I just got back from an amazing adventure with my son and his friend. We attempted to hike the full Timberline trail, an incredible 39 mile loop around the Mt. Hood wilderness, but the snow pack was still too thick around the northeast slope of the mountain to make it safely. In fact there was so much snow in some parts that the entire trail was covered. There were some places in which we couldn’t see the trail and any tracks that might have been made in the snow had melted. So all we could do was to mark our last known best spot and go in search.
We were lost on this trip. A lot.
And the interesting thing to me was realizing how many ways there are of being lost. Like, lost isn’t just one thing. We can be lost in different ways both in kind and in degree.
This piece starts out with a memory of a truly epic day I had in the Wallowas, a strike-slip formed range in Northeast Oregon that are truly spectacular. I planned a pretty optimistic day. My son was just about 4 and my now middle daughter was 1, so I had to make the most of my time. I planned a 4 AM start, which sounded good at the time. But it was so dark- I couldn’t find the trailhead. I wound up losing (and finding) my keys, but suffice it to say it was a lousy way to start what turned out to be an amazing trip up summiting Eagle cap and out in a single day.
The other two ways of being lost came from this trip. When we were returning we wound up passing by Ramona Falls a second time- a gorgeous water fall streaming over a black basalt face. The timberline trail exists after Ramona falls heading sharply south into the Sandy river gorge. But there’s also a trail that heads to a parking area miles away. As we were heading out the sign pointed to parking at the PCT, the Pacific Crest Trail. And at that point in the trail, the Timberline and the PCT are the same. So, we wound up following this really nice path down the mountain thinking we were just fine. But the further we walked we started to have an uneasy feeling. Had we gone this far on the way up? And wasn’t this trail wider? And where did all these people come from?
Yeah, we added a few miles to our already long day, because we missed our very narrow turn off that was actually behind us on the trail. And we followed a sign that seemed to be leading us in the right direction. As we finally figured out our error and made our weary way back up the trail I had this realization- the worst kind of being lost is when you don’t know you’re lost at all. And when you’re lost on a wide, popular trail with all these other people on it. You can begin to move into cruise control. You’re just walking and not thinking about where you’re going- being carried along by the easiness of the path. But if it’s the wrong path, you can only go so far because you have to stop and turn around. And the longer you go; the steeper the price.
There Are So Many Ways of Being Lost There are so many ways of being lost. Sometimes, you can’t find where the trail begins. You search but every opening turns into brush. Other times you have trail when snow pack buries the way. No tracks on the surface. You stop and look forward, hoping, or return back how you came. The hardest is finding yourself on a busy path meant for others. It is wide. Easy. Everyone supports you on this trail. They feel you are safe. But it is not your road to take. This path is the most difficult to leave, because you tell yourself it must be right. How could so many be so wrong? But you’ve walked too far, and you know it- you’ve lost the song line. So you double back, frustrated at wasting time but alert now for the turn off meant for you when you see it there- a small, hidden trail beckoning to the right. It’s steeper, the grade more difficul to scale, but the sky opens up and your heart sings stepping out into the light—not knowing where it leads only that this new direction feels right.