That title is a little dramatic for the three days I spent camping on Mount Hood last week. The first time I went camping was five years ago (more on that another day) and with few wilderness survival skills, I stick to day hikes and car camping. That means if it can fit in the trunk, I tend to pack it. For three days and barely an hour’s drive from home, I figured I could rough it more than normal and pack light.

Packing light somehow included a camp chair, four books, a map of the Oregon coast (just in case I decided to head the other direction, I guess), a two-person tent (for just me, I like the room), and so on.

Yet I decided to save space by bringing just one pair of shorts.

I headed to the south side of Mount Hood taking Highway 26 past Boring.

I claimed a spot at Trillium Lake, a campground in the Mount Hood National Forest. I almost felt guilty for taking one of the few sites with a view of Mount Hood, the highest peak in Oregon at around 11,240 feet.

Having packed so “lightly,” I had to forage for my dinner, which I then enjoyed while watching the sun set on the mountain.

(I have a Pavlovian response to camping and can’t resist the salty snack aisle at a camp store.)

As night fell and the forest towered above me, I felt like I was in an Emily Carr painting.

The next morning, I headed to a trail head near Government Camp. I was heading up to the Timberline Lodge. You can drive up to the lodge, but I was going to hike the 5 ½ miles with its 2,000 foot elevation gain – penance for last night’s “dinner.”

I had the trail to myself, despite evidence of lots of mountain bikes and one lone rabbit.

Turning the corner of a switchback, I felt a tug on my shorts. Then I heard a slow-motion, tearing rip. My one pair of shorts, shredded.  At least it was along the side (given my foraging trips down the salty snack aisle, a rip down the back wouldn’t have been shocking).

I continued up the mountain, berating my plan to pack light but also getting my first view of the summit after an hour of hiking.

Then I remembered that hidden, unused in my backpack was duct tape.

I believe that’s the closest I’ve come to using a survival skill.

The trail keeps going up, but I stopped at the Timberline Lodge, which is celebrating it’s 75th anniversary this month. I snagged a chair on the lodge’s back patio.

Sitting at the lodge, I enjoyed the view of the summit while reading and drinking a glass of huckleberry lemonade.

I was pleased with my first camper’s duct tape repair job, but realized as I finished the second book and took out the third from my backpack that next time I might want to go digital and save the room for a second pair of shorts or more duct tape.

Related links:

• Mount Hood National Forest
• Emily Carr, Vancouver Art Gallery
• Timberline Lodge