Moonlight Sonata

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A muffled, steady crunch punctuates the still night air. We shuffle into the woods on our snowshoes, a dozen shadows in the darkness exploring Mt. Hood’s Trillium Lake Trail. Tonight the skies are uncertain. A handful of stars wink through a veil of clouds. We’re hoping for moonlight, hoping the full moon will be the only guide we’ll need to follow the trail.

The group brings a variety of experience to the trip. Teri, my co-leader, is an accomplished adventure racer who likes to snowshoe with her two sons. Lynn and Nicole are avid cyclists who took up snowshoeing to stay fit in winter. Kathy, Pauline and Joe are first-timers.

“If you can walk, you can snowshoe,” I promise as we strap into our shoes.

“What if you have trouble walking?” someone asks.

With moonrise still an hour away, we cruise down the half-mile hill that leads from the trailhead into the Trillium Basin, where 25 miles of trails encircle the popular lake. “On weekends, this trail is packed with people,” says Wendy, who’s lived in the Trillium basin for 20 years. “Tonight we have it all to ourselves.”

The snow-covered path flattens out briefly, then narrows and bends upward through a stand of Douglas fir. We pause to shed a layer of clothing. Like cross-country skiing, snowshoeing burns calories and generates heat. I strip down to a lightweight jacket and am plenty warm.

We’re traveling a 4.5-mile clockwise loop around the lake. During the first two miles, Trillium Lake is merely a promise, concealed from view by dense forest. Spread out along the trail, we mingle and chat.

Lynn laughs out loud as Joe, a writer nicknamed the “Metal Cowboy,” describes a cycling adventure in the Australian outback. “It started out with a friendly game of darts,” Joe says. “Next thing I know I’ve lost everything and I have to challenge the guy to a bike race to win my money back.”

At the front of the group, Pauline, Kathy and Nicole are talking about dating and relationships, and Teri is hanging back, making sure we don’t leave anyone behind in the dark.

Overhead, thickening clouds block the stars. “If we don’t get moonlight,” I think, “maybe we’ll get snow.”

Despite overcast skies, most of us have turned off our flashlights. The faint outline of the path is all we need, and artificial light seems intrusive.

Thanks to the blanket of snow, we see more evidence of wildlife tonight than is typical even in summer daylight. Alongside the trail, tiny tracks disappear into the woods. “The day after a new snow,” says John, a volunteer with the Forest Service, “you can see animal tracks everywhere.”

Wendy lists the neighbors: coyotes, snowshoe hares, elk, sometimes even bobcat, deer and bear.

About an hour into the hike through a tree-lined corridor, a voice calls from up front. “Check it out!”

At the base of a gentle hill, the path abruptly widens, the trees part and the view of Trillium Lake — a giant oval, frozen and dusted with snow — stops us in our tracks. It’s a perfect spot for a snack break, so I unzip my pack and pull out a container of cookies and two bottles of sparkling cider.

“Did you bake these yourself?” Nicole asks — and is right to be suspicious.

“Me — and Mr. Pillsbury,” I admit.

Wendy fills us in on the background of Trillium Lake, which looks like a natural wonder but is actually manmade. “The big thing you have to look out for this time of year is camp robbers,” she says.

Pauline looks alarmed. "Birds," Wendy says. “Gray jays. In winter, they get hungry. If you stop for a snack, within a few minutes three or four will be around you.”

Joe urges us all to douse our flashlights and, for a moment in the darkness, all is quiet. No words, no wind, just the priceless sound of silence. That’s when it happens: The hillside to the south begins to glow. Moments later, the moon rises above the tree line on the near horizon.

Transfixed, we stare for a while, basking in the light, watching the moon climb in the sky, a beacon perfectly framed between a pair of clouds. After a few minutes, several people stomp their feet trying to chase away the chill, so I know it’s time to move on.

Shuffling into the woods, we cast backward glances as we go. Within minutes, the volume of chatter rises and everyone is warm again. Moonlight streams through the filter of the forest, drenching the trail in dappled light. We pass the Summit Meadow Cabins, rustic, trailside lodges managed by Wendy and her husband. Cross-country ski tracks lead to the front door of a cabin that glows from the light of a warm fire.

Beside the trail, a broad meadow of untracked snow beckons. Several hikers charge off to make first tracks, laughing and cavorting like kids during the first winter snow.

“Snowshoeing is so egalitarian,” Joe says. “Anybody can do it!”

As we linger in the meadow, the clouds cloaking Mt. Hood finally melt away. The snow-covered flanks of the mountain glow against the blue-black sky. Moon and mountain are both ours tonight.

We head up the final hill, but the end of the trail isn’t the end of this adventure. We’re hungry. “Trail mix, anyone?” asks Nicole, who offers a blend of dried fruit, nuts, raisins and chocolate. Hungry snowshoers thrust their hands into the bag.

“Cheetos?” Pauline asks. We all turn to ransack her offering.
But these are just the appetizers. From the trunk of my car, I pull out my camping stove, spoons and bowls, and serve up hot chili.

“Hey, these make an excellent topping for chili,” Pauline says. Sure enough, we add the bright orange Cheetos to our steaming bowls, the perfect way to top off a moonlit evening.

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