The Clackamas is fat and raging, swollen by tremendous winter rains. The days, now just past the Solstice are short and dim. Night is creeping near in this old camp, constructed in the 1920s as a work camp for a crystalline railroad snaking up the canyon, now gone, replaced by time and Highway 224. Man's hand is never too far away.
Just downriver is the ancient "Sounds of 2 Rivers Trail". Once a main route out and up from the Clackamas, it is now a moss-tossed backroad, just a comma in a age-old run on sentence. Located and restored by volunteers, the trail is seeped with mystery and peace, with a chorus of indigenous voices nearly dripping from the branches of immense Douglas firs. The trail's colorful name is in reference to the Roaring and Clackamas Rivers crashing and flowing nearby and always audible in spite of the deep forest's hushed tones.
And then it's time to go home.