It's been more than a week, and I'm just now trusting myself to write about this in a way that doesn't let the bitterness and sarcasm out in full force.
After just shy of a year, Tristan finally came up to see his son in person.
Just stating that brings so many snarky and bitchy comments to mind, but I remind myself that this was for Kaeden's benefit. From Kaeden's point of view, he got to play outside in the woods all day with his beloved Uncle Galen, get stuffed with good food, and skip nap time, which while still a desperately needed down-time is now being viewed with toddler skepticism.
To try avoiding the whole day and setting a very bad precedent with the words wanting to hurl themselves out of me, I spent the sleepless night before hunting the internet for the biggest, baddest, closest mountain to hurl myself at. I borrowed my mother's trail dog, Roofus, stuffed my pack with water, some emergency gear, my camera, a description of the local trails, and some snacks, and spent the rest of the night psyching myself up for a 15 mile round trip scramble up and back down Table Mountain, which was said to have amazing views of the Gorge, Bonneville Dam, Mt. Hood, St. Helens, and Adams.
Just reading the descriptions of the god-awful trail up to the summit I knew I'd found the hike I was looking for, something to command so much of my attention and effort I wouldn't have time to dwell on my bitterness or fury.
Dropping Kaeden off, while the hardest part of the day emotionally, was the easiest for Kaeden. We had to hunt around Beacon Rock State Park for where they were camped, but I turned it into a hide and seek Uncle Galen game for Kade, who still has about an hour limit to car rides. When we did find them, Kaeden couldn't wiggle out of his harness fast enough, and made a beeline right for Uncle Galen.
It had been almost a year, and for the most part I focus on daily life or the future and manage to be a perfectly functional member of society. That day I wasn't, so I left.
I eventually found the trail head, muttering to Roofus the entire way, piled out of the car and immediately started hiking up. I had to pause after a half mile to take off my shirt, apply sunscreen, and then we kept heading up, straight up. The combination of two miles of unrelenting elevation, watching Roofus dart all over the trail around me, and the forest sounds proved to be exactly what I needed to shut up my inner bitch. That, and I was focused on following the directions I'd written down the night before to make sure I didn't get too lost.
I managed it anyway, in a vague sort of way. This turned out to be the best, though, since I really wasn't up to climbing a mountain and back down in the time I had. Instead, I found the remote feeling and beautiful Cedar Falls. Because instead of climbing the mountain, I got roughly half way up, got lost, and ended up going completely around it. Which makes it sound easier than it was, pulling myself up insanely steep trail and hanging onto trees to keep from skidding straight down the mountain. I found myself, once again, jealous of Roofus, who bounded up and down on four perfectly sturdy legs.
On a side note, when I have a dog of my own someday, I hope they are half as good a trail dog as Roofus. He never once got out of my sight during our hike, had the time of his doggy life diving into pools after a stick and cataloging every smell in the forest.
After lunch with the sound of the waterfall drowning out every single thought in my head, we set about getting ourselves un-lost, which since I knew mostly where I was, turned out to be more exploring and dallying in the streams and picking berries than anything else. I haven't had that particular kind of fun in years, not since the last time I just took my pack and wandered around the Green Mountains in Vermont one day in college. On my days off, I'm so focused on going riding that I do forget I can have fun doing other things, and this type of hike was not one I could do with a toddler balanced on my back, so in a way, I became obscurely grateful to the Fulford boys for babysitting for the day.
I managed to relax completely as I kept hiking. One of the many reasons I asked to borrow Roofus is to force myself to hike, because otherwise I would have buried myself in the nearest bookstore, chewing on my emotions all day instead of dealing with them. At first it was an effort of will, reminding myself to enjoy the day and forget about the fact that I had to see Tristan again later that day, and the fact that he was with our son, and worrying about Kaeden and what was happening.
By the time I found the falls, about five miles of straight up, straight down scramble, it was no longer an active effort, and by the time we'd bushwhacked our way down to where Cedar Creek met Hamilton Creek, I'm come to realize I have a small way of making too big a deal out of things. Toddlers are amazingly resilient in ways, even my sensitive Wild Rumpus. No matter what happened today, he'd be fine, and probably full of comments and "Oh my gosh!" about Uncle Galen, at the least.
After we found our way back to the car, which entailed an hour of picking the biggest, juiciest blackberries I'd ever seen, I took myself out to a dive lunch in Stevenson, and because I'd skipped breakfast that day, the burger and fries and milkshake was heaven for my mouth. We wandered down to the waterfront, Roofus and I, and watched the kite and windsurfers find their joy on the windy river.
Because I hadn't slept for the last three days, skipped breakfast, then hiked what I guess to be about 10 miles around a mountain, I tied Roofus's leash to my leg and collapsed on the grass of the waterfront park for roughly two hours, while Roofus sighed and lay next to me with a stick, since 10 miles is a warm up for that dog.
Thanks to being able to explore like I did when I was a kid, followed by such grown up things as eating out and driving my own trusty car, I was in a much more relaxed mood as I headed back to Beacon Rock. As I'd come to accept, my kid was just fine, if very sticky. He fell asleep about 2.5 seconds after I hit the highway back to town, and barely woke up for the transfer to bed.
In spite of the history and my own emotions, the Wild Rumpus had a grand adventure of the day, and came home none the worse for the wear. I came out of the day better for it, with a clearer head and firmer grip on that inner bitch. Success.
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