it dawns on me that i haven’t done enough hiking in winter. surrounded by 100 ft tall cedar and listening to the wind in needles, clumps of snow falling to the ground, every once in awhile a branch cracks under the weight and i can imagine an avalanche nearby. kala is ahead w/ rudy, running ahead and turning back. sniffing like this is the last day she has left to sniff. she’ll be tired tonight for sure.
we come to a stream and have to find a way to cross. first priority, keep the feet dry. nothing worse than hiking in the winter in wet wool socks, no matter what they say about wool keeping you warm whether dry or wet i’m not so sure i believe them when it comes to mt. hood mountain streams. and then there’s getting kala across. she is scared and chortles like she does when something intimidates her. she is definitely more comfortable w/ me going first. it’s odd to feel like a mother to this little canine beast.
i know there was a time when my mother knew everything. did she bring me tramping through the snow? where did i learn this? from uncle pete i think. getting out in the woods in the winter is the only way to catch a cardinal against the white. my mom always preferred to be indoors, unless she was on a horse. perhaps all other modes of winter outdoor recreation were undignified. i put my foot one in front of the other, balancing over water, selecting for each foot a patch of snow instead of ice. uncle p— and my cousin c—-, on a sled, with skukums, the alaskan malamute “pulling” us along. (i believe pete actually did all the pulling). my foot lands on solid ground, a little patch of brown leaves poking up through the white, wet snow. kala gives a final yelp and then frustrated with her own timidity, jumps off the log and runs the last few steps off the log, through the cold stream and up over the bank.
the dogs run ahead, veering off the tracks in the path to make their own impressions in the fresh snow underneath the trees. they help themselves to water from the river. i call up to kala when she’s too far ahead, though most of the time, she stops to wait without being told. she’s a good trail dog and doesn’t like to be far from us in new environments. i try to spot trail hikers before her though, and have her at my side before an encounter. rudy is energetically rolling on a spot of snow. as we get closer, a musky smell becomes obvious. elk poo. it will be a long drive home w/ the windows wide open to the frozen air.
there is a bend in the river, a slower part of the stream ahead. a wide tree trunk stretching over the water, with a rope swing that must be epically fun in the summer time. i climb out onto the trunk, eventually straddling the log and working a sitting shimmy so as not to slip. the sun hits me and warms the down in my coat. brett shims out onto the log behind me. now i’m warm front and back. i lean back contented. kala doesn’t last long though and whines quietly on the shore, stepping first one paw then the other onto the trunk, wanting to come out to join us. “stay bean” i hear the low tones of b—-‘s voice. he kisses my neck just under my ear. “i’ll go get her. the last thing we need is a dog fallen in the river and floating downstream.” we shimmy backward onto dry land.
the trail opens to a little glade on the river bank. there is a campfire ring made of river rock, and logs for sitting ringed like a horseshoe open to the river. i sit. and watch the flowing water, the bending cedar branches above the opposite bank, the snow falling in piles around their bases. hemlock and doug fir limbs swaying, a few branches plunged diagonally from trunk to the ground, dripping in white. moss dangling in long strands like strings on a flapper dress, merry, reveling in the oregon river climate. only a few more hours of daylight, so we can’t stay long. i imagine sitting into the night, a campfire going.
we could bring everyone back here tonight. in the darkness this place would be magical. i take a deep breath and close my eyes. listening to the sound of the water. the fire would snap and breath, the river roaring, filling the lower tones. the stars showing in the sky above the river, the ring of darkness at the edge of the campfire. the wildlings would stay away, hidden just beyond sight. i feel magic around the edges of my life, waiting to alight in my heart.