Oneonta Gorge, Luck, and Stupidity

It is springtime in Oregon folks, and that means lots of erratic weather and as much hiking as possible. Last week I bailed on going to work one morning when I emerged from the trailer to mount my mighty steed (Almira, the pedelec) only to have it start hailing. I sent the lovely lady in the office next to me an email and asked her to post a note on my door to alert folks that I was not going to be in the office til later due to bad weather, and the result was what I would call fine art:
Today, yet again, I am working from a coffeehouse down the hill instead of going up the hill on the bike. But it is not hailing today. Today, I am at the coffeehouse with my feet up because I am stupid. Here is what happened....

My hiking partner Volcano Jim suggested we seize the day yesterday and do a hike called the Rock of Ages on the Oregon side of the Columbia Gorge. It is an amazingly beautiful trail that climbs steeply up a rocky ridge, past a gorgeous natural arch (view of the the Columbia through it, on the left) up onto a forested plateau past literally countless waterfalls. There is some exposure, lots of minor creek crossings, a river cross, and there is still a bunch of snow on the top of the mountain-- in addition to being ~11 mile loop. In other words, not a quickie hike, but perfect for the first 70 degree day of the year. Hiking in snow in a tank top is sublimely refreshing and stretching out in a meadow with mountain breeze and sunshine for lunch is one of life's greatest pleasures. There was clover everywhere-- giant almost mutant looking clover actually, that couldn't help but make one feel just lucky to be there. In short, it was bliss. About 8 miles in, on our descent, we came to the largest river crossing of the day and I decided to hitch my day pack a little higher than normal and take my shoes and socks off to wade across the waist-high stretch of river just above a small waterfall of the Oneonta Creek (the creek is idyllic, and has cut-- albeit slowly-- through the rock to form a really cool, really narrow gorge uniquely named the Oneonta Gorge, below right).

I tied my shoes together and slung them around my neck and stepped into the icy water. 'Wait,' I thought-- 'this is stupid. If I slip and fall, my shoes could strangle me as I go over the falls. I'll just sling them over one shoulder.' And so I did. And then I took another step deeper into the river, leaning forward looking for a foothold for my poles, and my shoes slipped right off my shoulder into the water, over the falls, into the foam, never to be seen again. Also stupid.

Crapper! Walking barefoot is for the young and uninjured. Ever since I shattered my ankle in a tragicly (also stupid) skateboarding accident in 2002, I don't enjoy walking barefoot. Not even indoors. Not even on carpet. I don't know if it is that the ligaments just never really healed right or what, but my foot feels wobblier than normal feet. Regardless of why, my love of a footbed and sole is deeper and wider than the Oneonta Creek. Jim gave me his socks and generously volunteered to hoof it double time down to the trailhead and grab his third string running shoes (size 11) from the car and bring them up to me. But the sun was starting to set, so it made sense for me to also try and get down the trail as far as possible while it was light. I cut off the bottoms of my pants and bound the front of my feet as much as possible and headed down. Luckily, I probably only had to walk a mile or so on the pine-y (yay) then rocky (nay) path before Jim had made it down the 3 miles, and back up the 2 miles to meet me with a pair of shoes. Bless you Jim! Size 11 men's running shoes never felt so good!

We made it down to the car as twilight turned to dark and about 2 hrs later I was cleaned up, cozied up, in the trailer with my feet up. A bit bruised and blistered, but overall not bad. As my friend Greta said, it was a great day to lose one's shoes in the gorge! Lucky me!