After I started driving the Lotus, it was apparent that my shoes needed to be narrower, so I shopped and got some nice Cole Haan’s. Now, long months or maybe even a year later, it’s pretty obvious that they are foot murderers. So  the search is on for their replacement. They’re still good for driving, but they have their limits if I want to stay out of a wheel chair.

This week my daughter invited me on hikes. Where I live, that means traversing trails through forests so beautiful that they exceed anything the photographers can print in their glossy coffee table books. The trails smell good too. And there are wild strawberries, salmon berries, black berries, and others depending on the month.

On the first hike I left the foot murderers home and wore what might pass as hiking shoes. It went well except that they’re heavy and hot.

On the next hike, I searched for the mud boots that I knew would leave me smiling, again with hot feet. They were hidden in plain sight in my Land Rover which I noticed on my way out to the car while wearing a substitute:  American made top quality motor cycle boots.

That was not the best choice for a mile and a half up and down a rock then two miles up and down the forest below as I learned. After all, they’re biker boots and we never came close to a motorcycle.

None of the shoes I’ve ever bought whose chief claim was that they were good hiking boots ever have been. So the search goes on. My mud boots come closest so they get to go on the next trail walk that I do.

Meanwhile, no matter what torture happens to my poor innocent feet, the grand vista’s and beautiful twists and turns of the trails are just as stunning as if my feet got to share in the joy.

Beacon Rock. A beautiful hike. Looks good, smells good, feels good.

I can never resist trying to get pictures that will support art that’s in the works.

One of the jewel like qualities of the view is the blue and purple southern shoulder of the Columbia River Gorge showing through the trees.

It was a good hike, except that someone in the group was very uneasy about the switchback bridges where the ground far below could be seen through the grates. There are sheer drops.

The little shy chip monks at the top of the rock have been replaced with fat beggar squirrels who have no shame.

At the conclusion of the hike up and down the rock, we explored. There is a trail that was supposed to take us to the water’s edge. We opted to check it out.

The start is through a friendly fir tree forest with very little underbrush. Then the trail takes on many different characters and it was lined with black berries, thistle, flowers, poison ivy, and hazelnut trees each in their turn.  I loved it.

My lot was to stay on the heels of a child whose batteries probably didn’t discharge at all in the entire journey. She never got tired.

We had been to the top. Now we were below the bottom. We walked past water lily ponds that had seemed as little specks from up there.

By this point in the trail she discovered that the tan powder that cushioned the trail also enabled the creation of a dust cloud as she walked.

The cotton woods seemed other worldly and though you can’t have pictures that showed them with the purple hills showing through, perhaps you can imagine it. We never reached the river.

Whenever I walk the local trails I ask myself why I’m not out here painting these views or at least photographing them. It’s so over the top beautiful!