on the rocks adjacent to the falls, sat down with Kino and shared our packed lunch. After a few minutes, however, the peacefulness and solidarity of the hole disappeared, as scores of people, children and dogs poured into the canyon from the trail above. I remember one woman in particular thinking it was hilarious that her dog was clearly irritating Kino while he was eating, and refused to restrain him even after he bowled Kino over while simultaneously trying to grab my sandwich straight from my hand. It's instances like these that could potentially ruin an otherwise magnificent day, so no longer wanting to subject both myself and Kino to someone else's inadequacies as a dog owner (I wasn't the only one attempting to correct this woman's methods of discipline), I quickly packed up our stuff and headed back up the switches to the main trail and continued on.
Further down the trail, as the path rose high above the creek bed and crossed a number of wooden footbridges, I suddenly found myself across the way from what I learned to be the 90-foot high Loowit Falls. It was here that I ran into another group of hikers, all from Portland, who advised me that I had about another three miles until reaching Tunnel Falls. The leader of the group explained to me that around the next corner of the trail was High Bridge, which marks the point just a tad over halfway. After analyzing Kino to make sure he was still in good condition, I took a few more photos of the falls and continued on over High Bridge. As I approached the gap, the trail narrowed into a well-groomed but rocky ledge that dropped off over 120 feet to my right. Holding Kino close, I wound my way around the cliff-face, conscious of the cableline affixed to the wall on my left. High Bridge then spans over a 150-foot narrow chasm before the trail drops considerably in elevation through a series of redwood groves and fields of Poison Oak.
About a mile later, I crossed the appropriately named Four and a Half mile bridge, which also, in contrast with its downstream cousin, sits only four feet above the water. It was around here where I ran into a bunch of young, naked hippies sunbathing on the rocks by the creek, completely unfazed by my presence. In fact, one woman waved a hello, a gesture which I silently returned. I couldn't help but appreciate the fact that it's always nice to see boobies so unexpectedly. I was probably smiling non-stop for the next mile, at the least.
Over the next mile or two, I passed through a fairly flat and uneventful part of the trail that boasted a series of campsites, a transition of deciduous maples and hardwoods, and the entry into the Hatfield Wilderness, which asked me to fill out a day pass for entry. I did, and following a quick read of the visitation requirements, Kino and I trudged on towards Tunnel Falls.
Just as I was starting to wonder, "How much further...?," we reached a spot that I immediately recognized from my research called, "The Potholes." Stepping carefully, as we were once again traversing alongside a nearly 100-foot sheer drop, Kino and I crossed over a series rock formations which are actually columns of basalt formed by a lava flow that cooled so slowly, it allowed the crystal-like structures to form. As we rounded the corner, the magnificence of Tunnel Falls merged into view.
At 175 feet, Tunnel Falls is one of the most specular sights in the Gorge. As the name implies, the trail actually passes through a cave behind the waterfall and winds precariously up along the side of the awe-striking amphitheater, carved by millions of years of the flowing stream. This was surely the climax of our trip and it was here that Kino decided to take his rest on the trail, perching himself on the edge of a rock high above the pool below and slowly closing his eyes to the hypnotic sound of the water crashing amidst the rocks below. I was somewhat tempted to continue on a bit more along what some have referred to as "The Vertigo Mile" and take our midpoint rest up there, but I decided to turn back here and head back the way we came.
Noticing Kino's growing fatigue, I gently urged him on until we reached the redwood groves that caught my attention just after our crossing of High Bridge. As I stepped into one grove in particular, I felt an immediate sense of peace and serenity sweep over me. Fully believing that there are places scattered throughout the world that are "special," for lack of a better term, I decided to stop here and allow ourselves an hour's rest before finishing the final three miles of the hike. It was the most relaxing, meditative series of moments that I had experienced since arriving in Oregon and knew, once and for all, that this is where I belong.
The final three miles were mostly a descent, which, considering his age and our milage for the dat (13.5 in total), Kino was handling extremely well. I did notice he was moving a bit slower than normal, but that was to be expected. I took our time and allowed plenty of rest stops for photo opportunities and water breaks. As the final stretch wound down towards the trailhead, Kino received a burst of energy that I actually had a hard time keeping up with and, once within access to the water of the creek, pulled me gently off of the path's boundaries and jumped headlong into the stream, refreshing himself after the long day's hike. I could tell he was at one of his happiest moments in his life, and I let him bask in it for as long as he felt necessary.
Eagle Creek Gorge has been one of the more dramatic and rewarding hikes I've explored since I arrived in Portland. It's winter now, and the trail is treacherous with ice and obstructed by thick clouds of mist. Once summer hits again, however, I plan on tackling the loop over the course of a weekend, an option that would force us to bring along overnight gear and at least a day and a half's worth of food. I can't wait.
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