It’s a Small World After All and It’s Fucking Cold

Locals keep titillating me with reports of violent weather and I keep chasing after them like a Golden Retriever after a tennis ball.

This time it was high winds at Crown Point. The knots were up and the temperature was sharp as razor blades against the skin. I swaddled myself in everything from polypropylene to Polartec, cinched my hood down to a sliver narrower than an Inuit’s squint, and bounded from a warm truck cab into a raging gale. I forgot my polar goggles; the wind scoured my eyeballs. Holding a camera, framing a shot, and not tumbling to the pavement was an interesting workout so forgive the quality of the photos below.

The white dots in the middle of the water aren’t birds, they’re whitecaps. I did see some geese attempt to fly into the wind. They slowed to a complete standstill, flapped madly in place, then gave up and turned downwind.All sorts of waves were shearing themselves at opposing angles. I didn’t see a single boat or barge on the water, surprise, surprise.

 The ponds next to the highway looked more like Alaska than Oregon.

Not a good day to summit Silver Star Mountain. Human parasail, anyone?

The intensity of the gusts rose and fell in a rogue pattern, making body surfing a challenging but not impossible feat. When I lost feeling in my fingers, I climbed back into the truck and felt it rock back and forth in the storm like a squad car in an East L.A. riot. People came and went over the course of an hour, parking their vehicles, shuffle-running to the edge for a quick group photo, then scurrying back to their heater vents. There was a lot of cursing and giggling.

One guy showed up in jeans and a light jacket and stood still for several minutes, holding up a small anemometer. He reported that the gusts were 30 mph. Not quite, dude: The prevailing wind was 30 mph, the gusts were closer to 60. 40 mph has yet to knock me off my feet or spill my coffee. Here’s a primer.

Afterward, I decided to downshift to the bottom of the hill and check out some frozen falls. Off in the distance, Cape Horn was decked out for ice climbing.

 Latourell Falls was whipping into elegant ribbons.

Frozen in digital time, it resembled a fragile, ghostly veil, but the truth of the matter was noisy and violent, splattering ground zero with the force of a fire hose.

 Wahkeena Falls bridge presented a dangerous and thrilling ice traverse.

Plants were flocked beyond recognition into chilly undersea creatures.

Ice crystals were beginning to build up on my nylon shell, so I decided to get the flock out of there. Not a hundred feet down the trail, I met up with a dynamic duo: two gentlemen who radiated warmth, wit, and smart-aleckyness. Chatting with them was the most fun I’d had all day so I changed my plans on a whim and gave them an impromptu tour of Multnomah Falls. Luckily for us, the falls were decked out beautifully in tinsel and lace.

A photographer taking a picture of a photographer taking a picture of the falls.

The tall one, Patrick, flashed a smile brighter than a Halogen lamp and explained that he and his buddy had decided on a lark to detour from the highway en route to Bend to race in the Cyclo-Cross National Championships, which they called “vacation.” My ass hurt just thinking about that one.

He said I’d recognize his cohort as soon as I learned his secret identity. Clark Kent turned out to be none other than Brad Carvey, older (and wiser) brother of actor Dana Carvey. In fact, tech-nerd-genius Brad was Dana’s inspiration for the character of Garth Algar in “Wayne’s World.” I’m too much of a Luddite to explain what exactly it is that Brad does but his Wikipedia entry makes a short job of it. Basically, from what I could glean from the photo collection on his Blackberry, he renders super-cool digital editing effects in movies like “Men in Black” and “Wolverine.”

They were both in disgustingly good shape and tough to keep up with on the trail. Brad explained how he and Patrick inadvertently bonded while embroiled in a swirling sea of testosterone-soaked competitiveness during a race. They’ve been hanging out, racing, and teasing the hell out of each other ever since. That’s Brad on the left.

Guys, that was a blast. I’d follow you up any trail, just for the commentary. Thanks to you, I will always remember to “take a moment.” May you both kick some serious ass in Bend.

December 9, 2009