Brown Ben

A Tale for Little One's

   While Jamie and Ian were on an adventure, one path they visited was the Oregon Trail. It was called a trail for its a popular path and that path was in Oregon, a State in America.
   So I take you now, to a winding trail, over stones and logs, beside creeks and rivers, between and beneath the trees. This path winds its way beside a mountain that reaches to the sky like the first morning stretch. They call it Mount Hood, for why we don't know. We do seem to think it smiles down at us far below.
   While we walk up hills and along the trail we notice something strange with the trees we're between. While some stand tall and branch out in places, others do not and hang weak with no leaves. These trees look ill, like something was wrong, but we had not the knowledge to answer you why. Their branches no leaves, their trunks all dark, but up on the bark something stood out. There seemed to be, high up in those trees, a green type of moss clinging to each. When we looked around, we could easily see, the strong trees were clean of this strange type of thing.
   We continue to walk, along our dirt path, listening to the wind and the smell of the grass. It remained a puzzle, as we did not know why, what these trees had that was making them die.
   As our trail journeyed on, the hours they passed, slowly and surely, we made it at last. A meadow we'd reached, a surprise and a treat. These vast rolling hills were called Elk Meadow, sadly to us, no elk could be seen, but a beautiful sight that we sat and took in. With Mount Hood looking over, we walked through the meadow, admiring the flowers and fields of tall grass.
   Towards the far side, against the tree line, we could hear a distinct noise that sounded like us. As we ventured near, it began to be clear, we'd found other people who'd settled in it appeared. They'd made a small camp with a creek nearby, it was two adults and three children who sat comfortable at home. They waved their hands and asked us over, we said our "Hello's" and sat down to join them. They'd been there awhile, enjoying the summer, they loved being in the wild, there was so much to do. They'd come each year to this special spot and the children enjoyed how each year it changed a lot. This made us wonder so we asked if they knew, "What was killing those trees we could see on the trail?"
   The youngest child spoke and said quite clearly, "Don't you know the story of ancient Brown Ben?"
We said to her, "No." And so she began, the story for why the trees had all died.

   "This story was told to us by a wise woman one day, we haven't seen Brown Ben but we know he's around. We thought the same thing when we first came here, we wondered why the trees were so sickly thin. We spent a few years, coming back each time and then one day a wise woman dropped by. We asked her the same, as you have asked us and she said to each of us what I will say to you now.
   'There is an ancient bear that walks in this mountain, he's the size of the trees and as old as the hills. All things had been right as old stories go, until the human's came on the Oregon Trail. It was fine at first, they lived in harmony, but as the years went on more humans arrived. Brown Ben knew how to hide and would keep to himself, but over time he saw what the humans left behind. Each time that they camped, or had a picnic, they would leave rubbish behind and not take it with them. It began with a bag, then a bottle, then a can. Gradually it built up, on the paths, the streams, the grass and the trees.
   At first Brown Ben wasn't sure what it was, but wherever he walked there the rubbish would be. As Brown Ben was an ancient creature who was part of the forest, as he was the forest, so too was it him. The plastic and rubbish stuck to his hair, just as humans would leave it behind with no care. Over time this built up, more plastic on Brown Ben, until one stage he had more green than brown. With so much plastic on Ben, he tried as he could, to scratch it all off wherever he went.
   So these trees that you see, have slowly been killed, by ancient Brown Ben, rubbing plastic on them. That green moss on the bark, in fact it is plastic from all the human discards. It's not Ben's fault, or the trees that you see, it is the human's wasting and leaving it here. So this I tell you, whatever you do, be aware of the waste you create in this world. Plastic doesn't disappear, it remains on this Earth, be mindful of rubbish and where it ends up. If we do this together, and help each other out, slowly you will see Brown Ben re-appear. The trees will come back, the creeks crystal clear, the Earth will thank you, the air will be clean.'
   That is the story the wise woman told to us, so we say it to you, so you pass it on."

   The little girl finished, with plenty of gusto, enough for us to be thankful for the story she told. We knew what she meant, the wise woman also, we'd seen the plastic in places it should not have been. Along creeks and paths, at peaceful picnic spots, rubbish laying on the ground and forgotten about. It frustrated us, to think of the few, that leave litter behind, a disgusting human.
   So we thanked the family, for inviting us here, particularly the young girl for her story telling. We bid them farewell and walked back to our path, slowly we made it back to our car. We said to each other with Mount Hood looking over, we will always take our rubbish and recycle at right places. More importantly say no to plastic where we can and try as it may to limit our waste. The message we think Brown Ben would say is please think of the environment where ever you stay. It may be at home, on a street or a forest, the Earth needs us, just as we need it.

This is the story we learned on our path, we tell it to you so we hope it may last.

Restricted Rainier

Thanos was always right.

   After making our way around Mt St Helen, we headed North to Randle and Packwood to gather items and prepare for Mt Rainier. Our plan was to possibly spend an extra day around Mt Rainier forest as it had plenty of trails to explore.
   Our first lesson was Mt Rainier is clearly the more popular and organised of the mountains. We had a special front gate entrance and Ranger booth to stop at. Here, our Annual Parks pass of $80, which up until this point has meant we did not need to pay the regular $5 parking fee every time we stopped in a National Park, definitely paid for itself. A $30 entry fee to go into Mt Rainier National Park. We thought that was a little steep at the time. Our pass let us continue, so we began the winding road towards the information centre located at a place called 'Paradise'.
   As we wound around the roads we read a little more about Mt Rainier and sadly they did not permit any overnight camping in the entire park if it was outside a designated camping ground. We wondered if we could sneak around a corner somewhere, but sure enough, with their well maintained facilities, nothing could be accessed. So we continued our path to Paradise to see what we could find.
   Paradise is an interesting choice for a name, it may very well have been due to the view. A spectacular, close up of a formiddable snow capped mountain. Sadly to us, it felt Paradise had been lost with the invasion of tourists. It's hard to be hypocrite's but we felt suffocated by the numbers. Quite literally, five thousand other observers were taking in the scenery and another five thousand trying to find a car park. This on a Tuesday. The facility was rapidly expanding its carparks to cater for all of the guests. We chose to drive a little further away to avoid the crowd.
   After some lunch we opted for a short waterfall trail which turned out to be a delight. We then made our way out of the secluded Park area and took the first left we could find along a State road. A little winding and gravel and we made our way atop a nearby hill looking back at Mt Rainier, it's Paradise and restricted camping. We took our time with dinner, mushroom white sauce with chicken, mash potato and green beans. With not a soul about, maybe Thanos did have it right all along. Less people is a lot nicer.

Ape Lava

Hummingbird's don't like spicy italian sausages.

   A drive out of Portland, towards Mount St Helen, our van stocked up and our course set. We had an inkling of options to camp at and knew that a few tourist spot's had been recommended.
   Our first port of call as we crossed into Washington was Ape Cave. Not having a clue why it was called that, we did know it was an old lava tube. What we discovered was the vast size of it. A must see if you are ever in the area, a huge tunnel with a temperature that plummets. Flashlights a must, we made our way slowly through and awed at the depth of such a cave. It was only when exiting we learnt the tunnel had been named after a Boy Scout Group's motto! As it was only discovered recently, we found the name to be slightly unsuitable. Though we had not seen any Elk in any of the meadows, fields or ridges. So what were we to know.
   A camp near Mt St Helen was a delight as we nestled between some trees. A frosty morning didn't concern us when we prepared blackberries and maple syrup on french toast for breakfast.
   Another spectacular trail near Mt St Helen was the Lava Canyon. A sharp twisting, turning lava tube that meant a river became a torrent as it found its way down the mountain.
   That evening we drove to one of the highest look outs and set up camp in one of the small car parks. As the sun set we only received a few visitors who all held a camera. Most took the obligatory selfie pic and many more of the sun setting behind the mountain, which was a gorgeous sight we gratefully appreciated. Brief distractions when a new visitor dropped by. We couldn't help but gawk at one particular lady however as she was clearly not shy in front of us, taking a thousand snaps of herself in various poses with parts of a mountain in her background. Each to their own we reminded ourselves and knew we were just as culpable. 
   As the crowd disappeared we lit up our cooker and prepared spicy hot italian sausages and veggies for dinner. Delicious!
   Our favourite guest of the evening though lasted only three seconds, not long enough for an image but enough for us to both marvel at the wonder. A hummingbird flew between us and hovered only a metre in front as we both sat eating our dinner overlooking the mountain. The brightly coloured hummingbird seemed to assess both of us for our nectar and discovering despite our colourful clothes and food, we held no store of nectar so moved on. It was more than enough for us to sit stunned in silence much longer. The colours across the mountain and our fragile flying guest made it a special evening.
   A cool night opened to a warm morning and even more beautiful images of Mt St Helen. A short trek up to a higher viewing platform gave us incredible views of not only Mt St Helen, but also Mt Rainier, Mt Adam and even Mt Hood. We were definitely in the Cascade region.

Food Van City

As much as we like a beer as the next person, we never touched the six-pack.

   Our way into Portland took us to a central park for a brief stretch of the legs and some lunch. After a convenient offer of accommodation earlier, we were able to leave the van at a residence and catch a bus into town. Riding public transport brought back instant memories, that and the fact that the moment we stood at the bus stop waiting, another prospecting passenger engaged us. A brief hello turns into a question of background, our new friend could only be described as 'The Lady in White'. Long grey hair, white flowing top became what could have been a white pant/single cotton suit. Almost ethereal if it weren't for a brown paper bag she held closely and a nervous look over her left shoulder when a car would pass. This lady enjoyed New Zealand films, so we had that in common. While we continued to converse on the bus, three other passengers joined our group, we spoke through New Zealand films, some Australian, the Great Barrier Reef and lastly, 'Yes, we do say Mate.'
   Portland was a pleasant city, an italian festival organised for us was a special treat. They also had a regular Sunday market with plenty of nick-nacks. We wondered about the city's serving of food licences as they had a plethora of food van parking lots and vacant land with caravans selling an array of cultural food's. From thai, italian, greek, chinese, indian and american an option, we ended up settling for the scottish and chose fish and chips.
   After food we made our way through the town to Powell's Bookstore. A recommended venue of multiple floors and every book you could ever think you would never need. Just as we were about to enter the bookstore we were asked by a very nice gentleman if we had seen his six pack of beer that he had apparently left nearby earlier. While we told him sadly no, he didn't seem particularly convinced by our response. He explained again what he had done, he'd left a six pack of beer beneath these seats and now they were no longer there. We did agree with him the beer no longer was there, but we could not answer his riddle of where they had gone. We certainly had our hunches, most prominent the alcohol was coursing through his blood stream, but we didn't provide this suggestion. At this point he was stating we were liars and requesting some form of response to that. So we stood up and made ouselves appear a little larger to the drunken eye, then moved away while maintaining eye contact.
   Powell's bookstore was truly a delight and a worry. We could too easily spend months in there when our intention was to view the sights of where we were. So while we enjoyed walking between shelves, we opted to go back outside to the city we'd never been in before. While outside, we encountered our first Pokemon crowd. A large gathering of individuals staring intently at their mobile phones. At first we weren't sure what was going on, so we walked through trying not to bump the zombies. They were all trying to catch certain creatures of a mobile computer game. They seemed peaceful, and happy. Maybe they took the six pack.
   In the afternoon we caught another bus North of the CBD to a recommended street called Mississippi. A groovy strip with funky little bars and music venues, odd merchandise stores and a friendly crowd. We enjoyed walking and browsing before settling on an off street bar called 1905. We listened to a jazz band while eating pizza and having some drinks. This was definitely a city we could get used to. As we tired, we caught an Uber back to our van and knocked on the door of our friends, Milton and Niki. They were still up and about and we caught up over the day's events as well as planned some things to do in the morning.
   For the first time in nearly two weeks we settled in to a bed that wasn't our van. We felt a little strange like we were cheating on our Big Bird, but that passed in seconds as our heads hit the pillows and we were deep asleep.
In the morning we felt spoilt by having another shower, convinced that having so many showers in such few days meant we could go at least four weeks until our next one.
     Another first for a very long time, in the morning we actually did separate things. Jamie stayed at home with Niki while Ian walked the dog with Milton. That too felt a little strange as we literally had not left each others side for over three weeks.
   A local market in the mid morning meant a re-supply and we gave our very sad farewell to two incredible people we are so very humbled and thankful for meeting. They will always have a place to call into if they choose to make it out to Australia. We say a very big thank you to Niki and Milt.

Shepperd's Dell

Four way stop signs are ridiculous. Why don't they just put in a round about?

   We depart Hood river along the Columbia and enjoy our time at the fish hatchery, locks, damn and parks. It is an impressive river and deserves the naming of America's second largest. The falls are gorgeous, Multnomah a stand out with its height, but definitely the crowd favourite, we did not linger here long. Latourell included a gorgeous walk along the back and a few nervous look outs if you dared. Sadly, a year ago saw a fire tear through these parts that has now taken a lot of the scenic Highway 30 out of action. We still had enough to see including the Vista Point from a high perch along the Columbia.
   Following this we made our way into a small back town to grab some meat, the local butcher only had frozen mince meat so we took what we could and placed it in the front of the engine to defrost the 30 minute drive to our next camp site.
   Fingers crossed we were hoping we could find a hideaway along a back road somewhere. We travelled further than normal as we were close to Portland and most areas had private dwellings. Sure enough our tried and tested method of 'Just a little further' turned up trumps and we found a place in Shepperds Dell. What we thought was a secluded spot, started to receive visitors. It began with a nice gentleman walking his young dog along the dirt road. He had a house further below and gave us his time to talk through the fire the year before and what had happened to the area. He wished us safe camping and we went about our meal preparation. By now the mince had certainly defrosted and our cooking of spaghetti bolognaise well underway. Shortly after we interacted with another vehicle that was full of well dressed people searching for a wedding location. We couldn't help them, nor did they want some of our bolognaise. A third vehicle passed us and returned a few moments later, a man asked if we had some spare water, we did see a child in the rear seat so we were happy to oblige. Our fourth visit, in hindsight turned out to be our favourite as a vehicle came to a halt and words from the dark said, "You spoke to my husband earlier." We now met the wife our of earlier dog walking friends. They invited us down to their house for food, supreme generosity, but as our travel routine had almost gotten us into sleep mode we suggested a morning coffee would be preferred. So with precise directions to the first house on the right down the hill, we booked a date.
   The following morning we gathered our things and made the steep decline to our invitation. There we met Milt and Niki, two welcoming individuals happy to chat and find out what we were doing. With a great morning of conversation over some breakfast and coffee, an invitation to their accommodation in Portland was also extended. While we were so used to our habit of not knowing where we would stay the night until the evening came upon us, it felt strange for us to organise something so far in advance. So we gave a tentative yes, knowing how much a shower meant to us, and organised to meet up later in the day in Portland.