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September sunset

Fall in Portland is positively Jubelar.  May I never shake this inexplicable feeling of wonder and continue to find myself ever grateful at the way time is finally dripping like an IV. And may this allow me to savor each encounter explicitly without rushing thru it in pursuit of “the next thing.”

Apres Sept Surf

So,  how do I love Fall?  Just a fraction of the ways:

• Surfing 10 foot swells at Shorty’s at September’s end in 80 degree heat.  Hanging 10 with friends that mean the world on top of the fluidity that is my life

• Chilly nights, swilly thick vino and a hot fire

• PM is longer, darker, stronger

• Dry, crackly oversized brown, red and yellow leaves on the cold ground of trail while pounding it

• Pumpkin everything, with a special shout out to creamy pumpkin lattes

• Polish festival and I’m a full blood Po-lock (well…almost) and will devour copious amounts of placki, pierogi, go??bki, kie?basa – washed down with Zywiec and honey wine, then, swagger to the Polka and chicken dance until I need to be rolled away

• Changes in the rhythms and vibrations of the city and all of its musings

• Counting the days until the first snowfall at tree line, waxing poetic on my skis all the while

Spanx in hibernation

My advice – to sit still and quiet for just a while and meditate.   With the right amount of intent, notice how easy it becomes to slip past the day’s Persona, meeting its Shadow head-on and eventually coming into contact with its Soul.  Here you find relief of everything you think NEEDS to be done and instead venture into a vault where instincts become sharper, emotions more radical, interpretation outweighs logic and perceptions of reality become less rigid. And watch as  people find themselves acting in unexpected ways.

Voluptuous at the top

By Guest Writer: Voluptuous Ho

Base Camp. 5:30am. It’s pitch dark and my partner in crime, 007 Sass and I are getting ready to summit the 12, 276 ft Mt Adams. This would be my third time.

On my first attempt, I had to keep up with four men who were reasonably fit. About 10,000 feet into the climb there was a blizzard. We were forced to turn around that day, unable to reach the summit. I returned two months later, and made it to the top. That experience alone changed my life.

This would be the first attempt for 007 Sass. I suggested doing another climb, perhaps South Sister or an extended backpacking trip in Central Oregon, but she was persistent about climbing Adams. She tried to summit it awhile back but was unsuccessful due to unpredictable weather conditions. She was determined to make it to the top. I knew that feeling well, the feeling of wanting something so bad that nothing anybody did or said could stand in your way. So even though I knew the conditions would be less than desirable this time of the year, I joined along on the adventure.

We planned on leaving for our climb at 5:30am. But when the alarm went off on her phone, waking up at 5:30am was the best we could do. “We must be crazy,” I said as we slowly gathered our things and ate a quick breakfast before setting out on the trail. “No, we’re hardcore,” 007 Sass said. I thought about the meaning of this statement and realized she was right. We decided that we would do the climb in one day, so instead of hauling our packs filled with gear, we had manageable daypacks (which seemed heavier as the day went on). We had it all planned out: We could come back to our camp and relax, sip some vino and peach-infused whiskey. We’re hardcore…but we know how to pamper ourselves after a long day of strenuous activity.

Base Camp

1st look Adams top

Mt. Hood at 11, 238'

Mt St Helens at 8,364'

The hike was gradual, the scenery delightful. It was a bluebird day. We couldn’t have been more pleased with our weekend venture. Two days ago we were online looking at the ever-changing forecast, worried that we’d get caught in a rainstorm.

Volumptuous plodding upward

007 Sass workin the poles

Kissing rocks on right

Glacier rest

Up until Lunch Counter, I thought the climb was going to be a breeze and was surprised at how much energy I had. But after we left Lunch Counter and headed to the summit, I was slowly reminded why I was hesitant to climb Mt. Adams for the third time. There was lots of loose rock. And I mean, lots of it. Every step forward seemed to end in a slide backward. I was frustrated and losing energy because of it. Since it was September, we left the crampons and ice axe at home. However, every climber we ran into had them on.

Glacier with peak look

As we approached our first glacier, we ran into a couple of men that asked us if we had crampons. One of them looked concerned when we told him “no.” He advised us to go around the top of glacier, because it was icy. We thanked him for his concern, but continued to hike on the glacier, without crampons, because well, we’re hardcore like that. We continued hiking up snow and some ice. It was difficult to find solid footing in the hardened snow. The ice wasn’t impossible, it was just a minor roadblock.

Home stretch

So close!

After reaching the false summit and continuing on to the top, we ran into some windy conditions, which made the extra push to the top more challenging. But once we reached the summit, we were greeted by a dilapidated hut, and incredible views of Mt. Hood, Mt. St Helens, Mt. Rainier and we could even see the tip of three Sisters. Unfortunately, the uncomfortably cold and windy conditions made us start our descent sooner than anticipated.

Abandoned Cabin

007 Sass at the top

Rainier

Cabin on top and Hood

There were three times on the trip when I was willing to admit I was unprepared for this trip. The first was realizing crampons would’ve made the icy spots much less scary. The second was when 007 Sass pulled out her leg gaiters over her waterproof boots. I was envious as my boots continued collecting snow into them as we traversed the mountain. Socks and feet were wet.

The third would be on our descent. Somehow as we headed down the mountain, we lost sight of the trail. After realizing that we may be lost and it was already 4pm in the afternoon and we were racing daylight, we realized that we both forgot our headlamps. I was worried, panicked even. 007 Sass was cool and collected, but I sensed a little fear in her silence. I would’ve been more scared had we not run into several groups of people on the way down who helped us find our way. These groups were primarily men, and good-looking men, to boot.  In fact, they were good looking outdoor men, and we were stuck on this mountain with them. Things weren’t looking so bad after all. Thank you Mt. Men Adams.

One after the other, they told us how they had heard about us. Someone who we met on the way up had told tales of how there were two hardcore girls making their way up the mountain with no crampons. We saw one guy who decided to turn around because he felt the conditions were too icy. But not us. We were legends.

Descending in the dark

As we slowly made our way back to base camp, the day turned into night. We walked faster, took less bathroom breaks, and finally hit the tree line in relief. But the sky turned black and we were still not at base camp. My mind went racing, wondering what would happen if we didn’t find our way back. We didn’t have our tents or our sleeping bags. We had some bars and enough water that we’d pumped on the way down. I thought of all the creatures hiding in the woods. I was mad at myself for forgetting my headlamp. I tripped over a rock and fell on my side. 007 Sass helped me back up, and we continued onward through the darkness. The trail seemed like it would never end. “I need the light at the end of the tunnel,” 007 Sass said.

Soon enough, she noticed two headlights in the distance.

Post peak bag in true colors n smiling

Alsea Bay Bridge

OK, OK.  So all you Water signs out there know what I mean when I say, “I NEED water.”  A body of water.  To be near it.  To be in it.  To hear it. To breathe it. To listen to it when it calls.  Feel salt water on my skin, sand bunnies in my toes.   Not to be confused with wanting water because I dig it.  After a summer in training with 22 on the finer points of WANT versus NEED, I can say confidently that I need it.

Next stop: Oregon Coast, more specifically Newport and Agate Beach.

Purpose: Catch some fish and lock up some crab.   Who has two thumbs and is long overdue for a Fry Fest?  Dis chiquita.

We reeled in a few Sea Bass, whose innards are a peculiar shade of neon blue until cooked. As designated filet queen, I slice the skin, extract the bones, batter and fry.

Keeping fingers intact

Fish Prep

Batter in Penko

Sushi?

Fry it up!

Additional note: Don’t go spending money on fancy store-bought tartars. Open your fridge and pull the ingredients you already have. Mix up a nice tartar of mayo, sour cream and finely chopped Wickles.

Day Two

6 Crab traps and 2 hours

That's a keeper

Using mink (where exactly is that imported from anyway?) We hauled up plenty of sizeable male dungeness and a plethora of red rocks, whose claws are chock-full of yummy sweet meat. The only near-casualty came when I mishandled a crab and it sank its pinchers into my middle finger and clung on.  Little sucker got the boiling he deserved. Fresh, hand picked Chantrelles and Local Ocean slaw were the perfect accoutrement.

Cookn' Zee Crab

Hand picked Chanterelles