Chapter 14 ~ Page 193
It was rather chilly for our daily bath in an ice cold stream. The girls, figured to take advantage of our little house in the woods by having a sponge bath. They built up the fire, and using every container available, heated gallons of hot water.
I often mentioned to my children that when I was a small boy living in Estacada, I had bathed in a galvanized tub in the middle of the kitchen. Bernadette was full of questions as to how it was done.
"Do I just sit down in the bucket?"
"Here, let me show you by doing my arms and face first."
"Dad!"
"Ahhhhhh. Now my feet."
"No fair, Dad."
"You girls better heat up a bit more water, and Bernice, would you scrub my back?"
It would have been difficult to have left the following morning if the sun hadn't come out to add a sparkle to what was already an incomparable watercolor study. The Middle Sister was framed by dripping fir boughs. There was a light dusting of snow at the higher elevations. And, a wind across the top that was strong enough to send snowflakes, along with a pumice dust called 'rock flour' trailing off into a plume that softened the harsh outline into pastel tints and tones.
This was the excitement of nature—abrupt changes in mood. Later that day our trail entered lava fields that were stark, bold, discordant, reminiscent of craters of the moon, the reality of Atomic D-Day, Plus One.
What a masterpiece of trail construction this ten miles of crossing burnt and wasted rock. Every step—crunch, crunch—was on fragments of lava, crushed by sledgehammer. Each switchback was well planned to avoid bottomless holes and caves, below. Each jog has us pass through acres of standing plugs shaped like gargoyles on the Cathedral Notre Dame, to regain altitude lost avoiding the rivers of molten magma that had frozen into slick slabs.
Looking ahead to the base of Oppie Dildock Pass, it seemed we were riding into a dead-end canyon. It turned out that the way up, and over, was a series of very short switchbacks climbing a lava chute. Our packstring was bent back and forth in a squiggle, so that ten horses appeared to be heading five different directions.
I often mentioned to my children that when I was a small boy living in Estacada, I had bathed in a galvanized tub in the middle of the kitchen. Bernadette was full of questions as to how it was done.
"Do I just sit down in the bucket?"
"Here, let me show you by doing my arms and face first."
"Dad!"
"Ahhhhhh. Now my feet."
"No fair, Dad."
"You girls better heat up a bit more water, and Bernice, would you scrub my back?"
It would have been difficult to have left the following morning if the sun hadn't come out to add a sparkle to what was already an incomparable watercolor study. The Middle Sister was framed by dripping fir boughs. There was a light dusting of snow at the higher elevations. And, a wind across the top that was strong enough to send snowflakes, along with a pumice dust called 'rock flour' trailing off into a plume that softened the harsh outline into pastel tints and tones.
This was the excitement of nature—abrupt changes in mood. Later that day our trail entered lava fields that were stark, bold, discordant, reminiscent of craters of the moon, the reality of Atomic D-Day, Plus One.
What a masterpiece of trail construction this ten miles of crossing burnt and wasted rock. Every step—crunch, crunch—was on fragments of lava, crushed by sledgehammer. Each switchback was well planned to avoid bottomless holes and caves, below. Each jog has us pass through acres of standing plugs shaped like gargoyles on the Cathedral Notre Dame, to regain altitude lost avoiding the rivers of molten magma that had frozen into slick slabs.
Looking ahead to the base of Oppie Dildock Pass, it seemed we were riding into a dead-end canyon. It turned out that the way up, and over, was a series of very short switchbacks climbing a lava chute. Our packstring was bent back and forth in a squiggle, so that ten horses appeared to be heading five different directions.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia