The Day I Turned Around

Karma on the summit of Wind Mountain, overlooking the Columbia River Gorge

Green Point Mountain, Wind Mountain

Time for a platitude.

“It’s the journey, not the destination.”

Such was my motto on my attempt to hike Green Point Mountain.

The first warning sign came ninety minutes into my drive to the Rainy Lake trailhead. As I wound slowly through the narrow mountain road, my GPS offered me an alternate, slower route. I glanced out the window at a rough, unmaintained road that disappeared into the trees.

“That doesn’t bode well,” I said to Karma.

Beautiful views of Mt. Hood before everything went to hell

From there, my train of thought was as follows:

I’m losing cell signal. I hope I can find my way back if the GPS doesn’t pick up.

Road’s still paved. Easy enough to follow.

Oo, squirrels! Fearless squirrels. That’s right, squirrel. Keep chomping on that nut while I drive by a whole six inches away. You go, squirrel.

Well, that pavement ended suddenly. This gravel road ain’t so bad, though.

Besides, it’s only six miles from the reservoir to the trailhead. I can walk six miles if I need to call AAA. Put that plus membership to good use. That’s doable.

Maybe I should pick up a GPS.

I don’t know how to fix a flat. How can I not know how to fix a flat? Irresponsible.

Cell signal’s stronger again. I should be fine.

I should learn how to fix a flat.

Man, I’m such a worrywort. It’s all good. Five miles out from the trailhead and I still have cell reception and a paved road. Home free.

That is the biggest goddamn dandelion I’ve ever seen.

Is that a butterfly mating dance?

Um, the gravel is gone and now all I’m driving on is big jagged rocks.

I really, really need to learn how to fix a flat.

We’re good.

...are we good? Just drive slowly and I should be fine, right?

I’m going to break the car.

Slow.

Oh my god I’m really going to break the car stop abort bad idea don’t do this.

I let the car roll to a stop and surveyed my surroundings with some consternation. This was no gravel road anymore. This was a road built out of rocks, pure and simple. As far as the eye could see, nothing but large, uneven rocks, and I had four miles left to go.

The trailhead seemed so close I could taste it, and yet so far away. I had been waiting for weeks to hike Green Point Mountain. What were my options? I could keep going, see if the road got any smoother. Given the struggle it had taken to get the car this far, however, even another half a mile of this would present a significant obstacle to drive back over. This road required a high clearance vehicle, and I was driving anything but: my husband and I had scraped the bumper of this car on our very first test drive, when we bought it used off a German lady on Craigslist.

I could park the car and walk the four remaining miles to the trailhead. It would be doable, but time-consuming. Too time-consuming for a hike that would go on another eight miles after the trailhead and was located almost two hours’ drive from my house. How would Karma fare, walking over these rocks for miles? Besides, who knew what trouble I’d be inviting if I just left the car at the side of the road.

The third option, disappointing in the extreme, was to find a wider stretch of road and turn around.

As a solo hiker responsible for my dog as well as myself, my number one rule is to not be an idiot. I decided to turn around.

Just at that moment, a Jeep appeared ahead of me on the single-lane road. I had already decided, but the choice was made for me anyway: I had to go back. Only now, I didn’t have the luxury of finding a wide spot to turn around. I threw the car in reverse and began the bumpy, agonizing drive backwards to the last turnaround.

I thought about rolling down the window and asking the inhabitants of the Jeep whether it was possible to make it to the trailhead in my sedan, but it turned out that driving on a curved, rocky road half a mile in reverse takes up a significant amount of mental energy, and they were driving past before I realized it. I caught their incredulous looks as they passed me, however, and those told me all I needed to know.

My cell phone service wavered in and out, but I managed to do a quick online search on one of the upswings. Wind Mountain was less than forty-five minutes away, on the Washington side of the Gorge. It was on my to-hike list, but had been continually pushed aside in favor of other hikes that were either longer or closer to home. This seemed as good a time as any to cross it off the list. I set off in search of my new goal.

Through all of this, Karma didn’t make a peep. He’s the perfect driving companion: the moment I put him in the car and he sees our hiking gear, he curls up in his crate and falls asleep. He only popped his head up once, when I pulled over and stopped the car to take a picture of that big goddamn dandelion because really, what was stopping me? Once we established that we were not at our destination, he settled down again without fuss.

And there, I thought, the story would end. (Obviously, the way to salvage a failed hike is to blog about it. To distract myself from my disappointment, I had flipped over my useless trail guide printout and was taking notes on the back that included the illuminating phrase, “dandelion big!”) The failed attempt at Green Point Mountain, the short but successful ascent of Wind Mountain, ta-da, the end. I was wrong.

Here, have a cute photo of Karma on a log to break up this wall of text

 After crossing into Washington, driving along the scenic Columbia River for a time, and finally turning onto a forest road, I came to a fork. One road was blocked off with a bright gate and a “Private Property, Stay Out!” sign, so I turned onto the other road and began to climb what appeared to be an old logging road. Very quickly, the road became steep and rough.

Uh-oh.

I looked at my GPS. It confirmed that I was on the wrong road, but I didn’t know what to do: the route it gave me appeared to go straight through the private property.

I was cursed, it was the only explanation. Almost three hours into my trip and no hike in sight. Tunnel Lake had looked nice, even if it was right by the freeway. We could go back to Tunnel Lake. Maybe Tunnel Lake would still be a fun afternoon. The first step, whatever I chose to do, was to turn around.

I resumed the climb up the logging road. And stopped. It was twisty and turny and narrow, bordered on one side by a steep hill going up and on the other by a steep hill going down. Most importantly, it did not appear to get any wider, as far as I could tell. If I kept climbing and found myself unable to turn around, I would just be making the descent even harder.

I let out a big, self-pitying sigh. And then, for the second time that day, I started backing the car down a rough, curvy road. Only this time, I didn’t have to put it in reverse, because the road was so steep that even on drive, it rolled backwards easily. I will say, all the practice was paying off: despite the rise in my heart rate, the reversal went more smoothly this time. Still, as soon as the road widened ever so slightly, I did a nine-point K-turn and resumed driving like a normal person.

I sat for quite a while at the entrance to the private property. Thankfully no one came out with a shotgun to shoo me away. Finally, a search on my phone showed me that the trailhead could be reached another way, by going further down the freeway and doubling back.

Fifteen minutes later, I reached the unmarked trailhead to Wind Mountain. An hour later, after a fairly steep climb and several rousing verses of the classic, “Don’t trip mommy or she’ll fall down the mountain and break her neck and you’ll never get dinner again you realize this don’t you,” Karma and I stood on the summit of Wind Mountain, buffeted by strong gusts of wind (surprise).

Karma poses in front of the spirit quest formations

Eventually, we made our way around to the talus slope on the opposite side of the summit, where we were sheltered from the wind and silence reigned. I settled back on the stones, one arm around Karma, conscious that this had been a site for spirit quests in years past. Some of the rock formations crafted by generations of Native American youth still surrounded us, and the gentle circles soothed me. However long my journey here today had felt, their journeys had been much longer.

Whatever their journeys were like, I hope their destinations included a big goddamn dandelion.

See? It was a really big dandelion!