October 19, 2001

It's always a little sad when summer comes to an end, but I can't help thinking autumn is the most beautiful season of the year. I love the crisp weather and the glowing colors. Seems like such a royal time, when all the trees and bushes are dressed in their brightest colors. What a way to finish the year... with a blaze of glory.

 In September I went backpacking with my dad in the Eagle Cap Wilderness area. We went a total of 39 miles in four days, with 30 pound packs. Admittedly, I was a little nervous about the trip when I heard how far we were going. I wasn't sure I had the endurance for it. But I needn't have worried. Dad and I had been hiking all summer, and when he announced this trip, we were both ready and in excellent shape.

The first day we hiked up to Ice Lake from the Wallowa trailhead.  It was a hot day, and both Dad and I had to take frequent breaks. Bob Korn hiked on ahead, and waited for us at the turns. I couldn't believe how much energy he had. However, it was rewarding to reach the top and make camp on the lakes' edge. Later that day, we climbed the Matterhorn, a white dome of rock that overlooked the whole lake basin.

From the top I had cell phone reception and made some phone calls. It was getting late when we turned to go down. Darkness overtook us about half way. By flashlight, we found ourselves crawling through a boulder field and through the brush around the lake. It was a great relief to get back to the campground late that night.

Some other campers who had packed in by horse and mule were playing cards and saw us come in. They noticed how weary the three of us were, and wouldn't let us pass without resting our feet at their camp.

As I sat down in one of the comfortable chairs they provided, I noticed the two guys had been drinking. Though they were a little loud and aggressively friendly, they did everything they could to make us welcome, offering drinks, food and supplies. We politely declined, but they were insistent. Finally, I accepted a glass of lemonade, which made them feel better.

The September 11th event in New York had occurred only a few days before, so it wasn't long before someone brought it up. That led to a long discussion, where I just sipped my lemonade and listened.

Everyone had a different opinion on the subject. It was interesting to listen and recognize the concerns from each point of view. One of the men was angered at what had happened, and supported a violent retaliation. He didn't think anyone should get away with what happened. Dad, a non-violent love-your-enemies Christian, couldn't support that idea. What good could inflicting more pain and death accomplish?

Furthermore, someone pointed out, why had this happened in the first place? You don't just hijack a plane and crash it into a major building for nothing. What kind of deep hatred or severe frustration drove (or flew) them to such extreme measures? Maybe they were really trying to say something.

 Yawning in exhaustion, I tried to stay awake, but we had put in a hard day and my eyes were getting heavy. The conversation was getting deep, and could likely go on all night. It was to my great relief when someone suggested singing campfire songs.

After singing several dozen songs, Dad was getting tired, too. Sleepily, the two campers waved us off as we ambled back to our tent several hundred feet away. It had been a long day.

The next day we went cross country, aiming for Razz Lake. As it turned out, the mountain we chose to climb was not as easy as it looked from below. We carefully climbed through rocks and sliding shale. But at the top, to our disappointment, there was yet another mountain between us and Razz. Far below was a beautiful unnamed lake, and still full of energy, we started down toward it.

Several hours later we had lunch beside the small lake, and wondered if it was possible to pass over the next mountain range to Razz and the rest of the lake basin.

It was midday by the time we started around the mountain. It was impossible to go straight over, so we veered left around the lower edge.

Black clouds drifted in, and lightening appeared in the sky. Pushing forward, we found ourselves climbing down steep rock walls and around sheer cliffs. Progress was painfully slow, especially with heavy, fully loaded packs.

The heights were dizzying, and I struggled to keep a clear head. The whole lake basin stretched out before us, with tiny sparkling diamonds that I knew were lakes. We were so high that I could look down and see birds soaring below. Dad suggested going back if anyone felt this was too intense. But all of us agreed that the worst was behind, so we continued on.

We climbed across the edge of the mountain and started back toward Razz, trying not to lose altitude. Dad had a handheld, battery operated GPS, which constantly showed our location and elevation. It was invaluable to us, as we made our way through unknown territory.

The terrain was increasingly dangerous. According to the GPS, we had only gone a few miles in the whole day. My legs ached, and my fingers were sore from gripping rocks and trees.

At one point dad and I found ourselves on an extremely dangerous outcropping of rock. Bob had already scrambled down, using a different route. Dad and I, however, tried going directly down a steep, smooth granite surface. The rock began crumbling under our feet, and every step was treacherous.

On hands and knees, we inched across it backwards, trying to find solid footholds in the weatherworn rock. It felt like hours before we reached solid ground again.

Soon it became apparent we would never reach Razz this way. The cliffs became too sharp and the ground became just short of impassible. The only way would be to go down to the trail far below and work our way around and back up to Razz.

When Dad announced this, I groaned. I couldn't bear the thought of going all the way down just to climb back up. "What about camping there?" I asked, pointing to Horseshoe Lake glimmering below.

After consulting the maps as well as the GPS, we all decided to give up on Razz until another day. Daylight was running out, and the first drops of rain were falling.

By the time we reached the edge of Horseshoe Lake, the clouds had opened we found ourselves in a complete downpour. That was a dark night, as we tried to build a fire and eat dinner in the pouring rain.

The next day was brighter. We fried pancakes for breakfast before packing up and hitting the trail again. That day we saw most of the lakes in the basin. Hiking fast, we put on plenty of distance, trying to make up for lost time. The day before, we had only managed to travel three and a half miles.

That afternoon we ate lunch by a tiny lake called Sunshine. It was a cute little thing, and I managed to take a picture of Dad and Bob as they nibbled crackers and cheese.

Late afternoon found us climbing Glacier Pass. Thunderstorms had moved in again, and lightning flickered in the sky. I joked that every time we climbed a mountain, the lightening came out.

It was beautiful and exhilarating to be so close to the storm. But Dad was deeply disappointed when we realized it would be too dangerous to climb Eagle Cap Mountain in an electrical storm.

On the other side was Glacier Lake. It was striking, nestled on a steppe in the mountains. There were several little islands, and cascading off the edge was a lovely little waterfall. I snapped several pictures, but they were too dark because of the storm.

The last camp was by a river below Glacier Lake. After dinner we all huddled around the campfire and Dad gave an inspirational talk. The next day would be our last in the Eagle Cap Wilderness, and this was a little sad.

Morning came too quickly, and in the frosty morning air, we ate cereal and graham crackers. As the morning sun climbed over the mountain, we packed up and hit the trail.

The hours ticked by as we marched down the trail. Everyone was quiet, lost in their own thoughts. I was dreaming of the next book I would write. Indeed, I had already started one.. a fairytale of sorts. It just needed an ending. I resolved to finish it when I got home.

It was still early in the day when we reached the trailhead. I used fuel tablets and a small cook pot to heat water for soup. It was a welcome lunch after a long journey.

Since then, I have achieved some exciting goals. I did finish that story, and it turned out to be about 38 pages. I feel like I've reached a milestone in my life. That was one of my goals... to finish a story. It's not a novel or anything, but it's a good start. I know of too many people who start good books, but don't know how to finish them.

That was one of my greatest fears; to have a stockpile of unfinished manuscripts. I guess every writer worries about that. But now that fear is becoming less prominent. I have dedicated all my talents to Jesus, which includes my desire to write. I figure if He wants me to use it, He'll give me the inspiration and courage to go forward.

Several short hikes followed the Eagle Cap trip. Dad and I went camping at Marion Lake. David Brugger came, also, and caught lots of fish. It was my first experience with fishing, so I watched with interest as he gutted and fried them on a rock by the open fire.

Dad had hauled a small seven pound inflatable raft in his pack. The first night we arrived at the lake, we took it out by flashlight. It was eerie to paddle across the water in the dark. The moon wasn't going to rise until 8:30, so we used flashlights to see.

After touching the other shore, Dad allowed me to take the oars. As I struggled to understand the paddles, I began to feel frustrated. I had never done it before, and I felt awkward. One paddle just wouldn't stay straight. I found myself going in circles.

Suddenly, to my horror, the end of the paddle just came OFF! I gasped in shock as it drifted swiftly away from the raft. Dad heard my cry, and grabbed the other oar from me. With firm strokes, he guided the raft toward the paddle. I reached out to grab it, but my fingers were just inches too far from it.

Dad struggled to bring the raft closer. I kept the flashlight on it, and reached again. Suddenly, without a sound, the paddle sunk. I watched in numbed silence as it dropped out of sight in the black water.

"Where did it go?" Dad demanded, as though he didn't know. Chilly silence followed. All the way back to camp, as Dad paddled with one oar, I felt pangs of regret. I knew he was annoyed.

It had been a simple mistake. The paddle had come unscrewed, and I hadn't realized it until it was too late. Now I watched the grim look on Dad's face and knew he was very upset. He had looked forward to using the raft, but with only one oar it would be more difficult.

I sighed. I couldn't remember having a good boating experience in my life. From the time in Florida when I went out on the alligator infested lake without a life jacket or permission to use the canoe, to the more recent experience at camp when the boat tipped over and it took me so long to swim back to shore, I have had a series of unpleasant experiences. Now I had another memory to add. Someday, I promised myself, I would replace those bad memories with good ones. But tonight, I was too tired and disappointed.

The next day we hiked to the 8-lake basin, cooked a hot lunch on the waterfront, and climbed a mountain. Back at camp, Dad and I sawed up logs with the "pocket chainsaw" he had brought. It was a saw chain with loops on the ends, and you pulled it back and forth to cut the wood.

While we were working on one particular log, a swarm of bees came out of their nest in the ground and nailed me. My elbow swelled up immediately, and the rest of the trip I was grouchy about it.

By the time we got back to the car, we had gone 21 miles in three days. It was a relief to get home and take a hot shower.

I naturally assumed that would be our last hike for the year, but before we could put our packs away, I discovered another hike. The Chemeketans, a local hiking club, were hiking up Mt. Yoran, an hour east of Eugene. I mentioned it to my Dad, and the next thing I knew, we were packing our gear for a day hike.

There were 12 people on the hike. I had never hiked with more than four at a time, so this took some adjustment. At first, we all stayed together, like a train rushing up the trail. But over time, the group drifted apart into three sections. That gave everyone a chance to talk and get acquainted.

Dad both embarrassed and made me proud. I've long ago realized that I risk my reputation every time I take him anywhere. He preaches the Kingdom of Heaven wherever he goes, no matter who he's talking to. I have to laugh. In a way I wish I had the courage to speak up like that.

And that brings us up-to-date. This is late, I know. I have no excuse for myself. I need to learn to keep these things short, not only for the sake of my readers, but for the sake of my procrastination problem. I love to write, but once I get started, I don't want to quit. Then, next time I sit down at the keyboard, I remember the sore fingertips and strained eyes and think of a thousand other things that I'd rather do. *laughing*

So as winter descends on us, I pray this turns out to be a beautiful year. Many people are frightened and allowing the events in this world to terrify them. Seems that every season has its reasons to panic.

Only two years ago Y2K was a crisis. The threat was that the computers all over the world would crash, thus plunging the world in chaos. And this year, people are concerned about war, anthrax, bombs, terrorism.

I can't quote the verse... I'd have to look it up, but somewhere it says that "there will always be wars, and rumors of war." In other words, I suspect we'll always be on the verge of disaster. That's life.

More pictures have been added to the photo album. If you have a chance, do look them over.

May the Peace and Joy of Jesus be with you!

Lady Brooke

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