Strawberry Sunrises and Smoky Horizons

Content First Appeared on The Trek

Crossing into Oregon felt like a welcome reprieve. We celebrated with my favorite burger joint near the campground with a cheeseburger, fries, and a shake.

Image Source: “Cascade Locks Burger Joint,” August 2025.

On our final morning in town, we shared breakfast with Wampire, our hiking companion since White Pass, near the Bridge of the Gods. We watched backpackers cross over into their next state, the moment quickly giving way to bittersweet goodbyes. With heavier packs, full bellies, and lighter hearts, Neapolitan and I began our gradual journey out of Cascade Locks. Rested and ready, we set out along the enchanting Eagle Creek Trail, eager to enter the lush green tunnel ahead.

The First Campsite

The trail began along a paved road, slipping through a concrete tunnel before climbing a rocky mountain path that wound alongside cascading rivers and waterfalls. Despite the scars of the 2017 fire, the landscape was vibrant and alive with wildflowers, moss, and towering green.

We camped beside the river that first night, cooling off in its icy current after the valley baked in 93-degree heat all day. Sweat beaded on my hands and dampened my neck, legs, and back as the sun bore down. It was clear we’d need early starts in the days ahead if we hoped to beat the heat.

Hiking Through the Falls

We planned to rise before dawn, but after a restless night from the heat, we weren’t on the trail until 8 a.m. That night we had a low of 70 degrees, so our bodies felt like they were boiling before we even left camp. The valley was quiet, the trail winding up and down the mountainside, and my thoughts wound with it. Despite being surrounded by water, I was already overheated.

By 9 a.m., hikers were gathered at the iconic waterfall for photos, but its beauty still stunned me. Moss and greenery climbed the canyon walls, and the spray from the falls cooled my skin as we passed through the cave behind it. Reluctantly, we pressed on, knowing the steep climb up the canyon still awaited us.

By 10 a.m., sweat soaked my clothes. We hid in our tent among the burnt trees, watching the thermometer climb. Neapolitan said it hit 103 degrees at one point. He’d rigged the rainfly for shade, but the heat was relentless. That night, under a hazy sky and with the scent of a wildfire in the air, we checked the forecast: another week of extreme temperatures. I knew my body. Hiking through that heat would mean risking heat exhaustion or another UTI. So, we made a plan: night hiking to Timberline Lodge.

Climbing to Timberline Lodge

The last stretch to Timberline was painted with strawberry-red sunrises and views of Mount Hood. It was a holiday weekend, so the trail bustled with day hikers and backpackers. We started early, watching the first light spill over the horizon, pausing to take in Ramona Falls before beginning the steep, relentless climb up the slope, switchback after switchback.

As we ascended, I found myself wondering: if so many of us are out here seeking the same beauty, what does it mean for these wild places as they shrink? How do we balance the desire to share them with the need to protect them? The questions lingered with every step.

By late afternoon, we stopped for a quick siesta, then pushed on, camping just 5.5 miles from the lodge. Neapolitan had made an 8 a.m. reservation for Timberline’s famous breakfast buffet, an incentive too good to miss. Despite the climb and the smoky haze from a fire in eastern Oregon, Mount Hood welcomed us with a clear, sunny day. We reached Timberline with thirty minutes to spare, giddy at the thought of real food and a full charge.