Marys Peak is the highest point in the Oregon Coast Range, and is listed as 11th in the state in terms of prominence (vertical distance between summit and  lowest contour). The Peak is historically referenced as a sacred location for the Kalapuya Tribe, where spirit quests were conducted.

While I always thought of it as "Mary's Peak," the correct spelling is indeed "Marys Peak." The reason for this is that the United States Board on Geographic Names stopped using possessive apostrophes in place names back in 1890 in order to not show ownership of geographic features. This is not without debate, as referenced in a recent Wall Street Journal article.

Sometimes you have to bend when you know the odds. Sometimes when the odds are against you, you have to bend. Both scenarios came about today, and I took home some pretty good parenting lessons. I've been planning a big hike up to Marys Peak in the Siuslaw National Forest for nearly a week now. The lad and I were going to trek from Conner's Camp and get to the summit via the East Ridge Trail, Tie Trail, Meadow Edge Trail, and the Summit Trail. Then the weather forecasts started going nuts for the past couple of days. Looks sunny on Sunday according to weather.com, but wunderground.com paints a bleak, wet picture. By the time Saturday night hit, all sources were reporting the latter.

Waking up this morning, I didn't think we'd be going anywhere; It's pretty amazing what small patches of blue in the Oregon skyline does to rational judgement. Gear was hastily packed and I rushed to the store for goodies to feast upon. Getting back home, it was a rush to get boots on and hit the door.

And then something happened that struck me wickedly hard, but in the best of ways; For one of the first times ever, the boy did not complain once about leaving. He was more excited than I was! No whining? To be fair, his usual gripes disappear the second we're in the car. That noted, the absence of whining was just leaving me dizzy and confused. Shaking it off, we hit the road southward for Marys Peak.

Rain and sunshine kept swapping scenes during the drive, giving me hope we would have at least some views at the summit and relative dryness under the canopy when we hit the trail. When we got closer to Corvallis (itself wonderfully dry and sunny), I abandoned all hope when I saw our destination shrouded in dark clouds, a fog mound without the mound. I knew we were playing against the house, but it looked like the weatherman was showing a Queen and we had 16. 

I looked back at the contented boy in the car seat behind me, and then saw myself in the rear-view mirror debating whether or not we should keep driving. The boy doesn't complain at all and is super excited to go hiking, but I'm taking him directly into a den of rain and cold. That has never worked out well, and I'm amazed that our coldest and wettest hike through Salmon Creek didn't extinguish any and all desires of his to be outdoors. Do we stick with the original plan? Shave off a leg or three of the hike? Grab a hot cocoa and call it a day? Maybe it will all disappear once we get up there? Of course, storm winds capable of magically arriving and doing that trick would be a blast to hang out in.

I stopped with the inner dialogue and brought the lad into the fold. I think I'm still getting used to the fact that he is as sharp as he is, and that ownership in these decisions is important for him as well. He wanted to continue, so ahead we went. Driving up the turnoff from the highway toward the Coast, we made our ascent up Marys Peak and into the clouds. All of my plans of starting down the mountain dwindled and we drove up to the campground so that we could hit the Meadow Edge Trail. Upon getting out of the car to go pay our five bucks for the day-use fee, the boy's demeanor went south quickly. Even bundled up, the saturation of mist and bone-chilling wind were too much for him.

He was so excited an hour ago...

It was executive decision time. Make him rough-it, or acquiesce? I put him back in the car and we drove up to the viewpoint. We got out, paid our fee, and the excitement of seeing some snow on the ground overcame anything else that was bringing him down. Some quick snowballs later, we were on our way up to the top.

WIth avalanche lilies, Indian paintbrush, field chickweed, and penstemon popping up along the hike, we had a great time pointing out the different colors. It was a welcome distraction from the cold wind that came and went. Moving up the short hike and passing the other trails we were destined to take before the climate intervened, I had a chance to embrace that he was having a good time despite the weather. Had I pushed him, I can say that this would not have been the case. Score one for parenting.

After passing a couple of folks on their way down, we finally made it to the infamous rock garden near the summit, a lithosolic (weathered rock fragments on steep slopes) community that is on the south-southwestern side of the top. The explosion of flowers in this barren little area is jaw-dropping, especially considering that the area is surrounded by snow above and below.

A few hundred yards later, we were at the summit of the highest point in the Oregon Coast Range. While awesome, our visibility was limited to about 200 feet. Furthermore, the summit offered no protections against the wind. While we could have just turned around, the boy channeled up some desire and asked to go further, especially when he saw a huge patch of snow. We cruised down from the summit and slid around in the snow for a spell. It was a blast, and when he said he was ready to go, I was kind of thrilled because my nippy hands and ears were telling me the same.

A quick jaunt down the trail, and we were back through the meadows and at the observation area parking lot. Before going all the way back to the car, a quick turn was taken and we arrived at a plaque memorializing the Benton County veterans of World War II who never made it home. That was a perfect opportunity to tie in the importance of Memorial Day with my son, and I'm thankful it turned out just as it did.

Back in the car with the heater on, I had a very happy little hiker on my hands. Despite every desire I had to push forward with bigger and better hikes on a day full of rotten weather, I am fully behind the decisions to include him on the eventuality of our plans and to fold things up the way we did. Marys Peak will be there next week, or next month, or next year, and I want a happy lad to enjoy it as much as possible given any conditions. 

Today was the perfect balance achieved by a little bending from both of us, and not an ounce of real complaining.

I think I beat the house this time.

Marys Peak Scenic Botanical Area (Oregon Plants, Oregon Places)
 - A great read! History, geology, and botany, oh my!

Portland Hikers Field Guide - Marys Peak Summit Hike

Wildflowers of Marys Peak Meadows, a Pocket Guide

Peakbagger.com - Marys Peak, Oregon 

The original plan today was to hit the Guler Ice Cave, but that destination was scrapped due to the lad's consideration of its spookiness after seeing some ominous pictures. Rather than ruining spelunking forever for the poor boy, Plan B was enacted. The only problem, there was no Plan B. After some quick searching and scanning online, the crosshairs for today's adventure fell on Cedar Butte Trail in the Tillamook State Forest.

I was a little nervous about this hike, and it wasn't because of the 700' gain in .75 miles. That weighed a bit in the back of my mind, but it was the volume of cars this afternoon at every trailhead on Oregon Route 6 that really had me questioning today's choice of locale. That, coupled with the fact that there was a very recent article in Portland Monthly about the same destination. I just knew that we would get to the trailhead and be greeted by thirty Subarus.

Yeah, I was totally wrong about that. By the time we got up the mountainside on some pretty rough and muddy forest roads, there was not a single soul to be found at the trailhead parking. Guys on dirtbikes cruised by, but it turned out that we were on our own for the entirety of the hike.

Starting out in a pretty open harvested area, the first part of the trail was nice and mellow. Every bit of that terrified me, knowing that we initially had three-quarters of a mile to scramble 700 feet up, and that initial mellowness burned about a quarter of the implied distance. Now, we're talking less distance to deal with the same elevation gain. How fun.

Before hitting the switchbacks that announced nearly vertical climbing (whiny exaggeration, but I did have a 35 pound child atop my shoulders), we got to spend some great time looking at the results of previous burns in the area, and I had a grand time pantomiming the great Tillamook Burn.

Cruising through the closed single canopy forest really highlighted the results and timing of replanting in the area after all of the fires. Once we emerged out of this forest and saw Cedar Butte in the distance, the magic really started. Beargrass, wood sorrel, penstemon, and Indian paintbrush just lit up the place.

One last (and steep) chunk of trail led us to the top of the butte, rewarding us with a true prairie fire of flowers and an ocean of green stretching from our position to the Pacific. A couple of rugged benches provided a nice spot to rest, and we enjoyed a fine lunch - peanut butter burritos, apples, sauteed sausage, and the obligatory granola bars.

In one of my favorite moments of the day, the young'un was quite agitated at the sight of some garbage up on the summit. There was some thick glass broken about and a few food wrappers. For background, he has been saying "bad polluters" every time we come across rogue garbage littered anywhere. He asked me if he could talk to them about what they did, and I said, "Sure, Kiddo." He stepped away from me and toward the edge, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Bad polluters! Stop leaving your things on the ground!" as though all of them would hear him from way up there. We picked up what we could, and I was left beaming about the righteous anger he expressed.

All told, that lowly little 0.75 miles took us the better part of an hour to climb. We took lots of pictures along the way, but it is definitely a testament to the elevation gain. On the other hand, the way down may have been twenty minutes or so.

Short and sweet and sweaty. This was a really grand hike that has bitten me with desires to tackle some more of the Tillamook State Forest. I think Elk Mountain is off the table with the lad's presence, but I'm sure we'll figure out some appropriate places to hit

Abiqua Falls was one of those places that I read about again and again during my research of waterfalls around the Santiam State Forest, and it always left me wanting to make my way there. Noted as a tough place to reach, it wasn't until this past weekend that the boy and I went for it and threw caution to the wind.

With noon approaching on a Saturday afternoon, it was time to scramble and collect our gear. Everything was in order. I just wish the same could have been said for most every other decision I made afterward.

I rarely depend on Google Maps or GPS for directions to trailheads, but for some insane reason I chose this trip to begin with such a folly. The directions landed us on some logged mountainsides' forest roads, and we decided that some some wandering around on the nearby land was in order. According to the GPS, we were 1.3 kilometers away from Abiqua Falls, just on the bloody wrong side of the canyon. Trotting through that much private land and terrain changes has no appeal to me, so we took pictures of our current situation, took a few moments of silence around a roadside memorial, and returned to the car.

Whipping the car back down to Silverton and over to Scotts Mills, we hit a favorite road of ours, Crooked Finger Road, and followed the directions I should have utilized in the first place. After the pavement ended and we took the right at CF300, the road got a little rough as we cruised downhill.

I read multiple trip reports of people who said that the road down to Abiqua Falls could be traversed by a passenger car.

Well, yes, it could be done. That does not imply it should be done, but we did it anyway. That road truly eats passenger cars for breakfast, as evident by the blown out bits of rubber every half-mile or so. Luckily, we made it safely.

I recalled that you walk back from where you park and cruise down the trail. What I conveniently forgot was the part about ignoring the first trail down and taking the second that was 50-100 feet further down the road.  With the boy on my shoulders, we began traversing our way straight down the mountainside toward Abiqua Creek. The trail all but ended, and we hung tight with the slope. I never felt worried about the lad's safety during our descent, but my legs were nowhere near as accepting.

At one point, we found a 25-foot clearing that was largely free of rocks and slid down. Remember, I wasn't aware of the second trail at this point and was completely dreading the return up the mountain. "So this is why the hike was listed as not family friendly," I thought to myself, sprinkled with expletives under my breath that nobody but my conscience would hear.

My boy was having a blast throughout all of this. There was only one spot that scared him, and that was when I slipped on a lone rock and drove my knee and elbow into the ground while keeping him stabilized. Despite being shaken up for that brief moment, he was ready to throw rocks into the creek once we were at the water. The moment was taken to wash my wounds and let him skip some stones. A few sips of water, and we were trucking along the creek and heading upstream toward the falls.

There was absolutely no trail at this point, so we just did our best cruising up and over the fallen trees, boulders, and miscellaneous riparian buffer obstacles. After what felt like a couple thousand feet, we finally hit the actual trail, and it was at this point I noticed the ropes leading back up. My heart sang, and we hadn't even seen the main event. Once we hit the main trail, it was pure fun ducking under or hopping over a couple of trunks.

When you hear the falls just ahead, it does not prepare you for the grandeur that awaits. To turn the corner around the creek and land in the most perfect basaltic amphitheater, with Abiqua Falls crashing down in the center, a sense of absolute wonder overtook both of us. I hooted, he hollered. Hours were spent down there, playing with rocks, talking about basaltic columns, algae and moss, erosion, and a million other things that need to be discussed when you're a four-year-old.

When it was time to go, we stuck to the proper trail and utilized every inch of rope provided by some kind souls for the trek back up. The lad did great for a bit, but did end up back on my shoulders for a good chunk of the climb. He's getting heavier by the day, but this was one of those spots where I wanted him up there safe and sound.

We got back to my car, and the parking area was as empty when we left as it was when we arrived. After making it back over the hellacious road up the mountain without a flat tire or broken suspension, we enjoyed a beautiful drive through the backroads of the valley.

Even with the botched initial directions, boulder-dodging on the road, and poor trail choice on the way down, I would do this again and again the same way if need be. Abiqua Falls may be one of my absolutely favorite spots in all of Oregon now. Many thanks to the Mount Angel Abbey for letting us enjoy such splendor on their land.