Note: This story is one of a series written about our experiences creating an intuitive photography project called the Tarot of Oregon Places. You can learn more about the Tarot of Oregon Places here, and order your own copy here.
The night before I was meant to hike into Jefferson Park, I woke up at midnight vomiting. Leaning off the back of my rig, I puked into the dirt beneath me. I could hear an animal rustling in the manzanita bushes not far away.
Probably a deer.
Maybe a black bear.
Too sick to do anything about it.
I was sick off and on all night, finally falling asleep around 4 and waking just before dawn.
I felt terrible.
If I didn’t get these photos today, I would have to wait another year. Autumn in the alpine is unpredictable. I came all this way, and it was time to do the thing, even if it was uncomfortable.
I made it to the trailhead as the sun broke up over the ridge, and began my hike into the park through a forest of standing dead trees. The fire that burned through this area a few years prior was so hot it took the forest right down to the rock in places, and the tiny scrim of soil it once held washed away into the creeks, exposing granite beds and jumbles of boulders.
A warm wind came down over the ridge and blew past me, pushing the hair from my face. I looked up toward the summit of the mountain, easily visible through the forest of dead trees that surrounded me on the slope, and squinted into the morning sun. The fragrance of manzanita carried in on the air from unseen dry ridges, mixed with pine bark and the dust that rose around the tops of my shoes with each step.
I put my head down and kept hiking. I need to get out of this burn before the sun crests the ridge and begins to bake this open slope full of dead trees.
I never made the time to hike this trail before the fires swept through here, first in 2017 and then again in 2020. The black and grey snags that were left still stood tall in some places were surrounded by the first returning foliage; trailing blackberry, huckleberry, fireweed and others. I tried to close my eyes for a moment and imagine what this forest looked like before the fires, but I couldn’t. I’ve never known these dry cascades forests to do anything but recover and burn again.
I crossed a creek running milky white through a field of boulders, while a small spring poured from the hillside, forcing me to pick my way across on rocks, to avoid both the rushing creek and deep mud.
Climbing out of the creek’s canyon, after four miles or so, I began to work my way up into a subalpine forest of still-standing trees. Mushrooms were popping out of the earth everywhere, leaves of vine maple and huckleberry were splashy red and yellow against the grey and green.
The pine-y scent of a forest had returned and the warm winds had cooled. Looking up toward the glaciers, I could see the shiny contrast between the snow and ice. I held my breath as I admired the steep snowfield, imagining what lay hidden up there.
Carrying on, I watched through the trees for the lakes to reveal themselves. Woodpeckers thumped away at the dead standing snags in search of bugs, the hollow sound echoing out across the forest. Clouds hung low around the horizon, but I could see they were starting to burn off as the sun climbed up into the sky.
My legs were sore and heavy as I made each step intentionally, and the weight of my pack dug into my shoulders. I wanted to find a place to sit beside the lakes and just rest a while.
I took small sips of water but I was afraid to eat after last night’s upset. I moved slowly to preserve my energy, and settled into a gentle pace.
Taking the first left turn off the PCT, I traveled downhill a little ways, to a small, deep lake in a steep bowl, with a few campsites scattered above it.
After an hour of exploring the meadows, I had the photos I needed and the sun was climbing higher. I needed to be out of the burned forest and back at my car before it got too hot, so I reluctantly left the park behind- always wishing I had more time.
Crossing back over the milky white glacial creeks, I watch a small bull elk stand between two trees, and then disappear silently back into the forest. I wonder what it’s like to live in these beautiful, changeable, dangerous landscapes where I can only ever be a guest.
This story is an excerpt from our forthcoming book about the process of creating The Tarot of Oregon Places, a photography Tarot deck matching the landscapes of Oregon with the archetypes of the Tarot.
Presale for the Tarot of Oregon Places begins June 1st at the Wild Solitude Shop!
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