Backpacking, hiking, Travel

Cascade Head Hike

Last week Marnie, Linda, and I hiked to Cascade Head on the Oregon Coast, near Lincoln City, as a training hike with our big backpacks. It was Linda’s first time there, and Marnie and I hadn’t been there for a couple of years since it was closed during COVID. It was nothing like I remembered. For instance, I didn’t remember all the steps:

Many, many steps like these.

Or the roots:

Also, many, many roots.

While it is only supposed to be 4.2 miles round trip with a 1200 foot elevation gain (which in 2 miles is sort of a lot), it is so steep in places that it feels like you are gaining 42 hundred thousand feet. Mr. Sullivan in his book rates the hike as “moderate”, but as I’ve learned to my dismay his ratings are often not accurate for us.

Marnie, Linda, and me in background.

The views from Cascade Head are rather spectacular, though, so it is worth the stairs and elevation gain to get to the top and see Cape Foulweather, God’s Thumb, the Salmon River estuary, and Devil’s Lake. There are also some lovely wildflowers, pink foxglove and a purple flower I couldn’t identify. Some rare wildflowers also bloom here, rare pink checkermallows and violets that serve as food for the rare silverspot butterfly caterpillars. We didn’t see these flowers so it must not be their season. We stayed on the trail until we got to the top where there was no danger of trampling any rare flowers.

Not sure what this one is. Anybody know?

On this trail you walk through the woods for awhile, and then come out into the lovely meadows where you get the first glimpse of the views.

Salmon River Estuary and the Pacific Ocean, with a lovely beach we don’t know how to get to.
Marnie getting the shot.
Marnie on left getting more photos, Linda on right.
Linda and me on the trail.
Ocean view from the tippy-top.
The survey marker at the tippy-top. We enjoy looking for survey markers, especially if we have done a hard climb to find them. This one is very worn for some reason.

You can see in the photos that the grass is very high. A few years ago the Hubs and I hiked here with a group and one of the girls decided to stay at the middle meadow and not go to the tippy-top. The Hubs and I stayed with her, and he was so tired he just laid his head down on his Gatorade bottle and took a little nap while the others went to the tippy-top and got their photos. This time the grass was so overgrown that I couldn’t even find the middle meadow, and we just went to the tippy-top and had our snack break. There was one young man ahead of us and a couple who came up after we got there, but until then we had the hike to ourselves which is why we always go early! Since we aren’t fast hikers, it’s nice not to have to pull over every two minutes to let a bunch of people go by. On the way down once we got into the forest there were many people who had just started their hike. We ran into a lady I had hiked with to Pamelia Lake the week before, and had a nice chat with some older hikers in a little clearing on the trail.

We finished off by going to the ’60s Cafe and Diner in Lincoln City where we often eat after our coast hikes. No photos of food were taken, but we each had a very yummy lunch. All in all a great day!

Backpacking, hiking, Travel

Backpacking Has Its Ups and Downs


My friend, Marnie, and I planned our first long backpacking trip on the Pacific Crest Trail – a 2,600 mile long, two-foot wide path through the wilderness that spans the distance from Mexico to Canada.  We didn’t plan to tackle the whole thing this time (that’s for next year). 

Backpacking never fails to surprise us. Often for me it even gets embarrassing. On this particular outing, we decided to walk the fifty-three miles between Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, Oregon and the town of Cascade Locks. We left the day after we attended PCT Days, a festival with vendors, speakers, and prize giveaways celebrating all things PCT. We were expecting to use the detailed four-day, three-night itinerary outlined in the book, Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail: Oregon, written by the very optimistic and positive-thinking Mr. Eli Boschetto. He also offers a three-day, two-night itinerary for this section, which the word “optimistic” cannot come close to describing.

Me at the Zigzag Canyon Overlook. The picture on my socks is a view from Cascade Locks toward the mountains.

I was most concerned about river crossings and really gave little thought to all the ups and downs the trail would make going into and out of canyons and all the time randomly whenever it wanted. We crossed the Zigzag River without incident, except that the little climb up the bank needed quite a bit of effort. Not everyone was so lucky. A man crossed toward us using his hiking poles and then watched as his girlfriend slipped on a rock. When she showed him her injured leg he said, “Oh, Sarah,” and still didn’t offer her a hand. We thought poor Sarah had herself a pain in the derrière to go with the gash on her knee!

Zigzag River

By this time it was getting pretty late, and instead of crossing two rivers in the afternoon while we were tired we decided to wait until the next day. We camped just above our next challenge, the Sandy River, hoping that the narrow, raging torrent would be calmer in the morning.  We looked for a place to hang our food away from bears (they don’t care about you, they just want your cookies) and finally found an appropriate branch.  After a rather humiliating four or five tries, we managed to throw the combination carabiner/tennis ball gadget invented by Marnie’s husband up and over, and wrangled our food bags to a suitable height.  It was certainly not up to the standard of the official PCT method of hanging a bear bag, but we hoped it would keep furry critters from snuffling at our tents. We made sure we weren’t camped under too many widowmakers (dead trees or branches that could fall and squash us), and slept soundly with the noise of a creek in the background.

Bear hang, sort of.
Ready to tackle the river crossings.

We woke up about 8:00 a.m., packed up, and headed down to the river. The Sandy River, while low, was still rushing wildly.  After crossing part of the very narrow log “bridge” over the swiftly-moving water my legs turned to Jell-O, so Marnie reached out her hand and yanked me across after I got about three-fourths of the way. My sister, the Pilates and Parkour guru, had given me advice about crossing logs before we left – “Just draw an imaginary line from where you are to where you want to go and follow the line,” she explained. This is much easier said than done. The Sandy River has a very large, dry, rocky bed, so it is hard to see where the trail starts up again on the other side.  After conquering the log bridge, we had to scour the far shore for cairns (artistic-looking piles of rocks) that marked the way back to the PCT. 

Me crossing the Sandy River.

Shortly after successfully traversing the Sandy River, we reached the Muddy Fork, which, of course, turned out to be completely different.  Just when we were certain that we had sort of gotten the hang of tree-walking, we were presented with an entirely different sort of obstacle.  High above the very fast-flowing Muddy Fork, two giant logs hung in the air.  Some unknown person (bless them!) had tied a scrawny rope along the upper log. To start navigating this hurdle, you have to scramble up on the logs, bruising your shins on the way.   Then to cross, you lean way over the upper log to keep from falling backward into the river, and hold onto the rope while you sidle along the lower log, not looking down. 

We inspected the crossing for a few minutes, wondering first how we were going to hoist ourselves up onto the huge lower log.  I hollered, “Adventure!” and managed to get onto the log after a couple of jumps, with Marnie and two thru-hikers as an audience. (Thru-hikers are people who are hiking the whole PCT in a season.) A photo of the crossing in the book is captioned, “Put your balance beam skills to work on the log crossing over the Muddy Fork River.”  We were not amused at this.  And yet, one of the thru-hikers, with a full backpack, hopped up and skipped across the top of the highest log in a way that naturally annoyed the heck out of us.

Marnie crossing the Muddy Fork.

After crossing the Muddy Fork River we got to where dozens of tiny waterfalls combine together to form the beautiful Ramona Falls. It was such a dazzling sight that we decided to spend a little time there on a conveniently-placed sitting log to soak up all the negative ions before moving on. I’m surprised at the popularity of Ramona Falls as a day-hike destination since the Muddy Fork crossing on the day-hike trail is supposed to be more difficult than the one we had survived.  That’s the very reason I hadn’t seen Ramona Falls before. 

Ramona Falls

The rest of this day was spent going up hills through various switchbacks, some of which are deemed “more moderate and easygoing” in the book, but which we deemed no such thing.  At the end of the switchbacks, the book has the audacity to say the trail “levels out”. We saw no evidence of this and continued huffing and puffing on up. We found a small bubbling stream where we gladly rested and refilled our water supply while talking to some southbound (SOBO) thru-hikers and some section hikers. The SOBOs told us hungrily, “We’re booking it to Timberline Lodge so we can have the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet tomorrow!” 

Our second night we camped at Lolo Pass, right at the trailhead parking lot. We were pleased to have the use of a lovely, clean picnic table to organize all our things and try the expensive dehydrated meal I bought at PCT Days. The meal was some sort of Asian slaw that you could supposedly use cold water to rehydrate. It didn’t rehydrate well at all and was crunchy instead of slaw-textured, so we ate other things and then zipped ourselves up into our tents.

At about 8:00 p.m. (also known as “hiker midnight”) we heard voices coming, the first of which said, “Ooh, a camp AND a picnic table? And that picnic table looks NEW!”

The second voice said, “I think I’m going to call it a night,” and then set up her tent and camped right next to us, also making use of the picnic table. She was up and gone before we even opened our tents the next morning. Thru-hikers are early risers.

A nice, new picnic table at Lolo Pass

Next we started off through the 11.4-mile Bull Run Watershed, the source of drinking water for Portland, Oregon. The trail is bordered with huckleberry bushes so we nibbled at the last of the ripe huckleberries as we hiked, and stopped to rest, fill up our water, and snack at Salvation Spring. Marnie had signal on her phone, so she let everyone know we would be finished a day later than planned since we hadn’t done the river crossings on the first day, and we’re, well…slow. Four or five thru-hikers stopped at Salvation Spring as well. One girl plopped down on the ground, laid out her tent ground sheet, and dumped out all her food to find something she felt like eating.  She probably thought I was odd because I kept looking at her food supply to get ideas.  They were all crunching on Doritos, which we decided was a snack goal for our next trip. 

So then where are you supposed to make your pit stops?

In the Bull Run Forest Reserve there are strict “No Trespassing” signs reminding hikers to stay on trail. When we finally got to a space where there was just…erm…no waiting anymore, we decided to trespass just one tree off trail. Based on the number of toilet paper “flowers” behind said tree, every other girl hiker had the same idea. I was surprised thru-hikers would make such a mess, every GOOD hiker knows what are called the Leave No Trace principles, one of which is to always pack out your T.P. instead of leaving it for others to see! It was at this point that I realized my “potty kit” had fallen out of my backpack somewhere as we walked. I actually gasped in horror out loud – all my toilet paper and my Opsak and my trowel were gone! Thankfully I had some tissues and an extra Ziploc bag. (Opsaks are odor-proof zipper bags.  Ziploc bags are NOT odor-proof.  Get an Opsak to pack out your T.P.)  The girl who dumped out all her food at Salvation Spring came by later, and when I asked her if she had noticed my potty kit on the trail she sort of sniffed, “Oh, I saw it, but since I didn’t know which way you went I didn’t want to carry the extra weight.”  My trowel was a $20.00 ultralight item called a “Deuce of Spades”. Part of their being expensive is that they come in many colors. Mine was pink, because, you know, pink. 

On this afternoon we were getting tired from continually going up, and were concerned about how far away the next camp listed in the book was going to be. We decided to check out what was described as an “old abandoned logging road”. It looked like campsites, so we camped there among quite a few bees. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten up in the night to pee while backpacking.  I don’t even like to walk through my house in the dark to go to the bathroom, so this was a big step. I honestly had no thought of cougars or bears in the night until a few days after getting home. Then I thought I’d better not think of cougars or bears in the night.

On day four on our way to Wahtum Lake a SOBO section hiker told us there was trail magic at the campground parking lot.  He said we should go up the steps. (“Trail magic” is when a person called a “trail angel” brings food and/or drinks to give to thru-hikers. All thru-hikers look forward to receiving trail magic during their hikes!) We were hoping we might qualify for a cold Gatorade or something even though we weren’t thru-hiking, so we saw the stairs and started up the 97 railroad tie and dirt treads with various rise heights called the “Express” trail. This was an option our book made no mention of, probably for good reason. Halfway up our legs were screaming, and after a good cry we realized there was an actual trail to the parking lot, but we finished off the steps anyway even though we could see that there was no sign of trail magic. We decided the guy had been playing a mean joke on us. There was, however, a good, clean picnic table and a toilet!  (And more bees). We took a long lunch break there and then went down to the peaceful lake to fill up on water. 

The “Express Trail” at Wahtum Lake
Wahtum Lake

We needed a lot of water because our next section was the Eagle Creek burn area, which according to our book was a “lush, green forest” but is now actually an exposed area of burned and dead trees.  Acres and acres of land were burned in 2017 because a 15-year-old boy was throwing fireworks into a canyon, and at the sight of the aftermath both Marnie and I were wishing we could have had a hand in deciding the kid’s punishment. But we were glad to see that many plants laughed at the wildfire and grew back up along the trail, including salmonberry, thimbleberry, and ferns. We had planned to camp at a site listed in our book that would have had a beautiful view of the sunset and the valley below, but it was completely burned and even had warning signs saying dead trees could fall on us. We kept going, wondering if we could make it to the next listed campsite. Once we got into the green forest again, though, an unlisted campsite materialized right next to the trail. It was a bit rocky (and full of bees) but just the right size for our two tents. 

Eagle Creek Burn Area

Day five was supposed to be all downhill after a certain point, according to our book. We went around a mountain on what we call an “edge” trail, with the ground straight up on one side and straight down on the other side and two feet of trail in the middle. The trail went through the forest and then over ankle-turner rocks and back through the forest and again over rocks as it wound around the hill. After going downhill for a little ways the trail went back up (To where? The town is downhill!) and up. I was woozy and my legs were wobbly so I asked Marnie to pray with me for strength so we could finish up. 

Rocky Trail

The next surprise: Guess where I ended up at 3:30 in the afternoon with just two-and-a-half miles left to get to town? If you guessed sitting in the middle of the trail swatting at bees and calling 911, you would be correct. After running on little sleep and not enough food (nothing tasted good and my mouth was dry) and pushing hard through half a day more than I should have without sleep or food, my legs continued to be wobbly and I was stumbling every fourth step. I looked at the next rocky part of the trail and figured my legs wouldn’t do it, so I reluctantly made what we call a “safety decision” and decided to sit down before I fell down (or worse yet, knocked Marnie down) and call for help. I argued to myself, “But I should keep going anyway!” many times. The oft-used hiker phrase, “Embrace the suck!” came to mind. But each time I heard back, “Call 911!”  Oh, safety or not, I was mortified.  So embarrassing!  I mean, what self-respecting hiker couldn’t make it two miles (downhill!) to town?

This new adventure included talking to a very kind 911 operator and an equally kind  sheriff’s deputy, who came with six or seven volunteer Search and Rescue gentlemen (including two doctors) who were enthusiastically concerned about me. They packed me up in a litter with one big nubby wheel on it, covered me with a blanket, and proceeded to roll me down the mountain with one of the guys walking on the downside of the trail.  I don’t know how they did it, but I was definitely “helping” by hugging the upside of the litter the whole way!  When we got to the Forest Service road where the rescue party had parked, a stern young deputy demanded my name and information, and was particularly interested to know the address where I got my mail.  I was not looking forward to receiving anything they wanted to send me, which I assumed would be some sort of reprimand for taking up their valuable time, or a bill. We were then bundled up into the back of another deputy’s SUV (my first time riding in the back of a police car – quite sparse accommodations) and given a ride to the fire station in Cascade Locks so the EMTs could look at me. Two young EMTs eagerly poked my finger, listened to my chest, and hooked electrodes up to me. All my vital signs were normal but they suggested I go in an ambulance to the hospital, to which I said, “No, thank you.” I signed a serious-looking document that said I refused transport in the ambulance and would see my doctor when I got home, and was thoroughly scolded by the supervising EMT for not eating enough.

“But nothing tasted good,” I said. 

“Everything should taste good when you’re hiking ten miles a day!” she admonished.

Me being rescued.
Marnie and me in the back of the police car.

After winning the argument (I wasn’t up to the challenge) she then asked me who the President was (cussing optional, she said) and where I was and my address, et cetera, and since I answered all the questions correctly they let me go.  The deputy dropped us off at the Best Western where we waited for just a few minutes before Marnie’s husband picked us up and took us to Dairy Queen. Even though we were filthy and hadn’t had a shower in five days, we went inside the restaurant to eat. I had a burger and a strawberry milkshake, as I was suddenly very hungry.  Marnie chuckled as we left. 

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“I must really have the hiker stink, when I went to refill my drink that man moved clear over there!”

Marnie on the trail.

After our dinner, we drove the hour and a half home and I took a shower and a two-day nap.   

Frustrating as it was to need to be rescued (I didn’t tell anyone except my closest family and friends for months afterwards) I was encouraged that on our first long backpacking trip we were able to walk 51.74 miles. And me with hardly any food or sleep! 

A few months later we went back to Cascade Locks and hiked up the PCT to the place where we had stopped so we could finish that part of the trail. We realized that the trail actually got easier from the place that we called for help and I probably could have made it (insert “Arrgh” emoticon here). Marnie had painted a rock that said, “The best view comes after the hardest climb,” and we left the rock there at my rescue spot in hopes of encouraging other struggling hikers. 

Central takeaways from the hike: God doesn’t always answer prayer the way we might hope. We prayed for strength to get to where we needed to go, and God used the strength of others to accomplish it. God doesn’t always care that you might feel embarrassed. He knows what you need. And God knows where all the campsites are even if your book doesn’t. 

Water takeaways: Drink lots of water. Bring electrolyte powders that taste good to put in your water. Water that is filtered out of a mountain lake or stream tastes much better than your water at home.

Food takeaways: Bring delicious food you will eat. Eat the food even if you don’t feel like it. Try all the food beforehand so you know if it’s delicious or not. Huckleberries are delicious. I would have felt better if I could have eaten more huckleberries. You may not be able to hang your food properly away from bears because there may be no branches low enough, live enough, or at all. Then just put your food in the foot of your tent and pray that the bears won’t notice it.

General backpacking takeaways: Backpacking is dirty. You will be dirty. Everything will be dirty. Your feet may never be clean again. Never underestimate the value of a nice picnic table or a good sitting log. 

Thru-hiker takeaways: Don’t assume they don’t want to talk.  If they will talk to you, talk to them. Ask them questions.  (For instance, ask how they look so much less dirty than you do when you’ve only been out for two days.)

Bear takeaways: Well, none, because we didn’t see a bear. Or a deer. Or any wildlife except birds and a couple of chipmunks.  And bees.

Cougar takeaways: Don’t think about cougars.

Our favorite trail…
1940s, Change, Cool Stuff, History, Hmm..., Travel

1940s Saturday 2-1-14

This last weekend I bought a few magazines from the 1940s.  I’m kicking myself for not buying the whole pile, but hoping that the man will be at the flea market next month with the rest.  I want the magazines because A)  I love reading old magazines; B) Our house was built in 1946 and I’m interested in the history; and most importantly C) we have been re-doing our bathroom, and I’ve decided (I think) to decorate with travel ads from the 1940s.  This is the cover of one of the magazines, which will be perfect for my travel theme.  Seriously, you should have seen the giant grin on my face when I found it! 






While looking through old magazines, I’m always struck by how similar the articles and content are to what we have today.  For instance, I read an article about a lady who was a writer, and tired of trying to do her work in a space where she was constantly trampled by children, puppies, and tradespeople, decided to redo a cellar room into a study. She managed to do it for only $25, ($384.59 by today’s standards, according to The Inflation Calculator).  Today, however,  I saw this in a 1941 Better Homes and Gardens.  The first two paragraphs read:

“There’s one sure way to tell a long-lasting paint. Find out how much white lead it contains. For as good painters and architects will tell you, the greater the white lead content, the more enduring the paint. And you can’t get a more weather-resistant paint than one containing 100% pure white lead.”




<Jaw drops to floor>

Little did they know, a few years later children would be seriously injured from eating bits of the paint that was not, I suppose, as durable as the ads wanted them to believe.  Of course, 15 years ago people still thought margarine was better for you than butter.  We just never know when our prevailing wisdom will turn to foolishness!  Open-mouthed smile

Family, Fun, Photos, Travel


While we were in California, my son Ben got to visit with my cousins’ daughters, I~ and A~.  A few days before we arrived Aunt S~ had taken I~ to this abandoned slaughterhouse down the road from her house, out in the middle of Central California farm country, to look around. 

As you can see, it has been turned into a sort of work of art by graffiti artists and paintball aficionados. Big blank walls, all sorts of places to hide…who could blame them?  Since I~ had all sorts of fun poking around there by herself, she thought it would be even more fun with her cousins and therefore insisted that Aunt S~ take them down to the slaughterhouse so they could explore, even though Aunt S~ had done her best to convince I~ that the place was full of hobos. 

Unfortunately for the kids, I went along and cramped their style.

The photo above only shows part of what’s on the property.  There are some other small buildings, one of which we headed toward after we got out of the car.  We walked in its direction until we saw a dozen rats scurry out the door.  The girls chucked that idea and we made our way to the main building.

The owners of this marvelously attractive nuisance obviously don’t swing by to check on it very often, so besides being used as a graffiti gallery/paintball arena/home of various carriers of rabies, it is also used as a convenient place to dump that trash that is just so hard to get rid of:

Note how the tires, stove, and other debris have also been covered with graffiti and paintball splats, so they don’t subtract from the ambience of the place.

As the kids practically leapt into the building to examine this nifty masterpiece here, they were accosted by a pigeon, which led to a few seconds of shrieking and declarations of how much they disliked birds. 


In this photo, Ben is standing just under a piece of the wood door framing that was completely consumed with dry rot and hanging at an alarming angle (not sure why I didn’t get a photo of that)…


Next they went into another room, where they found this…


and this…


And this:


But all I saw was this…

and this:


I didn’t take any photos of myself, but I probably looked something like this:


or this:



But the kids didn’t UNDERSTAND.

Needless to say, I did not let the kids go up the stairs.  I couldn’t see the stairs but they were most certainly rickety, and I’m sure there really WERE hobos up there.  Scary, stinky hobos. And bats.  Not the nice bats that eat mosquitoes, but deranged, rabid bats.  Big ones, like on “The Bat People”. Thankfully we made it home alive.

Animals, Fun, Travel


My son, my parents, and I just returned from a trip to California to celebrate my Aunt S~’s 70th birthday.  On the way home we decided to stop at Wildlife Safari in Winston, Oregon. You drive your car through the park, stopping where you like to watch the animals.  The big cats – lions, tigers,and cheetahs – used to roam about like the the rest of the animals but are now all behind fences so I couldn’t get clear photos of them.  Same with the elephants.  But, my son got great photos of one non-vegetarian type – you’ll see them at the end of the post!   Here are some of the critters we saw.

Rhinoceros derrieres.  The sign said to keep “3 car-lengths away” from the rhinos.  It wasn’t a problem, as they turned their pointy noses up at us and then ignored us completely.

The elands didn’t seem to mind our car…


Giraffes are easy to spot (bwaha!)


It was lunchtime for many of the critters when we were there:


Guanacos running to their noms station.


Watusi Cows – a bit crowded in there with those horns!


Sitka deer cooling off on the way to lunch.


White fallow deer…we stopped to watch them and they kept popping their heads up one after another to look back at us.


Action shot!


H is for Hippo eating Hay…



Here’s a llama…


The dignified Mr. Bison…


Comin’ through! (This camel wasn’t stopping, we had to drive out of the way before she just plowed into the car!)


I’m the yak, I’m the yak, having my nap, having my nap…


This IS my best side!


Shell, the Sulcatta Tortoise, out for his daily walk around the Village…


My favorite snack?  It’s written all over my face!


And last, but certainly not least, these guys:

Well, hi there!  They call me Grizzly…


A bear hug? I thought you’d never ask!