Buck Lake and the Hidden Mt. Hood Wilderness

July 8, 2012: Last year just around this time, a friend of mine that I had met through some photography projects I got involved with when I first moved into town had invited me on a camping trip with him, his girlfriend and a few others out in the Mt. Hood Wilderness.  I had been up around the mountain a few times, but never within the wilderness that encompassed the foothills south of Mt. Hood. This would be a whole new adventure for me. 

With Kino loaded up alongside all my camping equipment, I drove south from downtown Portland, then east along SR 224 past Estacada and into the Mt. Hood Wilderness. After nearly an hour of following the breathtaking canyons and azure blue waters of the Clackamas River, I finally passed the Ripplebrook Ranger Station, the landmark that told me to take the next left turn off the highway. My directions told me to stay right at all the forks in the road until I reached a huge wooden gate.  From here, the road turned into rough gravel, which I followed until I reached their campsite, designated with a line of beer cans across the hood. Although the main recreation spot in these parts was the the semi-crowded Timothy Lake, there was instead a sign on the windshield with directions to Buck Lake, a quiet little swimming hole up the mountain where they were spending the warmth of the afternoon.

The road upwards was narrow.  Like, barely a car wide, narrow.  To my right, the cliffs dropped off into a deep valley, and to my left, a wall of rocks and trees rose above me to the next switchback.  My Jeep bounced and bumped, and twisted and turned up the climb to Buck Lake, but we made it to the "parking area" with little problems.  I was still unsure that I was in the right area, though.  With not a soul to be seen, the only way to find out was to walk the road for the next few hundred yards in an effort to find the 1/2-mile trail that would lead up to the lake.  Less than fifteen minutes later, Kino and I were climbing over a small ridge in the trees from which we were able to effortlessly drop down to the rocky shoreline of Buck Lake. From above, the water was crystal clear and strikingly blueish green. The surface was calm and the rays of sun were hitting it just right, so perfectly in fact, that it almost seemed like tinted glass as opposed to the murky, silt-filled lakes I was used to visiting back in Ohio.

I met my friends and were introduced to a few others that were up along for the ride, though I can't seem to recall their names. There were two other guys that seemed to be decent friends, a latino man and his son, and a married couple as well.  We all got along alright, and after a few hours of swimming around the lake, we all headed in a caravan back down to the campsite, a nice little spot that butted up against the one of the genesis streams of the Clackamas River.

I only spent one night there, and I can't say that outside of firing off a homemade potato gun into the river, nothing truly extraordinary happened.  It was just a hell of a good time.  This was just one of those weekends where you find yourself among mostly strangers, yet everyone got along massively, chipped in their part for dinner, breakfast and keeping the fire going.  We hung out well into the night, laughing and telling random stories around the campfire the entire time. I looked down to find Kino fast asleep by the fire, keeping himself warm against the oncoming chill of the night.  It was here that myself, along with a few others decided to retire, and the livelihood of the evening dwindled with the campfire's embers. 

I was the first to wake up in the morning, and passed the time by rebuilding the fire and cleaning up camp from the night before.  I got breakfast started as well, and it wasn't long before the scent of pancakes and coffee aroused the rest of the crew from their tents. As the morning passed along, I slowly collected my gear and reloaded up my car to get a decent day's start out on the road.  It would only be about a two hour drive back to Portland, but I wanted to make a few stops along the way, just to relax with my dog and soak up the sun along the isolated flow of the Clackamas River.  I said my good-byes and left just about the same time as a few of the others, looking forward to the next time we'd all get together for another camping trip again.  Although I haven't been back to that area of the wilderness with them since last year, I look forward to taking the trip again, this time with the goal to camp up at the lake itself.  It's too serene of a spot not to try. 

Welcome to Lewiston, Idaho

My girlfriend was raised in a small town on the border of Idaho and Washington called Lewiston, aptly named after Meriwether Lewis, of the Lewis and Clark Expedition team.  Across the state line is Clarkston, named after...you guessed it; William Clark of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Both towns butt up against the junction of the Snake and Clearwater rivers, the former of which serves as the state line between the two.  About two months ago, she asked me if I'd be up for going to her cousin's wedding with her in late June, and of course I said yes.  Fast forward to this past weekend and we're on the road bright and early with three dogs piled into the back of my Jeep.  We weren't in a huge rush, but we figured we'd arrive into Lewiston around 4-5pm Friday afternoon. 

I drove the first leg of the trip east through the Columbia River Gorge along I-84 to I-82 north until we arrived in Pasco, WA. Beth took over from there and we continued north through the high desert of eastern Washington.  After that, I couldn't tell you where she turned, but the brown, dry brush of the desert soon evolved into the rolling green wheat fields of the Palouse.  The contrast of the bright blue sky against the stark emerald hills was striking to me and I could barely shift my gaze from the landscape.  Beth explained to me that the Palouse was a square section defined by four small border cities; Pullman & Moscow, and Lewiston & Clarkston.  Pullman & Moscow, the homes of Washington State University and Beth's alma mater, The University of Idaho, respectively, would be our first stop. 

Though we arrived at Pullman first, she drove me through both campuses, roughly six miles apart from one another, and pointed out various landmarks from her college days, such as how their home games were actually played at WSU while UI's stadium was under construction, where her business college buildings were, the location of her first apartment and the Moscow clubs and bars she liked to frequent with her friends on the weekends.  Both were small college towns and are literally located smack dab in the middle of nowhere, but they had a familiar charm to them that I've really only experienced in similar campuses such as Miami University, Ohio University, Cornell and the University of Georgia.  We stopped by the campus bookstore and took a quiet stroll along the "Hello Walk," a paved path that winds through the center greens where its suggested you say hello to everyone you pass.  Due to the rising heat (it was easily in the high 90's by now), we turned back towards the car and toured the rest of campus within the confines of my Jeep's air conditioning. 

Earlier, while driving around WSU, we stumbled across the chapter house for my fraternity, Sigma Phi Epsilon.  Although I'm not really involved with them anymore, I'm still find it interesting to check out other houses on campuses across the country, if only to see what the differences are.  In Washington, the Sig Ep house was practically a mansion, built of brick and adorned with manicured lawns, lavish turrets and ornamental masonry.  ...The SigEp house on UI's campus?  Condemned.  Honestly, it looked like an abandoned health clinic, so I would never have believed it was a SigEp house save for the signature bright red door particular to only Sigma Phi Epsilon chapters.  Furthermore, my remaining doubts were diminished as I peered in the front windows, only to spot a SigEp scholarship flier strewn across the floor among a mess of other papers, junk and broken glass.  I'm fairly certain this place acts as the campus meth house now.  What a mess. I have yet to find out what happened, so until I do, SigEp's fate with UofI remains a mystery. 

An hour later, following a spectacular scenic overlook of the valley supporting Lewiston, Clarkston, the junction of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers, and the sprawling desert hills of central Idaho, we wound our way down the hill and checked into our Lewiston hotel.  Luckily, they allowed dogs.  Unfortunately, I saw right away that Kino could unlock the handle.  In an effort to prevent him from aimlessly roaming the hotel, I had to pull a heavy chair against the door as we left them each time.  Beth was unamused, but let me indulge on my fears. God bless her. 

After we got settled, we met her brother Eric and his wife Jamie for a few beers and pizza at the local brewery.  The parking lot was unpaved and the place looked like a beat-up airplane hanger or some kind of abandoned industrial facility.  It was amazing. 

Afterwards, we headed out to a bar called the Wrangler, a place that had built up a reputation in a town that was already considered a bit rough to begin with. You can still smoke in this place, a rarity these days.  The clientele is a hard bunch, as I'm sure there were more than a few switchblades tucked away between these folks.  I ordered "two fingers" of Makers and the bartender (who was barely legal, and smoking like a fiend), looked at me like I was nuts. Beth was humiliated. Actually, she was probably more scared for my life.  God knows what the people in there would've taken offense two.  "Two fingers" (seriously...who doesn't know what two fingers is?), is undoubtedly one of them.  Honestly, this place reminded me of a bar I hung out at back in Youngstown during high school (yes, high school) called Mickey's Bar.  For that very reason, I loved every second of it. 

The next day, Beth and I drove all around where she showed me the houses she grew up in, where she went to high school, and all her favorite places she loved to visit while growing up.  It was really quite warming to get a glimpse into her former Idaho life, even though so much of the area has changed since she left.  Even though she's a city girl now, it's nice to know that there's a bit of country innocence that remains in her roots.  I can really appreciate that. Later in the afternoon, we drove downstream with Kino in the effort to find a riverside beach to lay out on for a few hours before the wedding and enjoy the refreshing waters of the Snake River.  It would, at least, offer us some solace from the heat, which at this point had risen into the triple digits. 

As the time of the wedding grew more and more near, my voice, which had begun to falter a bit the night before, had gone away, almost completely.  With each passing hour it grew worse, and by the time we stopped for an amazing, late-afternoon Burger at Sharp's (complete with Beth's self-proclaimed, condiment heroin, "frysauce"), I could barely utter a full syllable. As this would be the first time I'd be meeting the majority of Beth's family on her mom's side, and having a total lack of voice was a bit discouraging.  Upon meeting her Uncle and Aunt just before the ceremony, I couldn't even introduce myself without sounding completely ridiculous.  I know they all felt bad, and knew it was completely out of my control, but I did what I could to make the best of it and just made fun of myself, in any way I could. I'm sure they appreciated it.  

The ceremony started around 6pm, just as the day was cooling off to a brisk 98 degrees and lasted a whopping 15 minutes, tops.  Additionally, the official colors of the wedding were pink and camouflage   Yes, you read that correctly...and it only got better from there.  The other highlights? Mason jars with wine stems, four kegs of Bud Light, the fact that the t-shirts and shorts outnumbered the shirts with collars, and the most happy-drunkenness I've seen since college. Although we left a few minutes early, the reception was a completely blast and I learned without much difficulty that Beth's entire family loves to kick back and have a great time.  In spite of all my difficulties speaking that night (I even busted out a pen and paper at one point), every single one that I met were incredibly welcoming and wasted no time at all poking a bit of harmless fun at my dilemma.  Honestly, it made me feel right at home.  What could've been a potentially embarrassing and frustrating situation turned into the joke of the night, enough so to earn me the nickname "Larynbritis."  ...Clever. 

We were packed and back on the road the next morning by about 8:30, taking a different route through Washington from the one we came in on. This followed SR12 east along the Clearwater River, up out of the valley, across the high desert plains and straight back into the Columbia River Gorge.  It was a magnificent drive, and aside from a few photo ops of old abandoned barns and shelters along the way, we pretty much drove straight though. By 4:00 we were rolling back into the city of Portland, amazed at the difference in landscape that had evolved through the day.  From the desert valleys of Idaho to the drizzle-coated moss of Portland, OR, we were home and ready to crash.  It was an exhausting trip, but more fun I've had on the road in as long as I can remember.  I'm sure I'll return back there with her again one of these days, but until then, I'm more than certain we'll get there will be plenty of other road trips under our belts. 

Pacific City, OR: Beach Camping and Baby Seals

June 2, 2012: One thing I had been looking forward to upon arriving on the west coast was a bit of beach camping.  I had already hiked the Clatsop trail from Indian Beach the summer before, but even then I had stayed along the bluffs overlooking the sea, not directly on the beach. 

My friend Vanessa had a group of friends that I was vaguely familiar with as I had met some of them only once the previous autumn.  Everyone had been invited to head down to Pacific City, OR to celebrate Wayne's birthday in the form of an enormous campout on the beach.  I picked Vanessa up late in the morning on that Saturday and we embarked on the two-hour drive down to the campsite, Kino, hotdogs and enough beer to quench a small army all packed into the back of my Jeep. We arrived with little troubles and immediately made introductions with all of those I hadn't met, along with a new set of re-introductions with those I already had, though only once months before.  I set up our tent and got Kino settled at the site, trying my damnest, as usual, to keep him away from the smorgasbord of food we had around the fire.  ...It was an ongoing effort. 

At one point, there was some commotion down the beach, yet was hidden from view as we were situated in a cove of sorts, tucked back away against the dunes.  When a few of us went to see what was going on, we were somewhat relieved to see that a baby seal had crawled up on shore, and was wiggling its way through the sand.  Clearly beached by accident, we made sure not to touch it so as not to leave our scent behind with it.  Should that have happened, its mother would abandon it to the elements, and it would be sure not to survive.  We did however, get close enough to snap a few pictures before stepping back out of the area and leaving it be.  Most of us checked in on it the next morning to find no sign of the baby seal, and the marks of the high tide well above where it had crawled last.  Hopefully, it found its mother and made its way home.  That'd be the Disney version, anyhow. 

As night fell, the fire grew, as did our party.  It stayed pretty low-key, but I'd say throughout the night, there were probably close to twenty people around the campfire. The guitars inevitably came out and with them, the full circuit of 90's grunge hits.  We laughed well into the night, the fire roaring and Kino fast asleep at my heels. I didn't know these guys very well at this point, but I never felt out of place or unwelcome.  Soon, the moon was high above our heads, the fire had burned down to embers and every one was fading, especially myself.  There were a few still awake and working their way through a few more songs, but I excused myself to bed and ducked into my tent.  Within minutes, I was falling asleep to the acoustic sounds of their guitars and the rolling waves of the Pacific. 

I can't remember why I had to be back in Portland as early as I did, but after a quick breakfast and a breakdown of the campsite, I loaded everything into the car, gave my farewells to those who were up and moving, and headed back east towards Portland.  This month is the year anniversary of that trip, and this coming weekend, that same crew is heading back to Pacific City for round two.  I unfortunately, am unable to join them.  I'll be traveling in the opposite direction into Lewiston, Idaho.  Though, that story will be saved for another time. 

Back in Phoenix: Graduations, High School Reunions and a Solar Eclipse

May, 2012: My cousin Danny was finally graduating high school.  Now, I say that like it's been an effort for him.  As if maybe he repeated a few years, or just struggled getting to the point of graduation all together.  Quite the opposite, actually.  Education comes quite naturally to Danny, as he's exhibited a passion towards learning for as long as I remember. I use the word "finally" in the sense that he's the last of us, the youngest of the Vimmerstedt cousins and the final member of our family's generation to walk his transition into adulthood.  So, what an ideal opportunity for the family to celebrate it?  Sure enough, come May of 2012 and most of that side of the family were together again, just a mere three months after my Mom's epic birthday in Youngstown.  First celebrating the oldest, now the youngest.  There was a strange sense of symbolism there, and we all felt it.

My mom and my Uncle David met me at the airport, as I promptly threw my suitcase into the back of Dave's truck and hopped into shotgun.  My parents had already been here a few days and were eager to hear about how my new Graphic Design job was going. Although they had heard most of it over the phone so far, there's something different in speaking about it in person. As we walked into the house, I was greeted by my Dad, who, while I was being escorted back from the airport, had decided to accompany my Aunt Ellen to the grocery store and help her situate dinner.  This, of course, due to my Dad's incessant need to overtake everything, did not go well.  Someone put too much pepper in the salad and according to Ellen's very real and believable threat, ...there was going to be hell to pay. And Dad was straight in her crosshairs.  ...Leave it alone, Bill.  Leave it alone.

I'd be amiss here if I failed to mention my Uncle's Dogs, Cougar and Blitz.  Everytime I come into town, I'm astounded by the greeting I get from these guys, especially Cougar who I've developed a special bond with, despite only seeing him every other year since about '05. Each time I visit, Cougar doesn't leave my side, which aside from being super-cool, just proves to me that some dogs have a sense that we can't necessarily explain.  I think he instinctively knows I'm away from the strong bond I share with my dog Kino, and does what he can to fill the void.  One may think I'm reading too much into it, but nevertheless...it strikes me each and every time.

About a month before, I had written an update on Facebook regarding my trip to Phoenix.  A few minutes later, I had received an email from an old high school friend, Ryan Ligotti, asking me to look him up once I got into town.  Seeing that Ryan and I have pretty much known each other since Kindergarten, I gave him a call as soon as I got into town.  Once we wrapped up dinner, Ryan came by and picked me up, to which we drove just a few miles away to his girlfriend's restaurant for a few beers and a second dinner. Having not seen each other practically since high school graduation, we had a lot to catch up on, and it was a blast.

Although we had a similar group of friends back then, I kind of kept up with one half, while he kept in touch with the other, so after a few hours, we were both pretty much up to speed on the majority of those we've lost touch with.  People do lead crazy lives, and some much more unexpected than others. At least, that idea was reaffirmed to me that night.  Following a couple of beers and plenty of laughs, we paid the bill and he dropped me off back at my Uncle's place. It was a good night.  Nostalgic, even.

The morning of Danny's graduation was a scramble, but in what seemed like just a few minutes, Danny had his diploma in hand and the hats were in the air.  The ceremony itself was typical in length, but I was so fascinated by the accomplishments of these kids, that the speeches and stories of motivation, self-discipline and determination made the time pass by much faster than I would've anticipated.  Each and every one of them was a true scholar, and had passed through a school that was renowned for churning out the best of the best.  Yes, Danny was the baby of the family; there's that.  I held him as an infant and have watched him grow over the past two decades into the emerging man he is today, and I'll be honest, I couldn't have been more proud of him than I was just then. Sure, I want to clobber him sometimes, but only because I want the best for him, if that makes any sense at all.

During my last morning in town, I made it a point to spend a few hours alone with my Dad by taking him into the Phoenix Mountain Preserve, a massive expanse of land within the limits of Phoenix and Scottsdale that remains untouched by law, and is covered by a network of trails that wind up and between the peaks of the preserve. Directly in my uncle's backyard lies Shaw Butte, a 1000ft. mound that offers views of the entire city in nearly every direction.  At 5am that morning, I woke up my Dad and hauled him out of bed, determined to involve him in a tradition I've built for myself each time I visit Arizona, which has been roughly every other year since the spring of 2000. If we left early enough, we'd be able to catch the sunrise from the summit, so we needed to move.

A little less than an hour later, we were cresting the summit, the morning sunrise in full, blinding view. We sat and soaked it in and, without the ongoing distractions of birthday parties, graduations and constant interruptions from family, he and I allowed ourselves the first moments of solace together since I left for Portland.  I will never forget that hike with my Dad, and he personally has brought up how much it meant to him multiple times since.  After a bit of rest, we descended off the back of the mountain and looped back towards the house through the valley below, arriving just in time for breakfast.

My flight left that night around 8:30pm or so, which gave us plenty of time to check out the West Coast Solar Eclipse.  Although it was actually supposed to be seen best in Portland, the skies in the northwest were cloudy and obscured.  The skies in Phoenix however, were not.  My uncle, always being prepared, handed me a welder's mask and a beer.  Together, Dave and I sat in the 112 degree heat and slowly watched through the heavily tinted glass, as the sun was slowly being absorbed by the moon. I've never seen a full-on solar eclipse before and the effects it began to have on the landscape was fascinating.

Unfortunately, I had to leave for my flight before the cycle was complete and following a series of long goodbyes with Ellen, Rick, Danny, Jon and the dogs, I was heading back to the airport and with parents and Dave under the golden shadow of the solar eclipse.  Our reunion had too quickly come to a close and as the eclipse begun to fall below the line of the horizon, the wheels of my plane left the sweltering hot pavement of Phoenix, not to touch down again until under the drizzle-filled skies of Portland, Oregon.

Returning Home: Mom's Surprise 70th Birthday Party

February, 2012: Just before Christmas in 2011, my Uncle David had called me to ask if my dad had anything planned for my Mom's 70th birthday this year, and if so, if he could be involved in some way.  I let him know that we hadn't discussed anything as of yet, but we could definitely figure out something.  This single conversation started what would soon one of the greatest days my family has had in almost as long as I can remember.

I was still unemployed, aside from a register gig at a coffee shop in The Pearl and a few freelance jobs that I was able to tackle every few weeks, but I felt as if I was closing in on what would soon become my career in Portland.  So, when considering how much I'd be spending on a flight back to Cleveland, there was no question.  I found a place to board Kino for the week, reserved my flight and without a single ounce of suspicion from my Mom, flew back to Cleveland on a cold rainy night.

Garrett picked me up and we immediately hit the bars in Tremont, a favorite area of both of ours which I used to frequent at least a few times a week.  Our first stop was the Flying Monkey, but the celebration of my first night back in town in eight months turned into an all-out bar crawl, ending with pure, random hilarity...that of me getting tazed by a crazy woman in Edison's.  Yeah.  ...it was one of those kinds of nights.

For the next few days, I hid my location from my Mom.  Still thinking I was in Portland, I kept a fairly low profile, catching up with a few close colleagues and friends, making a few new ones, checking out how my house in Old Brooklyn was holding up and dropping in for a surprise visit at my old office downtown.  During this time, Garrett was starting a commission for the city of Cleveland to paint one of the large guitar monuments peppered around town, so our other friend Dawson and I helped him pick up the 10-ft guitar at the Sherwin-Williams warehouse and haul it to the improvised studio where he would be working on it for the next few weeks.  In what seemed not even a day, Saturday morning had rolled around and i was packed and ready to leave. shortly before noon, my close friend Katie picked me up in Tremont to drive with me down to Youngstown's Stambaugh Auditorium for my Mom's big surprise.

Much had evolved since that first conversation with my uncle a few months before. For starters, my dad arranged the rental of an entire ballroom at Stambaugh, set aside specifically for the party. Secondly, all my mom's friends from her different walks of life were coming. Teachers, sorority sisters, neighbors, local family and close friends. Additionally, there would be a full spread of food and wine to feed everyone; sandwiches, hor d'oeuvres, the works. And finally, each of my mom's remaining siblings would be there, and she had no idea. This was huge. Her birthday would mark the first time, after nearly 15-year long period of estrangement, that they would all be back in the same room together again. Leave it to my mom, the oldest of the Vimmerstedt clan, to unknowingly bring them all back together again.

She thought she was seeing an afternoon concert in the upper ballroom with my Dad.  Imagine her surprise when she walked in and started recognizing faces.  One, then a few, then many, all applauding her entrance.  She was floored.

Then, from around the corner, walked her younger brother Rick, who, in typical Rick-fashion, made a light-hearted quip about her looking halfway good for being an old lady and embraced her in a way that only a younger brother could.  Before she could comprehend the moment, Susan, my Mom's only living sister, entered the room with her husband Jim following closely behind.  More tears and hugs followed as the room, still applauding looked on.  Next came in David, her youngest living brother, along with his wife Ellen and the youngest of their two sons, Danny.  In the midst of all her siblings and the wave of emotions that she experience in just a few short minutes, we could clearly tell that she was completely overwhelmed, so it shouldn't be a surprise that as I entered the room last and stood nearly ten feet away from her, I went completely unnoticed.  In fact, in her effort to absorb all the faces around her, some of which she saw every day, and others, whom she had barely seen in years, it took her nearly an entire minute to realize that I was actually there. But when she did, by God did she scream.  I'm not sure she's ever been so happy to see me in her life.  Not in my memory, anyway. So I gave her an enormous hug, kissed on the cheek and said three words;

"Happy Birthday, Mom." 

Over the course of the next few hours, we celebrated like we had never done so before.  I have never seen my family and my parent's friends so happy.  We ate loads of food, had a ridiculous amount of cake and traded the mass amount of stories all of us shared with her.  We were all (mostly) together again and it was all on the account of my Mom.  She was however, slightly miffed upon finding out that I had been in town for nearly three days without seeing her.  I'm pretty sure she would've clobbered me for that had she been able to find the strength.  As it turns out, seeing your brothers and sisters together again in one spot for the first time in over fifteen years can be slightly draining.  Not to mention, all the friends and close relatives that had shown up as well.  By the end of the party though, I think she was able to find it in her heart to forgive me.

My remainder of time spent in Youngstown with my family involved visiting the tombstones of my grandparents and reminiscing about the glory days of a now disheveled, ghost of a city. Over the next few days, we all returned home, one by one, leaving my mom with the memory of one of the best birthdays of her life.  I, naturally was the last to leave and spent those last few days in the company of both my parents as much as possible before returning to Cleveland for my flight home.  Even though I'm just getting to writing about this now, the memories of that weekend ring as clear today as they did a year and a half ago.  I'll never forget it.  And I know for certain, that neither will she.

Ol' Nippur, Mosssome and Other Cleveland Jargon

December, 2011: Ol' Nippur.  That's what they called it, almost as soon as they walked off the plane. They were, of course, referring to Mt. Hood, the white-crested, volcanic peak that dominates the Portland city skyline.   To them, from the plane, it looked like a giant nipple and when I told them that we would in fact, be visiting that giant nipple, hearts soared.

Garrett and Katalina had landed in Portland for the first time in December of 2011, just a mere eight months after I had moved here from Ohio and I couldn't wait to see them.  As two of my closest friends from back home, having them out here, showing them what I was making of my life meant a lot to all of us.  So, as soon as I got them from the airport, we continued east, out of the city, towards Multnomah Falls, a near 200-ft. high waterfall that pours into the gorge from below Larch Mountain.  After walking around the area a bit and hiking up to the upper bridge, we headed back through the Columbia River Gorge into Portland where we got settled in my small, 380sq.  ft. apartment on W. Burnside before heading out on the town.  We toured the surrounding neighborhoods around the northwest quadrant of the city, found an amazing Happy Hour at Jake's Crawfish Bar and sampled an array of locally brewed beer late into the night before heading back home to crash.  We were all exhausted and we had a long, packed day ahead of us.

The next morning, we drove east to reach the 11,000 ft-high Mt. Hood.  The road up to Timberline Lodge, most recognized by its appearance in The Shining, was surprisingly clear for mid-December and we arrived at Timberline ski area with no problem.  Our hearts set on exploration, we set along the buried Pacific Crest Trail, only to merge with the downhill skiing lanes.  We were without snow-shoes, or any snow-hiking equipment for that matter, but the snow was packed enough to allow us fairly sure footing on our way up the hill.  Before we knew it, we were above the tree-line and nearly approaching the lower glaciers. Celebrating our climb, we chose a rock outcropping to climb around 8,500 ft. and took our rest there.  Never before had I seen such a clear day in Oregon.  You could see Mt. Jefferson and the three Sisters from hundreds of miles away as if they were practically right in front of us.  The entire day was simply incredible.

We scrambled down the mountain towards the lodge and found some lunch (as well as a round of beer or two) at the top bar before heading back into the city for another night on the town.  Although exhausted, we met out with my buddy Andy for dinner in the Pearl, after which we headed over to a lounge bar called Tear Drop, where we spent the remainder of the evening before heading home for the night.

The next day in town, I made sure to introduce Katalina and Garrett to the local Saturday Markets that are erected all along Ankeny Square, where we eventually stumbled into Voodoo Donuts, a Portland landmark in Old Town.  Our timing turned out to be impeccable, as our wait in line was graced with an honest-to-God wedding inside the Donut shop.  Honestly.  This happened.  I couldn't make this up if I tried.  Instead of rice, the minister (or witch doctor...whatever you want to call the guy) threw sprinkles at the happy couple, who clearly had bonded over their donut addictions.  So bizarre.

The afternoon consisted of a walk though the Arboretum above Washington Park, where we descended into the Rose Gardens and back into the city before heading over to the Mississippi District for some Mexican food and German-styled bier at Probst before closing out the night.  As they were leaving the next morning, fairly early, and hopefully without any of the familiar hiccups they experienced on their way out here, we decided to intelligently not celebrate to hard and wind down the night with ease.  Before I knew it, they were back on the plane towards Cleveland that next morning and the weekend had rounded itself out to a close.
It's visits like this that remind me how lucky I am to have the friends that I do.  I've lost a few along the way...due to my own mistakes or each other's decisions to just walk different paths.  However, the ones I've kept this long, I see lasting a lifetime.  Especially my friends that I've retained from back in Cleveland.  Over 18 months later, I still reflect back on this visit as one of the best weekends I've spent out here in Oregon and I look forward to many more in the years to come.  They know they will always be welcome, wherever my path takes me, where all of us will once again, experience an adventure together that we'll be talking about around campfires until we're all well into old age.