Pull of the Mountains

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It’s been tugging at me for weeks now, growing stronger. The agitation of the city, stress and annoyance factor rising. It’s too late to garner a friend to join but no matter – I’m going dammit – I have to. Loading up Bezoar and our snacks, water we’re off and soon on the highway looking directly at our destination in the distance. Clear skies, snow-covered beautiful Mt. Hood.

The drive is precious think time. Bez is already snoozing, resting up for our adventure. We don’t hit the snowline until the top of the pass – I hear snow is coming the next week, but for now it looks like it’s been a few days since a several-inch snow. I know exactly where I’ll find the most for snowshoeing – the two-planking will come later this season – this is a day for my dog and I – and the mountains.

Even before we finally turn into the White River Sno-Park parking lot he’s whining in anticipation. Soon his bark is right in my right ear – deafening. Distracting him with a mini soccer ball as I pull on my gear, grabbing snowshoes and heading to the trail. He’s always insatiable in the beginning – full of energy and annoyingly finding sticks and chunks of wood to drop right in front of my path. I throw packed snow at his face – he loves to catch snowballs – but today the snow won’t be packed and it’s dissipating across his black muzzle, whiskers turning white. He loves it and wants more. Did I mention insatiable?

He’d play all day, but there’s a trail calling me. It’s worn from other snowshoers, so the maverick in me sets out to make my own parallel tracks while Bez is chasing, pouncing on the stick I just threw in the distance, then sniffing his way back. Nothing like forging your own path, the packed snow crunching under foot.

Frosty Pine tree needles, a single tiny branch jutting from a crack in a huge bolder. The discoveries are small and wonderful – a break from constant to-do lists and decisions back in town. The air thinner but clean and cold, refreshing. There’s nothing like being outside in the elements – with the right gear.

We’re both tired after an hour or so trudging up the mountain’s flank, turning to head back down the path. Again, diverting from the main trail and charting my own course through the trees. A sliver of sun crosses my path, revealing a cold frost on the top layer like hard, beautiful clear crystals, shattering across the surface in front of my snowshoes. I’ve not heard that sound before, the shattering filing my ears, a peaceful sound with no competition.

Bez is now following close behind me, his signature-tired spot – he hates being left behind, but he’s too tired to lead. Instead he nearly causes me to faceplant when he steps on the back of my snowshoes – also a classic Bezoar move.

We’re both pleasantly exhausted hitting the parking lot and packing gear away. He’s already snoozing by the time we cross the pass and head back toward town.

Lucky dog, lucky me. His companionship on all things adventure and outdoors – priceless.