Sunday I went for a short hike in the to Mist Falls in the Gorge with my housemates (sans Jeff since he was working). We hiked to the bottom of this waterfall where small little avalanches of ice were periodically falling down.
For the most part, these were chunks of ice no bigger than a medium sized rock. Still, with the momentum they picked up falling down the cliff side (not to mention the fact that they were made of solid ice) we decided to cross the creek at the bottom of the waterfall to a safer area.
I was the last to cross the creek and while I was about to cross, a fucking large chunk of ice came hurdling down right to where I was. I vaguely recall Andy yelling to look out. All I really remember is the sound of approaching icy doom and me instinctually moving from where I had been standing to crouch down to protect my head. At one moment, I looked to my right so see a fucking huge chunk of ice (must have been 50 lbs) fly past where I had previously been standing. The picture is an example of one of the larger sized chunks of ice that was coming my way. For more pictures and Andy's account of our hike, visit his post on portlandhikers.org.
The "moral" of this story: there is nothing like a chunk-o-icy-doom heading your way to make you realize how fragile you are.
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