No Lions nor Tigers nor Bears, Oh My!

It's been a while since I've written a blog entry. I plan to make this one extra long. If it is too long for your liking, I will completely understand if you decide to only read it twice.

Ages ago (okay, last week. But it felt like ages ago), while I was hiking with Sharkbait (Laura) and Kevbot (Kevin), Laura (she wasn't Sharkbait yet) was off in the woods and said to us

"Guys, I just saw a quail."
"Grouse?," I asked.
"I saw a Quail."
"Grouse?," I asked.
"QUAIL!" "Grouse?," I asked.
"Oh yeah, it was a grouse."

Kevin couldn't believe that had worked, and we had a good time giggling over what a slightly meaner brother might have convinced her she had seen. Jimmy Hoffa's body? The lost city of Atlantis? One of those imaginary bears?

A couple of days later, we found ourselves thick in the middle of huckleberry bushes.

"Did you see all those blueberry bushes?" she asked when I caught up to her. "Huckleberry bushes?," I asked.
"Blueberry bushes!," she insisted.

Okay, I figure I'd let her win this one.

For the rest of the week, we found ourselves splitting the time almost evenly between picking blueberries, eating blueberries, and hiking. It was deliciously wonderful. When we meet up with a couple of hikers (Moses, Hebrew Hammer, and Operator) for lunch, Laura couldn't help but remark how deliciously wonderful all those blueberries have been. "Huckleberries?," asked Moses, Hebrew Hammer, and Operator. Sorry Laura, I did try to give you that one.

Cascade Locks is the last town in Oregon, lying on the Columbia River just across from Washington. I ran into a cache just before town which had a jar of maple syrup inside. This was meant to incentivize us hikers with the message that we had almost made it to Canada. I found it hysterical as my one-liner to why I am hiking the trail is to get some decent maple syrup. Caroline pointed out that I should instead be disincentivized because I no longer needed to make it to Canada to get my maple syrup. But just as huckleberries taste better when picked right from the bush, so maple syrup tastes better when licked right from the tree. So onward to Canada. But first Washington. But first Cascade Locks.

Laura and I stayed at Shrek's house during our stay at Cascade Locks. Shrek looks like an ogre. He has a giant Shrek doll that I would say is life-sized, but I'm not quite sure how big ogres are. The only thing that would make his ogreness more complete would be if instead of collecting tolls on the Bridge of the Gods (as is his job), he were to collect trolls under it.

Cascade Locks is tiny. They do have an ice cream shop though. While waiting on line, I saw them dole out a medium soft-serve cone. It was the biggest ice cream cone I had ever seen. So I ordered a large. "I'm a PCT hiker, I think I can handle it" I assured the soft-server, when she warned me of its behemoth size. I could not handle it. My ecstatic smile turned quickly to a fear driven panic when the tower of ice cream toppled over under its own weight. Luckily, I was able to catch it with my free hand and shove it into the quart-sized cup they had given me for this apparently anticipated eventuality. In reality, I was only able to shove most of it in the cup. What was left protruding over the top was still more than your typical ice cream cone.  I did the best I could, but eventually I had to admit defeat. I could try to blame it on the fact that I had had a pint of ice cream the day before and was all ice creamed out. Or I could try to blame it on the fact that I was saving room for the taco dinner that Laura was making for me and another half-dozen or so hikers (and one ogre) that would be ready momentarily. But no, I will not make excuses and will take my defeat like a man. Perhaps one day I'll make it back to Cascade Locks for a rematch. I can think of no other reason I'd ever need to return.

Before we left Cascade Locks, Laura insisted we go anniversary shopping for Caroline. Our eighth anniversary is coming up, and I needed to find her something made of bronze. I had very little hope of finding anything in this nothing of a town, but decided to humor Laura and check out the art gallery anyway. Unbelievably they actually had several items made of bronze. Nothing spoke to me though, so we decided to leave. On our way out, the proprietor told us that if we were looking for bronze, there was a bronze sculpture artist's studio just down the street. This must be a sign. Surely I was going to find the perfect gift for Caroline there. And I did. A ten foot tall sculpture of Sacajawea. It was meant to be. But alas, the sculpture would not be ready for some months now, way to late for our anniversary. Hope you can make do with your replacement gift, Caroline.

With absolutely nothing else to do in Cascade Locks, Laura escorted me across the bridge and into Washington. With a hug, I wished her goodbye, and so too said goodbye to our beloved huckleberries. There were plenty of bushes, mind you. But no huckleberries.

There was another cache, however. This one of donuts. Mmm, donuts. And not just any donuts. But Portland's own VooDoo Donuts, with such toppings as Froot Loops or bacon. Mmm, VooDoo donuts. Unfortunately, these donuts happened to be almost two weeks old, and in a bucket with instructions to use a spoon and not your fingers. I was brave enough to open the bucket. I was brave enough to smell the donuts. But I was not brave enough to pull out my spoon. No syrup. No donuts. Ice cream left on the table. My appetite just hasn't been up to the challenge of the PCT of late.

I was lamenting my lack of huckleberries ten miles later to Walkie Talkie (because he walks a lot and talks a lot) over lunch. When he got tired of hearing me complain about the berries, he set off hiking again. I left about twenty minutes later. So I was very surprised when I saw him within a mile not moving, holding a finger (which I was glad to see was his own) to his lips letting me know I was to be quiet. A bear. I was sure of it. Maybe that's why there had been no huckleberries left for me. I was going give that bear a piece of my mind. And maybe a knuckle sandwich or two to chase those berries down with.

I walked silently up to him and whispered "Bear?"

"No. Bears do not exist. This was a cougar."

When I looked around, there was no cougar.

He told me that the cougar was in the middle of the trail, had jumped up on the ridge within ten yards of him, had growled, and had basically a staring contest for those twenty minutes it had taken me to catch up.

Cougar sightings are incredibly rare (unless you are a cougar). While I was deciding whether or not to believe his story, I noticed he was standing in a puddle. When he showed me a picture of the lion he had taken, it just confirmed what I already knew. It was a big cat, and he got very close to it.

We decided to hike together for a while. And we calmed ourselves with logic that since we could no longer smell the cougar, than the cougar could no longer smell us. But just in case, I told the cougar (through my thoughts. I'm assuming that they can read minds) that Walkie Talkie was a chef for the British navy, and that since he surely ate much better than me, he would surely eat much better than me.

We eventually decided the coast was clear and split up. I camped alone that night. When I heard rustling behind me I thought to myself "S***, a cougar!" I took a look and was relieved to find it was only a deer...being stalked by a cougar! I was relieved to find out that that last bit was just my imagination...being mind controlled by a telepathic cougar!

I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep unless I did something about this. I took out a pad and paper and wrote the following:

Dearest cougar (I assume cougars are suckers for formality) (I did not write this parenthetical, of course) (or that one) (or that.... hmm...aha! or that one or this one),

Please do not eat me. I am trying to sleep and would prefer it if I were not disturbed.

Sincerely,
Roger Dodger

ps. If you really feel the need to eat someone, Walkie Talkie is just up the trail a little ways.

All in all, this was pretty scary. Not quite as scary as seeing my ice cream falling over, but pretty scary nonetheless.

Walkie Talkie credits me with chasing the cougar away. And since he cooks for the British navy, I don't think it's a stretch to say that I single handedly saved the British navy from starvation. I expect to receive a commendation any day now.  I'll put it next to the one I should be receiving for saving the entire PCT from burning a couple of weeks ago.

I'm glad I have this blog to wrote events while they are fresh in my mind. Having to recall them later and I'm sure the temptation to exaggerate would be too much to overcome.

The following day I was eating lunch with a spectacular view of Mt. Adams, lamenting to myself that I had lost all my snacks. I always leave town with plenty of snacks, but by the second day out I can never seem to find them.

Just then I looked up for a moment and saw a huckleberry. It had a couple of brothers, too. Not many, but enough to make it with my while to stand up. When I had eaten them, I looked across the trail and saw another bush. This was gushing with berries. As soon as I had it picked clean, I found the bush next to it was also gushing berries. So I picked that one clean too. Then I looked up and saw the entire hillside was covered with berries. I didn't yet quit, but did have to admit defeat. Again. The spirit was willing, but the stomach was weak.

I then discovered I was half a day away from a town. I hadn't planned on stopping there until I realized one thing. Town equals snacks. Mmm, snacks. When I got there I was happy to find out that they will put huckleberries in just about anything. Before I left the following morning, I had eaten a huckleberry cinnamon roll, a huckleberry pancake, and had two slices of huckleberry coffee cake in my pack for the road. I had to say no to the huckleberry pie, huckleberry lemonade and huckleberry milkshakes (of course I had a milkshake in town. But the first one is always coffee. If I could have handled a second one, I would have gone for coffee again. But the third, coffee still. Perhaps I would have gotten around to a huckleberry one, though I strongly doubt it). My poor stomach. It is way bigger my eyes but was still defeated. Again.

Well, I can't sit around here and talk about huckleberries all day. I've got Canada to get to. But first, Snoqualmie Pass. But first, the nearest huckleberry bush.

- Huck Finn, Lion Tamer