LIVING IT UP

Oregon Slays – Operation Snowboard and Surf in the Same Day

Just a couple of Dads on a mission

Over 40 years of board sports, including skateboarding, surfing, snowboarding, and wing foiling — the back-arching carve never gets old. — Photo by Todd Bachmand, Author’s Mate

I drive the edge of my snowboard into the frozen spring snow. Toes curl into my boots like they grip my surfboard in tropical waters. Icy particles hang in my wake. Joy bolts from my feet through my vertebrae to the tip of my head.

My mate, Todd, leans into a turn ahead of me. We’re two Dads in our fifties on a mission, flexing our spines. Operation Snowboard and Surf on the same day is a go, and the ocean is 150 miles away.

For now, we’ll spend the morning riding a glacier. We’re on Mt. Hood in Oregon, an 11,249 ft active volcano. Hood is one of a string of volcanoes along the Cascade Mountain Range, with Mt. St. Helens to the North erupting laterally in 1980. This is the closest I’ve been to the summit, and although I have no aspirations to be a regular mountaineer, I vow to stand atop Mt. Hood one day.

Cheeks tight from smiling, and heart racing, we skid to a stop, high-five, and board the chairlift for another run. We’re lucky to have this mountain and Timberline Lodge, America’s oldest ski resort, hours from home. As the name suggests, we’re well above timberline or tree line, so there’s nothing but snow and rock ahead of us. Sweat evaporates, and I pull my face mask up to guard against the nippy air.

“Dude, it’s winter up there, and it’ll be 70 in Portland when we drive through,” I say.

“Then 60 and sunny at the coast, ” Todd replies.

Oregon slays.

Mt. Hood is visible from the rooftops of downtown Portland, a world away from urban living. Named after a British Admiral who fought against the U.S in the Revolutionary War, I don’t know why this name has stuck. Wy’east is the original name of the mountain. Drone Photo by Roger Freeborn (Author’s mate)

Kicking it on the chairlift is part of the ride. Todd was my 8th-grade locker partner who moved here and found me on Facebook. We’ve been adventuring ever since, camping with our kids, surfing, snowboarding, and wing foiling. This long-overdue mountain-to-ocean mission is finally happening. I put it out to all my surf Bros, but it’s just the two of us and Tatiana, a woman I met dancing.

Tatiana is a maniac like me, an experienced mountaineer and skier, but a novice snowboarder and surfer. She’s on her own, knows it’d be an inefficient use of time for us to wait around. I see her carving, learning to trust the speed. We’ve been talking about going surfing. This happened to be the day it worked out, and she’s down for the whole crazy mission.

Mission Crew outside the top of the Palmer Lift. The Palmer Lift loops into the side of the mountain, then you glide out with the Cascade Range stretching to the South. — Author Photo

The chairlift terminates in a cave, and we deliver a breakfast sandwich to the operator entrusted to us by the lower lift operator. I loop out to the sunlight, buckle my bindings, and look to the South with snow-capped Mt. Jefferson in the distance. Todd drops in, and I follow building speed for my first turn. And that’s the way it goes all morning.

Blue skies Burning thighs Happy cries Curve in my spine So fine

8500 ft above sea level on Palmer Glacier at Timberline Ski Area, Mt. Jefferson in the distance. For reference, tree line is around 6000 ft in Oregon, and Mt Jefferson is 50 miles away. — Photo by Tatiana Musique

Back at Todd’s car, we shed the layers and hit the road. Like a time warp, we descend from winter to spring. At home, my dog, Halo, gives us a whole-body wag. He saw me pack the gear and gave me the tragic eyes this morning when I told him to stay.

“Hey boyeee! We’re going to the beach now,” I say, pressing my face to his forehead.

The furry dude will be six this year. We should have many beach trips in our future, but I know nothing is guaranteed. I release our hug and give him an uppercut to the chin. He zoomies away, cutting back to gnaw at my hand.

Halo knows the beach routine. Halo is a writer too. He wrote a story about a trip when a couple gifted me a fat joint. — Author Photos

Surfing and Halo brought me another new mate. Charles, a dude I met running Halo at a local school, joins us with his dog, Izzy. We’ve been trying to surf for months, but work and parenthood take up a lot of time. We fist-bump, and I pull away.

“Here we go!” I say slamming an energy drink.

The 90-mile drive to the ocean takes us past the suburbs of Portland and over the coastal mountain range. Strip malls and row housing give way to towering Douglas fir trees. Ferns wave in the breeze, rivers and creeks play peek-a-boo through beams of sunlight. The fresh foliage of spring, clear cuts, and regrowth remind me of the cycles. I’ve shed a lot of tears through the years on this drive.

Double yellow instant mellow Winding roads help me shed heavy loads

Bottom turn on a steep one at Ecola St. Park, our destination for the mission. This wave inspired a Boosted Story titled The “Ones” That Stick With Us. Unfortunately, the waves were not like this when we arrived. — Photo by Chris Vandevort (Author’s Surf Mate)

We rock up to a prime parking spot at Ecola State Park and spill out. There’s a collective sigh standing on the bluff as we breathe in the sea air. All of us are middle-aged, feeling our finite time on this earth, and know this is a more blessed day than usual. Rock formations catch the sun and spray. Sea foam tumbles down the beach, and whitecaps texture the water’s surface.

The surf isn’t great, but it doesn’t matter. We’re nurturing our Blue Minds. Blue Mind is a book by Wallace J. Nichols that describes the science showing how being near, in, on, or under water can make you happier, healthier, and more connected. He writes that surfers probably have the most Blue Mind of anyone, as we have to be in tune with the ocean and waves.

Two more buddies show up, a surf mate I met in this very parking lot 16 years ago, and another mate I met rock climbing 30 years ago. Outdoor passions serve as the spark and fuel for lifelong friendships.

“…the deepest friendships evolve out of shared experiences, particularly in environments in which all the senses are enlivened…” Richard Louv — Author of Last Child in the Woods.

Mission accomplished for Todd, Tatiana, and me. And the crew warming up with homemade soup and a propane fire pit in the back of my truck, one of my many “bestest ideas ever!” — Author Photos

We suit up, and in typical hopeful surf vibes, we believe the wind is dying, the ocean is glassing off, the swell is increasing, and the rising tide will produce better waves. Surfers are dreamers and believers. One can’t make the drop on a wave without believing. Dreaming is what keeps us exploring and looking to the horizon for the next wave.

Paddling out, I admire the surface textures at eye level and cackle at the diving pelicans, which signal that fish are schooling. Seals were also spotted as we stood on the bluff, so no doubt sharks are nearby. I tell myself sharks don’t like Chinese food, that they’ll eat my white meat friends first, and keep paddling. It’s the beginning of the golden hour, my mates, old and new, dot the ocean around me, and a bald eagle soars overhead.

Was I really ripping snow on a volcano this morning?

A wave appears, I turn to catch it, and can’t stop giggling.

How it began and how it ended. Oregon slays! To think this day included new friends and Bros I’ve known from my teens, twenties, and thirties made it even more rad. — Author Photos

As always, thanks for reading! We drove close to 300 miles that day as we had to get back to Portland. When I do it again, I plan to sleep up on the mountain, snowboard, then charge to the coast and spend the night there. Gotta get it while I can! Cheers!

Here’s a Boosted story detailing the drive West out of Portland and my coastal adventures that you may enjoy.

[embed]Escape From Portland! Over the hill, standing in a river and riding waves…medium.com