Oneonta Gorge
Even as a kid I was a light traveler. I quickly realized a backpack full of activities was frivolous luggage. Air travel kept me fixated on the view from above, and I would get car sick if I concentrated on anything but the road. My luggage became reduced to a small pile of clothes and eventually a camera bag. So, when I threw in an extra days worth of clothes and second pair of shoes for Oregon, something was up.
On Friday morning, Sarah and I cruised through the Columbia River Gorge for the second time in two days. The sky is gloomy with clouds promising another day of slow rain. The sun has been up for a couple hours but hasn't made headway penetrating the sheet of gray above us: a typical dreary, brisk morning not uncommon to the spring weather we grew up with in Wisconsin. We can feel the moisture in the air as we saddle up for the hike. It has been a while since I've felt the cold stick of humidity. I close my eyes and picture a silent lake, stirred by the crash of a first cast bobber, the smell of worms and dew covering the boat, still anxious for the first nibble.
Sarah and I descend a steep staircase along the side of the road. We drop down into a valley cut by a trickling brook weaving around mossy rocks and water logged timber. On either side of the stream is a wall of rock, littered with small plants rooted in the cracks. The trail guides us through a thicket of thorn covered foliage as we follow the stream. The tripod hanging off the back of my camera bag is acting like a child refusing to leave the toy isle, grabbing hold of anything within reach. I have to duck and twirl under branches to keep from getting snagged.
The bushes recede and there are only rocks and logs in our path now. We straddle over a pair of soggy tree trunks before rock hopping across Oneonta Creek. This is a warm-up for the massive log jam now in our way. It must be 15 feet high and as we begin a mixture of tree climbing meets balance beam walking, I can't help but picture elephant sized beavers hacking down these logs to make this dam. The trunks are wide enough to make walking an ease but they are still moist from the overnight showers keeping them slick. At the top of the jam we pause, it is here we get our first view of Oneonta Gorge.
The dam barricades a beautiful sight. A thin flow of water babbles over a bed of rock. The floor of the gorge is perfectly flat running between the walls of the damp cliff, like an alley between two skyscrapers. Trees bend over the gap, trying to get a glimpse of the world below, sealing in the cool, thick air. After we hop off the final log, it will be only rock beneath our feet from here on. Our travel will not be a dry one though, as Sarah and I dredge through the water barely deep enough to submerge the souls of our shoes.
To get to the majestic waterfall hidden deep in this crack in the earth, one must complete three labors. This isn't exactly the labors of Hercules, but depending on your level of woodsy and tolerance for cold water, that's for you to decide. The first labor was the log jam, a rather easy obstacle to beat, but a simple slip could end your day before it even begins. Now the second labor stands before us. The majority of the water that flows through the gorge does so beneath the surface, but we have come to a point where the water has collected, and the only way to continue is to go through it. There's no point in hesitating, as I already know what the last labor will be, and it's far more daunting than this.
Typically, my hiking footwear is waterproof, but that isn't going to matter once submerged, hence my alternate pair. I make my way into the water as it climbs higher up my leg maxing out just above my knee. It's an awkward walk as my size twelves feel like flippers trying to push through the current. Each step gets more comfortable as the ice cold pool steals the warmth from my legs. Once the cold sinks in, my mind focuses on keeping my balance on the rock floor below. I make it across and drop my gear on a dry patch of rock. Turning around I see Sarah standing 50 feet away, dry, on the other end. I knew what Oneonta would throw at us and had to promise Sarah a dry experience to gain her company. With her feet dangling safely above the surface, I piggyback her across the water on my third pass. She touches down dry and we continue to our destination, leaving behind a lone pair of liquid footprints.
We are in the thick of the gorge now. On either side of us is 100 feet of Columbia River basalt that has permanently trapped a saturated aroma of rain. The sun, gaining height, fights with the deep shadows on the walls to touch the floor. Though it is getting late in the morning, the gorge has managed to preserve the sensation of dawn. The crystal clear creek still flows next to us, varying in depth but keeping a trail of dry stones for us to follow. I can almost hear the Fraggle Rock theme song growing in volume as we approach the end. We hop off a stray log the elephant beavers left behind and the joyful tune is cut off as my skin constricts. The final labor.
There is a tradition in the winter where people jump in a hole cut out of a frozen lake. It usually involves a charity and probably some drinking before or after. The participants cannonball in and quickly hop out into the arms of a bundled up volunteer that wraps their neon red body in a blanket. I've always wanted to try it. As I stare at the pool of fresh mountain runoff, I can't help but envy the polar plungers with their wool bearing saviors on the other end. The pool stretches 20 yards and dips 5 feet in the middle. Where the plungers can jump out right away, I'll have to wade through this water trying to keep my gear and head above water.
I am able to stash my bag along a ledge that extends about half way across. This will allow me to acclimate to the frigid water that will reach my chest before hoisting my bag above my head for the second half. I leave my flannel with Sarah, it won't be the same as a warm blanket but it's something. As I wade into the water, the first few steps are easy since my legs haven't fully recovered from the first pool. I pause. Men have a threshold when it comes to cold water, a portion of their body that does not enjoy exposure to low temperatures. This is why you see men hang out on the stairs of swimming pools where the water reaches their thigh. Once the threshold is broken there's no looking back, but it takes some coaxing.
The water reaches my chest and it becomes difficult to breath as the cold begins choking my lungs. I reach my bag and hold it over my head moving as slow as possible to ensure it doesn't get thrown into the polar depths with a minor trip. Thankfully, I set it down on a dry section of rock as I reach my destination. Oneonta Falls, roaring for the first finisher of the day, is totally worth the uncontrollable shiver that has consumed my body.
Tucked at the end of this split in the Oregon wilderness is a 100 foot gem. The cliff walls are no longer bare basalt but draped in green plants rippling in the force of Oneonta Falls. The narrow passage has opened up as a cheerful Oneonta Creek races down any path it can find like kids stampeding on the last day of school. My icicle of a body is overjoyed to have found this sanctuary making me question which of the two has rendered it numb. I stare thoughtless until I remember the one person I want to share this with is standing dry and alone not knowing the beauty just beyond her reach.
I can't see the expression on Sarah's face but I know it well. It's a silent way of calling me crazy and disapproving of what is about to happen. It's good though, it means she has understood my hand gestures saying I'm coming back to get you. Sure enough, while I'm explaining to her that she's getting a ride on my shoulders, she shoots me the look that's meant to slap dumb ideas out of my head. Realizing I'm shaking and her cooperating will get me to a warm car sooner than later, she agrees.
My plan of attack is to hug the side so she can provide balance against the wall of basalt that will be our bumper. It doesn't help my balance as her nerves are causing her to shake and she hasn't even felt the 30 degree swimming pool currently working its way up my abdomen. Matters are made even worse as her feet dip into the water. I hear the cold shoot through her like a ghost as her arms and legs constrict. The water pressure helps stabilize us and the journey is smooth as we reach the end unscathed. I set her down on a rock so she can hop on my back for a quick stretch across the stream where I have set up camp. It's a few steps in shin deep water, shouldn't be a problem.
It could've been the joy of having made it to the end lowering my guard or the three passes through chest deep ice water slowing my motor control, but Oneonta Gorge started to fight back. As I begin to lift my foot I feel resistance. I have already committed to moving forward but my leg doesn't have enough strength to lift my foot over the rock it's behind. With Sarah on my back, we go crashing to the ground. I stretch my hands out to brace the fall as does Sarah who has me to cushion her from the ground. She gets up having lost the battle against water suffering some second degree splashes. I on the other hand already have a lump on my shin sending a river of red into Oneonta Creek.
If my constant shaking wasn't enough of a concern for Sarah, my leg is swelling up around three bloody gashes. I came here for pictures, and I'll be damned if we make it this far without a shot of Oneonta Falls. The entire time I'm shooting the shaking is getting worse, instead of a consistent tremor, my body starts sending waves of more intense episodes as I jog in place trying to create some heat. I can feel Sarah worrying as she flips between watching me and the Falls. The camera has done its job, its time to get out.
There is only one way to hike Oneonta Gorge, that is also the only way back out. So I call all my focus to my balance as I ferry Sarah back across the deep pool before going back for my camera bag. Upon completing my sixth pass, I swap my soaked t-shirt for my flannel that starts to subdue the shaking. The hike out is quick, I stop once for a final picture of a stray log resting in the creek before packing the camera up for good. Sarah gets one more piggyback as I splash through the shallow collection of Oneonta Creek. A quick hop over the log jam and we are back at the car.
Sarah and I swap out for dry clothes as our Jeep Compass blasts heat. My shaking has reduced and I can feel my shin throb as the numbness subsides. Overall, I feel accomplished. Sarah and I finished the hike together and other than leaving some skin behind, the hike was a success, plus I stole some hypothermia from Oneonta, so I think we're even. I was ready for an adventure and we got one. When it comes to getting the shot, I've always been one to do some crazy things. Oneonta Gorge is definitely up there and it will remain one of my proudest accomplishments. The beauty of Oneonta combined with sharing the experience with Sarah makes it well worth the trouble.
As we make our way west, we are heading for a warmer location. Sarah has been yearning for sand between her toes and she is going to get it. The promise of sun soaked ocean waves chases away the last remaining traces of Oneonta's chill. Our sights are on Cannon Beach and my first trip to the Pacific Ocean. Oregon has already made the trip worth while, giving us two memorable hikes within 24 hours. We still have four days to go and the best is yet to come.
On Friday morning, Sarah and I cruised through the Columbia River Gorge for the second time in two days. The sky is gloomy with clouds promising another day of slow rain. The sun has been up for a couple hours but hasn't made headway penetrating the sheet of gray above us: a typical dreary, brisk morning not uncommon to the spring weather we grew up with in Wisconsin. We can feel the moisture in the air as we saddle up for the hike. It has been a while since I've felt the cold stick of humidity. I close my eyes and picture a silent lake, stirred by the crash of a first cast bobber, the smell of worms and dew covering the boat, still anxious for the first nibble.
Sarah and I descend a steep staircase along the side of the road. We drop down into a valley cut by a trickling brook weaving around mossy rocks and water logged timber. On either side of the stream is a wall of rock, littered with small plants rooted in the cracks. The trail guides us through a thicket of thorn covered foliage as we follow the stream. The tripod hanging off the back of my camera bag is acting like a child refusing to leave the toy isle, grabbing hold of anything within reach. I have to duck and twirl under branches to keep from getting snagged.
The bushes recede and there are only rocks and logs in our path now. We straddle over a pair of soggy tree trunks before rock hopping across Oneonta Creek. This is a warm-up for the massive log jam now in our way. It must be 15 feet high and as we begin a mixture of tree climbing meets balance beam walking, I can't help but picture elephant sized beavers hacking down these logs to make this dam. The trunks are wide enough to make walking an ease but they are still moist from the overnight showers keeping them slick. At the top of the jam we pause, it is here we get our first view of Oneonta Gorge.
The dam barricades a beautiful sight. A thin flow of water babbles over a bed of rock. The floor of the gorge is perfectly flat running between the walls of the damp cliff, like an alley between two skyscrapers. Trees bend over the gap, trying to get a glimpse of the world below, sealing in the cool, thick air. After we hop off the final log, it will be only rock beneath our feet from here on. Our travel will not be a dry one though, as Sarah and I dredge through the water barely deep enough to submerge the souls of our shoes.
To get to the majestic waterfall hidden deep in this crack in the earth, one must complete three labors. This isn't exactly the labors of Hercules, but depending on your level of woodsy and tolerance for cold water, that's for you to decide. The first labor was the log jam, a rather easy obstacle to beat, but a simple slip could end your day before it even begins. Now the second labor stands before us. The majority of the water that flows through the gorge does so beneath the surface, but we have come to a point where the water has collected, and the only way to continue is to go through it. There's no point in hesitating, as I already know what the last labor will be, and it's far more daunting than this.
Typically, my hiking footwear is waterproof, but that isn't going to matter once submerged, hence my alternate pair. I make my way into the water as it climbs higher up my leg maxing out just above my knee. It's an awkward walk as my size twelves feel like flippers trying to push through the current. Each step gets more comfortable as the ice cold pool steals the warmth from my legs. Once the cold sinks in, my mind focuses on keeping my balance on the rock floor below. I make it across and drop my gear on a dry patch of rock. Turning around I see Sarah standing 50 feet away, dry, on the other end. I knew what Oneonta would throw at us and had to promise Sarah a dry experience to gain her company. With her feet dangling safely above the surface, I piggyback her across the water on my third pass. She touches down dry and we continue to our destination, leaving behind a lone pair of liquid footprints.
We are in the thick of the gorge now. On either side of us is 100 feet of Columbia River basalt that has permanently trapped a saturated aroma of rain. The sun, gaining height, fights with the deep shadows on the walls to touch the floor. Though it is getting late in the morning, the gorge has managed to preserve the sensation of dawn. The crystal clear creek still flows next to us, varying in depth but keeping a trail of dry stones for us to follow. I can almost hear the Fraggle Rock theme song growing in volume as we approach the end. We hop off a stray log the elephant beavers left behind and the joyful tune is cut off as my skin constricts. The final labor.There is a tradition in the winter where people jump in a hole cut out of a frozen lake. It usually involves a charity and probably some drinking before or after. The participants cannonball in and quickly hop out into the arms of a bundled up volunteer that wraps their neon red body in a blanket. I've always wanted to try it. As I stare at the pool of fresh mountain runoff, I can't help but envy the polar plungers with their wool bearing saviors on the other end. The pool stretches 20 yards and dips 5 feet in the middle. Where the plungers can jump out right away, I'll have to wade through this water trying to keep my gear and head above water.
I am able to stash my bag along a ledge that extends about half way across. This will allow me to acclimate to the frigid water that will reach my chest before hoisting my bag above my head for the second half. I leave my flannel with Sarah, it won't be the same as a warm blanket but it's something. As I wade into the water, the first few steps are easy since my legs haven't fully recovered from the first pool. I pause. Men have a threshold when it comes to cold water, a portion of their body that does not enjoy exposure to low temperatures. This is why you see men hang out on the stairs of swimming pools where the water reaches their thigh. Once the threshold is broken there's no looking back, but it takes some coaxing.
The water reaches my chest and it becomes difficult to breath as the cold begins choking my lungs. I reach my bag and hold it over my head moving as slow as possible to ensure it doesn't get thrown into the polar depths with a minor trip. Thankfully, I set it down on a dry section of rock as I reach my destination. Oneonta Falls, roaring for the first finisher of the day, is totally worth the uncontrollable shiver that has consumed my body.
Tucked at the end of this split in the Oregon wilderness is a 100 foot gem. The cliff walls are no longer bare basalt but draped in green plants rippling in the force of Oneonta Falls. The narrow passage has opened up as a cheerful Oneonta Creek races down any path it can find like kids stampeding on the last day of school. My icicle of a body is overjoyed to have found this sanctuary making me question which of the two has rendered it numb. I stare thoughtless until I remember the one person I want to share this with is standing dry and alone not knowing the beauty just beyond her reach.
I can't see the expression on Sarah's face but I know it well. It's a silent way of calling me crazy and disapproving of what is about to happen. It's good though, it means she has understood my hand gestures saying I'm coming back to get you. Sure enough, while I'm explaining to her that she's getting a ride on my shoulders, she shoots me the look that's meant to slap dumb ideas out of my head. Realizing I'm shaking and her cooperating will get me to a warm car sooner than later, she agrees.
My plan of attack is to hug the side so she can provide balance against the wall of basalt that will be our bumper. It doesn't help my balance as her nerves are causing her to shake and she hasn't even felt the 30 degree swimming pool currently working its way up my abdomen. Matters are made even worse as her feet dip into the water. I hear the cold shoot through her like a ghost as her arms and legs constrict. The water pressure helps stabilize us and the journey is smooth as we reach the end unscathed. I set her down on a rock so she can hop on my back for a quick stretch across the stream where I have set up camp. It's a few steps in shin deep water, shouldn't be a problem.
It could've been the joy of having made it to the end lowering my guard or the three passes through chest deep ice water slowing my motor control, but Oneonta Gorge started to fight back. As I begin to lift my foot I feel resistance. I have already committed to moving forward but my leg doesn't have enough strength to lift my foot over the rock it's behind. With Sarah on my back, we go crashing to the ground. I stretch my hands out to brace the fall as does Sarah who has me to cushion her from the ground. She gets up having lost the battle against water suffering some second degree splashes. I on the other hand already have a lump on my shin sending a river of red into Oneonta Creek.
If my constant shaking wasn't enough of a concern for Sarah, my leg is swelling up around three bloody gashes. I came here for pictures, and I'll be damned if we make it this far without a shot of Oneonta Falls. The entire time I'm shooting the shaking is getting worse, instead of a consistent tremor, my body starts sending waves of more intense episodes as I jog in place trying to create some heat. I can feel Sarah worrying as she flips between watching me and the Falls. The camera has done its job, its time to get out.
There is only one way to hike Oneonta Gorge, that is also the only way back out. So I call all my focus to my balance as I ferry Sarah back across the deep pool before going back for my camera bag. Upon completing my sixth pass, I swap my soaked t-shirt for my flannel that starts to subdue the shaking. The hike out is quick, I stop once for a final picture of a stray log resting in the creek before packing the camera up for good. Sarah gets one more piggyback as I splash through the shallow collection of Oneonta Creek. A quick hop over the log jam and we are back at the car.
Sarah and I swap out for dry clothes as our Jeep Compass blasts heat. My shaking has reduced and I can feel my shin throb as the numbness subsides. Overall, I feel accomplished. Sarah and I finished the hike together and other than leaving some skin behind, the hike was a success, plus I stole some hypothermia from Oneonta, so I think we're even. I was ready for an adventure and we got one. When it comes to getting the shot, I've always been one to do some crazy things. Oneonta Gorge is definitely up there and it will remain one of my proudest accomplishments. The beauty of Oneonta combined with sharing the experience with Sarah makes it well worth the trouble.
As we make our way west, we are heading for a warmer location. Sarah has been yearning for sand between her toes and she is going to get it. The promise of sun soaked ocean waves chases away the last remaining traces of Oneonta's chill. Our sights are on Cannon Beach and my first trip to the Pacific Ocean. Oregon has already made the trip worth while, giving us two memorable hikes within 24 hours. We still have four days to go and the best is yet to come.
What an adventure! Your story telling had me feeling like I was there with you. Well done!
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