Journalist By Nature: Burnt Lake

Water hazzard

By the good fortunes of weather, this hike fell on Dryday, that rainless name given to our hiking Thursdays that are dry. The morning began on a cool note, fog lying in the treetops like cotton candy stuck on fir bristles. The overcast sky cast a gray pall over the forested hills at the foot of Mt. Hood and we were prepared for a damp hike. The final approach on a Forest Service road was fraught with water-filled potholes of unknown depth. Skirting around as many as possible we made slow progress toward the trailhead of Burnt Lake. One final hole that encompassed the entire width of the road cinched our decision to park and walk. Carefully treading along the edges of this water hazzard we made our way up the road to a familiar signage marking the beginning of the trail.

Chanterelles

The clean smell of rain-washed timber surrounded us as we chatted our way along the trail. It was soft and comfortable under foot yet not soggy. The undergrowth was a fresh, brilliant green of successive layers of mosses, Oregon grape, ferns, various spent woodland flowers, bear grass tufts and dotted in color from emerging mushrooms and fallen leaves. Sharp eyes spotted the edible chanterelle sprouting like a fountain in its upward reaching ruffled cap. Never pick or eat any mushroom unless you are absolutely 110% certain it is edible. When in doubt, leave it! With bag and knife in hand, one educated hiker harvested a bounty of golden funguses in no time. Dinner plans began to hatch.

Ancient, mossy giant tree

Giant tree trunks interspersed with smaller, younger specimens populate this part of the western flank of the mountain. A fire in the early years of the 20th century took many of the Old Ones from us, leaving burned, hollowed trunks to rot over the decades as seedlings sprang up to take their places. The surviving giants stand like silent guardians over the upcoming generation of trees. Birds tweeted as they played tag through the branches of the upper story and the autumn arcing sun began to slant through the open spaces. The trail was a gradual but steady climb of 1500 feet but not a difficult task. The trail was relatively straight as it followed Lost Creek. At 1.9 miles into the hike we crossed at a shallow spot, stepping carefully on flat rocks and small soggy logs. In the spring runoff, this would present much more of a challenge. After another half mile we turned sharply and began the final mile ascent to the lake.

Mt. Hood in first snow of the season

Pushing through stands of salmonberry and cow parsley we briefly broke into the open for a full-faced view of newly mantled Mt. Hood, gleaming in its first fresh coat of autumn snow. The subdued blue sky framed the familiar shape of Portland's mountain and the skiers among us shouted in joy. Tiptoeing across several more small streams we rose to the 4100 foot high elevation of Burnt Lake. Hiding from view until the very last step on the trail, it is a smallish bowl of water captured in the folds of this topography much like other high lakes. Because of its location, Mt. Hood smiles in reflection on its surface in a way similar to Trillium and Mirror Lakes. On a windless day, the mirror image of the mountain is a stunning postcard picture.

Lunch at the lakeside with a brief nap in the sun provided just the right restoration for the return trip. A short side hike brought some of us to another photo position around the lake where deciduous trees were beginning to yellow out and reflect in the waters also. The steady but gentle downhill return was not as challenging on the joints this trip. This is the stuff that autumn hikes are made of: cool but sunny weather, color and companionship. This seven mile round trip hike is one that should be taken regularly and in several seasons. There may still be a few dry days left before the rains and snow keep us in the city. Plan a fall color hike while the leaves still dangle their colorful plumage. And remember your camera!