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By Lynne Davidson. July 25, 2016. My curiosity combined with a love of hiking led me climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, trekking Chile’s Torres del Paine circuit, exploring an ancient Inca trail in Machu Picchu, Peru and hiking Tunnel Falls in the Columbia River Gorge.
I heard a lot of hype about the majesty of California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains—its iconic John Muir Trail in particular. Friends, who grew up hiking there, prattled on about how those trails were above tree line; they promised I would be swept away by stunning vistas. One Californian even raved that area is the antithesis of “those boring Oregon trails, where there is nothing to see but trees.”
Last July on a break from work, I filled my pack, hopped a bus, and spent a month backpacking 275 miles of those Sierras: Lone Pine to Donner Pass.
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Psyched for some jaw-dropping trekking, I set out and scaled one mountain pass after another. As days turned to weeks, I discovered with dismay that the views were so underwhelming, I took few photos. The lackluster scenery proved to be recurring shades of GRAY: gray rocks, gray skies, gray granite peaks, gray-tinged lakes.
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I yearned for those ‘boring Oregon trails’ back home. I missed that familiar cocoon of trees and its bountiful shades of GREEN that surround the Columbia River Gorge: the mint green moss, lime green grass, olive green lichen, forest green brambles, kelly green ferns, shamrock green clover.
This longing for my Gorge trails eventually occurs at some point each time I am out sating my globally-inquisitive nature exploring new lands and enjoying diverse cultures. While I revel in these new experiences, I am always eager to return to the Gorge, to envelop myself anew in our lush, rain-speckled greenery.
I‘ll don rain gear and backpack, lace up trail shoes, and enter the hushed forest, relishing the serenity that spreads through me. My senses, dulled by an office-confined workweek, spring alive. I gaze at stately old-growth Douglas firs stretching skyward, listen to the gentle birdsong overhead and the chirping chorus of tree frogs. The fallen leaves and pine needles covering the woodland trail cushion my tread. I inhale the sweet smell of an Oregon forest. Ahhhhh.
I am home.
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Often that familiar patter of rain begins to fall upon my pack and I smile. I’ll pause to watch the rays of dappled sunlight streaking through lichen-hung branches. A fallen tree along the path provides a brief resting spot; I marvel at the ecosystem of this seemingly insignificant rotting log. I appreciate how this decaying tree recycles nutrients back into the soil, tiny wildflowers, fungi, ferns and tree seedlings grow beside it. Holes in the bark evidence insects, worms and spiders feed on this log. From the corner of my eye, I’ll spy a timid chipmunk scampering into its cozy den below. I am awed. Even in death, this once massive fir tree continues to give life.
I am grateful to be home. I’ve plans underway to travel again soon to explore distant trails, but the Gorge always tugs me home.
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Love the image of our cocoon of trees. Looking forward to reading about more of your travels!