Hiking Slowly
I love a good road trip, and I love planning a good road trip. I can find the most obscure thing to stop and look at, like a true oasis off a freeway in the middle of the desert (Zzyzx Road, for my friends in Southern California). I will find any excuse to hit the road. For example, my daughter needed to get to the airport really early on a Saturday before a long weekend. Obviously that is a sign from the Universe telling me to go on a drive.
Of course, the ocean was my final destination, but I needed to find a few stops along the way. So, I headed north, dropped off the kid at the most ungodly hour of 4 am, and continued up to Portland, Oregon. I had been here once before, so I knew exactly where I wanted to go. A friend introduced me to Stumptown coffee years ago, and the original Voodoo Doughnuts is right down the street, so those were necessary stops to fuel up before heading into the woods.
With my tummy full and caffeine running through my system, I headed out to Washington Park. I had been to the International Rose Test Garden before and wanted to explore the area a bit more. Just 10 minutes from Old Town, Washington Park is on a hill overlooking the city and houses the Rose Garden, the Oregon Zoo, massive homes, and dozens of walking trails, among other things. I did some research ahead of time to find a path on AllTrails and managed to snag a parking spot at the trailhead that allowed me to step out of the car and right into nature. (Ok, we know it didn’t happen like that, it took me like 10 minutes to get my gear on, I had to figure out how to pay for parking, and I had to stop and chat with the child carrying hiking poles twice as tall as him to find out if I needed mine – the five-year-old said no, so I didn’t pull them out. He’s the expert. Obviously.)
It was the middle of winter, a blanket of clouds hovered above the trees, it was cold enough to see my breath, precipitation fluctuated between a heavy mist and a light sprinkle, the ground was muddy in some areas, and the trees were covered in bright green moss. Have I mentioned before that I love moss? I. LOVE. MOSS!!! Moss turns an otherwise dark and dreary atmosphere into a bright and lively space. It seems to glow. It embodies neon green of the ‘80s (yes, way back in the nineteen-hundreds). It’s like a party is happening on those bare branches. I was in heaven.
I don’t think I made it ten steps onto the trail before stopping to marvel at the moss-covered tree at the trailhead. Then I got distracted and had to go look at all the different views from the covered picnic area, where I spotted a cement circle under a tree that I assumed was placed there for a reason, so I had to check that out. From there I headed down the hill toward something pretty that had caught my eye and got distracted by a patch of bamboo growing in the middle of this conifer forest. I could still see the parking lot but was already lost. No one is surprised.
I pulled out my phone (who are we kidding, I had taken over a dozen photos, that device was already in my hand.), located the trail I was supposed to be on, and started actually hiking. There is a reason I call myself The Slow Hiker, people. This forest was so magical that I had to (yes HAD TO) stop every few feet to look at the moss. Climbing up trunks of trees, draping over large branches, hanging off of skinny twigs, mingling with leaves and pine needles, and allowing other plants to take root and thrive above ground. It was awe-inspiring.
Every so often, I would remember that my parking permit was timed, so I needed to actually walk at a normal pace (I always double the time AllTrails says a trail will take, just in case. Yeah, my time still ran out.). That pace didn’t last long because I would have to marvel at something beautiful or tell the fairies that I wouldn’t say anything about finding their toadstool house or enjoy the view on both sides of a bridge or figure out which way to go every time there was a fork in the road. Listen, there were at least a dozen trails, and they all intersected at some point, giving me ample opportunity to make a wrong turn. I literally had to stop at the intersections to figure out where I wanted to go. I only made a wrong turn once. Yay me!
Speaking of bridges… I was excited to see that there were several on the trail. Heights are not my thing, but I have come to a place in my life where I’m comfortable crossing a bridge and I even make sure to stand in the middle and take photos of the water as it flows beneath me. Except for one bridge toward the end of the trail. I’m sure it was sturdy, but it looked like a bunch of two-by-fours laying across a trestle and there weren’t any handrails. I didn’t stop on this one. I just focused on the trail ahead and kept my feet moving.
I made it across that rickety bridge, climbed up the path on the other side, checked out the hanging moss on the branches arching over the trail, and then spotted the most vibrant bunch of bare, red branches. I had spent over an hour looking at all of the shades of green possible, and then I was greeted with this beautiful, bright surprise. Being winter, there were no leaves, just the branches sticking out of the ground in all of their glory. And then, I turned around, and this tiny little plant flashed its leaves at me like a shy little child might smile and waive from behind their parents’ legs. It’s the little things, my friends. Remember to keep an eye out for those little pieces of magic that you might otherwise pass right by.
