As a quick departure from the words-heavy posts that I’ll be making, regarding my preparations and move out of the United States, here are a few quick pictures of some of the more interesting meals I’ve been having during the days while I’m not at work.
I have a lot of planning to do, but I’ve learned that cerebral work like that requires time away from the screen to succeed. Time for my brain to process what I’m working on, notice patterns, and connect dots to find inconsistencies or weak links in the plan. When I don’t, things go wrong. To make sure they go right, I take walks and eat sandwiches. Or gorge on dinosaur chicken nuggets.
I sip Lattes too, of course. I am still in Oregon, after all.
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday – 03-Mar-2024, 04-Mar-2024, and 05-Mar-2024
I’ve known about Breitenbush for a long time. Maybe not as long as I’ve been in Oregon… but it’s pretty close, if I had to guess.
Now that I’ve transitioned from full-time work to full-time trip-and-move-planning, I figured that it was the perfect opportunity to disconnect from the internet, soak in the hot springs, and at least attempt to re-center myself out in a luxury version of the wilderness… and since Breitenbush has been on my radar for so long, well, now was the time.
I booked my stay, and headed out.
The drive out was absolutely perfect – with how chaotic everything had been, I hadn’t had the opportunity to take a long quiet drive in quite some time. It’s meditation for me, I’ve learned, to take long drives. Listening to music, letting the asphalt and miles pass under the wheels, and letting myself succumb to the dissociative fugue of the monotonous road… it opens up my brain to wander and think and connect dots that I wouldn’t normally be able to connect.
The drive wasn’t too long, thankfully, nor was it particularly snowy… I didn’t have to toss the chains on the car, though I did definitely slow down a bit as the Mustang and I got higher up in elevation. I stopped to appreciate a river, I took my time, and soon enough found myself checking into the welcome hutch at the resort.
For those who haven’t heard of it, Breitenbush is a hot-springs resort up in the mountains in the Jefferson Wilderness of Oregon. It’s built around a natural hotspring, which has been capped off and cooled down to human-safe temperatures with a whole resort built up around it. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from it, though what I’d heard was mostly focused on the idea of “quiet contemplation”. Which, thanks to the turmoil of recent life changes, sounded perfect for me.
In the end, though, that quiet contemplation turned out to be a bit much for where my soul was at.
Instead of “quiet contemplation”, I frankly found it to be quite isolating… Interestingly, mirroring my overall experience in Oregon. The atmosphere was partially spiritual, but mainly solitary – I didn’t go into the retreat expecting conversation, but I also didn’t go in expecting absolute isolation. When passing people on the trails, it seemed a bit taboo to acknowledge them, and in turn I was treated as if I was invisible.
I can see the draw to that, for many people, and I don’t judge anyone for it. For me, though, it wasn’t the vibe I needed at the time. As the days went on, I found myself becoming lonely and looking for interaction but was barred from seeking it thanks to the norms of the resort.
Interestingly, I did end up finding companionable conversation from an unexpected direction – I’d booked a massage for my second day, fully expecting it to be a very quiet and disconnected experience. Instead, the masseuse seemed to be in the same boat that I was, and in a place looking for some form of human connection. We clicked surprisingly well; lightly chatting through the massage, and then unexpectedly reconnecting later in the evening while sitting and reading around a fireplace in the central lodge.
I was cautious, at first, making sure not to overstep the bounds of Breitenbush and the profession of a masseuse, but we made a point to check in about those, and were able to chat about that sense of isolation and upcoming change well into the evening. It was spectacularly unexpected, and absolutely appreciated.
Then, before bed, I strolled off for an 11pm soak in one of the springs, embracing the night and watching the snow fall into the pool. It was a lovely change of pace, and a beautiful switch in the whole experience.
But why not, when the goal is just to get out of town and sleep on the glacier? I mean… the goal here isn’t to get crazy views (even though I like to!), nor is the goal to hike a ton of distance (though I do hike some extra miles when I can)… The goal is to get out of town, carve a spot into the snow, and appreciate the cold and solitude.
The white river glacier works well for that – I know it like the back of my hand, it’s not a long hike, and I can take my time on the drive out. I mean, I’ve never set alarms for days that I go up onto the white river glacier. I wake up slow, get brunch, then… take it easy. It’s nice.
This trip was no different from the others. I mean, I didn’t even get to the trailhead ’till 5:00 or so! And Sundown was 6:30!
But that’s fine – I know the path, I have headlamps, and…
Why was there a fire going near my campsite? Was there someone else in my spot?? For the first time in three years???
No, dear readers, thankfully I hadn’t been site-sniped. It was better… so much better. I’ve never seen any one else camping near my area, in the 3+ years I’ve been up that trail. Which is kind of strange, since I only found this specific spot because, when I went up in 2021, someone else had already carved it out from the hillside…
Anyways, I met a team of folks who were making fondue, and we shared fondue. It was delicious, and I very much plan on making fondue the next time I go backpacking. Also I plan on saying fondue as many fondue times as I fon-can. Do. Due.
In trade, I promised aerial pictures of their camp – I made sure they were okay with my flying my drone ahead of time, of course, and they were quite psyched for the opportunity, so… win-win, right? Heck yeah, right.
The rest of the trip was exactly as normal – quiet, relaxing, and exceptionally enjoyable. I adore the snow, the cold, and the quiet that I can’t ever seem to find in the summer. Something about the stillness of the air, maybe? Or where the world seems to be hibernating, and not expecting anything from us? I can’t say for certain, but I can say that I appreciate it.
