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| Paulina Peak and Paulina Lake |
On the final day of our central Oregon trip, I woke up at first light— which, at this latitude, was about 5am. I tumbled out of the sleeping bag, zipped up my puffy jacket, and walked to the lake shore. The wind of the night before had vanished, leaving Paulina Lake undisturbed except for the ripples caused by a fishing boat and some mallard ducks.
I spent a good hour trying to get a fire going because everything was damp with dew ("Building a fire" went on my mental checklist of things to learn). When Zach woke up, he coaxed the smoldering mess into flames, and soon the three of us drew up chairs around the fire for one last camp breakfast. It was hard to believe we were going home today. I felt like I could continue camping forever.
Zach and I walked a mile or so on a trail that ran around the shore of the lake. We were searching for hot springs which bubble up from the banks, but the lake was too high and had covered them, so we never found them. Still, the hike felt like an exotic tropical walk: the lake shone a glassy turquoise, small gnarled pines grew out of the lava rock, and thickets of manzanita were in flower.
We lingered out our beautiful campsite for a few hours, slowly packing up. But at last we were on the road, leaving the tropical pocket for lodgepole pine forests, then for open high desert (with Mount Jefferson and Mount Hood dominating the skyline, wreathed in clouds), then into the forests of the Cascades as we drove over Mount Hood. Gray clouds closed in, and a halfhearted rain sprinkled down.
The desert was behind us, and home (in Vancouver) was ahead: showers, laundry, catching up on email. Our trip was over, but I felt that it had changed me in more ways that one. I had a lot to think about now.
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