From: David Barts
Subject: A walk in the canyon
Date: Sun, 17 Jul 2005 22:34:27 -0700

One of the advantages of hiking shoeless is that it makes for almost
silent hiking. It gives one appreciation for how our bipedal
locomotion was an adaptation for hunting; like other predators we have
soft, padded feet and can walk nearly silently. I can usually hear
the footsteps of approaching shoddies well before I see them.

It was a hot day here in Portland; dry air was streaming westward
through the Columbia Gorge from the desert lands east of the Cascades
like the breath of some giant dragon.

In the early evening I decided to go for a hike in Balch Canyon in the
nearby hills. The canyon is lush and narrow with a perennial stream
flowing through it; the exuberant vegetation acts like a giant
evaporative cooler. It is often over fifteen degrees F cooler
than anywhere else on hot days.

Today was no exception; several blocks before I got to the mouth of the
canyon I could feel the cool moist breeze streaming down it. Entering
the canyon, it was deliciously cool. Down amongst the ferns and
salmonberry canes, it was hard to believe that the tops of the trees
were being moved by hot dry winds about twenty degrees warmer.

I like the trail there because it has lots of variety, but it's
definitely not one for "beginners" as there's many rocky and gravely
sections. I made an effort to walk as quietly as possible. Although
sun was still striking the slopes above, in the canyon it was deep
shade, almost dusky. An owl began hooting in the treetops above,
answered by another about 1/4 mile down the canyon.

The trail crossed and recrossed the creek. I passed the ruins of the
old stone restrooms, long-since abandoned to vandals and now nothing
but moss-covered walls remaining. Then across the creek one
last time and a switchbacking climb up the wall of the canyon,
temporarily leaving the cool air behind.

I decided to make my turn-around point the Pittock Bird Sanctuary in
the upper canyon, which was not far from the upper parking lot I had
just arrived at, A short gravely stretch later and I was entering the
sanctuary (and reentering the pool of nice, cool air).

My turn-around point was a shelter overlooking a small pond. For some
reason, someone had attached one of those fake blow-up owls to the
railing of the shelter. Then the "fake" owl turned his head slightly.
Magic. Only about a dozen feet away, and because I had been almost
silent I hadn't spooked him. If I had been wearing shoes, the most I
would have seen is the fleeting glance of a flushed owl flying away
from the shelter.

We stared into each others eyes for a few moments; I was admiring the
golden irises of his large eyes; I wonder what he thought of my blue
ones. Then I broke the spell by attempting to get my camera out of my
pack. The owl took off, flying past me, his wings making only the
slightest discernible noise.

The sun was going down, so it was time to head back if I didn't want to
be in the canyon bottom in darkness. I walked back in the deepening
twilight. Sometimes it was a little hard to see where the rocks were
but I managed well enough. When I got to the bottom of the trail, bats
were flitting about in the evening air.

--
David Barts
Portland, OR