Six of us started up the Larison Rock trail outside of Oakridge. There were supposed to be seven, but one person who thought he knew where the trailhead was, did not. There are two of them, one at 1200 feet (350 m)elevation, across the river from Oakridge; the other was a longer drive around the mountain and at about 2800 feet (850 m). We hoped he would find the right place and catch up.
I was last and figured I would catch the others fairly soon. Two looked like they were in their fifties, one maybe forties, and the other 67. The trail goes uphill 1500’ (450 m) in the first two miles (1.3 km0, steep, but steady and good tread. It doesn’t waste one’s time gaining altitude—my kind of climb.
I started to catch up to the first person as he adjusted his poles, thinking that I hoped he would be faster. His poles adjusted, he moved on ahead, and for the next mile, I was still in the back, not gaining any ground on him at all. That’s unusual. I’ve had some knee and Achilles tendon issues, for which I walk carefully on steep grades, but I wasn’t hurting, and I was climbing well. At least I thought I was.
I passed two of the group who had removed layers, and about a quarter mile later, I did the same, making a quick change and moving on ahead. The three in front of me were out of sight and stayed that way to the rest stop where I wanted to regroup. The two behind me arrived not long after I did. I had a drink and something to eat, and the first four were off going up the trail to the upper road, where we would stop again. I was going to go last, but the guy who adjusted his poles at the bottom was still working on his pack, so I decided I would go on ahead.
After maybe a half mile (800 m), a little more, I encountered a pair of mountain bikers coming the other way, went around them, and then heard footsteps behind me. I realized the last person was right behind me, so I pulled over to let him go by. He moved ahead about a hundred yards before I lost visual contact. I finally caught up with him and others at the upper trailhead. These guys were fast.
The year prior, when we went the last part to the top, which switchbacks steadily, I had someone behind me, and I just kept my pace the same to the top. I climb at nearly my flat ground cruising pace. This day was different. The group took off, and while I climbed at a decent pace, I was the last one to Larison Rock itself, where we had lunch. I wasn’t breathless, I wasn’t sore, I was fine. I was also dead last.
I had not “led” the hike at all; in 8 years of leading this hike, that had never happened before.
While we ate lunch, the missing person showed up. He had driven to the upper trailhead, turned around when he realized there was another trailhead down below, and had come up the same trail as we, quickly. He was more than a half hour behind me at the start, and I had only been on top twenty minutes.
I’m not as fast as I once was. Doing trail work, I am used to carrying more and hiking less. But there is no need to make excuses. Things are what they are. I am observing a generational change, this time from the other end. I’m fine with that. I don’t need to train with longer hikes—like doing Hardesty weekly—to see if I could improve. I can enjoy what I still do, and do well, sparing myself Hardesty’s 3300 foot (1000 m) vertical climb. That sounds a lot better.
Boreal B[l]og 
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