TulaneLSU's recycling and gas pumping in Oregon

Dear Friends,

38 years ago next month, a stick of dynamite, thought to be a candle, set off a chain reaction resulting in a gaping hole in Haystack Rock. Since that time, the waves of time have closed that hole, leaving but a memory of what happened inside that 235’ basalt monolith.

This impressive rock is a product of a lava flow from Yellowstone millions of years ago. The lava flowed down the Columbia River Gorge and settled on the Pacific’s bottom. Tectonic shifts pushed the cooled lava rock upward, leaving us with this jagged beauty.

It was seven in the morning last week when I arrived. My first order of business was ensuring there were no nearby cougars. The cougar or mountain lion population on the northwestern Oregon coast has steadily climbed over the last decade, and one was spotted on the top of Haystack just a few weeks ago.



I arrived in a parking lot just south of the rock. There was a lovely couple spending the foggy, misty morning together rummaging through some wooden containers. Something about Oregon’s coast makes me hope that the weather will be dreary, or what the Scottish call dreich. Warm sunny weather is nice most of the time, but when I am on the Oregon coast, I want low clouds that drape the coastal mountains like Halloween cobwebs and sprinkles that mist the face just enough to make it glisten.



From a distance I could not tell what they were doing. I approached them, and said, “Good morning, dear friends! My name is TulaneLSU from New Orleans. I could not help but notice you were quite busy working together. What exactly are you doing?”

The haggard man had stubble for a beard and wore a torn 1996 Atlanta Olympics t-shirt partly covered by a grey cotton jacket that was left unzipped. His wife wore a tan skirt that covered her ankles and a black sweatshirt that said, “Livin’ the 503 Life.” She had curly salt and pepper hair that did not appear to have been washed for some time. Her face was leathery and filled with freckles. She suffered from heterochromia iridum: her left was hazel and her right was brown. Behind them was a silver Mazda MPV, faded by decades of beach living. It was filled to the gunwales with black contractor bags that also were filled.

“We’re recycling,” the woman said.

“Oh, that is right. The deposit! I was at a Walmart in eastern Portland earlier in the week, on my way to the Multnomah Falls, where I picked up two cases of bottled water for my hiking adventures. I always like to carry some bottled water, and some DDT, on the road. There were no bags there, and when I got my receipt they charged me an extra $5 or so as a deposit on the plastic bottles.”



“Oregon cares about the Earth. We recycle here. Don’t you in New Orleans?”

Embarrassed I changed the subject. “Oregon is a spectacular corner of God’s creation. I have just been through much of your state and have seen many beautiful things. I tried tp park at Multnomah Falls, but got stuck in a small traffic jam. So I drove to Horsetail Falls and climbed it.”







“Not wanting to deal with the parking, I jogged back to Multnomah. I was able to ascend that 700 foot height in 23 minutes and ran down in 12. It was a good workout, but more crowded than I like my hikes. I thought Horsetail was more beautiful and personal.”







“Who are you again?” asked the man. He seemed a little confused why I was now showing his wife photos from my camera.

Wanting to assure him that I was just there to make friends with him, I offered him a handful of huckleberries I had purchased the day before in the Gorge from a lady who had just returned from a few years of living in Alexandria, LA. “Like I said, my name is TulaneLSU. These huckleberries are delicious and this is my first taste of fresh ones. The lady selling them said, ‘Huckleberries are the caviar of the fruit world.’ And at $25/pint, they are priced it!”





The huckleberry peace offering seemed to win over the man, whose name was Andy. His wife shared her name: Irene. In less than five minutes, they had eaten the entire bag.

“A few miles east of the falls, the clouds began to break in the Gorge and it was a beautiful late summer day. My goal for the day was to get down to Bend to visit the last Blockbuster, and so I drove to Hood River and turned south. Not but five miles south of there, I came across an apple and peach orchard that had self-pick signs. I know you just met me, but you will come to know that I love to pick my own food.”



“The kind man at Pearl’s said peaches were not to be picked, but the galas were peak season. At $1.50 and no tax, they were a bargain. I only picked a few, but the farmer I paid said he had never seen a finer bunch of apples than those I had picked. He also told me to take many pictures and put them on Instagram. I told him I do not have an account, and no longer use Twitter after Kate Upton professed her love to me on that platform over a decade ago (this was before she was married). It was a highly embarrassing situation, and attracted attention to me that I did not want. Instead, I told him I would post pictures to Tigerdroppings.”













Irene and Andy were just coming to the bottom of the huckleberries. “Well, did you get to the Blockbuster?”

“Andy, first things first. Let me tell you about my Mount Hood experience.”





“I really only want to know about Blockbuster.” Andy had a mind of his own.

“Well, I did reach Blockbuster. It was a very hazy and smoke-filled drive. I was shocked how the land south of Mount Hood became desert very quickly.”

Irene interjected, “Everything east of the Cascades in Oregon is desert. People think of green trees, but so much of Oregon is desert.”







“The temperature went from the 60s in the Gorge to the 100s in less than an hour south of Mount Hood. What a change it is in both weather and scenery. I drove past the Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha Catholic Church in Warm Springs, but did not have time to stop. It looked like a lovely church.”