Snapped my fly rod. My own fault; I know better than to pull at a snag that way. Truth is, I was testing it, and deservedly, we both failed. That's what I get for going cheap on the gear, then pushing it to see how much it could take. But when I bought it I wasn't sure I was going to take to this exceedingly fussy, ridiculously expensive blood sport, with the floating lines and the sinking lines and the weight balancing and the leaders and tippets and knots and gazillion different sorts of teeny little flies, not to mention that it took me two days studying the Oregon fishing regulations to figure out what kind of fish I was allowed to catch in what water with what gear, whether I could keep the big ones or the little ones, or, most often, none at all, and so on and so on. But once I found the rhythm of this whole fly fishing deal, I did find it a very pleasant way to waste a day in what's left of the wilder bits of America. If I lived near good fly fishing water I might be tempted to upgrade, but for now, it's back to Wal-Mart -unless I can find a good pawn shop deal first.
So with fishing suddenly and unexpectedly over for the time being, I pointed the Sabbatmobile back east, heading back over the Cascades to the dry side again, this time through Santiam Pass; much less dramatic, but it does have the advantage of not closing for the season at the first snowfall in October. I hit cell coverage at the crest, called my friends in Bend, Sandy & Al, and asked; "what's for supper?" Ravioli, turns out. The next day was a regular work day for Al (an exceptional high-school biology teacher) so Sandy decided that a hike at Smith Rock, a few miles northeast of Terrebonne, would make a nice outing. "Fantastic landscape" she says. And she wasn't kidding...
However, she failed to mention the name of the trail leading to these views...
(The trail head -where we started- is down by that river, the Crooked River)
...: Misery Ridge. Starting at 2,600 feet (above sea level; Bowling Green KY is 700) steep, no nonsense switchbacks proceed up another 600 feet to the top of the ridge. I was panting like a dog, my poor old heart pounding to try and compensate for the thinning air. Misery Ridge indeed. But, as you can see, the reward was rich. The funny looking knob in the right foreground of the above image is called Monkey Face. I'm not sure you can tell in this shot, but the reason for that name is obvious when you behold the real thing; a bit startling actually. What I know you can't see in this shot is the two climbers standing on top of the monkey's head, like lice. That's some serious technical climbing, and in fact Smith Rock is considered the birthplace of modern sport climbing. The place was crawling with climbers, and they made my panting up a walking trail seem even more pathetic. But google it and you'll find that Smith Rock is a world class climbing destination, and so usually is crawling with climbers. Rock lizards. Once I might have been one of them, but that's one of many pastimes sadly no longer in the cards for me. I'm lucky to have survived Misery Ridge without strokin' out. But I'd do it again.
No comments:
Post a Comment