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My Broken Top Trek July 00

The hike began in a moderate vein through the ripe green meadow grasses celebrated with midget bug wings rising a full 11 inches with every footfall. The errant Rudi, a toy poodle, is in tow verses tug, his enthrall rising at the twine of a scent. This dog’s nose knows no moderation, the greedy channels locked in full flood of sensory scintillation. Toes tingling with enthusiasm, his whiff-and-pee repeats endlessly.

Passing along the lake, placid now, beckoning the feet with its clear call of cool, this will be missed in the extreme soon, but onward, and indeed upward, for when we find the trail it absolutely soars.

I reach for my truest gear, thinking of the workouts at the “Y”, treading in earnest, thirty minutes to the stretch, two miles logged, 400 calories burned. Hunkering into the aerobic gait, the first mile is arduous, breathing with intent, comfort in complete abeyance. Tam Mc Arthur Rim had a formidable look from the lake, but this indirect end walk promises to surmount the obstacle, and what’s a bit of optimism for?

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The first plateau is a confidence builder, kind of a walking respite, leg strokes powering, breath taut, but no problem. The next gradients are taken with confidence, slowing to be sure, but glimpsing now and then the promise of the Sisters.

I achieve a vantage point that overlooks the lake, and reveals the famous peaks of the Oregon Cascades, Mt Hood, Mt Jefferson, Three Fingered Jack, Mt Washington, and to the distant north, Mt Adams in Washington.

The onward trail will now not be denied me. I am pumped and my legs will enjoy no sympathy. Upward is the answered call to anticipated vistas supreme.

At its top, the scale of Tam Mc Arthur Rim is beyond anticipation. The scoop of the abyss opening before me is more than I can stomach, and I retreat sheepishly from the edge. Intrepid Rudi, sure footed with four, and closer to the ground, is intolerably venturesome. I call him back from the brink, unable to quell the imagined power of the void (these thrills are not cheap; I worked hard to get here)!

The Sisters, now in full panorama, are a quiet majestic thrill. They are truly sisters, for they are one conjoined prominence, with three very distinct points in the sky, 10,044’, 10,085’, and 10,50’ for South Sister. I can’t believe I didn’t bring a camera.

It is Broken Top, however, which commands my most fervent interest. Viewed distantly for many years from Davis Lake to the south, it holds the highest degree in my esteem for these citadels of the Cascades. It is Broken Top as much as anything else that has called me forth on this long summer weekend, far from the world of work in the distant Rogue Valley. For long minutes I simply breath in and feed.

At this incredible vantage point I must declare a summit. I am so close to Broken Top, and Broken Hand, a new acquaintance, that to venture closer would afford me a lesser view. That, and my energy is totally spent.

The descent is a welcome gradient, but what took four hours to ascend must surely take two to descend, and the bones that thrust my body to these heights, are starting to complain. And now it is the unholy grail of gin and tonic that becomes the dualism of my quest. I can think of nothing better.

I watch the landmarks of my climb fall dutifully behind me as I observe the reserves of my energy dwindle to the straits of dire. I glimpse the lake finally, alarmingly far below. The brakes of my haunches are tellingly deplete. I look for the place in my mind that knows it will prevail, but its confidence is meager.

The lake comes in and out of view, reluctantly closer, as the trial winds on interminably. It is increasingly hot as I finally gain the road below and settle into the final leg of my return to camp.

As Rudi, the dog of the hour, drinks deep and long from the crystal quench of the lake, I celebrate his out-door doggedness. He has made the grade. Not a whimper passed his fuzzy little lips.

My own quench comes back at camp as the alchemy and fluid dynamics of G&T come together over ice to provide the only bliss I want. The folding camp chair, the lovely shade, a trickle of breeze, and my bones come to rest.

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