I don't think I'm in the Columbia River Gorge anymore.

Early the morning of Day 3 I saw this sign:

I didn't think much about it as I headed to Strawberry Mountain Wilderness for a 9-mile hike.

Let me rephrase that. I didn't think much about it as I headed into the woods dressed in brown and green clothing, to wander alone for hours after not telling anyone the details of my plan for the day.

Dumb, dumb city girl.

I got about three miles into the Joaquin Miller trail, which was right around here...

... before hearing a shot, and then another shot. Dumb city girl did a quick 180 and high-tailed it back. (Loudly, and with ample arm-flailing.) On the way I passed two of the hunters armed and ready for the next pheasant that crossed their path. They were polite but coldly so, and being in such close proximity to guns always makes me a little nauseous.

I got back to the trailhead where I ate my sandwich, slowed my heart rate and stared at this sign, which I'd missed on the way in:


I'm sorry, but I just don't get sport hunting.

In other news, I also saw Ponderosa pines for the first time. Their puzzle piece bark was fascinating...


... and this cow almost made up for the nerve-wracking hike.


Almost.