Backpacking up to the White River Glacier

Friday and Saturday, 16-Feb-2024 and 17-Feb-2024


I really do stick to the spots I know, don’t I?

But why not, when the goal is just to get out of town and sleep on the glacier? I mean… the goal here isn’t to get crazy views (even though I like to!), nor is the goal to hike a ton of distance (though I do hike some extra miles when I can)… The goal is to get out of town, carve a spot into the snow, and appreciate the cold and solitude.

The white river glacier works well for that – I know it like the back of my hand, it’s not a long hike, and I can take my time on the drive out. I mean, I’ve never set alarms for days that I go up onto the white river glacier. I wake up slow, get brunch, then… take it easy. It’s nice.


This trip was no different from the others. I mean, I didn’t even get to the trailhead ’till 5:00 or so! And Sundown was 6:30!


But that’s fine – I know the path, I have headlamps, and…

Why was there a fire going near my campsite? Was there someone else in my spot?? For the first time in three years???

No, dear readers, thankfully I hadn’t been site-sniped. It was better… so much better. I’ve never seen any one else camping near my area, in the 3+ years I’ve been up that trail. Which is kind of strange, since I only found this specific spot because, when I went up in 2021, someone else had already carved it out from the hillside…

Anyways, I met a team of folks who were making fondue, and we shared fondue. It was delicious, and I very much plan on making fondue the next time I go backpacking. Also I plan on saying fondue as many fondue times as I fon-can. Do. Due.

In trade, I promised aerial pictures of their camp – I made sure they were okay with my flying my drone ahead of time, of course, and they were quite psyched for the opportunity, so… win-win, right? Heck yeah, right.


The rest of the trip was exactly as normal – quiet, relaxing, and exceptionally enjoyable. I adore the snow, the cold, and the quiet that I can’t ever seem to find in the summer. Something about the stillness of the air, maybe? Or where the world seems to be hibernating, and not expecting anything from us? I can’t say for certain, but I can say that I appreciate it.

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A walk in Forest Park

Saturday, 06-Jan-2024


It started at Pine States Biscuits. Because obviously I love Pine State, and need my biscuits and chicken.

I’m at a crossroads, in life. 2024 rolling around has kicked off some major changes – things I’ll get to in detail, here in this blog, when the time comes. Suffice it to say that I’m excited, terrified, manic, and crashing. It’s a lot, and it’s made getting out of the house to go on trips rather challenging.

When that happens, we do our best. I try to be gentle with myself, and reward small achievements. Like, for example, getting out of Wilsonville and going into Portland for a simple walk in the park.

Forest Park is… unique, among parks. The Wildwood Trail, the one that I picked, is 29.5 miles long. I’ve mentioned it in this blog before, but not for quite some time… and, of course, I wasn’t aiming to hike the entire trail. No – instead, today I was aiming for a much more modest (yet still quite respectable) 9 miles.

I parked, I walked. It rained a bit, and I put my hood up. I planned on stopping for a snack… but then the Sun started setting earlier than I’d expected (thanks, rain) so I pressed onward. The Sun set, my ring glowed creepily on my hand, and I made it back to the car.

I had a solo picnic in the passenger seat. 

It was lovely – the rain pattering off the soft-top roof, the car lights passing by… it was excellent.

I got pizza for myself. I grabbed a few language books from Powell’s books, in preparation for the changes coming, and relaxed. I drove home, proud that I’d gotten out of the house and finished an adventure… no matter how small.

An afternoon and evening on Cannon Beach

Saturday, 11-Nov-2023


After a day hiking out in the Snow on Mt. Hood, I felt the need to switch it up, and embrace one of the many excellent attributes of Oregon. I felt the need to go to the beach.

The morning found me brunching at a new spot in town, which has the best BLTs I’ve had in years, sipping a latte and getting myself ready for the adventure. I wasn’t running; instead, I was aiming for a later start than normal with a goal of finishing my walk after dark had fallen on the beach.

Not quite sure why I had this goal, but… you know what, we embrace the gut feelings that we’ve got, and sometimes we find some excellent adventures along the ride.



This time was one of those times.

I got to Cannon around… 2:00, maybe? With approximately three hours left before sunset. I mean, less… but three hours of light, at least. My goal was to use all that light up walking outbound – then, I’d turn around once the sun was down, trekking my way back in the dark.

The plan went smoothly. The tide was out (not a surprise, that was why I went on Saturday, vs. Friday or Sunday), so I had an endless beach surrounding me to walk on. The sand was well-packed, the views were beautiful, and I even flew the drone a bit to get some pictures of myself.

The sun dipped down, then fully sank below the horizon, and I turned back to town and warmth.

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The hike back was glorious. I’ve spoken about hiking after dark before, how your whole world condenses and focuses down to a small pool of warm light, shining from a headlamp into the darkness… this was absolutely one of those times. The endless beach surrounding me, the light fog rising up from the warm sand into the cold night air, the immense distance between surf and full shore… I legitimately couldn’t tell where the sand ended and the sky began. 

My world wasn’t just focused into the thin ray of my headlamp… it devolved and unfocused into a well of grey. The sand, the horizon, the sky… I couldn’t tell the difference. I had to check my GPS every so often to make sure I was still moving, still heading toward my destination… still on Earth, even.


It gave me space to think, to disconnect, and to let my thoughts wander. 

I could have strayed further toward the surf, or to the shoreline, to get a handrail for my senses… but I chose not to. I was enjoying this sense of limbo, of slowly walking through the infinite plains of purgatory. It lasted long enough for me – The lights of town started shining through the fog just as my mind was starting to miss the stimulation of the world.

It was lovely.