Monday, August 08, 2005
Hamilton Mountain
On Sunday, I decided to hike the Hamilton Mountain trail in Beacon Rock state park. I had hiked this trail once before, some 2 or 3 years ago. Although a tough trail (almost constantly uphill for 4 miles), you get some of the most beautiful views from that trail.
As I started my journey upward, I remembered an old man from the first time I hiked the hill. That first time, near the top, this old man and I passed each other a few times each. When he reached the summit, he changed his shirt and headed down. He had a smile on his face that I never forgot. Heading up the hill on this journey, I saw him as he was heading down. Serendipity.
As I said, you get some of the most spectacular views on this trail. There are no guard rails to lean against, either, and combined with my fear of heights (which isn't as bad as it used to be), I would stand near the edge and look at some of the most beautiful scenergy. The Columbia from this high looks so different. Unfortunately, you get a view of Bonneville (kill the salmon) dam as well. There is an area as you reach the top of the old lava flows that created this part of the world where you can look into crevases and folds that run deep. One of them looks like a person being born into the world. It is amazing.
The wild flowers going up are tiny, but when one takes the time to stop and really absorb what they look like, it is the most amazing sight. Some look like white lotus blossoms as they are blooming. When the petals spread, they look like daisy's with a center that looks like a minature of the Epcot Center. Some looked like thin purples paper cups. My favorites, though, were the jade looking plants. They were tiny with a mixture of red, orange and yellow petals. They had spectacular tiny yellow blossoms that looked like tight tiny crowns.
I made it to the top, 2488 feet. I hung out and checked out the beautiful views you get from that height. I went down another trail about half a mile that lead north and got more views of the inland area that are just spectacular. I started hearing voices come up that trail, so I went back to the summit and gazed for a little longer. A couple came up, probably in their 50's. I left before they finished, letting them have their privacy in this spectacular place, and moseyed on down the hill.
There is a gravelly part of the trail with lots of switchbacks. It is carved into the side of one of the ancient lava heaps. I always wonder at the power that created those things. The wind was blowing and I thought of all of the grasses and plants that cling to the sides of the rocks and are regularly pushed around by the wind. My foot slipped on the gravel, and I tried walking more carefully when my left foot slipped again and I went down. My foot went under my ass as I fell backwards onto the gravel. I swung my right arm out and smacked it on a rock right about the same time as I felt my knee getting gouged. I swung my right arm out to prevent me from falling down the hill. The most that would have happened was I would have been seriously scratched up. I got back up and checked myself out. My arm was OK. My knee, however, now had a scrape with a deep gouge and some missing flesh. I could still walk, so I wasn't worried. I felt the wind whipping around me and I felt like spirits were trying to talk to me. I couldn't tell if they were telling me to get the hell out or upset because I was leaving. I talked outloud with them and continued on down the hill.
About five minutes later, the woman of the couple I had seen at the summit came up behind me. "My husband fell and broke his leg up near the summit. Do you have a cell phone?" I couldn't get reception. She said her husband was OK other than the broken leg, and that it wasn't an open wound or visibly bleeding. I was worried about shock. She headed down the trail before me, and every few minutes or so I'd try 911. I finally got an answer and after several transfers finally reached the correct 911. "A man fell near the top of Hamilton Mountain and broke his leg. His wife walked by and informed me." Then...nothing. Signal gone, and 911 wouldn't work again. Kept trying and trying as I'd head down the hill and I finally got a signal again. Again...the same thing, a couple of transfers, and again, cut off, and again, no reception. About a half mile from the bottom, I finally got a constant signal. After about several minutes of confirming rescue workers being on their way, I was asked to go back up and sit with the man until the rescue workers got there. Back up the hill I went. I was breathing hard the whole way and sweating like a pig when I finally reached the man. There was a couple already hanging out with him.
We all sat around and talked. About five people walked past and talked with us. The man was shaking, but not hard. The woman of the couple let him use her little jacket. We all talked. The man, whose name I believe was Pat (I forget for sure) kept talking to insure consciousness. He'd ask us all some questions. I tried to remain silent for the most part. He asked the couple if they'd "read any good books lately?" Unsatisfactory answers, he directed his attention toward me. I told him about the book, "Conquest." "When I was young, I went to Chemeketa? I think it was called. I was with a choir and we went to sing there."
"Chemawa," I told him.
"Yeah. Chemawa. Anyway, we went to sing there, and it took several years for me to absorb what was happening there. These children were taken away from their families and culture..."
"I want it all back," I told him.
"You'll probably get it back," he said.
"Eh...It's just a matter of time."
He told me he and his wife lived in Africa for a year and he thought it was odd how the different African cultures would go after each other. I informed him of Inga Muscio's book, "Autobiography of a Blue Eyed Devil." I think Inga does a great job of explaining what she calls, "Auto-Genocide."
About this time, the first rescue worker showed up. Upon finding out that my help was no longer necessary, I said my goodbyes and headed on down the hill.
When I finally made it to the bottom (with several slips, but no falls), I saw that it was 3:30. I had left the house at 7am. I thought of going to Stevenson and eating, but I was so tired, I hit Highway 14 and headed West, and finally got hope an hour later.
I'm tired. I figure I hiked 12-14 miles. Half of that is uphill.
As I started my journey upward, I remembered an old man from the first time I hiked the hill. That first time, near the top, this old man and I passed each other a few times each. When he reached the summit, he changed his shirt and headed down. He had a smile on his face that I never forgot. Heading up the hill on this journey, I saw him as he was heading down. Serendipity.
As I said, you get some of the most spectacular views on this trail. There are no guard rails to lean against, either, and combined with my fear of heights (which isn't as bad as it used to be), I would stand near the edge and look at some of the most beautiful scenergy. The Columbia from this high looks so different. Unfortunately, you get a view of Bonneville (kill the salmon) dam as well. There is an area as you reach the top of the old lava flows that created this part of the world where you can look into crevases and folds that run deep. One of them looks like a person being born into the world. It is amazing.
The wild flowers going up are tiny, but when one takes the time to stop and really absorb what they look like, it is the most amazing sight. Some look like white lotus blossoms as they are blooming. When the petals spread, they look like daisy's with a center that looks like a minature of the Epcot Center. Some looked like thin purples paper cups. My favorites, though, were the jade looking plants. They were tiny with a mixture of red, orange and yellow petals. They had spectacular tiny yellow blossoms that looked like tight tiny crowns.
I made it to the top, 2488 feet. I hung out and checked out the beautiful views you get from that height. I went down another trail about half a mile that lead north and got more views of the inland area that are just spectacular. I started hearing voices come up that trail, so I went back to the summit and gazed for a little longer. A couple came up, probably in their 50's. I left before they finished, letting them have their privacy in this spectacular place, and moseyed on down the hill.
There is a gravelly part of the trail with lots of switchbacks. It is carved into the side of one of the ancient lava heaps. I always wonder at the power that created those things. The wind was blowing and I thought of all of the grasses and plants that cling to the sides of the rocks and are regularly pushed around by the wind. My foot slipped on the gravel, and I tried walking more carefully when my left foot slipped again and I went down. My foot went under my ass as I fell backwards onto the gravel. I swung my right arm out and smacked it on a rock right about the same time as I felt my knee getting gouged. I swung my right arm out to prevent me from falling down the hill. The most that would have happened was I would have been seriously scratched up. I got back up and checked myself out. My arm was OK. My knee, however, now had a scrape with a deep gouge and some missing flesh. I could still walk, so I wasn't worried. I felt the wind whipping around me and I felt like spirits were trying to talk to me. I couldn't tell if they were telling me to get the hell out or upset because I was leaving. I talked outloud with them and continued on down the hill.
About five minutes later, the woman of the couple I had seen at the summit came up behind me. "My husband fell and broke his leg up near the summit. Do you have a cell phone?" I couldn't get reception. She said her husband was OK other than the broken leg, and that it wasn't an open wound or visibly bleeding. I was worried about shock. She headed down the trail before me, and every few minutes or so I'd try 911. I finally got an answer and after several transfers finally reached the correct 911. "A man fell near the top of Hamilton Mountain and broke his leg. His wife walked by and informed me." Then...nothing. Signal gone, and 911 wouldn't work again. Kept trying and trying as I'd head down the hill and I finally got a signal again. Again...the same thing, a couple of transfers, and again, cut off, and again, no reception. About a half mile from the bottom, I finally got a constant signal. After about several minutes of confirming rescue workers being on their way, I was asked to go back up and sit with the man until the rescue workers got there. Back up the hill I went. I was breathing hard the whole way and sweating like a pig when I finally reached the man. There was a couple already hanging out with him.
We all sat around and talked. About five people walked past and talked with us. The man was shaking, but not hard. The woman of the couple let him use her little jacket. We all talked. The man, whose name I believe was Pat (I forget for sure) kept talking to insure consciousness. He'd ask us all some questions. I tried to remain silent for the most part. He asked the couple if they'd "read any good books lately?" Unsatisfactory answers, he directed his attention toward me. I told him about the book, "Conquest." "When I was young, I went to Chemeketa? I think it was called. I was with a choir and we went to sing there."
"Chemawa," I told him.
"Yeah. Chemawa. Anyway, we went to sing there, and it took several years for me to absorb what was happening there. These children were taken away from their families and culture..."
"I want it all back," I told him.
"You'll probably get it back," he said.
"Eh...It's just a matter of time."
He told me he and his wife lived in Africa for a year and he thought it was odd how the different African cultures would go after each other. I informed him of Inga Muscio's book, "Autobiography of a Blue Eyed Devil." I think Inga does a great job of explaining what she calls, "Auto-Genocide."
About this time, the first rescue worker showed up. Upon finding out that my help was no longer necessary, I said my goodbyes and headed on down the hill.
When I finally made it to the bottom (with several slips, but no falls), I saw that it was 3:30. I had left the house at 7am. I thought of going to Stevenson and eating, but I was so tired, I hit Highway 14 and headed West, and finally got hope an hour later.
I'm tired. I figure I hiked 12-14 miles. Half of that is uphill.
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