I’ve been itching to throw some miles down, push my limits, and really stretch my legs. Caretaking obligations have kept me domestically grounded, and the walls are closing in. My focus blurs, shadowed edges creeping in—yet through it all, the mountains are calling to me. I set a date and begin counting down the days.
October 2, 2024
The Timberline Trail is a 40-mile loop that circumnavigates Mount Hood, revealing unique views of this stunning mountain from every angle. It’s a popular backpacking loop and several sections provide popular day hikes. I begin my journey at the Top Spur Trailhead under a starry sky, quickly trading starlight for the focused beam of my headlamp cutting through the fog. It illuminates a stair-step tangle of roots climbing half a mile up to meet the Timberline Trail.
I started at 6:20, hoping to catch the pink sunrise behind Mount Hood at a vista point a mile in—but it’s socked in. The trail drops into the woods, and soon, I emerge below the clouds. I catch a glimpse of the brilliant pink sunrise with Hood in the foreground, but it’s framed by the trees—not ideal for a photo. I hurry toward Muddy Fork, hoping to capture it before the color fades. I barely miss it, but the day is beautiful, and the view remains spectacular.
Thin ice crystals sparkle as I stride through the underbrush, dew droplets glistening on the leaves. Cold trickles seep into my fists wrapped in soaked sleeves as I brush past the foliage. I feel a sense of freedom climbing the hill that rises above the Sandy River.
The fall colors intensifying with each step, and Hood’s massive summit comes into view, its gnarled spires guarding a snow-covered dome.
Amid the bursts of autumn hues, a tattered sign reading “Paradise Park Loop” catches my eye. I take the detour, breaking above the treeline, and find myself between cirrus clouds above and a sea of stratus clouds below.
Running the alpine meadow’s rolling dirt path, Hood’s on my left, while to my right, cloud-filled valleys stretch between green mountain peaks—a breathtaking surprise that enhances the already stunning scenery of Paradise Park.
Descending towards the Zigzag River, the vibrant colors of the valleys pop against the backdrop of Hood. I cross the river and begin the climb up a thousand vertical feet, pulling an energy bar from my running vest as I push through the thinning forest canopy, muttering “Redrum” under my breath as I approach Timberline Lodge.
Cirrus clouds drift above Timberline Lodge, revealing distant views of Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters. Below Hood’s summit, the volcano’s crater looms directly overhead, its caldera crowned with jagged rock spires—Hawkins Ridge to the west, Steel Cliff’s formations to the east, and Crater Rock standing sentinel in the center.
The stretch through Mount Hood Meadows offers several viewpoints up mossy, dripping rock walls of riparian valleys, where creeks cascade down the slopes.
The climb from Newton Creek up to Gnarl Ridge, a 3.5-mile stretch with 2,000 feet of gain, is grueling. I bonk near the top, feeling like Frodo in Mordor, trudging along the rocky, undulating path, heavy with the imagined burden of the Ring. But this time, there’s no ring of power—just the huff-puff of my own determination. Up close, the glaciers and the gnarled crevices of Hood’s summit come into view, behind the Black Spider cliffs.
I skip a stop at Cloud Cap, despite the charm of Tilly Jane’s A-Frame and the historic Cloud Cap Inn. Between here and Bald Mountain Ridge, the trail offers a wealth of meadows, campsites, cool canyons, and cascading waterfalls.
I finally pause at Bald Mountain Ridge for one last look at Hood, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, a sense of satisfaction settling in with the fading light. With my heart full and legs weary, I follow the rutty, root-filled descent down to my car.
