Race to the Last

When I drove through the Columbia River Gorge on my way to Multnomah Falls in summer 2016, I couldn't imagine having to write this blog post.

I have blogged before about the feeling of losing what was the Pacific Northwest to global warming. Although many of the changes brought to the region by the warming climate, including the staggering heat of July 2015, the shrinking glaciers at Mount Rainier, and the die-offs off starfish, birds, and other species along the cost, helped me realize that the PNW had already become something different from the place of my youth, they didn't prepare me to see the gorge consumed in the red flames of wildfire. So last week, when fireworks set ablaze the gorge's tinder-dry forest, which had been parched by months of relentless heat and rainless skies, I realized with new sadness and urgency the magnitude of our increasingly hot situation. Seeing the flames close in around Multnomah Falls, I felt a powerlessness akin to watching time slip away. To gain a sense of the awful scene still developing in the gorge, watch the video from The Oregonian below:



In recent years, I have increased my efforts to see places in the PNW precisely because I felt the need to race the changes that would alter them forever. In spite of the changes they've already seen, most of those places retain part of their essence and a good amount of their iconic beauty. For this reason, the trip to Multnomah Falls last year left a satisfying impression. I was glad I had taken the time to know and appreciate that place better; I felt at home below the high walls of the gorge; and I considered it a place I would hold in my heart despite any of the changes I imagined coming to it.

As it turns out, I haven't been racing change; I've been racing erasure. I will always have the memory of the 2016 gorge trip. Still, until last week, I didn't think the situation so dire that the drive would stand as my last time seeing the gorge in that state of beauty. Firefighters protected some of the area around Multnomah Falls, including the historic lodge, but much of that stretch of the gorge on the Oregon side went up in flames. The smoke and ash from that fire combined with the output from numerous fires throughout the region to blanket and choke the PNW in a hazy, red hellscape so alien I hurt to even think it the same place I once knew.

Nearly beyond our imagining but definitely beyond any doubt, we find ourselves in a race to the last and quickly disappearing remnants of something special.

Falling into It

Arriving at the intended place can inspire unexpected journeys.

I knew last summer that I wanted to visit Mima Falls on my winter break. Tucked away in a forest of Washington state's Thurston County, the falls and their relatively easy hiking trail seemed like a nice way of unwinding from the fall semester, so I penciled them in as a reward before classes even started.

Long-exposure shot of Mima Falls.

On December 16, with the easy path and perfect weather, my mom and I reached the falls according to plan, but once there, I found myself going somewhere I hadn't anticipated. The modest falls wouldn't challenge Niagara or Multnomah, but they sit within a cozy setting, and because of their relative smallness, they aren't as heavily visited as their more famous counterparts. Together, the quiet place and the welcoming falls inspired me to experiment with long-exposure shots on my camera.

The long-exposure pictures of the falls represented my first real attempt at such photography. No strong desire to do it had previously overcome me, but Mima Falls brought out the urge. Although far from perfect, the pictures left me with a smile and a drive to take my long-exposure photography further in the future.

Like the best of destinations, Mima Falls urged me on to future adventures.

One Way or Another

Mount Hood from I-84 in Portland, Oregon.

Outdoor adventures represent a mix of making things happen and letting things happen.

This summer's plan was to visit four volcanoes. Mount Hood in Oregon was one of the four. As it turned out, that trip meshed planning and decision-making with adapting to the environment and circumstances.

Initially, I planned the trip to Mount Hood for late July. However, a few weeks ago, I learned that my brother-in-law was flying into Portland and needed a ride from the airport on July 7. Since the flight arrived at 9:30 p.m., that left plenty of time for an adventure in Oregon during the day, so I moved the Mount Hood trip up and added in dinner reservations for Multnomah Falls. The new plan seemed perfect. It consolidated trips, saved gas, and did not require rushing.

Nature had other plans, however. Checking the forecast the day before the trip, I found that clouds and rain were predicted for July 7. Since I could hike anywhere and not see Mount Hood, it didn't make any sense to drive two hours out of Portland for a hike on a cloudy day, so I changed my plans again. With the dinner reservations at Multnomah Falls set, I moved the hike to that area. That's when things finally clicked.

My mom and I hiked around and between Multnomah Falls and Wahkeena Falls, took in the sights of the Columbia River Gorge, and had an amazing dinner at the Multnomah Falls Lodge Restaurant. As luck would have it, I even got a picture of Mount Hood (at least, most of it). When we drove through Portland on the way to the falls, the cloud cover had lifted enough to see all but the mountain's peak. I snapped a picture of it from the car and felt satisfied that the trip would go down as a success. The experience at the falls confirmed that feeling.

When it comes to spending time outdoors, things don't always go according to plan, but if you put a good strategy in motion, a few adjustments along the way are just fine.