Climbing Spencer Butte

I entered the parking lot with my brother, Adam, at the entrance of Spencer Butte Park. It was a cloudy day and the temperature was light jacket weather, about 55F.

We walked through Doug firs and Bigleaf maples for about ten minutes before we sat on a rock. Indoors sitting on a large stone would seem absurd, but here it was a throne, grounding us to the pulse of the Earth.

The trail wound through old and secondary growth forest, some trees decades old, others hundreds. Little brooks babbled downwards. The trail came to a point where it was steep enough that steps were necessary.

After the last turn, the trail ended and became a scramble on boulders. Adam and I breezed through like mountain goats, eager to get to the top.

Beyond the boulders were not just forests, but meadows.

When we reached the top we had a panoramic view — of Eugene and Springfield to the north, of the Calapooya Mountains and wine country valleys to the south, Veneta to the northwest and Mount Pisgah to the southeast. It felt like being on top of the world.

I can’t say I’ve climbed a “real mountain”, but I have summited Spencer Butte.