Hiking Again

When CAM & I lived in Seattle we did lots of hiking, camping and backpacking in the beautiful and inviting Washington surrounds.
Just as we'd finished accumulating our state-of-the-art gear, a couple of things happened that put an end to that.
First, a mother and daughter were shot and killed in broad daylight on a local and popular trail and second, we moved to Oregon.
It's been almost 10 years and those murders have never been solved.
Though I didn't know them, they were from a neighborhood close to mine and very well regarded in the community.
My heart breaks for their loved ones, still without answers all these years on.
What happened  remains to scare the shit out of me so much, I still hesitate to engage in the activities I enjoyed before.
Choosing the close proximity of the coast to visit over the dangerous woods always wins out.
Until now.
There've been isolated trips, and CAM does go on bigfoot excursions with his enthusiast buddies, but for the most part getting out of doors in that way has been long neglected.
And though it might seem like an excuse, Zabby Dog wasn't much into the physical.
She was also creaky and old, even with aspirin and glucosamine, rendering such demanding walks  out of the question.
Believe me when I tell you leaving her all snuggy in the back of the car with her blankies, goodies and pillows was far kinder and appreciated.
But she's gone now.
CAM's been "playing backpack" while eyeing a too-good-to-be-true opportunity.
He's been working on getting his 10 essentials kit tight and wanted to test drive both it and mine on a mild, accessible logging road across the street.
A week after Zabs died, we did just that.
Actually, he and Squatch buddy, Scott, had already checked it out one starry night before while I stayed home with animals, including his darling Chihuahua, Patsy, and adoring Pit, Pancake.
It must have been rather inspiring because later, while sharing the previous evening's events, he began strategizing a return trip, necessitating considerations for our dog who would surely lose her mind if left alone at home and in no way would be able to navigate the grade and gravelly terrain.
Plans never materialized beyond that as her illness would dominate our lives for the better part of a month;
I wrote about it a bit earlier, but left out lots of the specifics.
Suffice it to say, if you were ever to get sick, ours would be the place where you'd want to convalesce since you would get 24/7 care.
Our 'pound puppy' was no exception and it really took its toll.
Of course, that we'd been unable to save her life was a crushing and unexpected blow.

So after saying our goodbyes and placing her into the Earth with the ashes of her buddy Jack from Portland to keep company, amid pine boughs, toys and bones and dressed to the nines in her best pink outfit (she loved the attention wearing pretty things garnered) wrapped in but one of many of her soft, pastel blankets, then memorialized with a grafted multi-variety apple tree and spring perennials,
we took a deep breath and high tailed it out of the sad place that was our home.
Up to the green and blue of the fresh air and sunshine.
And dirt brown ground, since...logging road. Ergo, clearcut.
Still glorious and refreshing and very much needed.
But DAMN! we were out of shape.
Treadmill and Burpee Challenge notwithstanding, all those years of *not* hiking was noticeable.
Huffing and puffing, we slowly made the rise to the top vowing it would only get easier the more we do it.
Which it has, but lots more walks up that elevation are in our future.
See for yourself what a great vista we have from our front yard, but mind the gunshots.
After all, we ARE in The Redneck Shire where disturbing the blissful peace of nature doesn't even occur to these hillbillies, which is why we're choosing weekdays for our outings.

This righteous reversible Goodwill find brings safe satisfaction

The shooting seems to only happen on the weekends, so we do other things on Saturdays and Sundays.
Things that don't feel quite right yet, since one of our companions won't be joining us.
And I don't like that one single bit.

The ridge where we found the sketchy burned out car several years ago while mushroom hunting

Tracks everywhere!

This is where your TP comes from, people

Almost at the headwaters of the Long Tom- the creek behind our house that becomes a river by the time it gets to The Oregon Country Fair in Veneta

Trying to bushwhack through the slash piles proved unsuccessful; making our way back up after the failed attempt to cross was an ass kicker