Mary's Got A Peak...

Marys Peak
 

Besides hiking a few hilltops in Corvallis, like Dan's Trail at Dimple Hill every week, we decided to include the only actual "mountain" within the immediate area in our hiking ventures. It's a 40-minute drive outside of where we live; in fact, it may be a shorter drive, but I, of course, got us lost on the drive up there. Our friend Carl came with us on this trip, and though he denies this as an indication that he'll be coming on the JMT with us (he's the one we're trying to convince to come), we feel it's only a matter of time before he gives in.




Marys peak is 4,097 feet and somehow, we managed to end up at the top of the peak rather than at the base of it. Instead of continuing to drive around like idiots (thereby proving we have no clue what we're doing yet), we decided we'd just hike down the mountain, then back up to finish her off, just to get it done and out of the way for that day. I was carrying a hiking backpack filled with our changes of clothing, water bottles and snacks as just a small blip of what carrying weight would actually feel like on the JMT. I weighed it later, and it was only 20 pounds, which is about half of my goal weight for my pack for the trail, but way too much weight for a three-hour trip -- yeah, we don't have the efficient packing tricks down yet. About half mile down the hill, we come across a "foot print." This has been debated among the three of us since this day as to whether it is a bear paw print (Kaity's thought), a Big Foot print (Carl's theory --I would like to think he was kidding, but he does watch that Finding Big Foot TV show), or a combination of a dog print and shoe print stepped on top of each other (my thought). The two of them swear it was something supernatural, but there was only one print... why would a bear be walking around on only one foot? And don't get me started on the Big Foot theory in general; that's Carl's baby to feed.



So, we manage to leave the print alone and keep making our way down. Our conversations tended to stick to one topic -- that being poop. I don't even know how it got started, so don't ask, but one story led into another. Just to clarify, we were not talking about our own (well, sometimes we were), but rather stories that involve poop pranks, revenge poop, etc. It's really quite fascinating how many poop tales one can have on deck to share with a small group of people. I'd like to keep it simple and say "halfway down," but let's be honest, we were only like a mile and a half into descending the mountain when, yep, you guessed it, I stepped on a rock wrong, folded my ankle in half and went down along with the extra weight of my pack. Kaity and I sat there for about five minutes assessing it and trying to will my foot to move, when Carl finally appeared to the scene.  Now, before you think he is just a big nonchivalrous jerk, he was taking a potty break (he will also kill me for using his name and "potty break" in the same sentence), and when he finally arrived to the scene, the three of us hashed out whether to continue down the hill, knowing we'd have to come back up. Being exercise science majors (all three of us), we of course knew the smart and logical thing was to return back to the car and try again next time, but being a stubborn-ass hypocrite, I talked them into letting us finish as planned. I figure, when we're on the actual trail, I will most likely do something stupid to myself then, too, and won't be able to just turn around and leave, so what a better time to practice this madness.

 



We made it to the bottom, then proceeded to come back up. Now listen, ending a hike by ascending it sucks. I mean, my opinion was slightly jaded because I was in pain, but handling all the switchbacks as you're three miles from being finished is really just like getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth: a little obnoxious and causes a very dry-mouth feeling. Despite all of this, we managed to complete the entire 8 miles in right at two hours (apparently, we like to haul ass up hilltops), even with our stops to analyze mud prints (yep, had to check it out again on our way back) and ankles.

We eventually made our way back down the mountain and found a place to eat. Originally, we had planned on going and seeing Argo after eating dinner, but we all realized we were too old and tired to sit through a movie afterward; not to mention the fact that I had no clue what it was about, and by this time, the pain of my ankle was finally settling in. By the time I got home, my ankle looked like the top of a femur bone and I started calling it "my chubby," which yes, I know what that also means; get over it.

 

So that was our Marys Peak journey. A breakdown of what we learned: Don't mess with Carl if you're ever his roommate (he has very interesting revenge poop stories), chubby ankles are no reason to quit, map out your route before you go, carry less stuff, and any food tastes good when you get done hiking.

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” - John Muir