I hiked up Dog Mountain on Saturday.
Every muscle below my waist aches.
The hike is brutal: a 2900 foot rise in three very short and steep miles.
It was a cloudy day, too, which was unfortunate and fortunate all at once.
Unfortunately, we couldn't see anything when we reached the top of our climb (about halfway up, we could still see beneath the clouds, and we were afforded an incredible view of the Columbia River and the Gorge, but from the top, nothing but white.)
Fortunately, the mist that settled in at about 2000 feet was uncanny and beautiful in its own way. We anticipated the appearance of gnomes or tree sprites. And it wouldn't have surprised me had King Arthur and his knights come riding by on horseback, jingling and jangling in their heavy amour.
Working our way slowly up the mountain, we soon came out of the forest.
The mist was screaming by in the wind, and we pulled up and tightened our hoods.
We were standing on the edge of a meadow growing on the side of Dog Mountain at a 45 degree angle.
Yellow flowers, part of the sunflower family, but squatting near the ground, dominated the meadow's color scheme. Here and there, white and purple flowers pronounced themselves.
Once at the top, we could see that the meadow grew on the West side of the mountain, and that the East side was still heavily forested. We stepped across the line dividing East and West, and in one moment were transported from a dry, windswept meadow into a dripping rain forest.
One step back, and we easily found a dry spot to sit and eat our PB&J sandwiches.
