Back in Portland, still at Skyhouse

Hard to believe that almost a week has gone by. The days up there remained  separated by specific hikes and weather conditions, but they still sped by. And here's how that time went.

The journey to the cabin still takes me at the rate of one hour for each mile. Total distance was 8.5 miles, start time was 5AM, with final arrival 2 PM. I pulled a sled with two fully loaded backpacks and a box of green groceries for my friends.  My cabin is a mile past were they live. The big B was gone but the rest of my friends were there. The box contained a variety of chlorophyl items, spinach, broccoli, lettuce, cilantro, green chillies, green onions and for color, a banana. This small gift was to add to their diet since they had been unable to drive out since last week for fresh food. The sled at first was top heavy and kept tipping over each time I hit a small bump. Once I relocated the heavy stuff to the bottom the sled pulled easily over the frozen snow.

Dawn arrived in muted tones of gray and white. I could hardly focus on the shift from darkness to light as I tried to get the miles in. I felt strong but kept the pace regular, focusing on small goals. Lets get to the next bend before having a drink of water, or celebrate passing the next creek. Hour after hour passed, the day getting lighter and warmer. The landscape is so beautiful to see and I get to be part of this incredible beauty. The snow changes from icy crystals to a softer, wetter slush, my snowshoes slightly sinking with each step instead of gliding.

Once I entered into the old growth the road became patchy with the snow waist deep or else the gravel road was exposed. The terrain is much steeper so I abandoned the sled, one pack and the box of groceries. I still have three miles to go before I would see anyone. The sled is just too heavy to pull and I could feel the strain on my body. It's too bad because there is nothing I can do about it, I have to finish this hike no matter how long it takes or how bad I might feel. No one is going to come resue me or give me a ride. The idea is to return back the next day and shuttle the rest of the gear. When I arrived at my friends cabin he was pleased to see me and find out there was a box of treats for him and the others. He said he would try to pick up all the gear and food, saving me a trip. I then hiked the additional mile up to the cabin. Since its mostly uphill and the snow had become deeper and wetter, the trip was broken up by small rest stops that became more and more frequent. Soon the cabin appeared through the snow covered trees and I was finally home. Tired, exhausted and happy.


All is fine. The snow has now slid off the cabin roof. The snow behind the cabin is deep and needs to be shoveled off the back wall and thrown downhill. There is a lot of snow in front of the front door. But all looks well and I am relieved. And now to settle in. I first start with warming my toes up by replacing the wet socks and boots with dry ones. Then a warm fire in the wood stove. Sleeping bags get unrolled and a green/red blanket on top  for the cold night ahead. Snow tracked into the cabin was swept back outside. Water needs to carried up from little creek in a five gallon bucket. But to do so required putting snow shoes back on otherwise you sank waist deep into the snow. All these chores are carried out as the sun set and night fell. The cabin was now warm and toasty, dinner and dishes are done. Outside the snow is falling in fine flakes. It's only 7:30 PM but I don't care. I turn off the light and drift into sleep. I awake sometime in the depth of the night. The stove has gone out, the cabin is really cold. But it's okay, I'm snuggled in warm and comfy under the blanket and go back to sleep.

Morning is very cold, the sun is out and the green trees outside the window are dressed in last nights fine powder. The sky is a hard intense blue with no hint of wind. Strong black coffee starts my day and I dress up and head back down the hill to see if indeed my gear had arrived. Yes, there was my second pack leaning against the cabin wall. Now I had clean clothes, my fine wine and plenty to eat. I thanked the fellows for their endeavor but they merely shrugged it off and said that they had managed to push the tractor down the road and they could be able to drive out soon. Wow, maybe I should have waited a day and fished a ride!!! I have invited them to come up for dinner tonight at five. I am looking forward to their company. Again I pushed back up the hill towards my cabin, a lot easier today than yesterday. My trail in the snow is now becoming more defined as I follow my own tracks back home.

I am looking for animal tracks. But I see none at all. There are no secrets in the snow, nor any authors apparently. Perhaps the critters are hunkered down too, warm in their lairs and nests. Maybe I need to get off this trail and see if there is anything closer to the creek. Usually I will find the dog prints of the coyote or the line caused by a mouse dragging her tail.

I feel no sense of aloneness or loneliness. Rather I'm comfortable with my own company. I will  be here for another five days and except for tonight's visit the remainder of the time will be up to me to spend as I want. And  lot of that time will be outside.  Some common sense is in order when outside. A broken bone, or slip on the snow cornice into the creek could be disastrous. I carry a small back up pack that has survival gear. No one will come look for me until six or seven days from now. And if they do at least they just have to follow my snowshoe prints. If it does't snow. That's also a long time to figure out that maybe an extra bite to eat should have been packed. Risk is part of the price and I am glad to pay it. Given a choice between driving down the road or going off trail I"ll gladly make my own way.

Each following day settled into routine of small forays out into the wilderness, keeping the wood stove going, and cooking/cleaning up. A real pleasure not to have to shave. Each evening I read until the book drops, the cabin comfortable. The woodstove firelight flickers and then dies down.

Part of the cooking/cleaning up is going down the hill to the small stream for water. The water is snow melt, pure, clean and with a distinct sweet taste. The bucket quickly fills, and then its back up the hill. I am so thankful for this water. The cabin used to have water brought from another higher stream, but the pipe usually filled with stream sediment, or burst from freezing temperatures. Instead for constantly repairing the pipe which has now been removed, it's just nicer, easier to go jack 'n jill.

I use one five gallon bucket a day for washing, cooking and drinking. In the city just one flush of a toilet is five gallons, so here water use is greatly diminished, forcing me to realize how wasteful we really are with our precious water.

The afternoons are when I like to go out and explore. Each day I head out in a different way sometimes overlapping my own trail. I notice the newly downed tree, or the hidden logs under the deep snow. Occasionally a winter wren calls out its lilting notes. There is no wind and the snow sits in the trees waiting for more snow or warmer weather in order to fall. My wandering through this winter landscape is a constant shift in perspective, the cliffs below, the two hundred foot high old growth firs, the angle of ascent uphill to a connecting trail. Each scene change brings its own gift of beauty with me moving through it in comfort and acceptance. I don't feel the visitor but rather the partner. And then the gift of the day. Tracks coming up from the stream below, the prints as large as an adult human foot clearly showing the sharp claws. Not fresh but from earlier this morning. Would have like to have seen you my dear bear.


More later