On the last push to the summit of Olallie Mountain, Jeff asked me what I thought the reds were on a distant mountain to our northwest, across the Three Sisters Wilderness. I wasn’t sure if they were maples and even mentioned the possibility of a local die off of conifers where the orange needles can look red from a distance.
A hundred yards later, carrying packs, saws, and other trail working tools, hiking on a narrow trail where I definitely did not want to trip, I discovered a third possibility. Below us were large patches of huckleberry plants, vivid red. I quickly averted my gaze, however, not wanting to tempt my body to go where my vision was. Huckleberries are often part of trail work, because they are a common plant we cut out in order to work on a log we want to remove. The berry season had been over for a good month, but I had fond memories of being first to the bottom of Lowder Mountain a month ago, after our log out there, not because I was the fastest hiker—I am closer to the back these days—but because I left the top before anybody else. I knew there were huge berries at the trailhead and wanted at them. They were delicious. My job is to support the crew, but huckleberries are another matter. The crew’s founder, the late Ron Robinson, told me he loved his huckleberries.
Earlier that day, fireweed, few pink blooms remaining, now with either seed pods ready to open or already spilling seeds into the air, had red leaves as well. It reminded me to take a few so I could try making fireweed tea, which I had once done in ‘85 but as it turned out not the proper way.
After summiting earlier than expected, due to another trail crew’s prior log out of some of the top trail, we hiked back out. I stopped to take pictures of the huckleberry plants I had just seen. Well down past the junction, re-entering the forest, where I planned to take a short rest before the final mile, I was on a stretch of trail that drops off steeply to the east. Out of the corner of my eye, something red caught my attention. I looked and saw a small maple far below, completely red.
Before the outing, I thought my recollection of the day would be the work I did on the mountain, pushing logs off trails, cutting out small stuff, using the big saws on the larger logs, and a tough hike.
Nope. The memory will be of all the red I saw.
Tags: hiking
Boreal B[l]og 
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