Our recently exciting excursion to the mystery cliffs happened like this:

Recently, Michael and I traveled to the Mt. Hood National Forest and Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness by bicycle to do some rock climbing at a mysterious cliff that was told to Michael by a strange sage climber-fellow who lives in a hut on the mountain in the snow.

When he came home one day from staying a little later after climbing at rocky butte in Portland, he said that he had gone up to the stone-walled "castle" fortress at the top to boulder and had met an old climber who professed to know of a hidden-away place near Mt. Hood and near one particular forest gravel road where there were the best quality rock and hidden-away climbs in the entire area. Hearing this, Michael, being so eager and all, decided that he had to find this mysterious place that the dude who made his living as the watcher of the mountain would not disclose exact directions to.

Being the good sport that I am, I joined in on the plans.
We decided that we would bike out there and conduct a search in order to partake of this magical crag.
So that Saturday, soon after Michael had slept off his post-UPS nightshift condition, we were underway.

We took the train to Gresham in order to get out of town and sprawl as quickly as possible, and then made our way along highway 26 east past the towns of Sandy and Welches, where we stopped for some espresso and then some groceries. Stocked up on caffeine, adrenaline, and .99 cent chocolate-covered lemon drops, we took the turn onto road (?) after some miles and began heading up the gravel path. Bonnie Blue Bell and I hadn't had too much experience with gravel together before, and her 25" tires made for a precarious situation whenever the road got extra steep or the rocks got extra big and loose.

No big deal though, we just brought it into low gear, and I mashed away at the pedals underneath my feet, slowly but steadily, until we came to what looked like it might have been the top of the road.
We got off the bikes and looked around a bit and Michael speculated about where we were and where our mystery cliffs should be and where it was possible that we were in relation to the discovery of that desired destination.
I had quite a difficult time navigating my way around the rocks, stumps, and other vegetation as a result of the weight of Bonnie Blue Bell and my own inability to handle it without stumbling down and crashing to the ground on every third step. I eventually heard a big "whoop!" and then a "hurrah!" luckily, and realized that we had hit our mark.
I hopped on Bonnie and skidded down the dirt trail toward the source of the jubilation, stopping just short of a view of the valley, before unimagined, that downright knocked my socks off.
We enjoyed this time and view for a while, letting the warm sunshine that drenched us from our perch at about 3,000 Ft wash over and soak into our tired limbs. Eager as ever, of course, Michael soon had to begin scouring the area for sight of bolts or of a belay ledge or of a way down to the start of the routes that must have lined the cliffside made of a coarse kind of rock. He found what we had been looking for, but we decided to wait until the next day to climb it. The sun was going down on the other side of the valley and our stomachs were ready for the freeze-dried rice and bean packet with salmon that we had picked up at the store in Welches.

Unfortunately, at this point, while beginning to put up our tent, we realized that we had forgotten our tent poles and tent stakes. Unphased by this turn of events, Michael decided that he would go ahead and build up the tent with tree limbs and bits of string that we found lying around our campsite anyway, just in case it rained.
I was pretty impressed by the results of his efforts, and decided that in a similar situation, I'd be glad to have him around again. But he's just inventive that way. He's also the sometimes sower of fine fabrics onto my many frilly skirts, and maker of many fancy dishes that fill me with delight and peanut sauce.


After eating a hearty enough meal, we sat back and watched the sunset happen. The colors were amazing. I wondered how anybody could see this one time live, real and in person like we were and be content to never see it again. We made plans to build a treehouse one day in a valley like that one and see those sunsets all the time, like it was a right and not a privilege.
We drifted off to sleep and dreamt of setting a line from a tree, jumping off the edge and floating down the ledges to a spot where we could begin to scale the cliffs for real. Where we could find a fault and bury our hands in it, fly up strong and come out on top again.
After the sun came back and the yellow light streamed down, that's what we did.

We rose late, ate a breakfast of buns we had found on the roadside the previous day--probably the victims of some long-fought family picnic to who-knows-where off the top of a four-door sedan or a minivan that passed us and honked and didn't look back. Probably some dad that had about enough and mom that chased them with sunscreen and a kid that kept having to pee.
We reclaimed the buns and dusted off the bag and ate them with .99 cent organic soynut butter and cherry jam from the store in Welches where they probably just couldn't get the stuff off the shelves because it didn't say "Peter Pan" or taste like pixie stix. We ate it and smiled and slipped on our climbing shoes in preparation for the day.

We could tell that the area was not exactly a well-worn one by local climbers; the thorns were thick and the pebbles loose. Slugs and dirt clogged many of the crucial cracks. I repelled down from the tree and it took a couple of hours waiting on a mossy ledge for Michael to get down and lower himself from the bolt, untangle the rope and finally lead up the route that was harder than it looked. I started up the overgrown holds and caught myself cursing their thorny condition. I stopped myself, though, and thought awhile. The remoteness and roughness of the place also meant that there was something unique about it, something that not a lot of people saw or maybe ever would see, and that made us both feel good, Michael and me. We wanted to appreciate something that wasn't exactly as easy as it could be, not so convenient or celebrated or famous, but that showed us a little bit more of what was out there for us to find. Somewhere that was untouched and just the way it always had been, and was beautiful that way too. We loved it because it was close to home and we didn't have to use gasoline or spend loads of money to get there. Just one three-day weekend, Bonnie Blue Bell and some tough-girl feet for me.

After that, and after hiking around and checking out some more routes for later dates, we decided that we would travel back down the gravel road, past Welches and turn down the Salmon River Road into the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness, where we had camped several times before and knew that there was a nice free campground and a very pretty river. On our way there, we filled ourselves with pizza and beer from a little roadside shop. It tasted good. We ate it all. We went into the grocery store for more beer and chocolates to bring with us (and of course some other odds and ends, like soda fountain water and more .99 cent treasures).

Then we went down to our familiar resting spot amongst the streams, trees, and trout (and far too many station wagons toting firewood meant for roaring fires and high school kids with whiskey for a Sunday night, it seemed). But all was well and at least they were all agreeable enough and there were more sticks for propping up our tent and a fire for us too. We drank 24oz Sierra Nevadas and listened to the water trickle along beside us well into the night that seemed just a little too chilly for June, but perfect weather for the free-box pullover that I remembered (good thing!) to bring.

On our last day near the mountain, on our way out on the Salmon River road, we stopped to climb on the Salmon river slab. First, Michael led a nice 5'9 route up the center that we had never done before, and it was a blast. Right off the road, so it was easily accessible for us, we were able to stop for a little while to climb and still make it back home with time to spare. When he was getting started, there was even a "homeschool field trip group" of little boys and fresh-faced mothers that stopped to watch and ask questions about climbing safety and procedures. We tried to put on our most conscientious faces for them, calling "climb on!" and checking everything twice.
Hopefully, though, they'll realize when they're older that playing life strictly by the rules can't guarantee real safety, make for the true adventures that they crave--or even contribute to healthy lifestyles in the long run. That it's one thing to think things through and make careful decisions that you can stand behind later---and it's another to play it all so safe that you don't ever experience anything new or real or take risks worth taking. I hope they find that there's more that matters out there than hard hats and protocol.
They watched us for a while and then got bored and switched interest to building fake fires with piles of rocks and dirt. Their mothers threw out clumps or reprimands from sideways faces enamored of Michael's movement upward. I can't really blame the kids, though; at that age they probably still knew enough to want to feel like living freely for themselves.

On the way back home on highway 26, we both felt like it was a weekend well-spent, if only that. I would love to have all the time in the world, away from school books and workdesks and volunteer orientations. Just spend all my time living simply and exercising my ability to learn and grow and see real things. I like that other stuff too, though. I like my community and I like going to school and I like telling stories to good friends on tomato vine-covered lawns in the city.
So, for now, we headed back to our home to start a new week in the middle of the week and attend to the chores that don't have places or names of faces in the woods. We stopped at a taco hut and bought four burritos and cheese tots and I couldn't eat two so Michael ate three and a half and we both peddled toward home full of beans.

We headed back home on the road and the rails and thought of ways to continue training for our big upcoming trip to the Washington Cascades while we're in the South. Now we're in Georgia for a wedding. Soon North Carolina and granite walls and birthdays and soon Tennessee and swimming pools and brothers with crazy hair.
Soon to Seattle by train and Leavenworth with Bonnie Blue Bell with ropes in Icicle Canyon. Soon the pass and the Gorge and Orbit, seven pitches overlookinga grizzly bear-filled wilderness hundreds of miles wide.

For now I'm making good time through pastures and hillsides, eating chocolate cake with southern tea, and turning the crank with sweaty ankles at a steady pace.