Hood-lums: A Portland, Oregon, adventure story

There are two very different moments, out of many, that spring to the front of my mind when I think about Portland 2016.

One — the five us of stand in a grassy meadow just off the Pacific Coast Trail in Paradise Park, which has to be the most aptly-named trail in existence. There isn’t a sound except those of nature. Ahead of us, pocked on its upper reaches by white puffy clouds, sits the crown jewel of our trip, the object of our constant affection and attention, Mt. Hood (11,250 feet). All around us stand tall Pacific Northwest (PNW) pines. The scene is out of a fairy tale. I swivel my head in all directions, breathing in an air that’s equal parts delicious and clean. A moment later, two deer trot through the grass to our left. This really is perfect.

Two — it’s two nights later and I lie in my sleeping bag at 9,000 feet, trying to fall back asleep yet fully awake. It’s 5am. To my right, Harrison and Drew are out cold, or at least it appears that way. An hour and a half ago, we were all sitting wide awake with anticipation. We were going to make a summit attempt of Mt. Hood despite the continuing patter of rain on our tent and the wind whipping its sides. One of our guides, Brandon, had told us to prepare for a 4:30am departure. I had changed my layers three times. I had latched on my harness and thrown on my helmet. I had eaten a Larabar and a mocha Clif Shot. But then came the bad news — another group had made an attempt and had to quickly turn around. Ours was over before it began. Go back to sleep, we were told. We’d wake at 7:30am and attempt to hike up a ways, but the Hood summit plan was effectively squashed. Having consumed that caffeine, my attempts at sleep were futile. So I continued to lie in my bag, the what-ifs swirling around in my head.

Welcome to mountaineering.

…

Those moments are just two of dozens from an inspiring, action-packed (even for me), wondrous, funny and team-building nine days in and around Portland, OR, with my friends Steph, Aleta, Drew, Harrison and Addie (Steph, Drew and Harrison for the duration; Aleta and Addie for parts). The idea for the trip was hatched in the fall of 2015, and I was let in on the plans and informally invited to take part via Steph in January. Steph is from the area — Lake Oswego just south of Portland, to be exact — and her parents, Patti and Roland, offered up the ideal lodging for a trip, not to mention incredible all-around hospitality (more on that later).

My first thought when Steph sent me a rough itinerary of the trip six months in advance: Wow, she knows how to plan! Every day was already thought out. Waterfalls. The coast. Fourth of July in Portland. And, of course, Mt. Hood. My second thought: Holy cow, they’re mountaineering Mt. Hood. They’re planning on doing the real thing, hiring the guides, taking on the technical climbing. That’s a lot. So is the $600 price tag.

Is it worth it?

That was the only thing that initially kept me from booking the trip. But then in early February I went on my New Hampshire winter hiking adventure with the Dad and a funny thing happened — he took a $1,200 voucher to get bumped a flight and gave me half of it. Just like that, I had my $600. Flight booked. Climb booked. Bring on July.

My biggest curiosities going into the trip: How well would our group work together as we went from one adventure to the next. I had gone on a two-day camping trip with everyone except Addie — who had recently moved to Portland and could only join us for the Hood summit attempt because of work at Nike — in November that went well, so that bred optimism. Still, four or five people can make things tricky when you’re planning hiking routes or even dinner, for that matter. Additionally, what were Portland and its surrounding area like? I’d been to the PNW before, both on my 2009 West Coast bike trip and my 2013 hiking trip in Washington with the Dad, but PDX was new for me. I let my mind run wild with anticipation.

Finally, June 30 came. I worked all day. I took two flights. I arrived at midnight. And as I headed toward the baggage claim, there stood two giggling friends, Steph and Drew, waiting for me. Like, inside the airport. Who does that anymore? And what airports make it even easy to do? As we hugged and Steph Snapchatted, I knew, already, that this would be a trip for the ages.

Friday, July 1 — Chasing waterfalls, Columbia Gorge
From the minute I arrived at the Wolfram house Friday around 1am, I knew I’d be treated better than I deserved. Berries galore — blueberries, cherries, marionberries, etc. — were placed in front of me. Wow. Friday morning was no different, as Steph made me gluten-free Mickey Mouse-shaped waffles, with eggs and bacon for breakfast. I met our hosts, Patti and Roland, who seemed more than happy to have welcomed three stranger boys into their home. This was going to work out well!

Then we chased waterfalls all day.

Visiting Columbia Gorge is one of those no-brainer things visitors to Portland do. However, for many tourists, stopping at The Spot, Multnomah Falls, and gazing up at the 627-foot double waterfall with the bridge halfway up is enough. No hiking needed. We, of course, wanted more. It being the Friday of a holiday weekend, we expected crowds and weren’t surprised by the bumper-to-bumper traffic by the Multnomah lot. We kept going, parking near the trailhead for Oneonta Gorge — the second-most popular falls to which you must hike through water that gets about 5 feet deep (more on that soon).

We saved the “destination” waterfalls for last, which turned out to be a great decision. As we hiked up switchbacks under towering pines toward Triple Falls, the crowds thinned at least a bit. After a couple miles, we reached a high point looking across to the aptly named falls. A few minutes later, we continued on the trail to a spot where we could carefully climb to the falls’ apex and peer down and then dangle our legs over the rushing water.

Not sure of exact mileages and how much we could knock off while seeing all the waterfalls, we decided to continue up the trail a little ways before turning around back to the throngs. This was one of my favorite parts of the hike, as we had the trail all to ourselves — the stream gurgling below. As we gained elevation, we came to a spot where a large log had fallen from one bank of the stream to the other. With the opposite side above us, this created a pathway some 10-15 feet above the water. After we reached a point that seemed ripe for turning around, we came back to the log and carefully climbed out to its middle section. It made for quite the hanging-out destination.

Once we passed Triple Falls on our descent and came to the popular loop trail, the real action began. And it was nonstop. First, we stood on a bridge and admired the small, graceful Upper Oneonta Falls. Not much later, we came around a bend to the sound of Ponytail Falls, my favorite. Ponytail’s cascade slithered down an overhanging rock face, allowing hikers to stand in a cave and watch the water smash unto the rocks below while admiring the green background of trees, the sun trying to make its presence felt, too. I snuck down to the small pool’s edge and stuck my head under the lightest-hitting water. It was glorious.

As we switch-backed our way to the car, we passed a tiny bulldog puppy slowing trodding up the trail. Steph asked the kids guiding it how old the dog was. “Ten weeks.” “That’s my favorite puppy ever!” Steph said as we reached the road and the towering Horsetail Falls. Horsetail, falling 176 feet, reminded me of 170-foot Mooney Falls in Havasu, Ariz., just one narrow cascade dropping into a pool. As I entered the water to soak my legs, I noticed Steph off to the left holding another puppy. I approached to find out that this little Dachshund, just eight weeks old, had gone in the cold water and had taken over as Steph’s new favorite puppy.

Two incredible cute puppies and all those waterfalls; this Friday was getting good — and not over yet.

We returned all our stuff to the car including phones except for Steph’s, because it was time to do something I’d never experienced — wade up a stream to a waterfall. I chose to go in my sandals, which ended up making things a bit tricky as I navigated countless slippery logs at the beginning of the hike. Once past the logs in the canyon — rock walls towering above us on either side, the waterway maybe 40 feet wide and narrower in parts — we started wading through the chilly but not unbearable stream. It was up to our calves, then waist, then belly button, and finally up to my chest. By then I had taken off the shirt, wrapping it around my neck, and I held Steph’s phone above my head as I navigated the deepest part of the approach.

To our amazement, no one was at the base of the falls when we arrived. I’ll admit that I was cold, though. Harrison had the fortitude to fully immerse himself, swimming close to the waterfall. I was content to hang back, eating a sandwich in a futile attempt to add some body fat and warmth. The trees way above us probably make Oneonta a very difficult place to receive sunlight. Still, it was incredible to have such a special place all to ourselves!

I struggled a bit on the walk out while wearing my sandals but I made it, and then we enjoyed a final stop at Multnomah — the one waterfall out of the six we visited where avoiding crowds was impossible. It was getting late in the day and we needed to return to Roland and Patti’s for a dinner they were preparing, but Steph had a final spot for us to visit, even if quickly, before driving back south.

Larch Mountain.

After driving up the winding road that Steph said was a popular biking destination and Roland had done numerous times, we arrived at a parking lot about a quarter mile, if that, from the top. Yes, we were cheating and not hiking the whole mountain, but only because of time.

I’ll never forget what happened as I took the final stairs to the summit. The trees parted and I emerged on an outlook platform with nothing but blue sky in front of me except for … at 1 o’clock, a huge white mountain standing by itself, Mt. Hood! At 4 o’clock, Mt. Jefferson. And so it went. To Mount St. Helens. To Mt. Adams. To Mt. Rainier, a whopping 97 miles away. All salient in the blue sky.

We had the top of the 4,062-foot extinct volcano to ourselves and soaked up the views for as long as we could. The vision of Hood, which stands out above Portland from many vantage points, gave me an initial taste of the mountain we’d circumnavigate and ascend a few days later.

Dinner was everything I could have asked for, and more. Salmon. Steak. A gluten-free IPA that tasted like a regular one. Potatoes. Salad. And to top it off, a batch of cupcakes that were all gluten-free (I kid you not). I had to hold myself back from eating five of them, instead trying forkfuls of about six or seven. I couldn’t have asked for a better meal. Not surprisingly, within about 15 minutes of dessert concluding, us three boys lay faces down on the living room carpet — exhausted, full, and beyond content.

How about that for a first full day in Portland?

…

Saturday, July 2 — A day on the coast
We started off Saturday at the Lake Oswego Farmers’ Market, a place I fell in love with at the first berry. The market, sitting above Oswego Lake, featured myriad stands where one could sample hordes of different berries before making an informed purchase. It also featured several breakfast and lunch options, including a Mexican breakfast place that Steph recommended and that, of course, lived up to her billing. The “Buenos Dias” tostadas topped with grilled veggies cooked right before you, bacon and eggs was all a man could ask for! Berries bought and appetites taken care of, we headed back to the car but not before stopping for 10 solid minutes to pet the dozens of dogs leashed up right outside the market (the benefit of dogs not being allowed in is that you can find them all in one spot!).

Once back at the Wolframs, we packed camping and beach belongings and hit the road west. The plan was to head to the state’s northernmost point, Astoria, and then drive two hours down the coast to our camping spot, Pacific City, with possible stops along the way. I greatly looked forward to that drive, as it would remind me of a portion of my 2009 bike trip down the coast.

As we drove along the Columbia River to Astoria, I remembered the winding uphill climb it had been for me on the bike. A few minutes later, we flattened out in the waterside town with the big hill. On top of that hill sits Astoria Column, 125 feet tall and offering 360-degree views of the city, the 4.1-mile truss bridge to Washington state, and much more. We climbed up the winding staircase, 163 stairs in total, to the open-air viewing platform and took in the numerous views. Amazing!

After much discussion and a few city blocks walked, we ended up at local brewery for lunch. The food was pretty good and the gluten-free IPA — is that an Oregon thing? — went down smooth, but we were also running a bit late. It was time to head south. As we drove down the 101 past Seaside and then Manzanita Beach, then Cannon Beach — where we stopped briefly — and more, I recognized one landmark after another from my bicycle journey of seven years prior. A stop for Tillamook ice cream also rekindled flavorful memories.

We didn’t get to Pacific City until close to 9pm, and the beach area was hopping. Clearly, people knew something we didn’t. We would soon find out. After buying some cheese, crackers and boxed wine at the store on Highway 101, we walked across the street and started making our way toward the large dune and the bluffs leading out into the ocean. I was surprised to find that the beach had been transformed into a parking lot as if there was a football game nearby. Cars, most of them pickups and SUVs, were packed tightly on the sand.

We walked up about half of the dune and then swung a left out onto the bluffs. The people thinned as we got farther and farther out on the rocks, until we could go no farther. As the sun set on the Pacific, we plopped down on the rocky outcropping, I set up the cheese and crackers tablecloth, and we enjoyed an improvised Saturday night dinner while watching the light wane from the sky.

As darkness enveloped us, we began the walk toward the beach and the sky caught on fire. Well, not literally, but down on the beach a fireworks show had begun. First far to the south, then close, and then even closer, huge pyrotechnics lit up the darkness. We descended the dune and began walking back along the beach through the parked cars, our eyes darting in all directions with each bang. It wasn’t scary or dangerous, really; just interesting and like nothing I’d ever witnessed before. We found a log and decided to stick around for some of the show. While enjoying the explosions, we learned from a local sitting nearby that the authorities allowed this liberal shooting off of illegal fireworks just one day a year — and that two other towns, Seaside and one I forgot, then had the same privilege on July 3 and July 4. So a fireworks enthusiast could take in three huge beach shows on consecutive nights. We also learned that the event is lucrative for tow truck businesses, as people’s cars get stuck in the sand when the tide begins to come in. While we watched this take place, the guy told us that his brother did towing, charged $100 per vehicle, and raked in close to $2,000 on such a night. Not bad.

We didn’t get to our campground at Cape Lookout State Park until close to 11pm, but sleep came easily once our tents were set up — another action-packed day in the books.

…

Sunday, July 3 — Dunes, a bike & brews
I woke a little after 6am and crawled out of my tent into a typical PNW mist. Our campsite was conveniently located a 2-minute loaf from the beach. As I walked up the short dune I passed Harrison on his way back to the tent. We exchanged a nod, neither of us seemingly awake. I went for a nice walk up and down the overcast beach before returning to our site.

After not the most thrilling breakfast, we packed up and drove back south to Pacific City for some dunes action. We spent the morning climbing up and around the sand structures, and Steph showed us a cool spot where we could watch the waves crash against the rocks up close. Then we climbed up a path through the sand to a spot hundreds of feet above the water where we gazed down as a pair of paragliders struggled to gain much elevation above the dunes.

Our time was short, so we headed back to the top of the biggest dune. As I approached the faster guys in front of me, I noticed a blue object in the sand. And what do you know, but there was an unopened Pepsi can! I popped it open and lifted it to my lips. The verdict: most refreshing can of soda I’ve ever consumed! From there, we had a ball running down the dune and taking burst photos. I can’t do it justice here, but Harrison’s sequence from liftoff to falling splat on his face in the sand was priceless.

The only negative of the nine-day trip happened on the way back to Portland: We were short on time and wanted to stop at a winery, but we were also hungry. The solution seemed to be a quick stop for to-go food at the highly acclaimed Little Red Hen. We walked in, the place was packed, and the smells were scintillating. Good signs. We all ordered sandwiches, mine on gluten-free bread. Things were still fine as we waited 10, then 15, then 20 minutes, admiring the work of the upbeat employees. Harrison got his sandwich. Drew got his. Steph’s came. But not mine. Now I understand that gluten-free items can take longer, but the 46 minutes was absurd. To make matters worse, the sandwich was awful. Not only was the GF bread dry, but the “roasted vegetable” was a flavorless cauliflower, and the goat cheese listed on the menu was nowhere to be found. Color me disappointed. And Steph, who got the same sandwich. Anyway, this disruption led to a much shorter winery stop (more like: buy wine and go) and then we were back to Portland.

Where things got back to normal for this trip — in other words, fabulous.

Roland and Patti had arranged for a “bike & brew” Sunday afternoon, which consists of a group pedaling a huge rectangular bike from one bar to the next, where adult beverages are consumed (no, they’re not allowed on the actual bike; safety first, kiddos). Anyway, it was fun to slightly explore Portland’s Pearl District and some grungy old bars via the tour, and I hit the best pool shot of my life for an epic comeback victory alongside Steph over Drew and Harrison. That was a highlight. Cap that off with a long, delicious dinner at a downtown eatery, and Sunday was another memorable, action-packed day in the Pacific Northwest.

Even with the shitty sandwich.

…

Monday, July 4 — A day for puppies & Portland
Since I’m calling this a Portland trip, it should involve a day of mostly just Portland activities, right? The holiday Monday was that day and came before we’d head off for the adventure’s main course, Mt. Hood, Tuesday morning. We kick-started the morning with puppies, seven of them (no, that’s not a typo), and two adult dogs, too. Steph’s aunt Carol, who is a professional dog trainer and has had dogs perform and compete in shows, lives just north of Portland in Vancouver, Wash., and welcomed us to her home the day before she would disperse six insanely cute Briard puppies to their new owners. So we spent a couple hours playing with the Briards, the big dogs, and my personal favorite Pyrenees Shepherd puppy, Pixel.

Playing with dogs — never a bad way to start a day.

In the afternoon we explored Portland, which has a cool medium-city vibe, plenty of hills, and small neighborhoods lined with shops. In the Pearl District, we stocked up at REI and found a neat healthy-foods place for lunch (needed!). We then drove not far to the 23rd Street area, where Steph pointed to Portland-famous Salt & Straw ice cream (which would be our end-of-week destination) and the line out the door and around the corner. We finished our mini tour by driving up a wending road past many of the city’s extensive network of wooded trails to Pittock Mansion, one of Portland’s high points. The famous mansion — here’s a history if that kind of thing piques your interest — offers a fine view down unto the city, its quadrant-forming Willamette River, and if it were a completely clear day, Mt. Hood. We weren’t quite that lucky, but Pittock is a neat place for a knowledgeable person like Steph to point to random places and tell tourists like Drew, Harrison and me what’s what!

We spent the evening enjoying yet another fabulous, delectable and filling Patti and Roland meal, and then working our way out of food comas for fireworks in Portland — a can’t-miss affair. We drove back into the city, parked in a garage, and made our way to Hawthorne Bridge, one of 12 that cross the Willamette, to watch the fireworks over the river. The bridge was packed on both sides with people, and Addie and her friend joined us as we prepared for the show.

The fireworks ranked right up there with the best displays I’ve seen, and watching from a bridge as they exploded over the river was one heck of an experience. However, the show was so popular that our parking structure was jam-packed, and cars were at a standstill after the show. Maybe 20 minutes in, we got smart and decided to ditch the vehicle and walk a mile or so to Voodoo Doughnut, another Portland institution. I couldn’t eat any of the delicacies because of the gluten, but I enjoyed the experience, and picked up a 6-pack of Reece’s peanut butter cups for $1 — an absolute steal — on the return walk.

Portland day was in the books. Now let the real adventure begin!

…

Tuesday, July 5 — Para, para, PARADISE!
Upon waking up Tuesday morning, I excitedly packed two backpacks — one for the overnight hiking trip we were about to begin on the lower reaches of Mt. Hood via the Timberline Trail, and another with gear I’d need for the Mt. Hood summit program the following two days. The real adventure was set to begin. Harrison, Drew, Steph, and Aleta, who had arrived Monday evening from Seattle, busied themselves in a similar manner.

While they finished up, I decided to call a ranger station on Hood for a conditions update. After all, it was still early July and snow at 5,000 or 6,000 feet was certainly possible (I thought back to my 2010 Yosemite trip with my Dad when Tioga Road up to 8,000-9,000 feet wasn’t even opened until late June because of snow — and that’s well south of Mt. Hood). The ranger Harrison and I spoke to painted a bit of a bleak picture, telling us that many sections of the Timberline Trail were snow-covered and that parts of it leading down to Ramona Falls, which we hoped to reach our second day of hiking, were completely washed out. I wouldn’t say I was stunned, but definitely a little surprised. I started wondering whether our camping trip was even feasible and what alternatives might be doable.

Next, I called the Timberline Guides for a final update from our boy Henry, whom we’d all talked to several times in the months leading up to the trip. Henry had become a phone friend. We were sad when he told us he wouldn’t be one of our guides (little did we know, until we were told two days later, that Henry was stationed in Bend, Ore., and never actually led the trips up Hood). He painted a more optimistic picture of the weather, and also made it clear that we’d probably still have a shot at the summit early Friday morning. The forecast was for beautiful weather Tuesday, Wednesday and most of Thursday before starting to get iffy Thursday night, and then Friday afternoon and night — when we’d be off the mountain — turning into a storm.

We thought we’d have summited Hood and be down by then.

Finally, for some peace of mind, I found a website that had trip reports of hikes on the Timberline Trail and around Hood, and there were a handful of recent reports that barely mentioned snow and weren’t futile. This gave us confidence that we could stick with our original plan. Our bags all finally packed, we said our goodbyes to Patti and Roland and headed out in the late morning. After a stop for a waffles brunch, we were on our way, making the 90-minute drive to the mountain that sits alone and stands tall east of Portland.

HOOD.

…

I fell asleep on the drive, and came to just minutes before we wended our way up the final road to the mountain. And there it was, in the clear in the mid-afternoon, the sun glistening on its upper reaches. The Timberline Lodge parking lot sits at 6,000 feet on the south flanks of Hood and is the headquarters for skiers getting a lift up the mountain and most mountaineers. We would be back at Timberline Thursday morning to meet our guides, Brandon and Elliott. My first impression was that from Timberline’s vantage point, the mountain didn’t look all that intimidating. It seemed to flatten out up top, not that I thought for a second our ascent would be “easy.” Interestingly enough, the mountain would look quite different from the southwest later in the day.

We got on the trail at 3:12pm, needing to cover about 5-6 miles to get to the Paradise Park loop where we figured we’d find an ideal camping spot. We started walking up a paved trail from the lodge and after about a quarter of a mile, I realized that we’d missed the turnoff for Timberline/the PCT. First navigational mistake of the trip! We were instead on the Mountaineering Loop, which climbs up 500-1,000 feet to the edge of where the mountain is fully covered in snow. With approval from my fellow backpackers, I marched on, deciding a little 1.8-mile detour wasn’t the worst thing to start our journey. Plus, the views as we climbed were fabulous, the mountain sparkling up above us. After a little while, I lost the trail and just decided to cross a snowfield and reconnect with the descending part of the loop.

The only problem with my detour, as Steph first figured out, was that we had missed the beginning of the PCT-portion of our hike where, at least according to descriptions we had read, it was important to register as backcountry campers. So when we reached the junction, Steph dropped her pack and ran the 0.6 miles to the trailhead. When she returned half an hour later, she reported that there was no sign of the register. So much for that. I felt bad Steph ran an extra 1.2 miles for nothing, but she did it in great time and we still had plenty of daylight.

It’s hard to describe how wonderful the next few hours were on the Timberline Trail. We mostly had the winding, up and down — but nothing extreme — path to ourselves. We were passed by one PCT-hiking and Golden State Warriors hat-wearing woman (whose tent we saw later on a ridge with a view, I think) and saw one other couple heading the other way. Otherwise, we had the tall pines to ourselves. And short pines, including one the exact height of Steph who stood beside it with Hood in the background for, basically, a perfect photo.

Speaking of photos, the first time we emerged from the forest to an outlook and gazed up to our right at the mountain mostly in the clear, it was a trying exercise not to snap dozens of them. The scenery was that spectacular. A lazy, wispy cloud cloaked Hood’s summit and the azure sky was perfect, as if enhanced by photo editing software. There was no haze, nothing obfuscating a sky that was as close to perfect as can be.

But wait, it got even better.

After a few miles, we made a couple turns and began our hike on the 1.5-mile Paradise Park loop that couldn’t be more aptly named. Right away, the trees thinned out and we began walking through a meadow of green grass set against pines to our left and views of the mountain to our right. We stopped at a junction for a few minutes and walked up a hill to a mesmerizing viewpoint of the summit. Looking to the left, a pair of deer trotted out of the woods and wandered through the grass. The place, in that moment, felt about as magical as you can imagine.

As we ascended a small hill, I heard barking piercing the peace. Knowing that all four of my hiking companions were up ahead, I imagined all kinds of scenarios including a gruesome wild dog attack. I shouldn’t have worried. As I came over the high point, there was a Golden Retriever standing on the hillside wagging its tail ferociously while continuing to bark. Down the hill by the creek, an older couple sat reading in chairs they must have packed in. Their tent was nestled in a wind-protected group of trees. A view upstream of the mountain was supreme. What a camping spot! I wondered if we could find a place to match.

And we did. The mile hike through Paradise Park was otherworldly. With the mountain to my right and the sun setting over layers of pine trees and distant mountain peaks to my left, I had to remind myself to occasionally gaze down at where I was stepping. We passed over three streams on the mostly level path before reaching the point where it cut a hard left to begin the descent back to the PCT. Just below the turn, we came to a pair of flat spaces that could serve well as a campsite and a place to eat dinner. The lower spot had a few trees on its south and north sides for tent protection. The only negative was that the site wasn’t next to a water source, but we were only maybe 1/5th of a mile from the stream we had passed, so a couple of us just went back to gather water for dinner.

Our timing, while unintentional, couldn’t have been much better. As we got our two tents erected and began boiling water, we watched the sun set and scrambled through brush to the edge of a deep ravine that offered even more of a spectacular view. The weather was pleasant and wind nonexistent as we ate our freeze-dried dinners and snacks, rightfully gorging ourselves after a hearty afternoon of hiking. Cloaked in darkness and fully content, our biggest challenge of the day was fitting all our remaining food and good-smelling trash into Drew’s bear-resistant canister. That wasn’t possible, so Harrison made a hole and buried a bunch of the trash (to be dug up the next morning) and we threw the least-scented food in a zip-locked bag. I placed the bear canister and bag in different places up the hillside from our food spot and we retired to our tents a little before 11pm.

Everything was tranquil around us as I read a chapter of my “Happiness Project” book and wondered, How could I be much happier than this? What a day. What a hike. What a place.

…

Wednesday, July 6 — Our big hiking day
I had thought about waking up for the sunrise, but I didn’t set an alarm. Who does that in the mountains? It seems sacrilege. I awoke a few times in the early morning, but the air out there — outside our tent — appeared foggy. I’m not sure I would have seen anything. So I laid my head back down, sleeping in big-time for the mountains … until 8! When I finally stepped outside, I was greeted by arguably the coolest view of Mt. Hood yet — a statement in itself.

The mountain’s summit had a sweeping halo cloud around its pointy peak. In all my years of looking at mountaintops, I’d never seen such a thing. Wow!

The morning was delightful and relaxing. There was no rush. We planned to hike the 3.5 miles down to Ramona Falls with just daypacks and then up and back out to Timberline Lodge for a 12- or 13-mile day. It would be a lot of miles, but seven of them with light loads. After an oatmeal breakfast with part of a sandwich thrown in for good measure, I dropped my head on my pack and basked in the sunlight. I tried to read but was often willingly distracted by the sights and sounds, mostly birds chirping, around me.

We began our hike at 11am, and within half a mile reached the junction with the PCT where we dropped off our big packs and made sure we had everything needed for the seven-mile day hike. And oh, how good it felt to have close to nothing on my back! Soon after as we continued descending, we came upon what will be remembered as one of the trip’s memorable places — an opening in the trees where one could carefully navigate down a sandy slope and then to a rocky outcrop from which there was a steep dropoff to a ravine. We cautiously made our way to the edge, from which there were awe-inspiring views down below to a pair of waterfalls — one above the other — and across the ravine to hillsides dotted with trees. Of course, if you raised your gaze, there was the mountain peak, too.

While admiring the spot and taking several photos, a couple guys came up the trail. They had spent the night before at Ramona and assuaged any concerns we had, which were minimal at that point, about the remaining trail being passable. Content from experiencing such a spot and ready for some shade, we slipped our light packs back on and entered the trees. The next few miles weren’t the most memorable of the trip, as the gradual graded trail took us through the land of gigantic pines — at one point I gazed up and then lifted my head some more to see the trees’ tips — and finally to a Sandy River crossing where the path narrowed out. From there, it was an easy half mile or so to sheltered Ramona Falls, our well-deserved lunch and relaxation spot that we reached around 1:30pm.

While the waterfall itself wasn’t spectacular and didn’t have a defining characteristic that’ll make me remember it, the area that encompassed it is probably why it’s such a popular destination and we saw around 20 people during our hour-long stay. The falls were merely the backdrop to a flat, rather large field of pine needles that were easy on bare feet. Many well-placed logs served as ideal chairs for visitors, and a bridge acquitted itself well as the foreground for waterfall photos and as the place for people to stand for their Kodak moments in front of the 120-foot cascade. We all relaxed at the falls for over an hour before stretching our legs and beginning the long ascent a little before 3pm.

The 3.5-mile climb was a bit of a slog, but we couldn’t have asked for better weather. We were going to sweat going up 2,000 feet regardless, but the cool non-humid temperatures made the going much more bearable. And the forest was so peaceful, I just got lost in so many thoughts as I walked, never focusing on the journey ahead but rather letting my mind run freely. It truly was a walk in the woods. Our bags hadn’t moved an inch when we regained the junction, and we begrudgingly put the weight back on our vertebrae some five hours after we had dropped them. We took the section of the PCT/Timberline Trail back so as to avoid the climb up to Paradise Park, and also knowing how many miles we had remaining.

The legs were sore, but there was no stopping and I knew we’d soon once again emerge from the trees to the open areas of the trail that had dropped jaws the day before. And sure enough, after steamrolling up the path — punctuating each step with a tap to the ground from my discovered walking stick — I came out of the trees to the first look, again, up the mountain. It was as fixating as the day before. The conditions were perfect, only a few innocuous clouds spread thinly across the blue sky. I took a long hard look at what I imagined to be Hood’s summit, visualizing the five of us plus Addie some 36 hours later on top. If only this weather would stick around…

We made it back to the lodge a little after 8pm, our legs tired but fully content from an adventure that somehow exceeded very high expectations. If our Hood trip had ended right there, I would have left the mountain pretty happy. But lucky us, we’d return the next morning! After a quick look around the lodge and at its expensive pub menu, we returned to the car and made the 15-20 minute drive to Huckleberry Inn for a mammoth dinner (a great Roland recommendation, I believe!).

Having fueled up well for our next Hood expedition, we drove through the darkness to Trillium Lake Campground for a final night camping below 9,000 feet. Yet when we came upon the entrance, the words “Campground full” coldly greeted us. No!! It was 10pm and there were no good nearby alternatives. Thankfully, when we drove a loop, we came upon a site that wasn’t reserved until the following night. It’d be harmless to crash there for a night, right? We got tents set up and I was entering Aleta, Steph’s and mine when a truck pulled up. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. The site’s campers had arrived. We would have to move our already-erected shelters. Brutal. But when I approached the truck, I was relieved that it was another group like ours looking for an open site. Whoo!

Luck was on our side for another day. But how would we be treated on the mountain?

…

Thursday, July 7 — Making camp and going to school
A lot of planning, more planning, double-checking things, and planning some more went into the climatic adventure of our trip to Portland. And with good reason. Sure, I had climbed mountains taller than 11,250-foot Mt. Hood, but I’d never mountaineered. And neither had Harrison, Drew, Steph, Aleta nor Addie, who met us at 8am at Timberline Lodge.

Hiking is one thing. Mountaineering is a whole different animal — thus, all the planning.

There were multiple calls to Henry in the months leading up to July 7 regarding Timberline Guides’ suggested equipment list. For instance, were three pairs of gloves really necessary? And yes, I have a down coat, but it doesn’t have a hood and is it good enough for alpine climbing? And what about pants? What’s good enough? When you pay $600 for an expedition and know you’ll be spending most of a night out in the cold hiking in possibly adverse conditions, that approach made sense.

Still, having done all that, I didn’t feel prepared or completely confident when we walked into the cramped room on Thursday morning. I was about to leave my comfort zone of having boots or trail running shoes on my feet and being in complete control. At the very least, I told myself, this would be an experience. This would be something to learn from, even if it left me without an iota of interest in future mountaineering expeditions.

Our guides, Brandon and Elliott, greeted us. Brandon, shorter and with a scruffy beard, immediately gave off the air of the more experienced guy. He was jovial and full of humor from the beginning, creating a quick comfort level with us. Elliott was friendly, too, but took a little bit more of a business approach as they began to get us set with mountaineering boots and harnesses and ice axes and crampons and helmets, the necessities provided by Timberline.

Once that was out of the way, we headed into the narrow hallway for introductions and an overview. Each climber quickly gave their hiking background before listing what their biggest goal for the climb was. I lamely named not having my hands freeze, as I told the guides about my poor circulation. I ended up being happy I let them know, though, as they informed me that if it did become an issue on the mountain it would be important for me to alert them. (I never had a doubt, by the way, that Brandon and Elliott were good guides that knew exactly what they were doing and would make the right decisions. Them being inadequate in that capacity never entered my mind during the lead-up to our climb and the climb itself.)

Toward the end of our discussion, Brandon went over the weather, mentioning the not-so-great stuff coming in that night and getting worse Friday. Credit to him, he was blunt with us. We might not summit, he told us. It depended on if the rain held off. That kind of precipitation would form slushy conditions on the higher reaches of the mountain that would make any summit attempt incredibly dangerous. Our window to make a push for the summit from our camp at 9,000 feet would be between 12-4am Friday morning so we could reach the peak before the morning sun started melting snow. If it were raining during that time, we’d be in trouble. I think our group at that point understood our odds, but overall we were still optimistic.

As we finished stuffing our packs with layers of clothing — after many questions of the guides — and one communal item each, mine being the poles for Harrison, Drew’s and my tent, we believed we were going to the top. And why wouldn’t we? What would be the point of all this preparation if we didn’t have that attitude? The sky was overcast but not precipitating anything at 10:50am as we shuffled out of the office in our huge boots and headed to the ski lift. It was time to go up, up and up.

…

Addie, clad in her neon-yellow hard shell, and I shared a lift as we began our ascent. “We’re doing this!” she said excitedly as we got settled on the ski chair. Yes, finally. It was really cool to have Addie, an incredible endurance athlete (and just a really fun person, of course) who has done 50-mile trail races, with us. I knew that of all of us, Addie would cruise up the mountain. Not that I didn’t think the rest of us, all in good shape and with determined mindsets, would do fine on the climb. But I knew Addie, formerly of DC where we met and now working at Nike in Portland, would be hard to keep up with! We walked off the first lift and waddled through the groups of skiers trying to get a few last runs in before everything melted to the next lift that would take us to 8,500 feet. I could feel the air get a little bit chillier. We were ascending the mountain quickly. A couple minutes later, we got off the free ride for good and moved aside of the uppermost skiers. We then walked in a zigzagging procession up about 500 feet, taking one small step after another. When we had gotten to around 9,000 feet, Brandon and Elliott began looking around in an area mostly devoid of snow and instead made up of rocks and dirt for ideal camping spots.

Elliott pointed us boys to a flat dirt space just off the snowy slope that would work for our tent. He then directed us through setting up the three-person Mountain Hardware shelter. This involved many steps, including bounding several strings around huge rocks to secure the rain fly. The wind was already whipping us pretty good, and Elliott made it very clear to us that our shelter’s security was the No. 1 priority. We were going to have “Snow School” in the afternoon, and we should eat and drink something, he said, but he was stern that we needed to build up the rock wall around the tent — especially on the west side — so that the wind’s wrath on the tent would be mitigated. So Harrison, Drew and I spent over an hour dislodging huge rocks from the snowy slope, rolling them down toward the wall, and then picking them up — sometimes requiring two of us — and placing them on the wall. This activity beat me up pretty good, tiring me out like I hadn’t expected.

Rock-hauling and placing, I guess, was not something I had signed up for! I understood its importance, we all did. It just wasn’t fun. And it kind of fueled the side of my brain that kept asking, ‘Why am I doing this? Why did I pay $600 for this.’ Of course, the other side of my mind would then come back with, ‘Shut up, Jake, this is going to be incredible. Just power through.’

Around 2:30pm, our wall deemed adequate, we were all summoned to Snow School. We reunited with the girls for the first time in a couple hours, all of us with our ice axes and harnesses and crampons. I had all my upper body layers on — base, fleece, down coat, outer rain shell — and mittens. The winter weather was picking up, the wind strong and a slight sprinkle here and there. Over the next two hours, though, my focus and that of my companions was on Elliott as he guided us through everything we would need to know in the middle of the night when we ascended the mountain. We learned different stepping techniques in our boots and how to never put ourselves in a weak, vulnerable position (tip: kick the toes into the snow with each step). We then learned the same techniques but with an ice axe in hand, sticking its spike in the snow with each step and either holding the pick (serrated) or adze in hand depending on whether we were going uphill or downhill.

Ice axe training complete, we did a quick crampons tutorial. I was a bit surprised to hear that we wouldn’t use them very much even on the mountain’s upper reaches. Elliott said we’d rely more on our axes and harnesses. Ah, yes, the harnesses. That was the last lesson in Snow School, and a very important one at that. I, for one, had never been roped up before. We each slipped on our waist harnesses, connecting them to rope with two carabiners (making sure the openings on them faced opposite directions), and then practiced short-roping. As Elliott told us, on the steepest and most precarious sections of the mountain we would be in groups of four, each guide leading and the three others equidistant from each other so that the rope was taut. This system serves as a safeguard in case anyone falls — except for the guide, that is. But as Elliott told us, “We don’t fall.”

Our final quick lesson at Snow School was self-arresting with the ice axe. I think we were all a little bit surprised that we didn’t spend more time on this. We basically learned that it’s very much a last-ditch survival technique, and it would be rare for us to find ourselves in such a position. But we all knew how to do it. So we were ready — maybe. As we walked back toward our tent at 5pm, I tried to think through all that I’d just been shown. There was no way I’d remember it all, but at the very least I hoped to retain the basics for when it was go time. I hoped to be able to put my harness on, to know which way to grip my ice axe, and to correctly take simple steps as we ascended the mountain. I knew I’d make mistakes, but hopefully not egregious ones.

Oh, about that weather. Yes, by 5pm, we were getting lightly rained on in addition to the probably 25- to 35-mph winds. The air, while probably in the mid-30s, felt very cold. I was cold. I wanted nothing more than my warm sleeping bag. Making sure everything left outside was A) secured; and B) OK in wet weather had to be done before uniting with that warm sleeping bag, and finally after placing my pack under the tent’s western-facing vestibule and then entering the eastern vestibule and getting my clunky boots off, I found my bag on the right side of the tent. (Harrison got the middle with Drew on the higher side.) It was crazy that it was only a little bit after 5pm, but I had no intention of leaving the tent until I either needed to take a leak or we were heading up the mountain. My tent-mates felt the same way. The conditions weren’t getting any more pleasant outside.

“Make sure you tell someone if you go outside,” the guides had told us about even exiting the tent at night for something as innocuous as peeing. You never know.

Somewhere around 6pm, one of the guides, I forget who, brought us our freeze-dried dinners. I devoured my chicken and rice meal in record time. We could have had hot drinks, but we’d been told we would have to walk over to the guides’ tent for the water, and none of us could be bribed into that. Instead, we passed the time by playing a few games of my favorite card game Hearts, which somehow I finished last in. That didn’t make sense, and neither particularly did anything around us. But we were there. And we would be ready if and when the situation presented itself to climb. As ready as one could be, I guess.

Yes, it was early. But maybe all that rock-hauling had tired me out, because when I laid my head down on a makeshift pile of clothes at 7:46pm it wasn’t long before I was out cold. I forget what I dreamt about, but I didn’t wake until it was Friday.

…

Friday, July 8 — The mountain sends a strong message
Despite the wind whipping the sides of the tent and resting at a bit of an angle, I actually slept well. I barely woke from 8pm until I heard mumblings at 3:15am and there, sure enough, was Brandon poking his head into our tent. It was go time. Or so we thought.

My first groggy use of the brain: 3:15 is toward the end of the summit window, but it still fits. There’s a chance. We’re going for it. Brandon quickly somewhat confirmed this, telling us that the weather was still really crappy — not only wind but also a rain that soaked his coat quickly. He said we could either get on all our gear in our tents, skip the usual hot breakfast, and make our summit attempt beginning at 4:30am. Or we could wait until morning and just do a small climb up the slope in probably better weather but without a chance of summiting. He left, telling us to text him our decision (he’d gotten Harrison’s number previously when he asked “Who has Verizon?” and Harrison was the quickest to respond; I can’t say I expected texting to be a pivotal form of communication when we began the trip). He said he hadn’t talked to the girls yet. We had a very brief powwow, but really the decision was made — let’s go for it. This is what we signed up for.

“Copy. Text when you guys are 10 mins out,” Brandon texted back.
“No crampons needed but harnesses on”
“Be ready by 430”

“Copy that,” Harrison texted

“No sharps in the tent,” Brandon responded. “We will attach them last thing”

We spent the next half hour locating our gear both within the tent and in the vestibules, carefully making sure not to get precious clothing layers wet in any way, and making decisions on what exactly to wear. I decided to take off my long underwear and go with my heavy duty snow pants. Up top, I kept going back and forth between adding an extra base layer (read: two base layers, fleece, puffy, outer shell) or just one. After changing my mind four times, I finally decided on just the one. It was such a difficult decision because I knew it was really cold outside but I also knew that once we got moving up the mountain, we’d heat up and we’d also keep moving. If I started sweating, there wouldn’t be multiple breaks to make layer adjustments. These were dynamics and decisions that I learned are more difficult to make when you’re mountaineering and part of a group. When you’re hiking by yourself or with a person or two, you can always stop. Big difference.

By 3:55am, I was ready well ahead of schedule, my helmet strapped on with my headlamp wrapped around it and my harness snugly connected and ready for action. I reached for my bag and found a Larabar and a Mocha ClifShot for a breakfast and caffeine fix. I was prepared. I was awake. I had gone outside earlier to take a leak and putting the stiff boots on had been an exercise in determination. I didn’t look forward to doing that again. But other than that, I was ready to climb up.

Harrison’s phone and its quickly dying battery buzzed. A text from Brandon:

“Hey guys, just got a report from another group. They got soaked and turned not far up. I’d say Chances are very slim. If we get soaked we can’t really continue upward. That’s called failing upward in alpine climbing.”

Failing upward.

Those are the two words that would stick with us for many hours. We sat in our tent not necessarily surprised but still stunned by the sober reality that our ultimate goal, our visions of a summit success, would not be realized. We came to the conclusion that at the very least, we still wanted to climb as much as possible in the morning. We called Aleta, the phone representative in the girls tent, to see if they were on the same page. They agreed. Then we texted Brandon back. He responded that he’d recommend waiting until morning when we could check conditions. He ended his text message with this:

“There is realistically no chance of summiting tonight. I’m sorry to break hearts. Let’s set alarms for 730am”

The next hour was tough. With the caffeine in my system, falling asleep wasn’t an option. I lay there, staring at the tent walls in the darkness. Finally, I passed out around 5:30am.

…

We all awoke around 7:30am to light outside the tent. We had now been in our shelter for over 14 hours. A text from Brandon told us the guys were preparing breakfast — instant mashed potatoes — and hot water for hot drinks. While we waited, Harrison made his way over to the guides’ tent for final confirmation — there was no way that we could possibly summit now, is that right? he asked. Correct.

While we waited for the water to boil, we got goofy putting on all our gear. After all, we’d been in the tent for a long time together. Harrison turned his phone’s camera toward me, in video mode, and asked, “Jake, what do you have to say for yourself?” Without thinking, I whispered, “We’re going to the top” and repeated the phrase. Then Drew and Harrison joined in.

We’re going to the top
We’re going to the top!
We’re going to the top!!
We’re going to the top!!!
WE’RE GOING TO THE TOP!!!!

One can dream, right? By the time we’d finished the impromptu video that would go viral — err, was seen by a few friends — on the Internet, the mashed potatoes were ready. I crawled out of the tent and walked over to the guides’ tent. We were still in a cloud and had low visibility, but the rain was gone. Overall, the weather was pleasant. I threw a ladle of the mashed potatoes into my cup and stood outside Brandon and Elliott’s tent on the snow slope eating the delicious breakfast. After gulping it down, I retrieved a tea bag from our tent and got some hot tea. Again, it was nice enough that I stood outside while sipping.

And that’s when, for the first time in hours, the white shield of cloud lifted just a bit and there was blue sky. Crystal clear blue! I gasped. Finally! Addie emerged from the girls’ tent and Harrison came out of ours. Suddenly, we could see the huge cliffs up ahead of us. Other parts of the mountain came into view. And then the cloud took over again. This happened a few times as we sipped tea and snapped photos.

The only complication with our plan to do some climbing before descending was that Addie had an important Nike presentation in the afternoon back in Portland. She wasn’t sure she could make it back in time if we went up for a while. But as the cloud parted once again, she made a bold decision — her boss could handle the presentation. There was no way she wasn’t coming with us. Harrison graciously allowed Addie to use the remaining battery power in his phone to send an e-mail to her boss that she was on a freakin’ mountain and might not be down in time. And our plan was set.

We disassembled our tents, packed everything up and were ready to go, all equipment on our backs, helmets on heads, by 9:30am. We began angling up the slope at 9:41 in zigzagging fashion. I intentionally went last in line (only Elliott was behind me) so I could make very brief stops for photos and videos. After about half an hour, I started to sweat a little bit. I thought about stopping and asked Elliott about it, but he said we were just 10-15 minutes from our destination. I unzipped all my upper layers instead. The going was relatively easy for me, as I just stuck one foot after another into the boot prints of Aleta in front of me. It sure is nice to be toward the back of the line.

At 10:30am, we came to a stop and dropped our packs. We’d climbed about 1,000 feet to what’s called the Devil’s Kitchen Headwall. Above us to the left, I spotted a pair of climbers way up on the slope. It was kind of crazy to think that we were just 1,500 feet from the mountain’s summit. Why couldn’t we just knock that off, right? Of course, the truth was that we’d done the easy, non-technical portion of the climb. The rest would’ve required harnesses, ice axes, and eventually rope. The grade the last 500 feet or so would become 45 degrees. The melting snow under the day’s sun wouldn’t allow such a climb.

By that time, we were well aware of our fate and more than happy to just enjoy our surroundings. Brandon and Elliott made sure we were aware that just 50 feet or so from us were rather large crevices to stay away from. And every couple minutes or so, the clouds parted and we could see the rocky headwall in front of us cast against a blue sky. Everyone felt warm from the climb, so no one argued or even thought it particularly crazy to take off our shirts for photos. Folks back home might have shivered looking at the images, but we were quite comfortable. And then because our goofy group couldn’t do a climb without some sort of gaffe, Harrison got too close to Steph’s pack as we were preparing to leave and her ice axe’s spear caught him above the eye, opening a small cut. We all laughed, Harrison included, as Elliott tended to the minor injury.

Later, Brandon told us we were the most fun group he’s had during his years of guiding. Who knows if it was a way of him trying to make us feel better about not summiting, but the sentiment seemed genuine. And we certainly won’t argue with it. We were serious. We really wanted to summit. But we weren’t going to allow not achieving that goal ruin the trip. Carpe diem.

The descent all the way to the lowest ski lift — probably a good 3,000 feet — was a fun cruise through the mushy snow. Elliott reminded us not to run and I fell a couple times, but overall the going was easy and I used a couple of the techniques learned the previous afternoon. The sky kept going in and out of the clouds, providing glimpses of distant peaks and the ski slopes below. As it turned out, we made such good time that Addie could even make her meeting. After riding the lift to the bottom, we were back at Timberline at 12:26pm. We returned all the gear to the office and took a final photo with Brandon and Elliott, with whom we’d formed pretty good bonds. They told us that if we wanted to make another attempt in a year, we could do the summit program where you arrive in the middle of the night, take a snow vehicle up to 8,500, and then climb. In other words, skip the camping and snow school.

…

I always find it interesting how I feel about particular adventures at different times. For instance, when I was hauling rocks to build our wall on Thursday afternoon, I asked myself internally, ‘Why did I sign up for this?’ And there were certainly other times during the expedition when I thought, ‘Maybe mountaineering just isn’t for me. I should stick to hiking.’ But as I learned from my friend Mollie in Alaska the previous September, what was more likely was that I was experiencing Type 2 Fun, an activity that isn’t always easy or enjoyable but I would look back on fondly. I’d say that’s accurate. I’d say all of us in the group have similar feelings. Steph probably had it worst, sleeping in what amounted to a puddle on the side of the girls’ tent that rested on snow. That sounded pretty uncomfortable. But I don’t think any of us would take back the experience or say we’d rather have not spent the money and that day on the mountain.

Will we retry it in 2017? I certainly won’t rule out the possibility, especially if the price is much lower. Will we try other mountaineering expeditions? That’s possible, too. Hiking will always be my favorite activity, there’s no doubt about that. I love and cherish the freedom and independent feeling of relying solely on my boots and legs to take me to incredible places such as Paradise Park. In mountaineering, you’re more bound by your group’s pace and decision-making. You do feel a certain kind of pressure that I don’t enjoy while on a mountain. But Mt. Hood didn’t turn me off from mountaineering. And I learned so much.

…

Friday evening was fun. Addie came over to the house for a large Thai dinner and we laughed about moments from the trip, an adventure that will live on forever through photos, videos (“WE’RE GOING TO THE TOP!”) and our distinct memories from our respective tents. We then went out for ice cream at Portland’s famous Salt & Straw, perfectly capping off eight days of nonstop adventure, excitement and fun (Type 1 and Type 2).

Saturday morning was sad, but not in the usual way a trip’s completion is. The simple reason: I was saying “see ya later,” as in a couple days, to Steph, Aleta, Drew and Harrison. We were all returning to the same place! And Addie was visiting DC in a couple weeks. That made departing Portland a bit easier. We spent our final minutes together drinking a flight of different ciders at a cider bar. It doesn’t get much more Portland than that!

I’d like to thank Patti and Roland for graciously opening up their home to a bunch of strangers and treating us to so many incredible meals and that bike & brew. Additionally, Steph’s day-by-day planning to pack in as much as possible was tremendous, and for me it was really nice to not have to plan much of a hiking trip, a rarity. Finally, this trip wouldn’t have been so enjoyable if not for the people I shared each and every adventure with. I’d like to thank Steph, Aleta, Drew and Harrison for opening up the trip to me, and all of them and Addie for being such great adventure comrades and dealing with my quirks throughout our time together.

Until next time. And let it be sooner than later.

— Jake
August 8, 2016