On Joining a New Outdoor Community

Plus, the aftermath of Hilary, epic waterfalls, the best new boots might be sneakers, washed out roads, bears on Half Dome, and lots more

howdy

I lived in Southern California for over 17 years before moving to the Northwest. The Santa Monica and San Gabriel Mountains outside of Los Angeles are where I learned to hike in my mid-twenties (which seemed like a late start at the time, but not so much now), and although I do really love living here in the Northwest, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss L.A., too.

Apart from all the great people and organizations I got to know and get involved with during my time there, I miss the outdoors. And I know for a lot of people that’s weird, because you’re probably thinking, “but now you live in a place where there’s so much great hiking in every direction!” And you’re not wrong, but what I miss about the outdoors are the things that made me fall in love with and become a big defender of the outdoors in L.A.—that complex proximity to urban sprawl, the sticky balance of use and overuse of parks in a place that doesn’t really value public lands, and of course, those mountain ranges with views for miles and my coastal sage scrub and chapparal plant communities.

I completely understand that this is the incredible landscape I am currently complaining about

You will not be surprised, then, to learn that one of the ways I’m trying to (sorry) put down some roots in my new location is by learning its local flora. During pandemic, I put a lot of effort into designing and planting a native garden in our yard space, and now that I’m able to get out onto the local trails more, I’m able to spot a few of my favorites on my hikes and replicate their natural environments in my garden.

A few weeks ago, while running down a trail in a local park, I spotted someone hunched over a tall pink flower. She was gazing back and forth between the flower and her phone, and as I passed her, I yelled out, “It’s a meadow checkerbloom! Willamette Valley native!” Which is not to brag about my plant knowledge (which is still solidly ‘medium’ here), but rather to illustrate just how chatty some of this stuff can make me.

This forest is lovely, but I still long for vistas …

It hits harder when it’s just me and the plants, though. I was feeling a little down in the dumps recently and laced up my boots to explore the Cape Horn Loop on the north side of the Columbia River Gorge. I’m still seeing trails through my Southwestern lens (I want vistas and ranges, dang it!), but after hiking through a beautiful but seemingly endless green tunnel, I came upon a clearing with a lovely meadow dotted with Douglas asters—beautiful, tall, showy purple flowers that are popular with the pollinators in my garden as well as the neighbors who walk by when I’m working on it.

Seeing these flowers instantly brought a huge grin to my face—and I had to lean in for a nice selfie just like I was compelled to the last time I visited Griffith Park after a rainstorm.

Honestly, it was great to feel like I ran into an old friend on the trail, and it kept me going with some pep in my step for the rest of the route, too.

Maybe by this time next year, I’ll know enough to do a northwest version of a native plant selfie tour …