Goat Rocks -- 2005

It was the first week of August and summer had settled down to a calm laziness. The sky was clear and peaceful. The weather had turned and we entered a period of warm, dry weekends. It was the perfect time to enter the mountains of the northwest; in particular, the beautiful Cascades.

On the fourth day of the second week, we put together those things we felt compelled to take on our annual backpacking trip into the beautiful Goat rocks Wilderness. Tomorrow morning, at first light, we would load up our vehicles for the three hour drive to our trailhead, just south of Packwood, Washington.

It is always difficult to know what to take. We needed to be mindful that with each passing day, the weight of the pack appears to grow heavier with each step. Our intentions were good but we still managed to exceed those plans and we began the hike with the same weight that we wanted to avoid. Maybe this year will be different, we thought. Maybe we will be stronger. These thoughts, and others like them, darted in and out of my mind like spring Swallows foraging food for their young.

Being a year or two older since our last trip certainly couldn’t make our legs stronger. Each year seems to take its toll on our health. We find ourselves wondering if our strength will be enough. I wondered about what drives our motivation, but later, once we are making camp the first night, we only need to look around and view the scenic wonders of the mountains, to know.

The evening draws to a close. We must get some sleep because tomorrow will be a long day. I am also concerned that the longer I stay up, the more I keep finding to put into my pack, believing that I “need” this stuff.

Morning arrives early. We are eager to dress and get started. We are taking two vehicles this time and we have passengers to pick up. I put on my traveling clothes of blue jeans and sandals so the trip out of town would be more comfortable.

Finally we had everyone and our gear was loaded. We drove across the I-205 Bridge that connects Washington to Oregon. A hazy sky towards the east, up the mighty Columbia River, provided a clear view of the 11,240’ Mt. Hood, rising high above the Oregon Cascades. It’s going to be a great day for hiking.

....................to be continued

My early years were incomparable to any year of today's time. A country bumpkin, a hillbilly poor boy, and other descriptive words were indeed, us. At the time we didn't know we were poor because we lived in the mountains with poor folks who had no more than we did. I was about eight when electricity came along. After that, the only time we used the old coal oil lamps was during a power outage.
The radio was our mainstay of entertainment during those early years. After doing my school homework and chores that lasted until dark, I listened to the radio. If you ever hear about "old time radio shows", or see them on Cassette Tape, that's what we had, although at that time, they weren't "old timey".
My favorites were the Westerns. I can't remember all of them, but we enjoyed the likes of Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Gabby Hayes, and several others. We couldn't "see" them, of course, but we had our imaginations to use and there were no limits! We knew the good guys wore white hats and had names for their horses, dogs and jeeps.
It was a good time to be raised. I miss those good old days.....