Joe and I planned an early wake-up on our third day. This was the day that was either going to solidify our place as real backpackers or break us. Looking back now I think it did both.
There’s a saying I heard once, sometimes you have to do something hard before you do something harder. I thought of that a lot as I was packing up my gear. I ached all over, I was tired, I knew this day was going to be hard, but I also knew harder would come. Whether it be later that day, or maybe the next day, it might even be another hike, or maybe something in life that would make these moments feel easy. This would not be my hardest day. So with that attitude, I hauled my pack on my shoulders and started walking.
We knew we had three difficult rivers to tackle and since rivers are best crossed in the morning before more glacial snow melts, the sun was just starting to rise as we made our way up the first incline. Solitude and peace, the perfect way to get those achy muscles moving.
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| The climb out of Elk Cove at sunrise |
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| Views North leaving Elk Cove and heading towards Cloud Cap |
We arrived at our first crossing by 7am, the often challenging Coe Creek. It looked pretty intimidating but there’s something about the backpacking community that I love. Everyone looks out for each other. More often than not you’ll see cairns (rocks piled to form a sort of landmark) where someone else crossed and deemed acceptable.
I took my socks off this time, jammed my feet back into my shoes, and began the voyage over. Luckily it was only mid-calf and while it was moving fast, it was manageable since it was still low. But holy crap is that a way to wake up! I may have shouted in shock, I can’t remember. Nothing like sticking your body into an ice-cold creek at 7am. I immediately tore my shoes off my feet once I hit the other bank to relieve them from the frigid water.
Joe crossed at a point upstream from me on some rocks that were only ankle deep, but the current was faster so out of the two of us he’s definitely braver. We scrambled up another incline and ran into a father-daughter duo who had been forced to camp overnight. By the time they had arrived at Coe Creek, it was waist high and moving fast making it impassable. This was our sign to not dawdle and keep on pushing forward since we had the notorious Eliot Creek to traverse. I took in some more views but made sure to keep my pace up so we could hit the next crossing before noon.
As we got closer we started to hear the mighty rush of the river and I couldn’t help pointing out to Joe that it sounded angry. Our fears mounted when we arrived at the vantage point and looked down. The river was roaring and the banks leading to it deep sand and sprinkled with rocks that could easily topple down when jarred loose. We slowly made our way down the steep incline, passing hikers that looked like they had survived a battle of the elements. Not that I look glamorous climbing steep inclines, my time would come for that soon enough.
We very, and I mean very, carefully made our way to the river. I slid on my butt (intentionally) creating mini rockslides. I figured better the rocks slide and I have a dusty bottom than a smashed face from falling forward. Joe and I spent some time searching for some cairns while still maintaining contact with where the trail met up on the other side. It would do no good to cross and then realize we couldn’t get back on the trail. We found a spot that, dare I say, looked slow and manageable.
Joe went first with the instruction to give me a thumbs up on the other side if the current wasn’t strong since there was no way I’d hear him over the roaring river. He crossed and the water went to his thigh but he reached the other side quickly without issue. He gave me the thumbs up so off I went. This time I know I shouted out loud from shock, the water reached my butt and it was COLD! I made it across fairly easily and like before immediately tore my wet shoes off to try and relieve my feet from the searing pain after a dip in the icy waters.
We both rejoiced on the other side with cheers of triumph and a high five before putting our shoes back on. We stuck around a little longer since another hiker was coming down and we wanted to make sure he got across since he didn’t have poles. Joe offered him a hand from the other side and hauled him up. Hikers helping other hikers and this was our way of paying it forward. We started our steep climb to Cloud Cap and while it was steep, it was short and the thought of lunch tempted us as our reward. After lunch is when the misery set in.
The ascent out of Cloud Cap was an absolutely miserable climb. Full exposure (no trees to speak of), the sun was high in the sky, deep sand in sections, and air that became increasingly thinner. My contacts started sticking to my eyeballs making it hard to focus on anything. Joe would point something out in the distance and more often than not my reply was something like, "Yeah can't see that honey, my right eye is blurred." I ended up just putting my sun hoody over my ball cap, putting my head down, shuffling forward while sipping water to prevent dehydration, and chanting in my head to just keep moving. |
| The way up Lamberson Spur, note how far away Joe is |
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| Getting closer |
Once again Joe was ahead but I didn’t pay much attention, just kept the ever slow process of going up. Up and up and up. My beacon of hope was knowing that eventually, I would hit the highest point of the entire loop, Lamberson Butte, and what goes up eventually goes down. We hit some final patches of lingering snow, but nothing major, and kept moving.
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| Crossing what remained of the snowfields |
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| Still going up, no end in sight |
Finally, we were there, the top. I can’t tell you how long it took, I’m pretty sure I was delusional by the time I got there, but the sigh of relief I felt was like nothing else. The climb was done and I could finally look up and appreciate the view.
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| Finally! The top of Lamberson Spur |
Absolutely marvelous sweeping views of the entire Columbia gorge where the green of the Cascade foothills transformed to the brown of the high desert and an absolutely magnificent view of Mount Hood. The day was getting late and we still had a crossing left so as hard as it was to move on, we began the descent down and around Gnarl Ridge.
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| View of the Columbia Gorge, a little hazy and hard to capture in a photo |
Hitting the ridgeline we were greeted with another spectacular view this time of Newton Falls and the impressive canyon it had carved its way through. We could see Newton Creek from above and it reminded us that the hours were getting later and we still had to descend and a river to cross.
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| Our first view of Newton Falls which feeds Newton Creek |
We started our descent, a lovely rolling one that was peaceful and shaded. By this point Joe was cruising, I lost sight of him but that’s okay and one of the beautiful things about hiking together. You don’t have to be together all the time and there have been hikes I’ve forged ahead and left him behind. It's rare, but we all have our days. But that day my feet were absolutely aching. Let’s be honest, most of my body was aching, so I was just plodding along gently enjoying the reprieve and the return of the flowers.
Eventually, we landed at the banks of Newton Creek. It was scary looking. Scarier than all other crossings. Let it be noted, 4pm is not the ideal time to cross a glacial-fed river on a hot day. After a lot of scouting and grumbling, we saw another hiker on the other side who helpfully shouted across the river and directed us to an area he crossed. In typical fashion, Joe went first and right on par, he made it look easy.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that my husband is 6’5” and much stronger and sturdier than I am. I was halfway across when full fear set in. I had just reached an area below the falls and the water was past my knees and moving fast. I cried out to Joe, “I can’t do this!” But bless him because when I’m mentally freaking out, he’s calm. Never shows what he might be thinking and just acts.
It took a little shouting over the fast waters to get our plan together, but in the end, I handed him one of my trekking poles, he took my now empty hand and hauled me up just like he had done for the previous hiker earlier in the day. I honestly don’t know if I would have gone for a swim that day and I’m just lucky I didn’t need to find out because of Joe.
Both of us were absolutely spent so we took a few minutes on the bank filling up our water and relaxing knowing the day was almost done. It was only after Joe mentioned he had a rougher time crossing than he let on, that I realized just how difficult Newton Creek was. Also, another sign that no matter what he is definitely the calmer one between us.
We hauled ourselves up the bank and camped right by the river in a patch of trees. The site wasn’t scenic, but at that point, we didn’t care. Exhaustion and hunger had fully taken over so without any fanfare we set up camp for our last night and by 8pm we were both tucked away in our tents in preparation for our final day. A bittersweet but rewarding feeling to know we were almost done.
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