In our last installment, Tex and Fed had just begun their Journey eastward… toward the Murdertrees…

Our Story now continues in:

PART TWO: 

 

Saturday Morning- Into The Misty Mountains

Not too far out of Issaquah, we began our ascent into the mountains and forestal terrain, and were treated to the sights of snow-laden trees shrouded in silken mist. The Interstate was plowed, but there were patchy areas of slush within the lanes, and long shoulders of crystallized precipitation framing the roadway. Fed glanced over and, noting the concern on my face, said that he didn’t know why the hell I looked stressed out, he was the one who was driving in these conditions. I tried to reassure him that his driving was fine, and that the expression which I wore upon my face was merely that which I wore by default. He turned his attention back to the road, while I tried to appear slightly less terrified.

Were my life or freedom to depend upon apparent sincerity or joyous anticipation, I would soon be left without either. I’ve spent my entire adult life in the Mastery of Snark, and my tone now drips sarcasm no matter what the message. Countless times I’ve been forced into confrontation when uttering something contextually sensitive, and missing it by errant tonal intonations. It’s really hard to convince someone that you’re not mocking them, when the only tone of voice with which you are left is that of biting mockery. Combine that with a face of furrowed brow and permascowl, and everyone simply assumes that you’d rather nothing to do with them, and that you’d prefer that they would leave. At least now, as I get older, I am given the benefit of doubt in that people sometimes assume that they may, in fact, actually be on my lawn.

The freeway soon cleared as we descended, and it was then that Fed laid out his Master Plan: we would drive in to the Salmon La Sac Trailhead, and and hike the trail, setting up camp in the sublime witchery of the Pacific Northwest, and spending two nights in the wilderness that had long been missing during my stay in California. I hoped that I would appear to be excited, but I’m sure only trepidation was conveyed. I was a little nervous about a miles-long slog up a mountainside, as it had been years since I’d done any physical recreation regularly, but I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my best friend, brother by choice, the best man at my wedding. We stopped off for some gas and rocket fuel (an entirely too large can of Monster, purchased primarily for its potential as a resealable ashtray), and a few short minutes later, were back on our way.

Past Rosalyn, we drove, and then on through the town of Ronald (home of The Last Resort, a reportedly underwhelming dining experience). The roads were snowy here, but dry, and our Hybrid Chariot handled had no problem making it past the Sno-Park and onto the Forest Roads.

 

The driving became more difficult as we departed from paved roadways, and we were grateful to see that snowmobilers had paved grooves into the powdery snow that Fed’s car could more easily traverse. Deeper into the forest we drove, ascending and descending elevations more of an obstacle now, as we attempted the deepest trailhead in. But we were finally stopped by wrong turn and an inability to execute a three-point turn in virgin snow. Stalled sideways in the road, we soon were past by roaming bands of snowmobilers, who offered us assistance and a minimum of taunting. With the strength of three kind-hearted strangers (and the leaning mass of Tex Batmart), we got the Subaru turned around, and headed back toward the Salmon La Sac Campground, where we could park and hit one of three trails at the end of which we would pitch the tent and get ready for the falling night.

 

Saturday Afternoon- Lost In Mirkwood

Fed parked the car, and I set about to combine the contents of the backpack I’d brought with those in the larger hiking-framed pack that Fed had brought for me. After donning the cold weather gear contained within, I shoved, squeezed, and manhandled my foodstuffs, Moleskine journals, and Digital SLR into the empty spaces of the larger pack, and we set off to see which of the hikes seemed more realistic to attempt. We discounted the more advanced route, as neither of us believed that a man of my advanced eld could manage it, but settled on the intermediary trail as a more viable alternative. I could already feel the increased pressure on my legs and back, but decided that it was probably something that I would just have to deal with and get over. Fed popped on his snowshoes and up the trail we headed.

We walked around and up and down, following a barely visible path alongside moss-hung trees with snow-laden branches, and punctuated by boulders that had seemingly been frozen in their eruptions up from within the very earth, and been blanketed as well, as if to lull them back to sleep and peace. Up and around, a twisting trail through mountain forest glory did we travel. I needed more rest stops than I had earlier anticipated, but the fact is that I was out of shape, with shorter legs, and Fed was fit and healthy, wearing snowshoes. Eventually the trail opened up, and we realized that we had crossed a road. While I took a moment to catch my breath and have a smoke, Fed consulted his iPad, trying to discover if we’s somehow lost the trail, and had crossed onto another.

We decided to continue on, finding a trail just a short distance from the road. It crossed over a small creek, which we forded by judiciously stepping on a stone in the center of the flow. And up the other bank we continued until, from about twenty feet in front of me, I heard, “Son of a bitch. I don’t believe it.”

I scrambled up the remaining distance (more like old man shuffling), and then I saw it as well. We’d walked for couple of hours, trudging (well, I was trudging; Fed was gliding like Legolas o’er Caradhras) through the elements, only to arrive right back to where we’d parked the car. We consulted the trail map again, and couldn’t figure how we lost the trail, but decided that it was now too late to give it another go. Luckily for us, Fed had been prepared with contingency plan in place, should we be unable to attain this route. We would head to Cooper Lake, further back toward Ronald, but still nearly six miles into the wilderness. It didn’t appear that anyone had gone out there, so it looked like we have the whole place to ourselves. We loaded the backpacks into the Subaru, and then ourselves, and drove around the Cul-de-Salmon La Sac, on the way to Cooper Lake.

 

To Be Continued….

 

The Adventure Continues tommorrow in Part Three! I know I promised you Murdertrees today, so here is a sneak peek at tomorrow’s terror-inspiring antagonist, The Murdertree:

-Tex