The trailhead was nestled deep into the crotch of a valley, where it was invitingly moist and full of bacteria.  The road leading there was littered with “swiss chalet” vacation rentals and disneyland like amusements such as go karts, ice cream stands and horseback rides.  As we were making our final backpack preparations and tweaks, a clattering procession of bachelorette-party-esque, looking women on horseback approached.  The type of females overzealous with chocolate chip cookies, oversized sunglasses and TJ Max house decor, the kind that hung on their walls stating quotes like “home”, “thankful” and “grateful” written in that wispy font.  Their prematurely exhausted guide pulled the group to a halt right before the trail began and took inventory, asked if anybody had any last words or had to make a pee pee.  

The horses mane’s were already gleaming in sweat, glistening with various shades of mahogany and leather beneath the scorching sun.  The big boned crew riding the horses were sweating also, arguably more that the horses themselves, exhibiting darker shades of fabric in wide lines down the back of their shirts and huge half circles under their armpits.  They had flushed cheeks, plush and rosy, ready to pop like a blister, huffing and puffing from the effort it took to stay upright on a horse.  Squealing and oinking with laughter like little piggies.  As they began the ascent up the sharp slope, a loud squeal pierced the air as one of them tipped backwards and rolled off the horses back, bouncing off the ground like a flat basketball, squawking in distress. 

We followed the trail along a sharp sided valley, hugging its side about 100 feet above the West Fork Wallowa River, a roaring blur of snowmelt crashing over boulders with a frigid unforgivingness like an pulsing artery of the Wallowas.  The river’s voice was always with us, threading through the trees like a low, relentless rumble.  And at the clearings, those rare open mouths in the forest, when you could step out onto a sun-warmed boulder and look down unobstructed, it struck you fully.  White and roaring, a deep thundering presence and a reminder of that the Earth is always making magnificence even when no one is watching.

 Eventually the trail leveled out and brought us to a wide, green meadow, an unexpected gem in the middle of the forest. The grass was thick and lush, day dreaming about when it would grow long enough to dance in the breeze.  An army of trees stood guard along its edges, silent and stoic, watching over this little patch of green as if it was their baby.  We paused there for lunch, sunbathing on a boulder set deep in the ground like an iceberg, surrounded in a quiet that doesn’t ask for anything.  After a quick cat nap, the trail crossed Adams creek, a deceivingly fast-moving tributary that felt like needles stabbing any exposed skin as we crossed.  Then began the steady climb toward Ice Lake, the alpine lake we planned to circumnavigate before continuing higher.  Being so early in the season, ice lake was true to its name, ICE.   We tried to continue but were confronted with enough snow that every step was a piss-pour gamble between a knee high post hole or shin deep post hole.

Eventually, logic (and bloody shins) won out and we decided to call it, making camp next to the lake. It was a windless evening and any rustle of branches from a squirrel or chirp of bird got soaked up by the snow leaving an eerie, ear ringing silence, where the beat of your heart sounds like a giant drum.  

It was a windless evening, and any rustle of branches from a squirrel or chirp of a bird was swallowed by the snow, soaked up into the white until even sound itself seemed to vanish.  What remained was an eerie, ear-ringing silence, so complete that your heartbeat seemed to pierce your eardrums.

Stiff and half frozen, we woke up with frozen water bottles and a strong urge to get a move on.  The sun had already begun to warm the side of the valley we were descending and the melting snow ran in water rivulets that snaked across the trail.  Near the meadow, we found one of the bachelorettes from yesterdays brigade laying on the ground with her pants around her ankles and hairy poontang getting some much needed fresh air.  I gently prodded her with my foot and.  

“Hello” i ventured, again prodding her with my foot, this time with a little more gumption, causing her body to giggle.  

With the quick jerking motion of someone violently waking up, she rolled over, leaned on her elbow and stared at us with wide, feral eyes.  Her hair a tingle of tangles and pine needles, and her jelly belly, exposed beneath a torn shirt, protruded from her torso. She scratched it absentmindedly like a fat redneck drinking a PBR.   

“I was with the girls last night” she said dryly “when i smelled it.  I cant even describe it, but it took me away from myself.  It hijacked my actions and I followed it into the woods and there he was, Big Foot”

We waited.

“fermented fur, goat musk and wet bark, cold and molting leaves. Sweaty gooch, rank, divine, overripe prunes.  It was like smelling mother earths cooter after being creampied by Jupiter, Mars and Pluto.  I went to my knees and rubbed my face along his schlong, bare against my cheek.  He looked at me, and told me to grab it without saying anything.  Off we went, he led the way, i held his meat as if it were a leash and I an obedient dog.  We climbed the side of the mountain without taking a step, he led me into a cave.  There was another man there, half man half goat.  He introduced himself as Pan.  his cock hung limp from between his legs, swinging like the pendulum of eternity, hypnotizing me, drawing me closer.  He embraced me in his hairy arms and i felt big foot and Pan’s big penis against my backside at they embraced me from both slides.  in between the bellies of the beasts, their heart beats thumped like ancient drums.”  she finished, staring off vacantly, her eyes filled of remorse yet also reminiscent.     

She sat upright and crawled toward us, stopping just close enough for us to smell the distant tang of cedar, fire smoke, and gut rot. 

She looked off into the woods, smiling faintly, as if reliving a fond memory. 

And then, without warning, she let out a guttural grunt, scratched her stomach one last time, and scampered off loudly into the thicket, crashing through the branches with the force of a wild boar. The forest swallowed her whole, leaving only silence and once last whiff before the breeze wafted it away.