Thank you, Dog Mountain, and may I have another

On Sunday my bearded companion and I headed back to the Columbia River Gorge, only this time the weather had pulled an about-face. Instead of last week's 40's and sleet, it was sunny and 70. Sometimes, you win some.

This conquest: Dog Mountain. To be honest, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. I have a Pacific Northwest hiking book with pages falling out that I study and scribble in every now and again, and this trek has been on the list for awhile. What I failed to comprehend, is what an elevation gain of 2800 feet over 3.5 miles really means.

It was brutal. There was a moderate amount of whining, abundant feelings of inadequacy, and oaths to whip our sorry aces into shape. Finally, we got to the top after taking more mini-breaks than I care to count, and it was amazing. Truly stunning. We were at the top of the gorge, and could see Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Hood (which is impressive when you realize that you've climbed high enough to see it above the walls of the gorge) and at one point, and I'm not joking, we saw an airplane flying down below us. This makes one feel pretty badass.

Unfortunately, I had tricked myself into thinking that once we reached the top, all of the hard work was over. The trip down would be my sweet reward! This was not accurate. I found out soon enough that the trail was so steep that the amount of agility and quadriceps strength needed to prevent one from somersaulting all the way down (which would have been ideal, actually) was far more difficult than trudging up.

I'm more sore today than I remember being in a long time. I am walking like someone took a crowbar to my kneecaps, and I could use some of those stability handrails for help getting off the toilet. Regardless of the pain now and the strings of expletives then, it was a fantastic way to spend what so far has been the nicest day of the year out in these parts. I'm glad I didn't do the math ahead of time.