With such a non-spectacular winter thus far in Oregon’s Cascades, when I saw it snowed most of the week and another five inches were expected overnight, I quickly cleared my schedule and packed up my snowshoes, dog and gear to head up to the White River West Sno-Park in Mt. Hood National Forest.
It’s one of my favorite spots on the south mountain – wide open hiking next to a rushing river that flows right from Mt. Hood’s glaciers just above. At around 4,200 feet at the beginning my first breath of fresh mountain air seems heavy coming from sea level Portland, but the view quickly makes me giddy and ready to hike. Bezoar quickly interrupts, he’s barking for me to throw him snowballs.
This sno-park is usually one of the busiest on the mountain, sprouting kids with sleds on hills of various vertical angles, but it’s a weekday and we’re one of only four cars in the huge lot.
And what a treat, today’s visibility shifts from exposed mountain views to near whiteout snowfall – the mountain showing its own variable weather system. We’re following a few snowshoe tracks as we ascend from open space to the trees, winding up toward Timberline lodge. We pass the trackmakers, a retired couple having lunch near an outcrop during a sunburst. Bezoar has already sniffed out the woman’s chicken sandwich. I’m so lucky he’s not a food hound, he’s already back on trail heading higher.
About 1.5 miles up, we get to a huge hill where the tracks stop. We tromp around, sinking almost waist high in the new powder. That’s enough uphill for today. We’re at around 4,800 feet now and the exertion is tiring even if you’re in shape – the fresh air, altitude and incredible mountain view soothing my soul. I feel lucky to be able to reach such beauty within 1 1/2 hours from Portland.
Bezoar again interrupts this thought, deciding he wants more snowballs – actually he’s been wanting it all the way up but I have to ignore him or he strategically places himself in the middle of the trail so you either trip on him or push him out of the way. I throw handfuls of snow in his face – he loves that, trying to catch a bunch until his face is nearly white. He’d do this all day.
The way back we find more tracks through the trees, closer to the hillside and away from the river. Snow covered trees with fresh powder. It’s quiet away from the raging river and I hear only my snowshoes clomping down the trail. Bezoar has finally tired and stays close on my tail – literally he’s stepping on the tails of my snowshoes. I’ve already face planted once. He licks my face, concerned, but continues to trail me close all the way back.
He immediately falls asleep on his bed once the car shuts and we’re heading back to the city.